#all i need to fix me is a leather daddy therapist that says

[bottom-slut-unionizer]

Manipulating twinks into being a Good Boy for you seems like it would do more good for them than most therapy techniques

[thehoodsweetheart]

Sandcastles | Part IV.

A/N: I want to start by apologizing for taking so long to create Part 4 to Sandcastles. I had writer’s block for a while and then life got in the way. I hope you all enjoy this. I will be continuing this series. No real music inspo for this part. The picture above is just adorable but not a depiction of Y/N and Iman. Please excuse any spelling and/or grammatical errors. It might be a bit rough. I was just trying to get this out.

Word Count: 3,112

Warnings: Slight Angst (?), Mentions Violence, Hints of emotional abuse, Mentions Miscarriage, Hints at abortion, possible triggers

Summary: Y’all not getting one this time.

Erik x Black Reader (will always be a Black reader. Sorry not Sorry).

——————————————————————————–

        Erik remained seated on the leather couch of his living room holding his phone to his ear yet still silent. His mouth opened but he soon shut it, as he was unable to form words. The sensation of his chest tightening followed by the familiar lump in his throat nagged at him. Erik leaned forward his elbows planted on top of his knees. His shoulders tensed. The feeling of regret washed over him for the umpteenth time. He had felt this too many times for his liking. The one person who for years brought him peace was bringing the storm. If he had to choose he’d say it was a hurricane followed by tsunami. The type of damage that it could cause would have anyone questioning if God was mad at the world. But Erik was the source, and he was internalizing just how much pain he was still causing you.

       The tone of your voice was enough to make him feel like scum. This was the second time that afternoon you had called him in a panic. The first was after his text threatening to kill the movers. Of course he listened to you and didn’t kill them… but he was already seeing red. It was too late for him to not do anything, at all. In Erik’s mind, at very least they deserved their ass beat for banging on the door like the police after he told them to get off of his property. Erik did just that. He beat their ass. The movers definitely needed to be in someone’s emergency room getting checked out for cracked ribs, a broken nose, maybe even a broken jaw. In Eric’s mind, this was light damage in comparison to what he wanted to do. They put themselves in the way of being the target of his frustration. Nonetheless, his logic could do no justice nor could it sooth your worries.

        You continued to yell at him through sobs, full blown hiccupping sobs. Erik hated the fact that for the countless time in less than two weeks, he was the reason you were crying. Some things you said he could barely understand due to your crying, but he sat there taking it all in, staring at his bruising knuckles as he assessed the damage made. What he could make out was that you were sick of his shit.

“Y/N, come on. I’m sorry alright? I know I fucked up…again, but please try to calm down princess. It’s too much stress on the baby.” Erik finally took a jab at some type of reasoning with you.

       He knew the potential consequences of high stress during pregnancy. In fact, you and Erik were not strangers to the disappointment and heartache that miscarriage could bring.  You two had suffered a miscarriage before conceiving Iman. Although, neither of you knew that you were pregnant until Erik rushed you to the hospital for what he thought was a possible rupture appendix, only to receive the heartbreaking news that you lost your first child.

       The first pregnancy was not exactly planned. Erik had been teasing you since you guys’ third date that he was going to get you pregnant one day. At that point you hadn’t even been intimate with him yet. He was nowhere near being ready to be a parent at that time. Erik was genuinely amused at how you would roll your eyes and scoff every time he mentioned it. It was just something he teased about more than anything. He loved to get a reaction out you. Nonetheless when he did imagine himself having children, he knew you were the only woman he’d envisioned. So when the time actually came and you miscarried, it triggered his fear of loss. Erik in term became even more overprotective of you, if that was even possible.

“STRESS?! STRESS ON THE BABY?! NIGGA YOU ARE THE STRESS ON THE BABY!”  You cried out. Erik pinched the bridge of his nose taking a deep breath. He could hear Iman crying in the background.

“Just…come home love. Let me take care of you and Iman. Let me try to fix us for real. All this yelling and shit probably has Iman scared.”

“EXACTLY ERIK! She is! This is just too much for me. ” Y/N sniffled. “Why would I ever come back? You make me physically sick to my stomach. You can’t even control yourself. What if they press charges? What if they sue me for putting them in that situation?”

           It was the truth. You were always right. He sighed in defeat. He knew he blew it once again.

“They not fuckin stupid. Them niggas was trynna take my family from me.” Erik mumbled. “I can have T’ch-“

“Don’t you dare” You cut him off. “T’challa? Really Erik?! T’Challa can’t solve your problems or be your voice of reason for you… and YOU lost your family on your own. Nobody  took us from you but  you.” Y/n ended the call immediately after, overwhelmed with the entire situation.

           Erik was left with is thoughts and your last statement replaying in his mind like a broken record. He was the cause of this entire situation and that was a tough pill to swallow. He was still at square one without the slightest clue on how to fix you all’s relationship. Maybe he did need to get himself together before he tried to pursue the mending of his family?

           Erik smacked his lips before picking up his phone once more. He scrolled through his contacts begrudgingly tapped a name he hadn’t dialed in almost a year. It was time he visited his therapist. He listened to the ringing before a chipper voice answered. It was his therapist’s secretary that annoyed him with her overly cheerful persona.

“Dr. Lang’s office, Amber speaking. How may I help you?”

“It’s Erik Stevens. Can you get Dr. Lang on the phone…immediately.”

“Sorry Mr. Stevens, but Dr. La—“ Amber hesitated.

“I’m not gone ask again.” Erik barked.

           Amber tried to cover gasp of astonishment with clearing her throat and politely telling Erik to hold. Amber knew exactly who Erik was, and against her better judgment she’d eavesdropped on his past sessions. It took less than 3 minutes for Dr. Lang to pick up the line.

“Mr. Udaku-Stevens, it’s been a while. How are you?”

“My wife left me.” It pained Erik to utter those words aloud.

“Ah! Well, how about you come in tomorrow 9 AM? If your schedule permits…”

“I’ll be there.” Erik kept it short hanging up the phone.

------------------

        You threw your phone down on the bed staring blankly into space. The sensation of saliva thickening in your mouth brought your attention to the nausea you had been trying to ignore. You used your sleeve to hastily wipe away the tears left on your face. You didn’t owe him a goodbye. You could barely comprehend why you were talking to him in the first place. Why do you always feel the obligation to reason with Erik? And to an extent, why did you still bare the burden of trying to protect him from himself? Erik could be his own worst enemy with his self-sabotaging fits of rage.

        Your thoughts were interrupted by a shriek that came from Iman as her cries intensified. Iman was having a full on fit. Her round golden face was now tinted in a red hue, hot tears spewed down her face, and her dimples piercing her cheeks as she flailed her chubby fist. Iman was teething and it was giving her the blues. You picked her up cuddling her close to your chest, rubbing small circles in her back, attempting to sooth her. A teething baby was a force to be reckoned with. You’d given her some medication in hopes of breaking her fever but just by touch you could tell that it had barely worked. Iman pushed at your chest and if you could guess you would only assume she didn’t want you to hold her.

       A light knock came to the bedroom door, before it cracked open far enough for your twin brother, JR, to peak in. With an exhausted yet concerned look on his face, he scratched his full beard looking at you and Iman. He had returned from football practice less than an hour ago and his usual routine would have been to take a shower then nap. It was apparent that that was interrupted. His expression softened as you made eye contact.

“What you in here doin’ to my niece?” he joked trying to lighten the mood. JR staggered further into the room. “What’s wrong wit my lil baybeh?” He cooed as he took Iman from your arms.

“She’s teething and sleepy so she’s fussy.” Y/N mumbled letting out a heavy sigh.

       JR cradled her in his muscular arms as Iman clung to him beginning to calm down. He was practically the same build as Erik. The idea of her possibly missing her father crossed your mind, and by no means were you intending to keep her from Erik, but taking her back to him was out of the question. You weren’t sure if he was in the right mental space and seeing his face only made you angry.

       You stood up from the bed briskly walked over to the adjoining bathroom shutting the door. You couldn’t resist the urge to vomit any longer. It was starting to make you feel physically weak. What more could you possibly throw up when you haven’t even brought yourself to so much even eat a grape in six hours? Your body was giving up all it had to give, and at this point it was only bile. You clung to the porcelain toilet wondering if this was all a test of faith. Why was everything falling apart? Why was this pregnancy so hard? Better yet, why was life so hard right now? How come you couldn’t be home with a supportive and faithful husband like believed he was at some point?

“She ain’t the only fussy one wit all that yelling you was doing at her Daddy.” JR mumbled as you walked back into the room collapsing on the bed.

“You heard all that? Sorry.” You knew you probably didn’t even need to apologize, but who really wants to come home to a bunch of drama that has nothing to do with them. JR waved you off with a nonchalant look.

“Don’t worry about. Take it easy though. You look…dehydrated.”

“Are you calling me thirsty?” You retorted with cut eyes.

“No nigga! You literally look dehydrated like you need Gatorade or coconut water. It’s some in the fridge.” JR shook his head as he readjusted Iman in his arms laying her head on his shoulder. Iman’s wails had settled to a soft whine by now.

“Thanks but I doubt that I could stomach either of those.”

“Is that normal? Being pregnant and all? That shit seem like a bad hangover and virus combined.”

“I don’t really know. I didn’t go through this with Iman. I had some cramping and nausea but this is just…ugh... Wassup? You getting ready to have a baby I don’t know about?”

“Hell nah. My niece and future nephews are enough. I got a good five to ten years before I let somebody trap me.” He shrugs.

“Excuse me? You don’t know if I’m having a boy or not. And you said nephews with an S. You trynna make me sicker something?”

“I’m just concerned with your health. It got my twin senses doing weird shit. Maybe you should try to see your doctor before your appointment? I’m trynna tell you, you’re super sick cuz you having triplets. What you gone do with four kids under 2?” JR commented earning an eye roll.  Here he goes with the twin sense stuff. Sure it’s a real thing but JR could be a bit dramatic.

“I’m NOT having triplets. Are you crazy?” JR smacks his teeth.

“I’m not crazy but me and niecey gone take a nap on the couch. If you still lookin’ like you getting ya ass whooped from the inside out in a hour, then I’m taking you to the hospital.”

4 hours later

           After enduring an hour wait in the emergency room waiting room, you had been pricked and probed too much for your liking. The past few hours consisted of countless tests and tubes of blood being drawn. You were already reluctant about going to the hospital in the first place. You would have rather gone to your regular OBGYN, but your brother insisted on taking you to the ER tonight. There was no doubting that you needed to see a doctor. How you were feeling was not the least bit normal and it was only getting worse.  

       It seemed like the nurses were more interested in your brother than what you were going through. Being that he is in the NFL, the attention was something he’d grown accustomed to. You on the other hand didn’t care. You almost snapped on one nurse who was so insistent on smiling in JR’s face, that she incorrectly inserted the IV in your arm four times. If you weren’t toting a sleeping Iman in your other arm, you probably would’ve caused a scene. At that point, JR excused himself from the room taking Iman with him. He stated that he wanted to give you privacy and limit the distractions.

           Hyperemesis Gravidarum was what the on duty physician diagnosed you with. Hyperemesis Gravidarum is a rare condition that causes sever uncontrollable nausea, vomiting, and dehydration. You stared down at your slightly protruding belly as the doctor continued to explain what the condition was. Your vision blurred as your eyes burned and your ears began to feel hot. You tried to process what the doctor was telling you but the sound of your heartbeat and breathing seemed to be battling over his voice. From what you could gather is that he was deeply concerned that you developed the condition with this pregnancy especially since it wasn’t your first. If it concerned him, it surely scared the hell out of you.

“I’d like to do an ultrasound now to make sure everything it alright with the baby. We gotta take care of mommy and baby.” He said while holding out a Kleenex box and using his free hand to pat your knee. He called over a technician who wheeled over the ultrasound machine.

“What if it’s not?” Your voice became small, almost child like. Fear was starting to get the best of you. You went through a miscarriage before and didn’t want to face another one.

“We’re going to stay hopeful, Y/N. Something tells me I know a possible answer for this condition. The circumstances can vary…” He said as he turned on the ultrasound machine before pouring the cool gel on your lower abdomen. The doctor placed the device against your abdomen causing you to slightly jump due to its warm surface catching you off guard.

           The crackling of static when the device touched your stomach was followed by the blaring rapid heartbeats offsetting each other. The doctor turned the monitor to give you a better view of the screen. Moving the device around, the doctor zoomed into a particular area. He studied the monitor and his once stoic facial expression cracked with a glint of satisfaction. Your line of sight moved from the provider’s face to the monitor before the two of you. You froze, blinking a few times to be sure you were seeing correctly. Your breathing became shallow as you opened your mouth to speak then immediately closing it. Is this really happening?  You sat there wide-eyed trying to take in this moment.

“Is that—are those—“ You attempted to ask before the doctor cut you off nodding.

“Congratulations Mommy! Looks like you’re having twins with very strong heartbeats might I add.” He announced with a smile. “Which is what I thought was triggering your condition. Would you like us to bring in the proud papa and big sister from the waiting room?”

You lowered your head shaking it as uncontrollable tears began to pour down your face. You couldn’t quite understand your own emotions.  Are you happy? Are you upset? You should be happy… right?

“H-He’s not the dad. He’s my twin brother.” You stuttered.

“How exciting! A twin having twins!” A young nurse perked up with a smile in attempts to lighten the mood. You offered her a soft smile as you wiped your eyes. There was still an obvious presence of your lack of enthusiasm.

“Are you okay Y/N?” The doctor inquired with a concerned expression, for which you simply nodded. “There are options you can discuss with your assigned OBGYN. You’re still in your first trimester, which is a trying time for a multiples pregnancy. We have a few pamphlets here that might help, but don’t hesitate to inquire about any of your concerns.”

“I understand. I’ll discuss it with her.” You said just above a whisper.

“Great, now let’s get these fluids hooked back up to your IV. I’m writing you a prescription to hopefully help with the nausea and excessive vomiting. I think you should stay overnight for observation. We really need to get a handle on your dehydration.” He stated while typing into the computer.

        Great, now you had to stay in the hospital. Who could watch Iman until your discharged? It was pretty late in the evening and JR is having an early start the next day. Your mom wasn’t exactly your greatest support system. Your grandma adored Iman but you know that Iman can be a bit of a busy body for her. You could call Nakia but there was a chance that T’Challa would tell Erik you were in the hospital. That was the last thing you wanted. They were still the best candidates. You could hardly find a baby sitter for one child, what were you going to do with three? How were you going to handle being single mother with three kids? Life comes at you fast.

       You closed your eyes for a moment laying your head back against the observation bed. You were starting to feel nauseous again. You opened them looking at the empty chair next to where the doctor placed pictures from the ultrasound with markings for baby a, and baby b. Underneath the ultrasound were the pamphlets for the options he hinted at earlier. Your hands began to sweat as you reached for them. You stared blankly at the one on top.

“It’s my body right…”

*************

Tag list

@purple-apricots @chaneajoyyy @toniilaney @wakanda-inspired @almeda-344 @desireatatyana

@wakandalivesforever @yoyolovesbucky @beaut1fulone-blog @sarcastic-sunshines

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@theblulife @leilaxaliel @uzumaki-rebellion @cutewylie @yourwonderbelle @letsshamelessqueen-m

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 28

The junkyard was pretty much what the name implied; a big stretch of land heaped up with shit that was better left forgotten by time.

I came here with Charlie sometimes to find scrap parts for old cars; usually just found scrap instead.

Everyone knew that the decent scrapyards were out Wyoming way.

Still; the kid had done an alright job, all things considered.

It was pretty defensible as a base, and the school bus looked like it could hold out against nuclear war, and probably was designed that way if the history books were anything to go by.

I could already see some decent scrap we could use as a barricade, and with a little elbow grease; we might even be able to improvise some traps.

“Oh yeah; this will do. This will do just fine.” Steve spoke my thoughts out loud, clearly on the same wavelength when it came to finding a defensible home base.

“Good call; kid.” I praised Dustin, earning me one of those toothy smiles, and I hoped some of my dad’s hero worship wasn’t rubbing off on me.

——————————————————

The best of half an hour was spent spreading round the rest of the meat; only a minimal amount of it ending up being flung at each other, because as much as I liked horsing around with Steve; I valued my innards more, and didn’t want to come across as a tasty snack for a hungry demogorgon.

Our efforts ended with us heaping the dregs of our buckets in a pile in the middle of the junkyard, creating what we’d hope would look like an all you can eat buffet to any unsuspecting monster, and the perfect ambush spot to us.

“I said medium-well!” A voice yelled from across the junkyard, and Steve, Dustin and I all looked in its direction.

Two kids and a shiny new racer bike were heading our way with painfully eager expressions, and I wondered when me and Steve signed up to be counselors at Camp Shitstain?!

“Who’s that?” Steve asked, because he was still painfully dumb, and we were probably gonna have to fix that, but not till I sorted out that look on Dustin’s face.

Steve may have been an idiot, but to me it was glaringly obvious that the redheaded girl on the back of that bike was the object of his affections.

And if the way his face sunk harder than the Titanic was a signifier of his feelings; it looks like Red was already smitten with her speed racer.

“Hey kid; you wanna talk with your friend for a bit? Cos if you want I can keep Red busy?” I asked, giving Dustin an out if he wanted, because there was clearly a discussion that needed to be had here, and it was probably best if the lady in question was out of the picture for that.

“Yeah; that would be good, actually.” Dustin replied, probably sounding the most grown up he had since I’d joined this this party.

“Alright. You just leave this to me.” I reassured him, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder, before approaching the young redhead girl.

“Hey Red; can you give me a hand?”

——————————————————-

So Little Miss Lovetriangle was actually a big help, but maybe it was because at least someone around here wasn’t worried about getting her hands messy.

It did also help that I knew all about unwillingly being the rope in a testosterone filled game of tug of war.

The kid didn’t even seem to have an interest in the boys; and I was really gonna have to start learning names, because Dipshits One and Two and Red were really not suitable names in a crisis.

Right now; me and Red were busy melding corrugated metal sheets to the bus in a last ditch attempt at armour playing against demogorgons, whilst the two boys were still playing therapist, and Steve was off god knows where doing god knows what.

It was almost poetic; really. The two females of the group doing all the heavy lifting whilst the men were too busy bickering and being emotional.

Still; someone had to do it, and me and Red were down to our last sheet.

“On the count of three. One. Two. Three.” I instructed, before we managed to bend sheet metal around the front corner of the bus by hand.

It took some elbow grease, but we still managed to do it, and fuck; if I wasn’t proud of our work, creating our own Firt Knox outta scrap metal and chicken wire.

“Great work; kid!” I praised her; reaching out for a fist bump, which she eagerly returned.

I wiped the beading of sweat on my forehead, taking in what would hopefully hold us safely until Steve and I could figure out a way to kill a mutant lizard.

“You know; I never actually got your name?” I asked the girl; because it was probably rude of me to just call her Red this entire time.

“Max. Max Mayfield.” The girl replied, holding out a sweaty palm to shake.

“Lola. Lola Hopper.” I offered the same in return, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

“You know; it’s funny...” Max smiled with withheld laughter, still shaking my hand.

“What’s funny?” I asked, letting go of her hand with a smile.

“My older brother goes on and on about this girl he knows called Lola...” She continued; that smile turning into a full on smirk, that sparked my curiosity.

“Well; what’s his name? Maybe I know him?” I asked, my interest officially peaked, and my mind now scanning for any fiery redheads I knew of.

“Billy.” She stated; and I felt the bottom suddenly drop out of my stomach.

She couldn’t be talking about him; could she?

“Billy? Billy Hargrove?” I asked; the question a near mimic of his own introduction to me, though with far more apprehension.

“Yeah. Know him?” Max nodded; clearly not picking up on my uneasiness with the topic, because did Billy really talk about me at home?

“Yeah. I know him.” I replied, not giving anything away with my answer, as there was no real way of knowing what bullshit Billy spurted about me behind closed doors.

“But you can’t possibly be that Lola...” Max scoffed; a small smile of incredulity crossing her face. “You’re not—“

“A dumb blonde with tits bigger than my head?” I asked; having already perfectly painted a mental picture of Billy’s usual type, and knowing that I didn’t fit the bill in the slightest.

“You are that Lola! Jesus; Wow!” She exclaimed; and for once I was hopeful that the gossip Billy was saying about me might at least hold a slither of truth.

“You are so not what I expected.” Max stated, leaning down to help me pick up another piece of metal, and I began to wonder what exactly she’d expected me to be like?

Probably a stuck up, slutty bitch who’d look more in place on a poster in Billy’s room then digging through trash in a junk yard.

Hope I wasn’t a disappointment.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I shrugged, deciding that if she’d expected what I think she expected; I was glad I was a big fucking surprise.

“Oh; yeah, totally!” Max nodded in agreement; clearly getting exactly what train of thought I was riding on, and deciding I was the polar opposite of it.

“I mean; I just can’t quite believe it...” She continued; her face a mixture of awe and disbelief as we continued to work on our barricade. “You seem so cool, and Billy’s a—“

“Total dick.” I finished off the sentence for her, not at all surprised that find Billy’s own sibling thought he was a douchebag.

Maybe I really was the first to see a different side to him.

“Hey; you said it, not me.” She held up her arms in surrender, as if she was worried the shadow of Billy would fall over her at any given minute.

But still; it wasn’t denial.

Then we both started laughing, because sometimes it was so damn refreshing to spend some time around another woman; budding as she may be, and I began to think maybe I should introduce her to El.

Of course; that would open a whole new can of worms with dad’s trust issues and secrecy laws.

“Hey; but aren’t you and Billy supposed to be...” She halted our laughing, creasing her red eyebrows in confusion.

So Billy did talk about me.

That, or maybe we were louder than I thought; in which case, I probably owed this kid an apology.

And some ear plugs.

I shook my head in refusal, trying my best to keep from smiling, because dick or not; thinking of Billy made me a little giddy.

“No. Nothing serious; we’re just...”

“Oh my god! You are!” She exclaimed; and I was becoming very aware that Steve could be back at any minute.

“We’re not even dating...” I continued to explain, but kids heard what they wanted to hear, and this one wanted some sort of decent payoff for putting up with a shitstain of a brother.

“You are far too cool for my brother; Lola Hopper.” Max praised, and somehow, her brand of hero worship was one I didn’t really mind.

“Hey; are those shitbirds helping you?” An uncharacteristically severe voice of one Steve Harrington interrupted our female bonding; the man in question coming into view with two folding chairs in hand.

“Steve; really, we’re fine...” I began to excuse, really not finding the idea of playing troop leader for a misfit troop of Boy Scouts appealing, but Steve was already well on his way marching over to the car the boys were not so subtly hiding behind.

“Jesus; is he always like this?” Max asked, chuckling at a rather fatherly Steve Harrington, busy lecturing two rather somber looking surrogate sons; completed with a complimentary hand on hip and finger waggle, as if he couldn’t take the metaphor far enough.

“You know; believe it or not, he’s actually pretty chilled normally.” I commented, smiling at how the boys suddenly started working double time under their “dad’s” direct supervision.

Daddy Steve.

Jesus; what a joke!