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daddy-dins-girl · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023 Pt. 1 - Dave York (Somnophilia, Frottage, Virginity)

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Summary: It's Dave's birthday, and you have a present for him. Then again, maybe it's more for you.

This fic covers days 2 and 7 of @absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 challenge.

Dave York x Virgin!Reader (babysitter)

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: Me: Ok, I can do this, I can write some smutty little kinktober drabble, no problem! Also me: Writes 2500 words of backstory and character development before a stitch of clothing even comes off.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Explicit smut. Cheating, infidelity (it's the York's y'all, come on, is it even Dave York fanfic if one or both of them aren't banging somebody else?). Age gap (Reader is 21, Dave is in his 40's). Virgin (but not inexperienced) Reader. Consensual Somnophilia. "Just the tip" (but like actually tho). Frottage. Vaginal and clitoral stimulation (aka pussy rubbing). Accidental creampie (whoops). Drug use, kind of? (just over the counter sleep aids). Dave York is his own warning. Uh.. if I've forgotten anything, lmk. I think I've given away half the story already in the tags! At least you know what you're in for ;)

There was an excitement thrumming through your veins as you sat in the living room waiting for the York’s to get home, not really paying any attention to what was playing on the TV because your mind was elsewhere.

The two children you were caring for, Molly and Alice, have long since been tucked into their beds and asleep and now you were just waiting for their parents to get home. They typically weren’t gone for more than a few hours. It didn’t need to be said that that was more than they could stand of each other if their children weren’t there to serve as buffers, that much was obvious to just about anyone who spent enough time around Carol and Dave. Apparently however just not to their friends who they had to go out with and appease, pretending their marriage was still perfect. That’s where the York’s found themselves this Saturday night, out with friends celebrating Dave’s birthday that was coming up in a few days.

It was a good job for you though, Mr. York always paid you handsomely. Anytime you’d come over to babysit he’d leave the same amount of money in an envelope on the kitchen counter for you. A fifty dollar bill for you to order food for yourself and the two girls (which was way more than enough, even with the delivery charges and tip, to cover anything the three of you could eat) and a crisp hundred for yourself for your services which you thought was way too high, considering they were never gone more than 2-3 hours. The first couple times you’d tried to give him the change from dinner but he’d shoved the twenty back into your own palm and told you to keep it so now you’ve stopped trying to argue and typically walk away with at least $120.00 a night, which was pretty good for a 3 hour gig for a 21 year old who lives at home while attending school. You didn’t know what Dave York did for a living - something in government, you think - but apparently whatever it was it paid extremely well.

The hard rain coming down outside was hitting the large windows of the York’s extravagant home in sheets and truth be told you were more than glad that there was practically a hurricane going on outside. It actually fit into your plans perfectly so you just watched the storm rage on outside from your comfortable seat on the sofa, a small smile on your face while you waited for your employers to get home.

Within minutes you heard the loud hum of the garage door opening up signaling the York’s arrival and you clicked off the TV, pretending to be interested in something on your phone and acting casually as a minute later you heard the door connecting the house to the garage open and Carol and Dave spilled inside.

“Oh my God it’s madness out there” Carol practically shrieked and Dave immediately shushed her loudly, reminding her of their sleeping children and Carol put a hand over her mouth but laughed uncontrollably still.

Yep, she was wasted, as usual.

“Oh hi, Mr. and Mrs. York” you greet them sweetly, standing up from the couch and coming over to the hallway leading to the entryway where they were taking off their soaked jackets, likely from their walk from whatever restaurant they had been at to their car.

“Oh hi sweetie. How were the girls?” Carol managed to ask, you’re not sure how she got the words out, given the way Dave was literally having to hold her up by her elbow just so she could kick her shoes off.

“Oh they were great, as always” you promise. And they were, Molly and Alice were rarely any trouble. This was by far the easiest babysitting gig you’d ever had.

“Pay the girl David, I need to go to bed” Carol groaned, leaning into her husband’s shoulder for support. Dave rolled his eyes. First of all, he had already paid you at the beginning of the night, like he always had and you’d think his wife would know that by now, and secondly he absolutely did not like how she was all but dismissing you without even thanking you or saying more than five words to you.

“Um, Mr. and Mrs. York,” you cut in, before Dave has a chance to say anything. “I was thinking, you know, the rain is coming down really bad and I don’t really like driving late at night as it is, I thought maybe I could stay over?” You asked politely. You’ve done it numerous times on occasions that they were sure they’d be home late, they had offered you their spare room in the basement so you could go to sleep once the girls were in bed if you had wanted to. Most times when you stayed over it was because you were already asleep when they’d gotten home, but on a couple occasions you’d stayed over even when you were still awake when they got in just because of how late it was.

“Sure, whatever sweetie” Carol waved a flippant hand at you.

“Of course you can” Dave finally spoke, his voice louder and firmer than Carol’s. Dave rarely came home with more than a drink or two under his belt because he typically drove. You also got the feeling that he knew he had to have all his wits about him when out with his wife so he could be a glorified babysitter himself.

“Thank you, Mr. York” you said his name sweetly, a coy smile playing on your lips that went unnoticed by Carol but intentionally noticed by Dave.

You left Dave to wrangle Carol up to bed and made your way down to the basement, getting ready for bed and then pulled your phone out to type out a quick text to the man of the house before you tried to get some sleep.

Cum see me l8r. Got a present for you to unwrap😉. You know the rules. xxx

You took a breath. You were excited and yet nervous, never having done anything like this, specifically, before. You reach over to the night stand and pick up the small white tablet, pop it into your mouth and wash it down with some water before you lay down on the bed and wait (im)patiently for sleep to take over.

Dave’s phone pings in his pocket once he’s finally gotten Carol into bed. She was tugging at his tie and belt and trying to drag him into the bed with her, mumbling something incoherently about a “birthday blowjob” and he could do little but roll his eyes. He was in no mood to have his completely drunken wife undoubtedly fall asleep on him with his cock half way down her throat. Besides the fact that he knows exactly where her mouth has been the last eight months or so which had been the final nail in the coffin that was once their active sex life.

So instead he leaves her there and heads off into the ensuite to shower, pulling out his phone to check his text from you along the way and smirking to himself when he reads it. He doesn’t reply. He rarely does. Sometimes it’s a power move. He likes you to squirm, wondering if he’s read it, what he’s thinking, if he’s as insatiable in his desire for you as you are for him. Mostly he doesn’t reply though because he doesn’t like paper trails. Not that he thinks you would, but the last thing he needs is you screenshotting your conversations with him and sharing them around with your friends or something.

Dave brushes his teeth, gets into the shower, then heads down to the kitchen to relax for a bit, sipping a beer and catching some highlights on SportsCenter. He doesn’t want to seem too eager and part of him likes to keep you waiting. Finally after a couple of hours have passed since he received your text he clicks off the TV and goes in search of you.

He moves through the basement rec room and to the closed bedroom door, pulling the small key out of the pocket of his sweatpants and using it to let himself inside, ensuring to lock it behind him. He’s the only one with a key to unlock the door from the outside so he doesn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting anything.

He makes his way over to the bed where you’re lying on your back. There’s a bedside lamp that’s turned on to its highest setting so he has no trouble making anything out in the room, he assumes it's intentional.

“Naughty girl” Dave mutters to himself when he sees what’s waiting for him. You’re lying there perfectly asleep on top of the bedclothes wearing nothing but a tiny camisole and simple yellow cotton panties with a small pair of red cherries right in the center like a goddamn bullseye and a tiny little tied red bow at the top.

Got a present for you to unwrap. Your words ring in his head and he’s half hard already just from looking at you.

He assesses the rest of the room and his eyebrow raises when he sees what’s on the bedside table, a tiny blue box with the logo “Sleep-Eze” on it and a half drank glass of water.

“Jesus Christ” Dave huffs out a breath, pushing a hand through his hair.

You had a conversation recently one night when you were lying in bed together the last time you had stayed over at his house and he came to see you (as he always had). You had confessed that a fantasy of yours was to wake up to having an orgasm. Dave was hesitant at first, for multiple reasons. One he didn’t like the idea of getting off on someone who was effectively unconscious, and two he argued that you’d wake up way too easily if he was doing his job well enough.

You told him you’d figure out a way to help with the second problem which, Dave presumed, was the reason for the sleeping tablet. And as for the first, you told him if he really wasn’t comfortable he didn’t have to, it was just something you had always wanted to try but had never trusted anyone else to do it.

And you did, trust him. The last line of your text, ‘you know the rules’, he did know the rules. Well, rule. It was really just one when it came to you.

No penetration.

At least, not with his cock. You weren’t a total prude or anything but you were a virgin (hence the cherry panties he supposed… cute little vixen). You grew up in a very religious household and although you didn’t quite believe in waiting until marriage like your parents had taught you to, you did want to wait until it could be with someone you loved and that just hadn’t happened to you yet. Still, despite this, you were sexually active in plenty of other ways that certainly seemed to keep Dave satisfied enough. For now anyway. You worried he might get bored of you but it hadn’t happened yet and it’s been nearly six months. Despite his aggressive and controlling behavior in bed he always respected your one rule and didn’t pressure you to cross it with him. He probably knew that before long you’d be begging him for it anyway and he was probably right. Your resilience was waning a lot. And it wasn’t just the sexual desire, though that was obviously a huge part of it, but you felt a connection to Dave you had yet to find with anyone else you dated, especially boys your own age who were exactly that - boys.

Dave was sweet to you when you least expected it. When you’d aced your midterm paper that you had spent weeks agonizing over, a dozen roses showed up at your parents doorstep the next day with a card nestled inside with a single phrase written on it. “So proud of you. D.”

When you had briefly mentioned one night that you desperately wanted tickets to the Taylor Swift concert but weren’t willing to fork over your entire college fund to get them, the next time you had come over to babysit in addition to the usual $150.00 in the envelope on the counter there was a pair of tickets to the Eras Tour Boston show with a small note stuck to it in Dave’s familiar scratchy handwriting “take one of your girlfriends, and have fun sweetheart”. You idly wonder who he had to kill to get them.

Then there was the day your brother had been shipped off to his first tour of Active Duty and you couldn’t be emotional about it in front of your parents because you had to “be strong for your brother” (their words). You had texted Dave when you finally couldn’t be in that house another minute pretending your whole world hadn’t just changed and he had picked you up from the corner of your street, driven to a secluded parking lot and pulled you into the back seat with him where he just held you for hours while you cried in his arms. You told him stories of your childhoods growing up, how close you’d been and how he was your best friend and whole world; your port in the storm against your strict parents and the only person who truly understood you. Dave sat there calmly, listening to every word, brushing a comforting hand through your hair or occasionally pressing his lips to your temple when another wave of tears hit you. He promised you that you never had to be brave or strong in front of him if you didn’t want to be, he would be there to hold you up. Be your strength when you had none left to give.

And when you had told Dave about a guy that had gotten a little too “handsy” with you at a Frat party - despite you repeatedly asking him to leave you alone - well, come to think of it, you’d actually never seen Thomas again after that night. You safely assume Dave had something to do with it though.

So yes, Dave was much more than just a warm body to you, and you for him, you presumed, and there was no one else you trusted with your body like you trusted Dave.

“Fuck” Dave muttered, hand coming down involuntarily to palm over the bulge growing beneath the elastic waistband of his sleep pants. You looked goddamn adorable when you were sleeping, Dave noticed immediately. Little mouth half open, head rolled to the side with your hair spilling over the pillows, and the rise and fall of your chest putting your perfect round tits on display for him under the threadbare top.

Apparently getting over the first hurdle was going to be easier than Dave thought.

He pulled his sweats down and kicked them off, leaving himself in just his boxer briefs and t-shirt and crawled onto the bed on his knees until he was between your legs, sitting back on his heels. He began by experimentally running his left hand down your leg all the way to your calf and then back up to your thigh, waiting to see if you’d stir at all and - nothing. Your breathing never faltered, body never twitched, and satisfied, Dave moved on to what he knew you were waiting for.

He started slowly, gently. He brought his hand to rest on your hip and his thumb reached down to stroke you over top of your underwear, pushing all the way down into your slit and back up and repeating the motion over and over again for a minute or so until he began to feel the unmistakable wetness begin to pool behind the thin cotton barrier.

“Good girl” Dave hummed to himself, then brought two fingers down on top of where your clit would be and began rubbing tight circles around it. Your hips jerked slightly and he stopped immediately like a deer caught in headlights, eyes shooting up to yours only to find you still fast asleep and he let out a relieved breath. It was just your body reacting to his touch but thankfully he hadn’t woken you. He knew what you wanted and he wanted to give it to you and he knew he had a long way to go before he brought you to a peak so it was far too soon to have you waking up already.

“That’s it baby” Dave praised when a little whimper left your lips but you simply snuggled further into your pillow. “Back to sleep”

After another couple minutes of soft caresses of his fingers he took his hands away momentarily to grab for one of the decorative pillows that had been tossed carelessly aside and he carefully lifted your hips to settle it underneath you, raising you slightly for him so he wouldn’t throw his back out leaning over you for what he wanted to do next - for what he knew you were waiting for him to do.

Once he’s got you in the position he wants he hastily tugs down his boxers, shuffles closer towards you on his knees and groans when he takes his own length in his hand. He’s painfully hard already and his head is weeping precum and he hisses through his teeth when he loosely grips his cock and starts pumping his hips, effectively fucking his own hand while the head of dick pushes into your still clothed sex.

“Oh fuck,” he groans. The combination of your own wetness and his leaking tip have caused a giant wet spot on your panties, leaving them basically transparent as he continues dragging his cock through your folds over your underwear.

This had quickly become your favorite thing to do with Dave, once he had tried it once, promising you he wouldn’t go inside but just wanting to be close to you. He’d rub your pussy with his cock until you came - which never took long - and you’d practically begged him to do it every time you were together since. It was near fucking torture for Dave, being so goddamn close to burying his cock deep inside you like he so desperately wanted to. He could do it. It would be so fucking easy. Especially right now. But he wouldn’t. If there was one thing Dave had in spades, it was self control.

Dave checks in with you again, makes sure you’re still asleep and you are, though your face is a little scrunched up now, not as peaceful looking. It looks like you’re dreaming and are a little unsure of what exactly is going on. He knows he probably doesn’t have a lot of time left to get you to cum before you wake up so he moves on to the final stage. He slips his dick under the soaked piece of cotton through the side and continues his little thrusts with his hands now resting on the insides of your thighs and not able to help the moan that escapes him when his dick finally makes contact with your naked cunt.

“Mmmmm” you hum sleepily, somewhere between completely dead to the world and barely awake.

Dave vaguely hears you beginning to stir, the sound of his cock pushing in and out of your sopping core filling his ears and causing his brain to nearly stop functioning with how fucking turned on he is. His tip brushes against your clit with every push of his cock and he has to close his eyes and focus on his breathing so he doesn’t come before you do.

“Ohhhhhh” you whine breathily, being dragged a little closer to consciousness.

It’s the softest fucking sound he’s ever heard and he nearly comes at the sound of your desperate, meek little whimper.

“Oh fuck, Baby, wake up” Dave groans, slightly picking up the pace that his cock slides in and out of your folds.

“Dave?” you mutter, confused as your eyes try desperately to blink open. “Oh. Oh fuck, Oh Dave!” It hits you like a fucking brick wall. You're suddenly completely alert as the pleasure centers in your brain finally start firing on all cylinders again and you’re painfully aware of how incredibly turned on you are. Not to mention how close you are.

“Sweetheart, oh fuck” Dave is close to losing it himself from above you. His hand leaves your thigh to yank your panties to the side and then he grabs his dick with the other to control his movements. He watches his cock rub up and down through your swollen lips and push into your clit, repeating the pattern over and over and over and soon enough you're rocking your hips in rhythm with him.

“Oh my God, Dave. Fuck, fuck, fuck” You cry out. He feels fucking incredible and you’re desperately close to coming, you can feel it flooding your lower abdomen, the dam about to burst. You push up on your elbows, you want to watch as Dave’s cock slides through you.

“Fuck, wish I could be inside you” Dave groans. He knows it's not fair of him to say it when you’re both so worked up like this but he’s never wanted it more than in this moment.

“Yesssss, fuck, me too Dave. Wanna come on your big fat cock baby” you mewl desperately, clutching at the sheets.

“Fuck baby don’t say shit like that” Dave scolds. It was one thing to playfully tease, but saying that to him knowing full well he couldn’t do anything about it was downright cruel.

“Baby, fuck, I’m serious” you whine. “Wanna feel you inside me, just a little bit, please baby? Just the tip? I need it”

“Oh fuck” Dave literally growls like you’ve never heard before and then he pushes inside you for the first time, just the head, like you asked, and you instantly fall apart. Your walls squeeze around his tip like an unrelenting vice grip and your juices flood his cock and seconds later you feel his own hot spend painting your walls as he shudders over you and grips your hips so tightly you know they’ll be bruised tomorrow.

“Oh shit, oh shit shit shit!” Dave curses at his own stupidity and lack of control but can do little about it as he continues to spurt rope after rope of his cum inside you.

“Oh my god, Dave” you sigh dreamily, falling back onto the bed and not only unbothered, but blissfully pleased at Dave’s little indiscretion. You’ll take a Plan B in the morning, you’re far from worried about it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” Dave pants breathlessly as he finally pulls his spent cock out of you and runs his hands through his hair and then rubs them over his face and groans.

“Baby, come here” you insist, reaching up to pull him down on top of you and you’re surprised at how easily he allows it to happen.

“Hey, it’s ok” you assure him softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and petting a hand through his hair.

“I shouldn’t have-” he begins to protest as he pushes himself up on his elbows, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“I wanted you to. Baby that was…” you trail off, literally unable to put into words how good he made you feel and so you opt instead to pull his head back gently and kiss him passionately. After a few seconds of trying to resist you, Dave succumbs to the kiss and opens his mouth to you, tongue pushing inside and melding with yours.

You pull apart only when the need for oxygen overwhelms you both and Dave rests his forehead on yours, gently shaking his head.

“You’re fucking incredible, do you know that?” He says sincerely and a blush rises in your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself” you tease.

“I just had my dick inside you” Dave states like he’s reading the morning headlines.

“I remember, I was there” you giggle and he huffs a laugh in return.

“Are you um… ok?” He asks sincerely, bringing a hand up so his finger can lightly trace your jawline, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret.

“More than ok” you promise, raising your head slightly to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“You sure? You don’t hate me?” He asks and you can barely believe your ears, maybe you were still high from the sleeping pill.

“Hate you? Baby you literally just made my wildest fantasy come true”

“Really?” Dave asks, eyebrow raised. “It was uh… what you wanted?”

“It was everything I wanted and more” you promise.

“Come here” you murmur, pulling him down to kiss you again.

You kiss unhurriedly for several minutes, just reveling in the taste of each other and the closeness you feel to one another.

“Happy birthday Baby” you hum against his lips when you finally break the kiss and Dave lowers himself from his elbows to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Best birthday ever Sweetness” he murmurs into your throat.

Tagging @nerdieforpedro, @chronically-ghosted @macabremads

#dave york fanfiction #dave york #dave york x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york x you #kinktober 2023 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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pollutionbylimpbizkit · 9 months

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Three Dollar Bill Y'all$ era Wes doing hair flips/ playing with his hair for @peppermint-candy ♡

#limp bizkit #wes borland #mine #it took me a while but i did it #sorry for being so inactive guys ill try to make some gifs this weekend if i have enough time #also i cheated a bit and added my old gifs to this compilation hehe #q

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plasticfangtastic · 8 months

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American Royalty. Ch. 4

A Homelander X F! Reader and Dadlander fanfic.

A/N: if ya like to be taglisted plz leave a comment to be notified on the next release. got the writers block and too many wips so here is an early chapter. hope y'all like it. plz check my pin post for prev. chapters.

Tags: mild gore, angst, lots of angst, slow burn, fluff, oc characther, child neglect, dadlander, romance.

Chapter Four

Seeing Stars

You had him agree to you working three days as his personal chef, and he couldn’t have you Sundays no matter how much he asked.

Within the week you had gotten a letter from your bank telling you that the pending investigation on your account had been closed and now you could access it, it had even accrue significant interest after being untouched for seven years it was better than an early christmas miracle as you sobbed in your bedroom with the letter in hand, you cried in the kitchen after calling a realtor to see an apartment, by the time you seen a couple of apartments you had come home to find an enveloped taped to your door. Inside paperwork and some keys– seeing red for a moment, but as Helena tugged at your shirt, your anger tucked itself away, you held her crying into her shoulder as you finished reading the letter.

Before the month ended, you had moved into a large, renovated and well located 2 bedroom, 1 office, 2 bathrooms apartment in the ground floor of a duplex, it had to be at least eighteen to twenty thousand dollars in rent but he had simply purchase it– writing in his letter that he wouldn’t allow you to continue raising his daughter in the projects or some refurbished new york closet, he had even collected information on local schools in your new neighborhood for you consider, informing you that he would take care of tuition cost.

As you settled in a space so big you had nothing to fill it with, as you watched your daughter actually behave like a seven year old for once, you laid on the floor by the open concept kitchen, feeling the rich wood underneath your skin, staring at the black granite benches and hardwood cabinetry– the floor was even heated! You heard a landing in one of the two thin yards, you knew your daughter was exploring the bathroom, so it felt safe to do this now.

“I’ll have my interior designer come by this week to help you select furniture and stuff.” He said upon entering, distubed by how barren it was, all your belonings in a a dozen boxes total, tucked in a corner of the living room.

“You are a bastard making me indebted to you.” You grumbled.

“I can’t have her live in a broom closet infested with rats. Kids need yards and space.” He looked at the cherry wood panels lining the outdoors, the vines and trees growing in a decent sized yard, extra big by New York standards– you could get her a puppy, a kitten or…?”

“She likes fish.”

“I could have a pond installed.” he said with a smirk crainign his back as he tried to look less imposing as you refused to lift your head from the heated hardwoods– you should be okay with utility bills, I left them on credit for your convenience. Have you had a chance to look at schools?”

“What are you actually planning, John.” You sat back up, switching names had taken him off-guard wondering what angle you were going at him from– haven’t even started work with you and now you are showering me with presents? This is beyond just wanting to see your kid is not like you actually seen her.”

“You said to take things slow.” He didn’t try hiding that devious grin– Ryan… needs a story.”

“Jesus Christ you are sick.” you now had to stand up for real– you want me to play mom to your kid? I don’t even look like him.”

“Genetics are weird. Helena looks like you and Ryan looks like me, like those dogs from ‘Beauty and the Tramp’."He touched your cheek with a bare hand– Can’t wait to see you next Thursday, mom.”

“Oh god…” You chuckle, losing your mind as his hand hurts without a scratch– How are you going to tell this to Helena?”

“Is in early development but the team will take care of it. I need Ryan to attend the same school as Helena so please hurry up.”

He left not before telling you to take Helena to MOMA this saturday at 2 pm, it wasn’t a suggestion or invitation, it was an order

You did as you were told that evening, one of the best schools in the city was under a half hour walk from this cell, knowing Helena had to be enrolled soon didn’t help, and your commute to Lucci had increased but now you could pay for gas and not cry. Sending him a texts about schools to the number he had given you in his many many notes seemed anticlimactic but that was it.

Helana had grown suspicious, but she played dumb and you knew it too, so you both played stupid when you headed to MOMA that weekend.

You just casually came the same day and the same time as Homelander and Ryan were about to have the whole museum closed off as they received a private tour, but he asked you to join them not giving any real explanation for why but nobody questioned, neither kid spoke to each other much if any, Helena simply enjoying the silence, she looked at you as she asked about the pieces but it was Homelander who had the most to say about the works, leaving you left out but happy, you knew that face of his so well, to see it on your daughter’s face made your day.

He had taken the opportunity to discuss your employment not your relationship, giving you list of things Ryan should eat, would not eat, wanted to try and things he wanted to try himself, then your hours and some odd request about handling Ryan’s school lunches being instagram worthy, handing you socials to research for such task.

You started work that following week, the Vought kitchens were top of the line, your job was to meet all of his requirements, some of the chefs that recognized you looked at you with relief and curiosity, wanting to know what had happened to you but you were unwilling to share. That first breakfast was returned with clean plates, even the waiter was shocked when he saw empty plates come out of his penthouse.

It had been so long since you could play with such new equipment, this was it, this was the place you belong in, him or not involved this was your happy place now.

Two weeks had passed.

As you headed for the staff elevator you met Homelander, who had honestly just been waiting for you.

“I got the paperwork sorted… you just have to sign and fill stuff. Nice school! Great stem program not that Helena will find it hard.” he said politely, his posture extra stiff.

“Did you do a background check on her?” you looked around for witnesses.

“Hard not to. Our kid is the captain of the math club… her school team has won most of the math competitions in the last four years. Not to mention the piano recitals, and science competitions” He looked so proud– her grades are perfect. She might be the smartest little girl in the city.”

“She’s the smartest little girl in the world.”

“And her new school would let the whole world know just that.” He said matching your smug.

You watched him carefully waiting for him to spit out what he wanted to say, either about her schooling or something else.

Helena was allowed to continue attending her old school until you were ready for transfer, he had only briefly talked to you for school discussions, and with great disinterest on what made each school good or not, if anything you found yourself doing this for his son as well, thinking of what this school would do for his well being, and if it was the best choice for a homeschooled kid, and how would this new school commute affect Helena’s after school routine.

On the days you didn’t work in Vought’s towers she was still babysat or stayed at Lucci’s, she was too young to be left at home, even if you knew she was perfectly safe, but no matter what she was still little.

During the days you worked in the tower she was kept in the company daycare in the 20th floor, most of the kids there were normal but there was at least one other super-abled child her age, it made you happy to see her interact with a similar kid even if said kid abilities involved phasing thru objects all willy-nilly and make objects phase thru other objects, making you worry of what would happen if he lost focus and Helena got caught inside a wall.

“By the way our kid escaped the daycare.” He held the elevator open for you as he entered, before you could panic he shot you a charming smile– is okay she’s at the gym…”

Your eyes had welled up regardless, you jumped into the metal box pressing the bottom frantically.

“She’s perfectly safe… A-Train is there and so it's that… Noir… her and the only little Supe kid decided to do some mischief, but I kept my ears on her all day.”

Forcing yourself to take deep breaths as the elevator smoothly traveled to the lower floors.

“Is it not her that I am worried for.” you said firmly.

You followed him as he guided you through an unfamiliar floor, inside the large colosseum gym that had been fitted to test somebody’s athletic skills you found your daughter floating in her wavy bubble, but all you saw was your kid swaying in the air.

“Helena get down here immediately!!!” You ran after her reaching for the kid as her bored expression was replaced with embarrassment as she descended into your arms– you cannot run away from daycare!”

“I don’t want to be surrounded by babies.”

“Helena you are a baby!” you squeezed her against yourself, just glad she was still in one piece, you noticed the other small kid in the room– jesus…”

Carrying your kid you reached for the other one, taking his hand.

“Hey sweetie… let me take you back to daycare before your mommy or daddy gets worried.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked meekly.

“No, but Helena is so grounded.”

“Mom!”

“Don’t mom me! You have any idea how dangerous that was!”

“Oh don’t get mad at the kid, she was just acting like a kid. Don’t be such a buzzkill” he mocked you.

“I don’t want or need your opinion– now you got two seconds to explain yourself!”

You began to gently drag yourself and your kid’s victim out of the gym, A-Train absolutely shocked to see anybody talk to Homelander like that.

“Look I had A-Train and Noir come check them out, they were safe!” He chased after you.

“Oh that was your doing.” Helena said– "I really wanted to meet A-Train” she waved innocently at the Supe, who returned the gesture as a true professional– and... Mom… I wanted to see the building, that’s all… sorry I used Elmo to escape… but his powers were just too useful”

“You cannot use people like that.” you said in shock.

“People like being used.” Her words were just cold as she wriggled herself out of your arms, falling without touching the ground, she took Elmo’s hand taking the small kid towards the exit– some people are born serfs.” She mumbled to herself.

Homelander's heart beat violently– oh his daughter was a brat and had a questionable attitude, he hadn’t even interacted much with her, but he was proud. His whole body went light and his smile couldn’t be contained as he saw the small girl with true love in his eyes, this was the moment he saw her as truly his own.

Ryan was still reluctant to accept his father’s philosophy, but this little one understood that she was born better from the start on her own.

She turned around to face you again, little Elmo sucked on his thumb as her eyes glowed pale blue.

“Is it alright if I come to the training gym if I ask permission first?”

“I…”

“Of course all Supe’s should know to keep their powers top notch. You are more than welcome to use the facilities.” Homelander had cut you off, petting the little girl’s head as he approached the duo– Just ask your mother so she doesn’t have a heart attack. Then again this is one of the safest places in all of New York and little Helena over here is perfectly safe, after all I am here.” He said while staring at you.

His voice was sweet, you were defeated as Helena tried to contain that cheshire grin of hers while staring at you– he was your boss , and the Homelander so could you really go against him so publicly?

“You had a terrorist attack in this building… but I guess…” She ignored him again then looked straight at you– I learned something new today.”

A-Train and Noir exchanged concerned looks taking a few step backs, Homelander seemed intrigued to watch your reaction, you gave way, unable to speak, just frustrated as your ex looked just as smug as his kid.

Little Elmo scoot behind her– in the round gymnasium a cement boulder hanged in chains, her eyes glowed the brightest you’ve ever seen, lifting her hand with one quick swipe the boulder broke in half, the dust showing the invisible blade bending light, it gain a blue color as it was touched before fading, she looked so proud of herself, you stared at Homelander and now you understood why nobody had informed you that your daughter was missing. It didn’t sit well with you.

“you’re still grounded for a whole week.”

“But Mom!!”

You had walked into a trap, one you did so willingly, jailed in a nice house, any hope of Homelander being driven away or losing interest in her was gone as he looked at her with pure adoration in his eyes.

You got used to it… this prison was lovely, it was nice to come back to a spacious cell. Homelander had indeed brought his decorator to your house but you didn’t want designer furniture and high end stuff, you kept it simple and cheap, most of your stuff second hand and from Ikea, only relenting to agree with the poor designer over the kitchen, his budget was absurd for the task, only taking advantage to purchase all the appliances of your dreams, you indeed needed a air fryer that matched your splashback.

Helena was happy to have a room that felt like a bedroom, large bookcases that could be filled with her own books, a small courtyard facing her doors, where she now could sit down and read with the breeze in her hair. She seemed happy, euphoric when she began her new school, making you forget what was happening in the background at times.

Homelander would come from time to time to speak to you about mundane stuff and work, his patience saintly as he allowed you to get used to his company once more, just so you could be okay with him entering her life, but then again he was your jailer.

He himself had begun forcing himself into her life when you weren’t around, it was all a matter of timing and perception.

Homelander watched the daycare center, from afar, a much needed service, it occupied a whole floor, the tower employed thousands of people in its 99th floor so there had to be help for those mothers and fathers who needed to work but had children with no babysitters, it was one of the many appealing things about being employed by Vought, and the center offered a variety of activities for all age groups.

Helena saw it as a jungle, all these children just a bunch of savages, keeping Elmo around not because she liked his company but because he was the only other Supe child in her age group, he was a sweet kid, afraid of bugs and that liked to talk about cartoons, frankly it was a challenge to figure out what to do with him. Homelander watched as she taught the kid to play chess, taking hours to explain the basics as the seven year old had very little clue what was happening, but in its own way it was nice to talk to another kid like himself.

Homelander even bothered to do a background check on the child– both of his dad’s both worked at Vought one in hero management and the other in marketing, both very busy bees it seems… he had done the same with all of Ryan’s new classmates, he knew their entire families before his kid even stepped foot and said hello to any of them, all done before he started school the same week as Helena– there was the big issue of her being on the 10th grade while her older brother just began the 6th grade, so he couldn’t enjoy seeing the both of them interacting, it was hard to witness for he wanted both kids to become closer so desperately.

Hence why he was standing on the foyer of the daycare center, a young lady that looked too cheerful for her own good, welcomed Homelander.

“Hi! How can I help you today, Homelander? Are you looking to enroll little Ryan?” She swayed side to side trying to see if the kid was behind him by any chance.

“Actually… am here to speak to one of the kids… hmm… Helena L/N.” He said with a firm tone– I believe her mother left a message.”

Homelander texted you an hour before cominf down, not even asking you that he was going to take her for training, you were stuck in the kitchen helping with some work function taking place tonite, a thousand canapes had to be made and you were stuck with the pistachio and lemon layer cakes.

You had no time to argue, taking your precious break time to make phone calls and try not to use your knife on the nearest asshole who pissed you off afterwards.

She hopped on the desk seeking for any notes, and he was indeed correct.

Now he had her all for himself, you prayed he wasn’t going to drop the news on her, but you couldn’t leave and abandoned your team, she was safe, you had to believe she was safe, she was smart, she was so smart and she could escape him, you just had to trust her.

“Can I bring Elmo?” Helena looked up at Homelander, a slight ache building on her neck as she looked up at the man– he might get lonely.”

“He’s not a dog.” He didn’t even try putting on a soft babied voice with her– and I wanted to talk to you.”

“But he’s always ‘The Dog’ when we play house.” She faked the most innocent voice she could muster, turning around to look at the glass doors dividing the friends– … He will probably sneak out to the gym if he gets lonely, they got his favorite snacks today… he told me liked five times and I think they’re playing Bluey on the tv.”

“Oh! and you play mommy?” He grimaces so hard his eyebrows touch.

“No, the robber.”

He led the way and she was more than happy to explore the building as they headed downstairs.

“What do you think of them?”

“Elaborate.”

“Those without powers.” she wished she could see his expression– and be honest. None of this ‘Wednesday Addams’ crap.”

He looked around at the sea of smart casual fits and stress on the floors above, the world moving so fast paced, nothing but monkeys hurling shiny rocks while playing dress-up.

“They can be useful, if they are not… then they don’t matter to me.”

He smiled, his heart fluttering and his stomach filled with butterflies as he heard her speak– why did Ryan struggle so much to understand this? He thought.

“When you are born with such gifts–

“I might be a kid but I am very familiar with your Compound V, I already had this talk with my mother. Fascinating stuff… I am still trying to understand the whole dosage thing… How does your company decide which kid to give more versus others? Did they just look at who could provide the best backstory before deciding between 10 mils versus the whole vial.”

She stared at the glass walls where the kids were housed, the tone of her voice still flat.

“Why you say that?”

“I’m a poor kid from the projects, with a single mom, formerly homeless and now with enough powers to make Athena envious. Not to mention how 92% of supes are white but the percentage below middle class to poor is almost the same as with the 6% blacks, while the percentage of upper class white supes is closer to the same percentage of 2% asians and latino supes… if anything a good chunk of latino and asian supes are upper class… something-something model minority yadah-yadah.” she pressed the elevator door– I’d make a good story. Shame that I can’t be a Supe.”

Homelander stared at her, placing his hand on the back of her head.

“You can be anything you want, Helena. You have been blessed beyond belief with powers… if you want to be Supe then you are ready for major leagues.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Only the 1% of superheroes ever make it to the major leagues, most supes never achieve anything beside D-list status and everybody is fighting for the crumbs left behind by your posse of clowns– is not a fiscally responsible decision. A career that can only exist on extreme gambling is not one that can make money. Not to mention am not cute or tall." She took the first step into the elevator– I never want my mother to worry about money. I want to buy her a mansion on top of a cliff staring at the ocean, have a dozen maids care for the house and she can just spend the rest of her life in luxury”

She turns to see him crossing her arms with a serious look on her tiny face.

“My goal is to take your job.”

“The Seven?” He grinned.

“Vought.”

“I can wait to see you try.” he grinned.

“It won’t be that hard… At least when I am in charge security will be tighter.”

Bottles of V dropped from above Homelander’s head, he caught most of them but a few were lost, those were hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drops staining his pants and shoes, Helena caught one bottle, sliding it between nimble fingers back and forth.

“Don’t look so surprised, it seems this is a common occurence… Here's an unwanted tip: use biometrics and only allow lab techs to enter the 67th floor, not just rely on good will, clown.” sections of her body and clothes flicked back and forth between visible and invisible, taunting him about how easy it had been to steal them using her superpowers.

As his eyes took an extra tinge of red, he saw a brief flash of pale blue encasing her, he followed her to the entrance of the Gym, where she expected to be left alone with Homelander not to find another kid.

“The prodigal son.” she mumbles.

Ryan sat on top of some raised stepping stones in the recently established obstacle course, Helena imagined she needed to know parkour in lieu of flying abilities, which seemed redundant for the kid who could fly.

“Thought you two could practice together.” He shouted while placing the V on the nearest bench.

“Guess there are ways to successfully murder a child and get away with it.” She raised an eyebrow– and here I thought you wouldn’t be irked by the words of a little girl… like I said you’re a maladjusted person.”

“I don’t hurt children. I have no idea…” he said calmly while a little bit angry, as he returned to her side.

“I dunno– it would look really bad if the press found out that you’re a deadbeat.”

His expression dropped as the little girl's eyes glowed.

“Smartest little girl in the world… or...?” She said dryly, as she headed towards Ryan to save him the walk– my bubble refracts light, easy to spot if you notice images are wavering without the heat.”

The little boy ran cheerfully after his father, who for the first time ignored him, his eyes transfixed on the little girl, who had been playing stupid all along.

taglist-- @fromforeigntofamiliarity , @demodemo909 and @immyowndefender

here's the house:

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander x f!reader #the boys oc #homelander fanfiction #personal #my fic tag #my writers block is criminal but thx god i had this chapter and 2 more ready #new york city rentals are fucking insane y'all paying too much-- had to look at them for reference for this fic so am more than glad to pos #a link to the 18K a month house that homelander bought for you dear reader #btw am living in australia so i might not know how yall pay utilities over there #took inspo from the diabolical first ep where they ahd an adoption centre as one of the floors of the tower to make the daycare #american royalty

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kmpshitposter · 10 months

Text

Happy birthday three dollar bill y'all's (⁠✷⁠‿⁠✷⁠)

#wes borland #limp bizkit #three dollar bill yall$#fanart #portrait #commissions open #kmp art

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sadhours · 1 year

Text

“I look for love in all the wrong places”

prequel to wicked sensations

a/n: this is my present to you all for 300 followers!!!! Thank you so much for enjoying my series. i hope i dont make y'all too sad with this one

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ minors dni, messy Billy, sad billy, abuse mention, addiction, underage drinking, drug use, cocaine, marijuana, brief smut, Neil, homophobic slurs, sexism, angst lots of angst. This was sad to write.

masterlist (i accept requests)

taglist: @blue-eyed-lion @bbyhargrove @sweet-villain @actuallyspencerreid @trapistani @sierrahhh @likeanimagepassingby2

Fingernails stained yellow from nicotine, Billy brings yet another Marlboro Red to his lips while Jennifer pours him another another shot of Jameson. He’s been here every single night for the past three months, the days bleed together but he’s under the impression he’s having a good time. Every evening folds out the same way and Billy likes a rigid routine. The liquor goes down without so much as a wince, the fiery sensation spreading down his throat and over his entire body. A comforting, numb warmth that’s become his most favorite feeling. In fact, Billy couldn’t go a day without it now. There’s a necessity to it, some might call it an addiction, but Billy thought it made the beatings guaranteed to him more bearable, therefore it’s a form of protection. Getting sucker punched by his dad didn’t hurt as much when he couldn’t feel anything.

The next bit of routine was also made certain by a woman double his age cornering him every night. Not usually the same woman, but always one old enough to be his mother. They’d all kind of bled together, dyed hair, heavy makeup and the same pickup lines. Are you old enough to be in here? or What’s a young handsome man like you doing alone in a place like this? And Billy would accept their advances every time, looking for attention anyway he could get it. Sometimes he wished he didn’t like compliments. The way these broads looked at him and talked to him made Billy feel powerful.

Tonight was no different, a woman he pegs to be roughly 40 situating herself between him and the jukebox as he’s flipping through songs.

Turning on the charm, Billy smirks, “Well, hi. Just what I was looking for.”

It’s a lie, he likes getting off and these women provide an escape but he always feels disgusting afterwards, so he drinks more to bring the numbness back. Regardless, he continues repeating the cycle.

“Does your mother know you’re here?” the woman teases and luckily Billy’s buzzed enough for it not to sting and spiral him into another episode. She never knows where she is. And he wonders where she is all the time.

“I’m a big boy,” he retorts, leaning closer to the woman.

She gives him what he thinks was supposed to be seductive laugh but it’s a little too deep and it brings him out of the moment, panic rising through his throat while he realizes this bar is dark and he can’t really be sure if he’s attracted to her.

Then she lifts up a tiny baggie filled halfway with an off white substance he’s beginning to indulge in most nights, “Want some?”

Billy knows he shouldn’t, he knows he’ll wake up tomorrow with the emptiest feeling in his chest that’ll drive him to chase after good feelings but no matter what, he won’t be able to get his serotonin back up for days. Nevertheless, he nods and follows the woman to the dingy, sticky men’s bathroom. She locks the door behind her and dumps a bit of the baggie out onto the toilet paper holder. Billy begins to think about what other disgusting substances have been on it as she cuts them each a line and pulls out a rolled dollar bill. He goes first, needing the courage from the drug to follow through with what this woman really wants. He snorts the cocaine, standing and hands her the dollar bill while he rubs his nostril with the back of his hand. He tastes the drip immediately as the warm numbness begins to wash over his mouth and descend down the rest of him. Then the excitement comes, his heart pounding out of his chest while he’s filled with a newfound confidence that was languidly slipping away minutes before. He watches as she snorts her line and when she’s finished, he hitches her foot up onto the toilet and undoes his pants. He fucks her quick and hard, glancing away when she turns her head to look at him. He doesn’t give a shit if it hurts her feelings. Billy pulls out and cums on her thighs.

He tucks himself in his jeans and tells her, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

However that’s not their only interaction of the night, like a fiend, Billy keeps returning to snort all the blow she has and let’s her buy him drinks all night. She gives him a crumpled napkin with her number on it and he purposefully misses his pocket, dropping it on the dirty bar floor.

As per his routine, he doesn’t stumble out of the bar until it’s closed and he drunkenly attempts to help Jennifer close it up. He drops a barstool on the bar only for it to come tumbling back down on his face, pushing him to the floor with it.

“Alright, Billy…” Jennifer sighs, “I think I can manage it myself. Get home safe, kid.”

He does, though he won’t remember the drive in the morning. His body crashes through his window, face planting on the hardwood floor and from where he lies, he can see a light flicking on from the crack under the door.

“Shit,” he mumbles, grappling to his knees and pressing his palms into his thighs.

He’s pleasantly surprised when a small redhead opens his bedroom door with wide eyes. His intoxicated smile falters when he hears Susan’s voice calling out for her.

“Sorry!” Max calls out, “Bumped into something. It was dark.”

“Go to bed!” his Dad yells and Max turns off the hall light after glaring at her drunken step brother. She closes his door and retreats back to her room.

She was a little shit but she was a really good sister, covering for Billy whenever she could. He stands to his feet and turns on his lamp, looking in the mirror to see his lip and nose are bloodied from either the barstool or the face plant, he’s not sure. He sighs, wiping his face with his sleeve before collapsing in his bed, succumbing to a hard sleep.

He’s not sure how long he’s been out when he wakes up, having no idea what time he even got home. But his heads killing him and the post cocaine blues hits hard, flashes of the older woman piercing his brain. He groans, reaching under his bed for a warm can of beer and sits up. He cracks the beer open and gulps it down, reaching for his pack of Marlboros to discover he smoked every single one last night. He winces as he stands up from bed, dropping the empty beer can to the collection strewn across his floor. He peeks out the window to see his Camaro parked halfway on the lawn and he cringes.

Billy strides to the bathroom, keeping the light off as he reaches for the rinsing cup and fills it with tap water. He drinks it and fills it again, repeating the process until his stomach churns and empties into the toilet. Over and over. Billy’s not a quiet puker either. He knows whoever is home can hear it but it’s common, they’ve got to be used to it. After collecting himself, he stares at his reflection in the dirty mirror and dim lighting seeping in from the tiny vent window. His lip is swollen, he’s got dried blood under his nose and massive bags under his eyes.

“God,” he groans before splashing water into his face. He braces himself as he exits, glancing up and down the hall before strolling back to his room. Before he can get there, he hears Susan’s hushed voice and he freezes.

“He’s a problem, Neil. Stumbling in at ungodly hours and he always reeks of alcohol,” she whispers.

“I know,” Neil responds, “I don’t know what else I can do.”

Billy shuts his bedroom door quietly, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation. He digs through the pile of dirty clothes on the floor for a pair of jeans, pulling them over his legs and hopping into the rest them. He grabs a white muscle shirt, bringing it to his nose and wincing at the stench. He keeps digging through the pile until he settles on a black muscle tank instead. Then his phone rings, the shrill pitch of it sending a shockwave of sharp pain through his head.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, lifting it off the hook to be greeted by his girlfriend. Oh, shit, he’d forgotten he had one.

“Veronica, calm down,” he groans, slipping his Converse on. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was busy.”

“Busy?!” she yells, “We had a fucking date, William.”

“Ugh, don’t fucking call me that,” he looks in the mirror, fixing his hair with what little energy he has. “Listen, I’ll be at your house in twenty. Bring weed.”

“You’re gonna make this up to me, Billy. I’m so sick of you leaving me high and dry.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he quips sarcastically before hanging up, hopping out his window and stealthily strutting to his car. He speeds off down the street before Neil and Susan can run outside to stop him. He takes a detour, stopping at a gas station to fill up his car and retrieve the ever needed pack of Marlboro Reds. “Ya know what, give me a shooter of Jack,” he adds, handing a wad of cash to the clerk who despite his disheveled appearance gives him fluttery eyelashes and blushed cheeks.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he winks to the girl as he shoves his change in his pocket. When he’s back in his car, he downs the shot and lights a cigarette before filling up his tank.

“You said twenty minutes,” Veronica scolds as she gets in the front seat, her blonde hair pristinely styled in big curls.

Billy snorts, “Hey, I showed up.”

“Yeah and you fucking reek of booze,” she complains. Billy shrugs, speeding off down the street. He whips through the neighborhoods, ignoring Veronica’s incessant yelling to slow down. He wonders why she even likes him, all she ever does is complain. He arrives to their usual spot, a parking lot a ways out that faces the ocean, no shore beneath it.

“Where were you last night?” she demands, sounding like a parent. She’s always like this. Well, she wasn’t at first. She liked Billy’s danger at the beginning, she used to call him wild child. She used to laugh hard at all his jokes and sing at the top of her lungs with him to his cassettes. She used to look at him with stars in her eyes. She used to love him.

“I was hanging out with Jennifer,” he deflects, not mentioning the coke or the middle aged woman he’d fucked without a second thought.

“You know she thinks you’re a loser, right?” Veronica reveals and Billy doesn’t doubt it. He knows he’s been going a little overboard since Susan and Max moved in. He know his dad grew to truly despise his mom over the years but he never dated another woman until he met Susan. Billy didn’t want to subject his mom to more abuse but he selfishly wished she’d come back, that they’d get back together.

“You are a loser, Billy,” Veronica seethes, “You’re turning into a total fucking burn out. We don’t even surf anymore.”

Billy takes the verbal censure. He always does, he’s heard the words so much they don’t even sting anymore. He no longer cares that he’s a huge wasting, disappointment to everyone around him.

“Did you bring the weed?” he asks, unbothered by the dumbfounded look on his girlfriends face.

She heaves a sigh and digs through her purse, imparting the bag of weed to Billy. He takes it, opening up his glovebox to grab his rolling papers. He grinds the weed between his fingers, hovering above the open paper, using his pinky to disperse the broken up buds. He rolls it expertly, eying his blonde counterpart as he licks up the side of the paper before sealing it up.

“Voila,” he sings, proudly holding up the joint to admire his handiwork. He brings it to his lips, flicking his zippo up to light it. He takes a deep hit, choking lightly as it stings his throat before offering it to Veronica. “I didn’t put any tobacco in it, just for you.”

“Oh, you’re so kind,” she sneers, her expression frozen in indignation. God, she’s such a bitch, Billy thinks.

He won’t let her ruin his high, he needs this. He’s gotta charge up before he can head back over to the bar.

“Do you even have a job anymore?” she wonders, venom lacing the question.

Billy snatches the joint from her lips before she can take a second hit, “I do. I work tomorrow.”

He dreads to think about doing any strenuous labor with a hangover. Maybe he’ll claim window washing and tire pressure duty when he arrives. His boss is getting suspicious of him, though. The other day, he made a snide comment about Billy having a long night when he locked himself in the bathroom to spew for thirty minutes.

“Good. Our anniversary is coming up,” she reminds Billy, “I expect jewelry.”

He bogarts the joint, not passing it when he’s supposed to. He sucks more than half of it down before she notices.

“Hey! Give it here, it’s mine anyhow.”

Billy obliges, turning the stereo out and shoving a Metallica cassette into it and turning the dial to tune out any more of her whining.

Luckily, the joint seems to get to Veronica and she’s quiet for a while. Billy gets to admire the waves, the vastness of the ocean as the blue of it fades into the sky. It always calms him, helps him forget about Neil, Susan and Veronica. He can stare at it and even forget he exists.

Alright, he’s pretty stoned.

All part of his rigid routine, Veronica moves to the backseat and pulls him with her. He lays her down and hovers above her, his head fuzzy while they awkwardly situate themselves. It’s rushed, quick and to the point. Like it always is. She’s a means to an end and he is to her.

When they’re done, she tells him he needs to get a grip before Senior year starts in two weeks. He ignores it, Billy thinks he’s doing just fine. He wouldn’t have his life any other way.

He takes it easy that night. Which means he still stumbles through his window drunkenly but he’s not blackout drunk. He remembers the panic of the drive home, constantly checking his rearview mirror but blue and red lights. He showers after his morning hurl. Standing under the hot water a moment too long, making him late for his shift.

He grabs his work shirt from his backseat and begrudgingly makes his way into the garage, clocking in under the judgmental eyes of his boss.

“I know,” he mutters before he can be ridiculed, “I slept through my alarm. Won’t happen again.”

Unfortunately, Drew beats him to calling window washing and tire pressure checks. Billy’s stuck downstairs draining oil. It’s so hot down there, he yaks a few more times during the day. On his drive home, he’s particularly introspective. Finding he’s actually disappointed in himself for the heavy drinking and late nights.

When he walks into the door, he’s met with his dad, Susan, Max and his grandparents sitting around the table. An intervention? Seriously?

Billy groans, barreling through them to his room. Neil’s quick to follow, pounding on the door when it’s slammed in his face.

“William Ocean Hargrove, get your ass out here now!” Neil bellows behind the think particle board. Billy revels in his mom giving him that middle name, forcing his dad to say it whenever he was pissed and no doubt bringing Billy’s wild-spirited mother to his mind.

Billy opens the door. “I’m covered in oil. Let me change,” he spits at his dad before slamming the door again.

“Neil,” Susan says pointedly.

He hears his dads footsteps walking away and he glances to his window, debating if he should run away again. He’s embarrassed with his grandparents sitting there and he’s sure Neil won’t hit him in front of them. Not until they leave.

He changes into a clean pair of clothes before making his entrance out, standing in front of five pairs of concerned eyes. He heaves a sigh and motions to them, “Go ahead. Tell me how my life’s going down the shitter and I’m a huge fucking disappointment to all of you.”

He thinks it’s unfair Max and Susan are here. They’ve known Billy all of six months. They don’t fucking know him yet they’re trying to be family. Well, as far as Billy was concerned he had no fucking family. This house, these people, they had no warmth. They didn’t truly give a shit about him, they just wanted to control him, didn’t want people to look at them differently because he was an embarrassment.

“Billy…” Susan starts and he laughs.

“Listen, I barely fucking know you. You can’t waltz into my life and expect to be my fucking mother. You aren’t and you’ll never be,” he spits.

“Maybe I should start…” his grandmother says and it breaks his heart. She was the tiniest bit of solace in his life. She was the escape when things had gotten too bad. When Neil couldn’t even fathom looking at Billy, he would ship him off to his parents. He spent every summer there until he was fourteen. Then Neil wanted him working.

Billy sits down at his grandmothers request, his breathing labored as he’s stricken with guilt.

“Honey… we’re all so worried about you. Your dad tells me you’re never home, you’re drinking all night and,” she can’t finish, choking out a sob as she looks to her disheveled grandson.

Billy feels tears threatening his eyes but he’s quickly reminded about all the times Neil bullied him for crying. Calling him a faggot, a fairy, a pansy, every name in the book. He told him men don’t cry. Last I checked you didn’t have a vagina, he’d said. Billy steadies his breathing. He won’t cry, he can’t cry.

“Your behavior is unacceptable, son,” Neil chimes in and Billy keeps his face stoic, doesn’t want anyone to know how deeply he’s hurting inside.

“You’re a bad influence on Max,” Susan says quietly and Billy feels his blood boil. He never agreed to being any kind of influence on her. He never agreed to having them forced into his life.

Billy doesn’t speak, he stares at four consecutive holes in the table and remembers how they got there, his dad stabbing his fork into the table during a heated argument at dinner when Susan and Max had first moved in. He wonders if they’ve even considered why Billy is acting out. He assumes not, his feelings never a concern of theirs.

“This has to change,” Susan pleads.

Neil puffs his chest out, “William.”

Billy knows what his dad is getting at, looking up at him and holding his domineering stare.

“We’ve got a solution. We’re moving,” Neil informs him, “I’ve already got a job lined up.”

“What?” Billy asks, hurt present on his voice and then panic, “Where?”

“Indiana,” Susan states.

Indiana? No ocean. No waves. No calmness. No one he knows. He’ll be even more alone. Billy’s stomach churns, the emptiness of it of no concern to the bile rising in his throat. He abruptly moves up from the table, stomping to the bathroom where he collapses in front of toilet, and he heaves. The fluorescent yellow fluid forcing its way up his throat, burning his eyes and tearing up his airways.

He rests his cheek against the seat, unmoving as he realizes his life is over. Neil can control him better so far away. He’ll be so isolated from everything he knows and loves so well.

Billy stares at his Camaro packed to the brim with his belongings. It’s so wrong. The October breeze chills him as his eyes fall on the scratch along the side of the midnight blue finish. Veronica keyed his car and he’d attempted his best to buff it out but it was still faintly there. A reminder that he’d lived up to her shitty expectations of him.

Neil pats his shoulder, “We’ll get that fixed in Hawkins.”

He was annoyingly chipper since the intervention, clearly excited at the prospect of a completely isolated Billy.

“Max is riding with you,” he shoots his soon a pointed look. “Can’t have you running off.”

Billy sighs, realizing just how trapped he is.

This is it. He gazes back to the house he’d grown up in, his chest stinging at how unalive it looks. He stands outside of his car and looks around while Max sits in his front seat. His feet are stuck. He can’t possibly move them.

“Billy! Let’s get a move on! We’re on a schedule!” his dad calls from his truck and Susan honks from the U-Haul.

Fucking bitch.

Billy cries quietly as he drives away from home, not caring that Max can see it. He fucking loathed her and her mother for doing this to him. He doesn’t say a single word to her the entire drive. He doesn’t speak to any of them when they sleep in motels where Billy’s given a pillow and small throw blanket to sleep on the floor in each one. He’s disassociated the entire three days it takes to drive there.

He thinks Indiana is ugly and he’s unbelievably distraught when he sees the size of Hawkins. A town like this, everyone knows each other which means higher expectations from Neil. They drive past the school, Max commenting about how that’s where they’ll go, and Billy remains silent. The only bright side is no one will know who he is so he can be anyone he wants. And he’ll be damned if he’s not worshipped in this town by the end of his first week here.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. i really appreciate all the love i'm getting for the series. i hope you enjoyed this lil look into billy's life before the move

#billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic

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lunatehspecter · 1 month

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Kill the pollution.

Decided to do a redraw of that one limp briskit i drew for Three Dollar Bill, Y'all.

Also hi I'm back. :3

#ggst #bridget #bridget guilty gear #limp bizkit #nu metal #fred durst #guilty gear

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emeryleewho · 24 days

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I just saw a post saying something like "it's not that you hate your job, it's that if you make one mistake, you could literally die because you have no safety net if you get fired"

And like, yeah. It's debilitating to not even be able to send an email without fear of a typo getting you fired. It's terrifying to know that going to a meeting and saying the wrong thing could mean the end of your health insurance or the inability to pay your rent.

And I really want to contextualize this in regards to authors because most of y'all think we aren't workers, but we don't even have to *get* fired. We essentially get hired *per project*, so it's not just that we can't make a mistake, it's that we have to be exceptional at every turn because every single paycheck requires a whole new job interview process with thousands of other people competing for the same job.

If you post on social media too much and say something that people don't like? You might be too much of a risk to offer on. If you don't post enough and fail to amass a following? You might be too much of a risk to offer on. If you put out a book that did poorly because your previous publisher didn't market it? You might be too much of a risk to offer on. If you put out a book yourself and it got review bombed because readers saw a couple typoes and decided that meant you didn't even bother to edit it? Prepare to be denied work for the rest of your foreseeable career.

And literally everything is marked against us in the eyes of publishers. Publishers have rejected authors because they didn't have enough support on social media, but have ALSO rejected authors who posted too much about their WIPs on socials because that meant the stories weren't "new" enough anymore. People have been rejected for self-publishing but ALSO for not having enough publishing credits. People get rejected for writing too niche but ALSO for writing too generic. We can spend years working on a bunch of projects just to get paid for none of them if editors "just don't connect with the story enough", and now we're back on the job hunt because bills are due.

So the next time you see an author being "cringe" on social media or don't understand why an author didn't answer your email or are annoyed an author self-published or that your favorite author took three years to release their next book, please offer a little grace. You're looking at workers who are overworked and underpaid with 0 job security constantly receiving contradictory information on our job performance while expected to balance all of that stress for the public eye. Please understand that even if we got "the dream job", we're still working people with jobs trying to make a living (usually for less than minimum wage), so please just be kind and approach us the way you would other working class people instead of treating us like corporations hiding behind multi-million dollar PR teams.

#author #writing #publishing

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crimson-amarone · 7 days

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Chapter 13: Double Dollar Bill, Y'all

Chapter Summary:

Lois and Jimmy decide to accompany Vash and Wolfwood to search for Clark. They explain the strange circumstances that brought them to No Man's Land. Vash and Wolfwood discuss getting help from Brad and Luida, but Vash admits he has no direct way to contact them. So, they decide where to head to next—December.

Start reading chapter 13

Chapters: 13/24+

Fandom: Trigun Stampede (Anime 2023), Trigun (Anime & Manga 1995-2008), My Adventures with Superman (Cartoon), Superman - All Media Types

Rating: Mature (Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Language, Adult Themes)

Pairings: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Meryl Stryfe/Vash the Stampede, Meryl Stryfe/Vash the Stampede/Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Characters: Clark Kent, Vash the Stampede, Meryl Stryfe, Lois Lane & Jimmy Olsen, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Milly Thompson, League of Lois Lanes

Story Summary:

Two years after Lost July, an interdimensional rift becomes dangerously unstable, opening a portal between universes—the worlds of No Man’s Land and Earth-12.

Outlaw Vash the Stampede is still MIA, although rumors abound. Despite not knowing if Vash is truly alive, both Meryl Stryfe and Wolfwood catch a lead pointing them to a remote town iles away.

Elsewhere, young Clark Kent’s life is turned upside down when he’s dragged to an unfamiliar planet to help as Superman. Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen follow his trail with some unlikely assistance.

Two heroes must make new allies to fight ruthless villains in a three-way conflict. All while trying to find where they both belong, face their inner demons, and make a better future for their worlds.

Start reading from the beginning

Start reading chapter 13

#the ticket to tomorrow #trigun #trigun stampede #my adventures with superman #maws #crossover #fanfiction #tristamp #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #lois lane #jimmy olsen #chapter 13 #ao3 #fanfic #trigun x superman

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flamejob · 5 months

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when three dollar bill y'all come on sometimes you gotta bust out the white girl dancing. you understand.

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blessyourhondahurley · 2 years

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Keep Me Fed All Year

Dean has a small crisis of faith at a fall festival.

Suptober prompt: Maze/Maize Flufftober prompt: Wearing Each Other's Clothes Fictober prompt: “I chose you.” Inktober prompt: Gargoyle

(Read on AO3)

Summer in Kansas was over, there was no debating that. A late-September frost had hustled in all of the usual seasonal accoutrements: sweaters and scarves, changing leaves, pumpkin spice everything, and signs on every corner in town for–

“What on earth is a 'maize maze'?”

His angel wasn't fully an angel any more, but he could still look mighty smitey when he didn't grok a piece of pop culture. Dean chuckled and reached across the Impala's bench seat for Cas's hand.

“It's a 'family fun' kinda deal, babe. Farmer carves a bunch of twisty paths in his cornfield and charges folks top dollar to tramp around in there and get lost.”

Cas's furrowed brow did not clear at this explanation. “And where is the fun part of that?”

“Most times there's other attractions. The farmer's wife sells some cookies, his kids run a few little games. It's cute.” He realized just a moment too late that those last two words had determined his Saturday plans. Cas was a sucker for things that were cute. The collection of baby animal figurines on the shelf above his side of the bed was testament to that. As if on cue...

“Can we go?”

“'Course, sunshine. Anything you want.”

~~~~~

Which is how Dean finds himself handing over a twenty to a gangly pre-teen in a gargoyle costume. The kid folds the bill in half, then in half again, working with the exaggerated focus only an eleven-year-old with his very first grown-up job can muster, and drops it neatly in the slot on top of the metal box in front of him.

“Welcome to the Johnson family harvest festival corn maze is straight ahead maps are here on the table hay ride line forms next to the barn hot apple cider donuts come out of the fryer every fifteen minutes please enjoy your stay thank you for coming!!” He punctuates his spiel with a fast inhale, like the whole speech takes exactly one lung full of air to produce.

Dean nods and grabs a map, shoving it into his back pocket for emergency reference only. He ambles over to the cornstalk-bedecked entrance gate where his husband is waiting. Cas is wearing a navy blue Carhartt jacket that used to be Dean's. It looks about a million times better on him than it ever did on Dean. There's a soft gray knit cap on his head, and a matching scarf around his neck. (Cas gets chilled easily now that he's 90% human, so Dean always makes sure to wrap him up nice and snug whenever they go out.)

Dean's wearing his husband's cardigan, a favor returned after Cas saw the hungry look in Dean's eyes when Cas had tried on his Carhartt. The sweater's thick and warm, but it's definitely not Dean's usual lumberjack-meets-bounty-hunter vibe, so it's making him feel a little itchy.

A lot about this moment is making him itchy, actually. He's standing next to a cheerful scarecrow that’s holding an IT'S FALL Y'ALL sign. He's dressed like Mr. Rogers and he's probably gonna go on a hay ride in a few minutes. The man-shaped being next to him is wearing his mom's wedding ring, a ring that Dean pushed onto his finger in front of a raggedy band of their nearest and dearest, promising to love him always in this world and all others. All around him he sees happy families engaging in wholesome fun and there's a skull-filling siren blaring in his brain. This is not for you, it screams. These things are not for you.

Suddenly he's about three seconds from a panic attack. His heart starts trying to punch its way through his rib cage, and he's envying that eleven-year-old his lungs full of air. His eyes dart as he tries to scope out a quiet place to hide while he rides this shit out.

“It's okay to enjoy this,” Cas whispers in his ear. “You're allowed to be here.”

Dean's heart rate immediately slows, the panic ebbing as his husband takes his hand. Grateful tears spring to his eyes and Cas brushes them away with chilly fingers.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, turning to bury his face in the crook of Cas's neck. “How do you always know when I'm freaking out?”

“Still 10% angel, remember? Besides, I know you inside and out, beloved. You still don't think you deserve to be saved.”

Dean huffs a watery laugh into the collar of Cas's jacket.

“Don't deserve to be this happy,” he agrees. “Don't deserve you.”

“Well, who knows what either of us deserves,” the angel says with a soft laugh as he leans his head sideways against Dean's. “But this is what we have. I chose you. You chose me. We're here and it's a beautiful day and I love you. So let's go inside. Did I hear that boy say something about donuts?”

Dean's tears come faster after that, and he drops Cas's hands to wrap both arms tight around his love. He's gonna need a minute here, but once he's calmed down a little they are going to eat themselves sick on apple cider donuts and get lost in a goddamn cornfield and Dean is so fucking happy he's afraid he might burst.

(Title from Harvest Festival by XTC)

Continued here...

#suptober22 #flufftober2022 #fictober22 #destiel #destiel fluff #day 01 #supernatural

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kornocreep · 1 year

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Limp Bizkit Three Dollar Bill, Y'all $ TV commercial ; 1997

#limp bizkit #nu metal #three dollar bill yall #tv commercial #cd commercial

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anime-kia · 1 year

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You Can Do What?! (Part 2)

Happy New Year! I hope your year is looking great so far!

I finally added pictures! Also, if your hair isn't medium/long just imagine you added hair to achieve the style (y'all know how versatile our hair is).

^ Uh... Tumblr does not like to transfer pictures (I used to write on Wattpad) so just use your imagination lmao. (2023 me writing this)

No warnings.

Relationship: Helpful Erik x Reader

"Hey, it's Tasha. I'm on vacation right now. Appointments will resume next month, please don't blow my phone up with time requests. I'll get back to y'all when I'm home. Bye!"

"Nah, sorry boo. I'm full."

"We don't do walk-ins."

"This number is no longer in service, please hang up and try ag-"

You sigh for the tenth time today, tossing your phone to the left on the sofa. Every single one of your stylists were either fully booked or gone away on vacation. Tasha was your go-to, but she was away and you became stressed when her voicemail picked up.

Erik peered his head out from the kitchen, "You good?" The smell of food wafted into your nose, promising you a delicious dinner later on.

"No, everyones either gone or full." You fold your arms against your chest and sink further into the couch. Times like these were when you wished you listened to your mother and learned how to braid as a child. You proudly (and embarrassingly) belonged to the secret society of black women who don't know how to cornrow braid for shit.

"Why don't you just go to the lady who does my dreads?" He suggested, but you turned that down immediately.

"I am not paying a hundred dollars to get my hair braided down."

"I'll pay." Yes, Erik was boujee, "A hunnid ain't much." As hell.

Sitting up, you give him an incredulous look, "Okay, Bill Gates." And with an eye roll you add, "That's a waste of money. You know what Tasha could give me for half of that?" And you explain that you could get a wash, braid-up and styling, which was a lot more worth it. You considered wearing a wig, but the ones you had needed to be retired.

"Aight, hold up." He disappeared back into the kitchen, the sound of the stove turning down and metal clanging broke through the silence.

In two days, you had a very important meeting that would potentially change your life and Erik knew how much it meant to you. It was all you would talk about once you got off the phone with the CEO of Beauty Inc.

After the Cantu and Shea Moisture conundrum, you started your own line of hair products, a small one actually- with a leave-in conditioner, a shampoo and a deep conditioner. At first, you'd hand out samples and sell some products to family and friends. Then when you profited enough, you made an Instagram page dedicated to your small business. You paid for promotions and handed out samples for people to review and eventually your small business became a medium business and now you're on your way to partnering with one of the best beauty and hair companies in the entire country. 100% black owned, by the way.

When Erik reappeared, he had a slight smirk on his lips while scrolling through his phone.

"What?"

He sat down beside you and showed you the screen. "Look at this."

You stared at the three images he had on display. Three different women with three different hairstyles.

"Those are cute..." You scrolled back and forth between each picture. "But how does this help me, E? I can't braid, you know this."

"Just cuz you don't know how to braid doesn't mean I don't."

At first it didn't register until you realized how long you were staring at him with a puzzled expression. "You can do what?!"

"I. Can. Braid." He said slower looking a little annoyed.

If this were a sitcom you would've fainted *cue the laugh track* but Erik was being so serious, the smile on his face had been replaced with a stoic expression.

"How the hell am I just- Erik! We've been together for how lo- Oh my g-" You couldn't even finish your sentences due to the shock. This man was full of surprises, but this right here definitely put the cherry on top. At some point you got up, pacing back and forth with your fingers resting against your temples. "Boy-"

He grabbed your arm to stop you from moving, "Chill baby, you acting like you ain't never seen a man braid."

"Nah that's not even it! You of all people can braid!?" You're not exactly sure why you were reacting like this... Maybe it was out of embarrassment that your hyper-masculine boyfriend could do something so stereotypically female that you couldn't. This had to be something he learned during the military, but what would they be braiding other than ropes? If they even did that!

"So you gon' let me do your hair or nah?"

With a hefty sigh (that he called you out for), you grabbed a pillow off of the sofa and placed it in between his feet. "Hold on." You retreated to go get your hair products for this man to either slay or destroy your hair.

By time you got back with your styling tools and hair products, Erik had set on a comedy movie, one that he's seen a million times, but you refused to watch it- not anymore of course as you were now trapped in between his legs.

"Oh nah, you're hot as hell." You got up even faster than when you sat down and went to blast the AC.

"That ain't me, that was all you. Pacing around the damn room like you was warming up for track or some shit."

You sat back down, scooting closer to rest your back. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Have faith in me baby, when have I ever let you down?"

You could recall a few times, "Remember our first date?"

"Aye, that was a first date. Them shits never go as planned." He retaliated.

"You're lucky I even considered a second date."

He began to chuckle, "I made it up to you with my fire di-" But he always fixed it.

"Okay!" You slapped his leg. "See, all you think about is pussy!"

"Nah, that's not all."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think about your booty and tits too."

You roll your eyes and slap him even harder on the calf, "Nasty ass."

"Anyway, you ain't choose a hairstyle." He leaned down showing you the options again, his torso resting on your head.

"Hmm..." You scrolled back and forth one last time before going with your favourite style, "That one."

"Aight cool." He sat up and you could hear him rub his hands together, "My baby bout to look sexy as hell."

"And if you do anything st-"

"(Y/n), chill. I said I got this, quit all that worryin' shit." He untied the wrap off of your head and tossed it to the side.

"I'm serious, E. You know how much this meeting means to me."

"And you acting like my hands have never been in other chick's hair."

Your eyes widened as you got ready to stab him in the leg with the rattail comb. "WHAT?"

He erupted into a laughter, "Chill. I'm just playing!" He began taking the twists out one by one.

Oh he he ha ha now nigga, you almost made me stab you in the fuckin' popliteal. "You ain't funny."

"I am funny, you just don't know how to take a joke."

"My other niggas are a lot more funnier than you." You tease with a serious tone.

"Aw hell naw, see (y/n). Why you tryna get somebody killed? I can do that shit right now."

"Chill. I'm just playing." You mock his response.

"Oh you got jokes, huh?"

"Yup, just like my other niggas." You quip, this time with a smile. A feeling you have not felt since you were a child painfully tingled your head. "Did you just pop me in my head?!"

"You're misbehaving. And if you wanna act like a child, I gotta treat you like one."

You wanted to bite his hypocritical ass. "Boy, fuck you."

"Like I said, we can do that later."

For the rest of the time, you both continued to exchange remarks to tick each other off. You got popped in the head at least five more times with each comb. At one point you did end up biting him on the thigh, but that only resulted in him starting the braid over because you screwed it up according to him. He surprisingly wasn't rough as he usually was with everything else (despite getting hit by the comb) and he was very precise. You could catch a small glimpse in the camera on your phone, but each time you tried to look, he would yank your head back so you couldn't see. You had to remind him that your neck wasn't made out of jello.

One thing you learned from this experience was that Erik is huge on perfection and tidiness. Now the cleanliness of his big ass house made sense. You thought he hired a thousand maids, but each time you've been there you haven't seen one. When your bedroom was a mess, Erik would actually go in there and tidy up for you, but not before criticizing you of course.

If a braid looked slightly crooked or not good enough, he'd take it out and start over. No, he was no professional, but he wanted his girl to look amazing after he was finished.

The movie was coming to an end and you were ready for him to be out of your hair. Not that it didn't feel good when his fingers ran across your scalp, but you were very anxious and based on the conversation you both shared within that time, he could've been ruining your hair just to be petty.

"Eriiiik?" You whine.

"Hmm?" He was done the braids and now fluffing your curls.

"You didn't fuck me over, right?"

He sighed, "What, you don't trust me?"

"I ain't never seen you do hair in my life. What am I suppose to expect?"

"Greatness." He simply said, adding shea butter to seal in the moisture. "Trust a nigga sometimes, baby. I'd never have you looking like a fool."

He wasn't lying. Erik always had you in the latest fashion, even though you asked him to stop buying clothes worth half of your pay check. Not that you had bad taste, but as said before, Erik was boujee- as hell.

Suddenly the thought came to your head. When the hell did he even find the time to learn how to braid? He was usually always so damn busy.

"So who taught you?"

He sucked a breath in between his teeth before responding, "You gon' get mad."

Already knowing the answer you still ask, "Why?"

"Cuz you was prolly expecting me to say something like my grandma." He scratched the back of his neck and sat back, "But it was that hairdresser I was messing around with."

You knew exactly which one. Kaleisha.

That's actually how you met Erik. And it actually explains a lot of why she unexpectedly banned you from going back to her salon. Erik's dumbass just had to flirt with you in front of her clients. If gossip was an olympic sport, the whole shop would've won first place all the time. You didn't know they were a thing at first, not until Miss Betsy, an elder lady who wore the stiffest wigs, warned you. She was in everybody's business, inside and outside of the salon.

"The one that kicked me out cuz of you." You grumbled and got up to stretch as he finished. He watched your back arch, reminding himself to get it even deeper later on.

"Right." He gave you a coy smile, "Aye turn around, lemme see that pretty face."

You didn't even try to fight your grin as you turned around. The smile on his face was enormous. It was a bit scary too, he was usually frowning or not broadcasting any emotion.

"I. Did. That. WHEW!" He jumped off the sofa, startling you and pulling you into a tight. "Sexy ass!" He littered your face with kisses.

"E! St-stop!" You laughed, barely able to push him away. When he finally let you go, you ran over to the mirror to see his accomplishment. You stared at your hair in awe. He really did that! You were speechless honestly, it was excellent! Better than some of the hairdressers you've been too.

He smiled at you, "I told you I know what I'm doing."

"Ain't no way!" You were astounded. How the hell could he braid better than you!? Well actually to be fair, you didn't obtain that skill and you refuse to ask him how. He'd hold that over you till the day you die. You continued to admire your hairstyle while saying, "Oh my God." It made you wonder who he been practicing on for it to be this good, so you ask.

He frowns, "What did I tell you before? Trust a nigga sometimes."

You turn around and give him a hug, "Thank you baby! I love it."

"Anything for you, shorty. But, imma need a payment." His tone became very mischievous.

"Payment?" You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Yeah, you thought shit was free?"

"Uhh... Yeah."

"Nah lil mama, show me that arch and we can negotiate a payment method."

This ni- Fuck it, if there's anything he deserved right now it would be this.

Oh, and your meeting with that CEO went a lot better than you thought. You would definitely be thanking Erik for giving you that glow and a confidence boost when you got home.

Thanks for reading!

What hairstyle did you choose out of the three? I'd pick #2.

Apologies if you can't see yourself doing any of them. If you have short(er) hair or none, it's all good! It was just to add visuals.

I was actually gonna let Erik do normal cornrows (that ended up being a bit messy) so she could wear a wig, but I said screw that. I feel like Erik would perfect anything, and plus he's a smart guy so I'm sure he'd be able to braid.

P.S. Who else belongs to the secret society of black women who don't know how to braid? 😂 I'm half in-half out lol, I just need more practice.

(Start/Finish: January 4-5, 2019)

P.S. I am no longer a part of the secret society :P I learned later in 2019 (current me writing this) Once again, ignore the A/N’s since the pictures are missing.

#killmonger fic #killmonger x reader #black reader

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