#trash ‘stache

[alternativegirl23]

The Naughty Manhattan

Minors DNI; Smut and other adult content. Lloyd is nasty in this one, you've been warned.

@overr-writtenn Hope you like this!

Rain softly pattered on the windows as it coaxed you into sleep. Body so racked with exhaustion, you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. Still able to feel and hear sensations, but unable to rouse from them. Then, sometime later, air softly ghosting over your skin and a hard, warm body underneath you now. The smell of a fresh cologne must be your brain creating a scent memory while you dream. It felt like you were moving, whether in your dream or real life, you couldn't be sure. A smooth gentle voice now trying to coo you awake.

   “Come on, cutie. Wake up,” he says. Lloyd gave a quick smack to your rear, chuckling to himself as you let out a little yip. You felt more wetness gather in your underwear, where a good sized puddle was already staining the cloth. A soft moan and mumble leaving your mouth, trying to say ‘thank you’ but unable to. More movement and Lloyd coaxing you awake until you were gently sitting on something cold, body shivering against the contrast. Feeling a strong hand on one shoulder and another on your soaking core. 

    Fingers firmly stroking your lips and circling your clit. Body slowly coming alight, little pants and moans leaving your mouth now. The blood in your veins seeming to pump harder, heart beating faster, mind slowly starting up again like a computer. Eyes fluttering open and closed, you reached out for a form that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. A hand of yours closing onto his wrist, his hand coming up from your core to swat yours away.

     He took both your hands to plant them by your side to keep you upright. His fingers going to your core again to go faster now. Your eyes and mind fully awake now, no longer on the brink of consciousness. Everything then clicked into place. Lloyd had carried you from your bedroom over his shoulder, doing something before to make you wet. Now you sat on the black marble countertop in your huge shared kitchen. Lloyd grinned widely as you let out a loud moan, two fingers now slipping in and out of you so easily. 

“Rise and shine, cupcake. Daddy couldn’t sleep, so you’re gonna help me make my nightcap,” he stated matter of factly. The clock face on the stove read just after one am. He leaned in close to give you a kiss then slowly took out his fingers, sucking them clean. 

   “Why was I,-” you began to ask. But he cut you off before you could finish your thought.

“Soaking wet before I toyed with you? I ate you out for a while in bed. You didnt move or make a sound. You were so, soo sleepy, baby,” he said his last words almost condescendingly. That made more sense now. He grabbed your hips and slid you closer to him, hands roaming softly up and down your body making you shiver. Suppressing a whimper as he plucked a nipple between his fingers,

    “You wanna help daddy, dont you? Be a good girl,” he asked. Eyebrows raising as if to say he expected the right answer. Your head nodding unabashedly, he let you go. 

      “Go get me a glass, pumpkin”, he said sweetly. He untangled your legs and let you go, as you gently hopped off the counter. Lloyd passes you to get the alcohol. Gathering all the supplies, both of you set everything down ready to make him a drink. Lloyd smiled and pat the counter happily. 

    “Hop up, buttercup. Be good and help Daddy”, he said excitedly. You did as he asked, but gave him a confused look. He was definitely up to something. His hands started roaming all over  your body, lips finding your neck and then your mouth. Fingers gripping your hair towards the back of your head. The cologne he wore overtook your senses in the best way. Making you come more alive under his touch, like you were getting high off his scent. 

     You were high off everything that radiated from him. His scent, his energy, his touch, his voice. Lloyd smiled warmly, hand coming down to your drenched core once again. Starting to thrust slowly at first, then faster and deeper. Loving to watch your reactions with each change of his tempo and rhythm. You clung to his shoulder now, an arm wrapping around his flexing muscles while he fingered you relentlessly.        

      Eyes closing, trying to avoid the intense stare of his gaze. But he wouldnt have any of that. “Nu ugh, look at me, babycakes. I wanna see how your eyes light up when I make you gush all over my fingers”, he enticed. Reluctantly, you opened your eyes only to be lost in his bright blue ones. Gripping even harder onto his shoulder now.

      “Give me what I want, sweetie. Come on. I know you need it. You’ve been so desperate for me”, his voice a little more gruff now. Looking down to find his fingers pistoning in and out of you. Lloyd watching every breath and pant out of your mouth, waiting for your release.  Curiously, he reached for his glass as he kept working you. Holding it to your pussy while his fingers kept making you see colorful stars. 

     You wanted to call his name as you came, but all that did was the start of ‘Daddy’ before you squirted hard all over his fingers. He grinned wickedly, holding up the glass close to you to catch what liquid landed there. Lloyd laughed as he watched your flushed face slowly put the pieces together. “Fuck yeah, baby. One more. Show me how good it feels”, he said aggressively. There was no fighting it anymore. Everything he did and said was driving you over the edge again.  With one final hard push to your G-spot, you soaked his whole hand. The glass now containing at least a few tablespoons of your orgasm. “Ho hoh, godamn baby, you did so good”, he praised. A blissed out smile came over you as Lloyd pulled you close to give a quick kiss. 

      “Hold yourself up, now”, he ordered. Placing your hands on the counter, you shivered as you came down from your high. Barely registering that Lloyd poured the gin and added a spritz of orange. He sauntered over to you now, knowing he had moved the stars in your orbit. 

      He takes your prettily manicured hand, taking a finger to give the drink a little stir. Sucking the droplet off your finger before it dripped off, humming to himself. Taking a long sip, he groaned at how your bittersweet taste mixed with the burn of the gin. Smiling mischievously, he bent down slightly so he’d match your height, a mockingly sweet tone in his voice. “Now, darling, go back to bed. Then I’ll pay you another visit after I’ve relaxed more. Daddy’s had a long day. And then…you can show me just how much of a slutty bimbo you are”, he teased, giving a few firm but light smacks to your cheek. You knew you wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep as long as Lloyd had a say.      

[ylva-syverson]

Good lord her mother truly is a peach isn’t she? I like reader already. I love her ending declaration to herself honestly. Lloyd of course is being an up to no good creep, but I’m here for it.

The Grey Zone 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: This is what happens when I decide to say fuck it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

The scent of matcha dampens your corset. Lucky for you, it’s black and won’t stain. That’s the one worry you rarely face in your life; stains. Dark fabric does more favours than just slimming you.

Still, that sunny side isn’t enough to brighten your mood. Your day has been shrouded in dark clouds. Your wasted Starbucks matcha and spoiled study sessions weigh down your feet, the thick treads of your boots clomping down the pavement. And on the bus, you nearly fell right on your face with no seats free to sit.

You look up as you approach your father’s ranch house style home. He didn’t take much pride in you but the house was always a gem for him to show off. Almost all your life, it was under one renovation or another. He was always trying to fix things up, including you.

Your mother enabled his endless ‘improvements’ so long as he bribed her with something pretty. That was her thing. He builds, she decorates, and you are the one ornament that doesn’t fit. At least, that’s what it’s felt like since your turn towards black nail polish and fishnets at thirteen. Seven years later and there was still the same angst woven into your parental relationships.

You tramp up the steps of the porch, not noticing the figure sat on the handcrafted bench near the large squared paned windows. Mr. Hansen sits with a can of craft beer in hand, arching a brow at the can as he reads it skeptically. He glances over, not so surprised by your sudden appearance. 

You take your earbuds out as the racket scratches from the tiny speakers. You thin your lips, smiles not exactly your forte. He sits up and puts the can down on the bench.

“Tastes like fermented socks,” he says coolly, “your dad never has anything good.”

“Mm,” you grumble as you grip the leather strap of your studded knapsack. “Yeah…”

“You want it? Just don’t tattle on me,” he offers as he taps the aluminum brim.

You shake your head.

“I won’t tell,” he smirks.

“You’re right, it tastes like socks,” you say dully.

He chuckles and brings his hand up, smoothing his palm across the buzzed side of his head. He looks at you, a bit longer than usual. You have the urge to take out your phone and check your reflection. 

“I should–”

“That new?”

You speak at the same time. Awkward. Mr. Hansen isn’t usually that out of sync. He has a confidence that makes you feel even more clueless.

“What?” You blink and twist your toe into the wood.

“That shirt.”

You look down at the boned black corset with the violet trim, over a plain black turtleneck. You got it from a vintage store years ago. You’ve worn it so much, the boning holds the shape of your body. You shake your head and shrug.

“Hmm, looks nice.”

The compliment catches you further off guard than his solitary presence. He’s blunt and to the point. The only person you’ve ever heard tell your father the truth. And you know your style is not to everyone's taste.

Looking at him, it's definitely not his. Cream coloured pants, burgundy loafers with golden buckles, and polo striped in shades of goldenrod and garnet.

“Thanks,” you keep from sucking your lip in, not wanting to smear your lip stain. “I should… go.”

“Sure,” he sits back, leaning against the window frame, “if you see your dad, send him out. He ditched me like fifteen minutes ago to find some nonsense sports card.”

“Right,” you continue across the porch.

In your peripheral, his head turns but you don’t meet his gaze. You pull open the screen door, innately aware of him watching you. Why?

The interior door is ajar. You step inside and the spring of the screen snaps it shut behind you. You put your bag on the console table just inside, and lean on it as you unlace your boots. Your mother would subject you to her shrill disapproval if you leave dirt on the runner again.

As you stand, you check your reflection in the round mirror hung on the wall, a frame of golden oak leaves around it. You don’t look that bad. You fixed most of your smeared eyeliner before you left the mall and your lip stain has stuck pretty well. You might be a bit shiny from sweat but nothing egregious.

Before you can grab your bag, the screen door opens. You wince and look at Mr. Hansen as he enters. He is close as he lets the door shut softly and you quickly snatch your knapsack and move away from him. 

“Second thought, gotta hit the bathroom,” he explains but pauses and wiggles his nose, the gesture made more obvious by the trim of hair beneath, “smells like grass.”

“Uh, yeah,” you sling your bag from your elbow, “spilled my tea.”

“Probably a good thing if it smells like a lawn,” he scoffs and kicks off his velvet loafers.

“Probably,” you agree glumly and turn away.

“Too bad though. Hope you didn’t burn yourself.”

You stop again, at the bottom of the stairs. You glance back at him. He’s being strangely nice. This isn’t the same man who called you Wednesday Addams and teased you how he was certain that you must sleep in a coffin. Is something wrong? Is your dad okay?

“Hey,” your dad’s voice booms down the stairs above you. You spin and look up at his descent. He carries the old cigar box he keeps his collectibles in, “home early. Thought you were studying.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m just going to do it here–” you say.

“Your mother wants you to help with dinner tonight,” he doesn’t let you finish. As he nears he stops, looking you up and down like he always does. You have to know that he hates everything about you. “Colourful.”

“Dad,” you whisper a weak plea.

He doesn’t answer you as he shoulders past. You frown but don’t look back. You don’t want to show how much it hurts. Even if it happens every day, it still crushes you. It’s just clothes, why does he care so much? You remember the day he stopped taking you to car shows with him, the day you refused to take out your earrings. That was the switch.

“Studying, huh? Boring, but admirable,” Mr. Hansen comments, “think most dad’s would love to hear that from their daughters, huh, Ray?”

Your father just huffs, “depends what they’re studying.”

You keep on up the stairs. You won’t argue, not in front of company. Especially not in front of Mr. Hansen.

“Degree isn’t worth much when you dress like that,” you hear his remark before you get to the top. 

You peek back downstairs but can’t see the landing below. Funny, you got a job and they don’t care what you wear, they just want you to show up. If only you had the courage to say it out loud. If only it would make a difference.

You shuffle to your room, just down the hall from your father’s. He occupies the primary room and your mother sleeps in her studio, just the next doorway. They can be amiable, given they don’t spend too much time together. Their relationship is more transactional than affectionate.

You wouldn’t know much about that, though. You’re only guessing. The closest you got to a relationship was when Travis invited you under the bleaches… that’s a memory worth forgetting.

You close your door before you can get carried away. You stopped worrying about your parents’ marriage right before high school. You realised then, there wasn’t any use in fretting in it. In fact, you became almost hopeful that one day they would split.

You put your bag on your bed and look around. The vanity you painted black stands beside the dark curtains. Little bat stickers decorate the edges of the mirror, your collection of antique vials and painted bottles line one side, and your make up chest sits on the other. It’s your little cave, the one place no one can tell you who to be.

You turn on the lamp in the shape of a crystal ball. You undo your corset and peel off your turtleneck, leaving the damp clothing in the hamper. You pull on a black and white striped sweater instead. 

You unpack your laptop and climb up on your high queen. The frame has curling iron posts, a particularly gothic design with a peak at the center of the headboard. You love it even if it scratches the paint off the wall.

You pile your pillows up, building a cosy nest to catch up on your work. It’s maybe ten minutes before there’s pounding on your door. Your mother doesn’t wait for an answer. You’ve learned not to expect her to. You look over as she flips on the overhead lights, ruining the subtle ambience of your bedside lamp.

“Uh, hello,” she snips, “your dad said he told you about dinner.”

You frown, “it’s only four–”

“Yes, and? I’m making a bouillabaisse. It needs lots of time,” she retorts, “besides, the table will need to be set for our company.”

“Company? You mean Mr. Hansen–”

“Er yeah,” she sniffs, “don’t be so dumb and stop asking questions.”

“Just curious,” you close your laptop and push yourself across the bed, “coming…”

Your voice trails off as your mother’s already gone, your door left slightly ajar. You huff and follow her tracks, her steps on the stairs as you get to the hallway. You pull your door shut behind you, checking to make sure the fault mechanism catches.

You continue downstairs and follow the impatient clanging of your mother. She’s never very subtle. She already has a glass of red on the counter. She’ll bark at you over it as she tells you exactly how to cook and refuse to do any of it herself.

“Oh, honey,” she says dramatically as she slams the soup pot on the burner, “you look so grim. What happened to that new gloss I bought you?”

“The pink stuff?” You utter as you pick at your sleeves.

“It went so nice with your complexion,” she preens, “it would look so nice with a new dress. I was online shopping today–”

“Mom,” you cross your arms.

“Don’t be a brat. You know, when I was your age, I would’ve loved if my mother still bought me clothes. She made me work for everything I had. She wouldn’t even buy me tampons.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“Don’t be sorry, get the fish out. Don’t forget the mussels…”

You do as she says. You take out the vast array of fish along with the vegetables she lists off. She empties her glass by the time you start adding ingredients to the blender for the base. You’ve never been a fan of the dish but the last time you tried to convince her on something similar, you went to bed with a stinging cheek. She pours a second glass as you run the motor, holding it extra long to override her nagging.

She leans on the counter, swirling her glass. You can smell her cabinet-laced breath. She’s tipsy already. You add oil to the pot and wait for it to heat up.

“You look so dreary in black,” she mopes, “what happened to my little girl?”

“I’m twenty,” you offer flatly.

“Oh, you started this long before that,” she snarls, “you never wanted to be pretty for your mama.”

“I…” you look down, “this is pretty. To me.”

“You look like one of those girls on the internet…” her head wobbles and she slurps from her glass, “I’ve seen the type. They wear tights like yours and nothing else. What are you always doing on your computer, anyway?”

The accusation scalds you. You shake your head and add the chopped onion, fennel, and leek to the hot oil. This isn’t the first time she’s made the insinuation. Like that time she found certain websites saved on your father’s iPad. It couldn’t have been him, he wouldn’t look at those things. And there was only one other person to blame.

“Schoolwork,” you sigh, “mom,” you look at her wine glass, almost empty again, “how about some water–”

“How about you don’t tell me what to do,” she points at you with a long red nail, “I am your mother, not the other way around.”

“I know,” you grab a rubber spatula and push around the veggies and oil. The fragrant aroma rises in the air. It stokes your appetite.

“Mmm, something smells delicious,” Mr. Hansen’s voice enters ahead of him as you glance over.

Your mother turns and leans her elbows back on the counter, pushing her chest out. You know this part too. Not just with him but the gardener and even the garbage man. Your eyes flick to Mr. Hansen’s before you quickly return your attention to the pot.

“Looks delicious too,” your mother slithers as she leers at him, “Lloyd, I didn’t even get a chance to thank you for the merlot!” She raises her glass sloppily, “there’s enough left for you.”

“Ah, Connie, that’s nice of you,” he replies as he nears, “but it’s cabernet, actually. And my stomach was turned by that craft bullshit.” 

He comes close to the stove, standing beside you as he peers down into the pot. The heat from the stove couples with that of his proximity. Your mother drains her glass and pulls away from the counter.

“More for me,” she chimes and grabs the bottle.

You feel a warmth on your lower back as Mr. Hansen’s cologne mingles with the scent of your cooking, “what’s for dinner, sweetheart?”

You realise he’s touching you. His hand slips under the wool of your sweater and his thumb rubs the skin along the top of your pants. You freeze and keep your hand steady as you simmer the veggies. You peek over at your mother, she’s too distracted with her glass.

“Bouillabaisse,” you answer in a brittle voice. You shift and his hand falls away, grazing the top of your pocket, a tickle on your ass. 

“Mmm, fish,” he purrs, “I’m starving.”

“Shoo, shoo,” your mother waves her hand at him, “won’t cook faster with you hovering around.”

“Fine, fine,” he raises his hands defensively, “don’t burn yourself, Connie. I see you doing all this hard work–”

“Oh, you,” she sneers and grabs the dish cloth from in front of you where it hangs from the oven handle. She whips the end in his direction, “no wonder you and my husband get along.” She snaps him with it again, “you’re a bunch of jackasses.”

He cackles, unbothered by her anger, but retreating nonetheless. You keep your head down and your mother takes another thick gulp. She scoffs.

“Men,” she slurs, “no good. If you won’t listen to me about anything, you take that in, hon. They’re all trash.”

You refuse to look after Mr. Hansen or think about the shadow of his touch on your skin. Men are confusing, that’s enough to keep you away.

[cherrycola27]

Elementary

Summary: You are the younger sister of Natasha Trace. You've just moved to San Diego to teach 4th Grade. You never expected to fall for an older man in a Hawaiian shirt who happens to be her best friend.

Warnings: Language, Drinking. Smut, Age Gap, Daddy Kink. Minors DNI 18+

Next Part

...........................................

You'd noticed him the moment you and your friends had walked into the club. He was with a group of guys leaning up near the bar. He looked entirely out of place with his Hawiian shirt and aviators. He had a thick mustache that accentuated his almost familiar face.

He was still there when you walked up later to get a drink.

"Can I get a Titos and cran with Sprite?" You asked the bar tender. "Titos?" He commented. "Classy." He smirked before taking another sip of his beer.

You laughed before turning to him. "I'm trying not to hate myself in the morning. I spent enough time in college drinking bottom shelf shit out of a trash can in a frat house. I've done my share of hangovers. Thank you very much." You tell him.

He turns his body to face you fully. You catch the quick slip of his eyes as he scans your body.

"College? When was that? Last year?" You can't tell if he's joking or not.

"I graduated six years ago. I'm twenty-eight, not a child." You tell him. "What about you. When did you graduate Old Man? 1950?" You laugh.

"Old Man? Really? What makes you say that?" He asks you. "The 'stache and the Hawaiian shirt." You say nonchalantly.

He laughs. "Well, it's been about thirteen years since I graduated college. Didn't realize thirty-five was old." He shakes his head before finishing his drink at the same time the bartender comes back with yours. You go to hand him your card, but your new friend stops you.

"This one's on the Old Man." He winks at you.

"Thank you. You smile at him. "I'm Bradley, by the way, but everyone calls me Rooster." He puts his hand out for you to shake. You tell him your name, and then it clicks. He's one of your sisters coworkers.

She would kill you if she knew you were flirting with him, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"What do you do for work, Rooster?" You asked him. You knew the answer. "I'm a Naval aviator, I fly jets and stuff." He says it so casually. "Oh, that's cool. I've got a few family members in the Navy." You tell him. That's not a lie. Your sister and your soon to be brother in law were both in the Navy. You didn't want to tell him who they were, though.

"Cool. What about you? What do you do for work?" He asks you.

"I teach. Actually, I just got hired to teach fourth grade at the elementary school near the Navy base here in San Diego." You tell him.

"No shit? I know if my teachers had been as pretty as you are, I might have paid better attention. But on a side note, I've got a couple of friends I work with whose kids are going to be in fourth grade there." He tells you.

Little does he know that those kids are your niece and nephew.

"Well, maybe I'll get to see you around then." You finish off your drink and set it on the bar, just as one of your favorite songs comes on. 'Unholy,' you thought—how fitting.

You grab him by the hand. Come dance with me, Bradley.

He happily follows you to the dance floor and pulls you flush against him as your body moves against him.

His hands have a tight grip on your hips. You turn to face him and start singing along with the music. You don't miss how his fingers did into your flesh a little harder each time the word 'Daddy' leaves your mouth.

As the song finishes, you decide to push your luck. You lean up on your tip toes and whisper in his ear. "How about be get out of here, Daddy?"

You smirk as he grabs your hand to lead you to the exit.

"Did you drive?" He asks the moment you're out of the club.

"Ubered." You tell him. "I drove, fuck, follow me." He says.

Moments later, the two of you are standing by a classic blue Bronco. You don't even have time to admire it before he pushes you up against it and kisses you roughly.

It takes all of the willpower he has not to fuck you in the parking lot.

It takes him ten minutes to get back to his bungalow. He's undressing you the minute you get through the door.

Your clothes are strung haphazardly throughout his home. It's a miracle the two of you make it to the bed. But you do. Soon, he's got you laid out before him, and his face is buried between your legs.

He eats your pussy like it's his day job, all the while his hips rut into the mattress. He makes you cum twice on his tongue and fingers.

"Condom?" He asks as he prepares to fuck you.

"Clean. On the pill." You tell him.

"I'm clean too, fuck, you want me to hit it raw?" He growls.

"Yes, please, Daddy." You tell him with hooded eyes.

As he slides into you, you know exactly why they call him Rooster. He's huge in length and girth. He's splitting you open in the most delicious way.

He fucks into you hard, fast, and deep. He takes one of his large hands and presses it on your stomach. You can feel him in there.

"Fuck, you feel how deep I am?" He ask you. You nod your head. "You like feeling Daddy so deep in this tight, perfect little pussy?" He groans.

You whine out a response as he toys with your clit.

"You gonna cum again for me baby?" He asks you. "Yes, Daddy, close!" You moan out.

"Fuck, I can tell. Can feel you clenching so hard on me. That's it darlin, be a good girl and take Daddy's cock." He tells you. Soon, you're falling over the edge, screaming for him.

"Good girl, such a good girl." He praises you.

"Baby, I'm close, where do you want me to—" He asks but you cut him off before he can finish

"Cum in me! Fill me up, Daddy!" You moan out. You don't have to tell him twice. Rooster cums and fills you up with his spend.

He collapses on the bed next to you. After a few minutes, he gets a cloth to help you clean up. You try to get up to find your clothes, but he pulls you closer to him.

"Stay, I'll make pancakes in the morning." He tells you.

You know you shouldn't, but you stay anyway.

The next morning, he does make you pancakes. The two of you get to know each other all morning, and he asks to take you out on a proper date that night.

"I can't tonight. I have to babysit my niece and nephew, but I'm free tomorrow." You tell him.

He agrees. A few hours and several orgasms later, he's dropping you off at your apartment. You have just enough time to make it look like you haven't spent the day getting fuckeswithin an inch of your life before your sister shows up with her fiancée and kids.

The doorbell rings, and Catia and Cristiano run in to greet you. "Aunty Thena!" The cry as they both hug you. You laugh at the nickname. Your sister and her fiancée and almost all of their friends were aviators with callsigns. You didn't have one but were given the honorary callsign "Thena" after the goddess Athena by your future brother in law. He claimed it was because you were both wise and scary. Even though you were barely nineteen when her sneaky link turned into her baby daddy, you were still a force to be reckoned with and wise beyond your years.

But Coyote stepped up when Nat found out she was pregnant. Their casual hook ups turned into something serious. Your parents had wanted them to get married before the twins were born, but they didn't want to get married just because Natasha was pregnant.

You supported her through her pregnancy and their relationship. You had even helped him pick out the ring.

The both of you still laugh when he tells she story about why he and the kids call you Thena.

"Cat, Cris, please don't kill your aunt before she has a chance to watch you!" Coyote scolds them as he walks into your home.

"Javy, they are just excited to see her. It's been months since she last visited. Natasha tells him as she comes in.

"Hey, little sis!" She smiles as she comes to hug you. "I'm so glad you moved out here!"

"You just like that you have a free baby sitter now." You joke with her.

Coyote laughs and shrugs his shoulders.

"Now listen up terror twins." He addresses his children. You laugh at the nickname for them. It's funny because it's true. You and the twins have gotten into a few messes together. Catia, the oldest, was definitely the mastermind, while Cristiano was, more often than not, the unwilling accomplice.

"Your mom and I will be back in a few hours to pick you up. We have to finish a few wedding things. Be good for your Aunt Thena and listen to her. It will be good practice for when you start back to school and she is your teacher." Javy tells the kids.

Both of them promised to be on their best behavior. You wave goodbye to Nat and Javy. As soon as they are gone, you and the kids are ordering pizza and finding a movie to watch.

You're careful to make sure they don't see your phone and who you are texting.

.............................

You hadn't meant for it to go this far. After your first date with Rooster, you swore you were going to tell him who you were, but you liked the idea of keeping your relationship to yourself. You didn't want to hear what Nat had to say, but honestly, it wasn't any of her business. You were an adult.

The sex with Rooster was amazing, but he was a great boyfriend, too. These had been the best six weeks of your life.

You were currently lying in bed with him after a bit of afternoon delight.

"You really are the best partner that I've had Bradley. Most guys my age last like five minutes and don't even care if I cum. But not you. To be an old man, you sure can keep up." You tease him as you prop yourself up on his chest.

"I'm a Top Gun graduate, babe. The top 1% of Naval aviators in the entire fucking nation. Longevity and stamina are hard wired into me. Don't you know the reason why everyone wants a classic car now?" He asks you. You shake your head.

"Because they can keep their motor running for much longer." He smirks before rolling you onto your back for another round.

You were still in a post sex haze when you're phone went off.

"Shit!" You shouted and jumped up. "What?" Rooster asked you.

"I'm late! I'm supposed to meet my sister for some wedding stuff. I've got to go! I'll text you later!" You shout over your shoulder as you head out the door.

...........................

You and Natasha spent the evening working on some last-minute wedding plans. Once you were done, she suggested that you, her, and Coyote go out for drinks. His parents were keeping the twins for the weekend, so they wanted to take the chance to hang out without worrying about Cat and Cris.

You thought everything would be fine. You were wrong.

Everything was fine until you pulled into the Hard Deck and noticed a familiar blue Bronco. Shit. This wasn't good.

You tried your best to stay cool. You were attempting to fire off a text to Rooster, but Nat was pulling you towards the door.

She looped her arm in yours as she walked over to the group of pilots. You spotted Rooster and his Hawiian print shirt with them. His back was to you.

"Guys! This is my sister that I told you about!" Natasha announced proudly as she introduced you to the group. Everyone smiled and greeted you.

"Bradshaw! Say hi to my little sister!" Nat said, punching him in the shoulder. You didn't miss the color draining from his face when his eyes met yours.

You smirked at him as you introduced yourself.

..............................

The evening was awkward, to say the least. You didn't miss the glances Rooster kept sending you. You did your best to avoid him, but ultimately, both of you were sent on a drink run.

You walked up to the bar to order them, with him hot on your heels.

As soon as you'd ordered them, he grabbed your arm and spun you around.

"You're Nat's sister! How could you not tell me you were her sister?" Rooster whisper shouted at you, as the two of you waited for the drinks.

"It never came up and you never asked." You replied nonchalantly.

"She's going to kill me." He groaned.

"Don't worry, Daddy, I'll make sure she doesn't." You smirked at him.

"You can't call me that!" Rooster shushed you as he looked around to make sure no one was watching the two of you.

"Why not? You weren't complaining about it earlier today when I was face down and ass up and you were pulling my hair while fucking me into you mattress." You teased him. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you said 'oh baby, your tight pussy feels so good wrapped around Daddy's cock. Come on darlin cum for Daddy. Make a mess all over him.'"

Rooster turned as red as a beet. "Why didn't you tell me? We've been dating for six weeks!" Rooster stated.

"I was afraid you wouldn't like me anymore. I liked keeping you to myself. Once people know, they give their opinions, and they put their nose where it doesn't belong. Also, do you think Nat is going to be cool with this?" You tell him.

"She's going to kill me. She's going to cut my fuel lines, or she's going to use real guns during training. I'm so dead." Rooster shook his head.

Just then, Penny appeared with the tray of drinks for everyone. Rooster picked it up and turned towards you and sighed.

"Don't worry, baby, I promise we will figure this out. Just smile and nod until it's time to go home." You tell him. "Okay." He sighs.

"Now, let's go get these drinks to them before someone comes looking for us. Don't freak out, I promise I'll take extra good care of you tonight, Daddy, when I come over." You smirk at him.

Rooster shakes his head and follows you back to the group.

You were both too caught up in your conversation to notice a certain Weapons Systems Officer who had come to get more peanuts, and who had unfortunately overheard the end of your conversation.

"Well, well, well." Bob sighed. "This isn't going to be good."

Hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter!

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @roosterforme @withahappyrefrain @sebsxphia @afterglowsb-tch13 @emorychase @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock

[babyjakes]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | april '23 ddlg-themed blurb night

requested by @brandycranby | ahhh bb eu 🥺 was just thinking of ari and his thick beard aaaa 💕✨️🩷🍒 for ur blurb night if u have room, soft!daddy!ari + crying?

warnings | ddlg. ari is soft and little dark, pushing baby way past her limits (dub/noncon). oral (f receiving). clit play, real puff puff behavior. overstimualtion. mocking/degredation, praise, dumbification. forced orgasms. squirting.

word count | 531

as punishing as the trash stache is, i’m of the controversial belief that ari is probably the oral king when it comes to facial hair. like there’s just so much of it, and he totally knows how to weaponize it against you and your poor little pussy.

maybe he’s got you spread out on the couch, arms resting over your knees and big hands holding your thighs right in place. you’re not going anywhere, no matter how much you beg and cry😌

he takes his time with you like always, teasing you with his lips and fingers, enjoying your soft moans and hums of initial approval. the first orgasm is of course a fine and grand ordeal, though it’s not the main event.

that would come after, as he’s overworking your poor, puffy folds. after cumming so hard, you’re a drippy, drooly mess, your little clit now fully exposed and engorged with blood. ari knows, he knows it’s so sensitive now. throbbing. hot. achy. needy, as your daddy puts it. which justifies what comes next: the torment of your overstimulated pussy, especially your precious little button that ari loves oh so much.

“c’mon baby, just look at it. so swollen n’ angry lookin’, needs daddy to take care of it.” using a hand to pull back the skin around it, bringing his tongue down to dip into your sore cunt as his nose and mustache scratch against the aching bead of nerves. dragging the wetness of your last orgasm up to roll over it, earning soft sobs from you as you cry into your hands.

“please daddy, t-too much, please don’t—”

he pulls back to look at you with false concern. “honey, daddy’s just taking care of you. know your little baby pussy gets so sensitive after you cum, doesn’t it?” he brings a single finger up to rub over your poor nub as he speaks, worsening your tears to his delight. “see? can feel it throbbing against me. think you need to cum again for me, sweetheart. your body’s begging for it”

you struggle against his hold but it’s no use 😖 he coos at your pathetic attempt, soothing, “shhh baby, don’t cry. daddy’ll be real gentle, promise” but he’s not fooling either of you, you both know he’s loving this. the tears, the resistance, the abuse of your poor cunt

his mouth returns to its spot between your trembling legs, his tongue licking a fat stripe up from your dripping hole to your clit as he circles in on it with skillful precision, eventually easing the bud back into his mouth as he presses two fingers against your opening

“that’s it, baby. i know, i know sweet girl,” his voice comes out so patronizing through his sucking and kissing. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your whole body’s tensing up in preparation for your next climax. “almost there, angel,” he breathes against your burning button, nursing lovingly on it as you tumble over the edge. he groans and moans against you as you cum, the vibrations of his deep voice sending pleasure and pain shooting up through you as you squirt into his awaiting mouth—

yuh huh!! yum!!😌🫶

[lillaydee]

Shhh!!! Part 6

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove @liciafonseca

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 5

What on earth was she doing?

Lucy was pacing your tiny living room, looking as if she was about to implode, and, if you were seeing and hearing right, she was muttering to herself, as if having some important discussion you were not privy to. She stopped, gesturing at the wall, before turning around and mumbling once more.

“Lucy? Are you okay? Do I need to call someone?”

She stopped, looked at you, and went to your fridge, taking out a carton of milk. She opened it and drank it all, wiping her mouth off a milk stache before tossing the now empty carton into the trash can.

“So, tell me straight. Are you, or are you not fucking him?”

Your mind wasn’t working. Why would she ask you that? You were not friends, you didn’t know her enough to share such info. All she knew was that she saw Joel leave your place. Did that simple act translate into fucking to these young ones? Were men not allowed to visit with their lady friends anymore? And even if you were (eww…), how was it any of her business?

“Look, I know you hate me and all, but I need to warn you about him. He’s not a good guy,” she continued, raiding your fridge for something else to consume. She re-emerged with a sponge cake Betty, one of your food truck neighbours had gifted you, tipped the whole thing onto a plate and sat on your couch, eating the cake as if it was a huge piece of twinkie. “Did he make you sign an NDA?”

Huh?

“An NDA, a Non-Disclosure Agreement. To make sure you don’t talk.”

Blank stare. You hadn’t even moved from your front door, still holding it open, still trying to figure out what the heck was happening.

“Shut the door, for fuck’s sake. I might get in trouble even asking you about this!” she hissed, sponge cake spraying all over your carpet.

You did but stayed where you were.

“Well, come over here, I can’t scream this bit out. I’ll fucking get sued!”

You hesitantly walked over to her, wondering if you even wanted to hear this.

She looked around, as if expecting someone hiding behind the curtains, before facing you again.

“Does he kiss you?”

Huh?

“Does he kiss you? On the lips?”

“Uh… no… but…”

“Then I need to warn you. Believe me that NDA is coming. Get out of it. Now. Look, that guy may be hot as fuck, but he has no heart. He’s like a fucking robot. He’ll fuck you ‘til he’s done and then leave. He doesn’t even try to make you finish. It’s all about stress release for him. Nothing more. You need to stop before you get your heart broken.”

You just stared at her, your mind processing what she had just said.

She looked down at her hands, head down, fingers crumbling the sponge cake you were looking forward to eat later that day, her voice cracking. Turned out, she was doing some part time job as his assistant at one of his locations a few years back, before he adopted Ellie, she was about ten years younger than him. She had just moved to LA, looking for a career in the industry.

“I just really liked him, you know? I worked with him every day. He wasn’t like the other bosses I’d worked for. He was so nice. Gentlemanly. The media made him seem like a jerk, but he’s so sweet and gentle, never raised his voice, never yelled, so I thought I was special, you know? I was new here, and I thought I knew better.”

You sat down, finding yourself feeling sorry for her a little.

“God, I was crushing so hard on him. Took me months, but I gathered enough courage to ask him out. Just for a drink. He told me he didn’t do that, not one on one. We could go out with the whole crew, he said, but not alone. But I thought he was just playing hard to get, you know? I heard about his past ‘friends’, rumours, of course, but I thought he was just not ready then. I heard about his late wife, so I played it cool. I finally told him how I feel about him, he simply told me he didn’t do relationships. I thought about it, but I had to try, you know? He was so nice. And oh… so sexy. So… normal… for someone famous. I mean, even compared to his brother… he was just like an everyday man.”

She started crying. You gave her the tissue box, and she quickly wiped her eyes with a couple.

“I should have known,” she sobbed, “He wouldn’t even kiss me. He kept saying he didn’t do that, and stupid me, I thought I could change his mind. Who doesn’t kiss?” She took a deep breath, as much as she could anyway, while still sobbing uncontrollably.

“God I was so stupid! I kept throwing myself at him. I was so desperate for him to like me. He kept telling me he didn’t do relationships and I chose not to hear it. I practically offered myself to him on a platter. I slept with him, just once. He kept asking if I was sure. Kept reminding me he didn’t want anything more. Whatever happened, it would just be sex. And I was so besotted with him I just said yes. It wasn’t even romantic. He didn’t even kiss me. It was over so quickly. We were in his office. A shipping container with AC. He didn’t even want to get drinks with me after. Much less ask me to his place or come to mine. Just zipped up, said thanks, and left. And stupid me, I was giddy. He chose me.”

She took another deep breath, much calmer this time. “The next day, I came to work happy. I thought, we had sex, right? So we must be something now? I tried to kiss him, and he pulled back, reminding me he didn’t want that. It was just sex. It was just one time. He reminded me that he had been honest and upfront. It can never happen again if I wanted more, relationship wise. I was heartbroken. Changed jobs immediately. I spoke with some people he was rumoured to have been ‘friends’ with, and they told me they couldn’t say anything. And what’s more, they didn’t want to say anything. He was nice, upfront, and they agreed to his conditions. They even signed NDAs to that fact. They had nothing but nice things to say about him. They agreed, it was just sex. If you’re lucky, he’ll come back for seconds, even thirds. If you’re very lucky, he’ll see you again on a more regular basis.”

“His agent came knocking days later, NDA in hand. I can’t say anything about him or that day to anyone. I’m breaking the fucking rule telling you about this. But if I can save you the heartbreak, I am willing to risk it. Don’t do it, Lily. He’ll only break your heart.”

You were lost for words. She just went on a rant about Joel, the man you did not sleep with, risking a lawsuit while doing so, too. How do you tell her you didn’t sleep with him, nor were you planning to, without her being angry at you? She went through all those tears trying to warn you. And now you just felt bad.

“Uh… Lucy, I didn’t sleep with him. He’s just a friend.”

“What?”

“He came to fix my shower. That’s all.”

Silence. Her face blank.

And then it morphed into one of what you could only describe as a tantrum.

“YOU’RE TELLING ME I’VE JUST RISKED A LAWSUIT FOR NOTHING?” she screeched.

You gave her a slight nod, a cringe on your face, which may or may not have come off as mocking her – she certainly took it that way – tears gone, all that simpering ‘I care about you too much to let him do this to you too’ look all but gone. She huffed her way past you to your door, taking your precious sponge cake with her, only stopping to growl at you to not mention the conversation to anyone through gritted teeth, slamming your door behind her so loud you could feel the floor shake.

You took a deep breath after that.

Well… that was… more info than you’d like to digest this morning.

You didn’t have anything to do. You’ve cleaned your tiny apartment twice, did all your laundry, deep cleaned the truck and machine, and now you didn’t know what to do. What do you do on a Monday? You called your Uncle Bill, but he was busy. So you decided why not? You hadn’t been grocery shopping in ages. You didn’t really cook that much, usually too tired to cook by the time you got home. But perhaps getting some ready made food or ramen wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Plus, you needed lunch, and that sponge cake Lucy demolished and later stole was all the food you had in your fridge. That, and a questionable orange and two tomatoes, which you were sure moved when you pushed them aside to clean the fridge.

You were in the midst of deciding which ramen to buy when you heard your name being hollered through the store, a very excited Ellie following it. She practically tackled you, telling you it was weird to see you outside of the truck, without your kerchief and apron.

“Hey, excited teenage girl, why are you so excited to see me? You’ll see me tomorrow, you know that, right?”

“Nothing! I’m just excited! How’s your shower head?”

“It’s fine now. Thanks to your Dad,” you told her, moving your basket away from her prying eyes.

She took a glance, looked at you with such disappointment in her eyes and cocked her brow at you, “Really Lil? Ramen? Why don’t you take some of those microwaveable mac and cheese too?”

“Ooh! Where are they? Can you show me?”

She just laughed at you, shaking her head, taking your arm in hers and led you to the aisle, even going so far as recommending you which brands to get. The two of you went around the store, filling your basket with more instant stuff for you to reheat when you get back from work, her phone beeping over and over, before finally ringing incessantly.

“You don’t pick up your phone?”

“Eh, it’ll stop,” she said, rather nonchalantly, as the two of you made your way to the till. She grabbed a loaf of bread as you approached, paid for it, and quickly said goodbye. You didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye back before she disappeared.

You walked out with bags upon bags of instant food and one measly bag of apples in your arms – that’s healthy, right? – and tried a magical feat where you tried to get your phone out without letting go of the bags, your tongue sticking out in concentration.

“Hey Lil!”

It’s her again. She came running, sans bread, taking the bags from your right arm, asking you if you’d had lunch.

“Er… no, I’m excited to try that mac and cheese though,” you told her.

“Come on, have lunch with me. You like Thai?” she asked, starting to walk towards the Thai place just at the end of the street.

“Okay, sure!” you said, taking one of the bags in your left arm to lighten the load.

A pair of bigger hands appeared and took all your bags from you. You turned.

Joel.

“I take it you’re joining us for lunch?” he asked, smiling at you. “Where’s your car? we can leave the bags in there, unless… anything perishable in here?” he asked, scanning the contents of your bags.

Oh… dear Lord… he now knew what kind of a person you were in the kitchen.

“Um… I don’t drive. I’m Ubering.”

“Ellie,” he said, beckoning her back to the front of the store. The two of them left you standing there, and you watched helplessly, red in the face, as they placed your groceries in his truck. Huh… a beater of a truck. Not at all something you’d imagined a celebrity like him would be driving.

You didn’t know what to do. You were all for it when you thought it was just you and Ellie, but now that you know Joel was here too? First of all, it was mortifying that he knew you didn’t cook, and you didn’t know how to look him in the eye upon that little revelation. Second of all, Lucy’s story, while questionable, was still fresh in your head.

You didn’t know why, but that story she told you bothered you. Was that the kind of man he was? Sure, he’s still mourning his late wife, that much you got, empathized with, even, but did it excuse the way he treated her? And yes, he was upfront with her, but… did he need to fuck her and then serve her with an NDA when she wanted more? It all just seemed… typical playboy male Hollywood celebrity to you, and whatever blushes you may or may not have had when the two of you were saying goodbye that morning was instantly shoved out of your person.

That was not the kind of mess you wanted to ever be involved in, thank you very much.

Or maybe, just maybe, you just felt a bit uneasy that the sight of him emerging from your bathroom with water from his wet hair trickling down to his neck and chest stuck to your brain like superglue. And the fact that you googled him after Lucy left and saw that topless picture of him in a hard-hat, wielding a very large hammer.

It was then you started obsessively cleaning your apartment and truck. Twice. Purely a coincidence, obviously. As if you would clean just because you couldn’t get those images out of your head. Madness.

“You ready?” his voice jolted you out of your daydream. Ellie took you by the hand and pulled you to the restaurant, asking you 100 questions about whether or not you had eaten there, and before you could even answer, offered you 100 suggestions of what you should try. “Ellie, let the woman think, please,” Joel chastised, earning him a raspberry from the teenager.

Once you were seated, you asked Ellie to order for you. Anything Thai was good to you, so you didn’t mind.

“So, Sarah’s coming home tomorrow? You must be excited,” you started, not willing to sit in awkward silence – although it was you who was mostly awkward, what with the revelation of that morning.

“Yeah, she was supposed to leave around seven, but I got a text from her at four am saying they were already leaving so maybe they’d get here earlier than planned. Depends on where they stop tonight. They were supposed to stay at her friend’s but if they got there early, they might drive on and stay at a motel.” There was a small frown on his features, one you could only decipher as a worried father.

“He doesn’t like the idea of her staying at a motel,” Ellie explained, “Too dodgy, no security. She won’t be alone, Joel, there are three of them, she’ll be alright,” she coaxed her obviously worried father.

He smiled at her, nodding a little, “I know, I just…” he took a deep breath. “Anyway, that means that I might not be able to earn my coffee for the rest of this week, and I would rather have Ellie home too, so we could all spend some time together,” he looked apologetic, or maybe… a little regretful? “She’s gonna skip Frank’s class this week.”

“Hey, up until a week ago, I do that alone. It’s no problem.”

He mouthed a thank you, before telling Ellie what he wanted for lunch.

The three of you chit-chatted for a while, and just as lunch was served, a bunch of teenagers walked in.

“Ooh! That’s my friend Dina, I’m gonna go say hi,” Ellie said, immediately getting up to join her friends, coming back a few minutes later to get her plate, winking at you and Joel, and left.

“Well, looks like it’s just us two, then,” he said, “Just like a date!” before taking a slurp of his Tom Yum Gung.

You choked on yours, spluttering Tom Yum soup all over yourself. He panicked and came to sit next to you, rubbing your back, giving you napkin after napkin to help you clean up. He waited until you got Tom Yum out of your nostrils before going back to his seat, wary eyes on you. He asked if you were alright, and when you nodded, he hung his head for a bit.

When you looked up, Ellie was staring at you from her table, mouthing ‘are you okay’ to you. You nodded, before thanking Joel for helping you out, apologizing for his trouble, and at the same time frowning at your formerly white shirt, now splattered with red.

“Is the idea of being on a date with me that horrifying? Lucy said something to you, didn’t she?”

You froze. You didn’t know what to say. You knew Lucy would get in trouble if you did say something.

“Lucy? No. Why? How did you know her, by the way?” you feigned ignorance, taking a careful slurp of your soup.

“She was my assistant, for a while, before Ellie came to live with me,” he said, plucking a forkful of the mango salad. “We… uh… slept together once. I was very clear I didn’t want anything more, she did, and she left for another job after. So, we didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

From the way he was speaking, it was clear to you that he regretted the way things ended with Lucy.

“I wouldn’t have minded continuing a working relationship with her, professionally, but she left. I haven’t seen her before this morning.”

“Can I ask? Why didn’t you want anything more with her?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop yourself. Shit. He’s gonna go back to being a grump now, isn’t he?

Instead, he smiled, “I just… don’t have it in me anymore. After my late wife… Laura. She died when Sarah was one. After her, I just… I’m not sure I want to go through something like that again.”

You nodded, “I’m so sorry, Joel, truly.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay, being alone, I mean. I have my girls, my work, Tommy, I get by. I just… I’m…”

“Not ready,” you tried. He nodded.

“What about you? You seeing anyone?” he asked, eyes averted from yours, focusing instead on fishing the prawn in his Tom Yum.

“Nah… never again,” you said, picking a cashew off the mango salad.

Was it your imagination, or did he seem relieved?

“So I don’t have to worry about some dude attacking me for having lunch with you?”

You laughed, “No, Joel, you don’t have to worry.”

He wiped his forehead in mock relief.

“So, Laura was the last relationship you had?”

He nodded, “I won’t lie, I had a couple ladies I could call if I wanted to, but since Ellie came to live with me, I don’t do that anymore. She was having a hard time, and with Sarah in college back then, I just didn’t have the time for all that. So, now I’m just… single. No arrangements, no nothing. Free and clear. Plus, with the way the media is these days, it’s just not convenient. My cousin visited a couple of years back, she was seen around town with me, and someone looked her up. She received threats just for being seen with me,” he shook his head, looking regretful. “Luckily, she was used to that, most of my family and friends are, but I don’t think some innocent lady would be okay with that, you know?”

You nodded in agreement, eyes wide at the thought of some innocent woman being threatened by jealous fans.

“So, how long since your last relationship?” he asked.

You took a deep breath, doing the math in your head. “A few years? He left me to be with Cleo Savvant.”

It was his turn to splutter but held his hand up when you tried to help him. He laughed a little, begging you to tell him the story. When you did, he could only shake his head.

“No wonder you hate celebrities, huh?”

You huffed a laugh, “It didn’t help, that’s for sure.”

“Well, he’s an idiot.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“He left you for Savvant, that’s all I needed to know.”

You were touched, not that you would show him. So you gave him a little smile, mouthing a thanks.

“To be fair, we were on the edge of breaking up anyway, we were barely speaking to or seeing each other anymore. She did me a favour, taking him off my hands, really. All it took was a hug and a smile, and the next thing I knew, he’s all shacked up with her. He didn’t want to move in together with me, said he didn’t believe in cohabitating before marriage. But he wasn’t exactly proposing either, so it was about time, really.”

He looked contemplative for a while before asking you the next question, “So, never again?”

“You asked me today, so yeah, but who knows? I might change my mind one day. but right now? I have all I need, roof over my head, food in my belly, money in the bank… so, yeah. Never again. I don’t need a man to survive. Unless of course, my shower head breaks again.”

He guffawed, amusement clear across his entire body. You looked across the room, Ellie looking at her Dad, a smile clear on her face. Her friends were looking too, all with sly smiles on their faces.

He insisted on driving you home, Ellie climbing in the back seat as soon as you said okay. The drive was filled with easy banter and laughter, Ellie quiet in the back, busy with her phone. You told him not to, but he carried your bags of instant food to your door for you, telling you he will see you the next week for his coffee, before giving you a small peck on your cheek.

By the time you shut the door, you were sure you had a fever from the heat radiating from your cheek to the rest of your body.

Sarah laid on the bed in the motel that night, body tired from driving for hours, ready to just shut her eyes for a much needed rest to drive home the next day, when her phone pinged.

She watched the videos Ellie had sent her. Her dear old Dad, sitting at a table alone with you, laughing his head off, chatting and laughing freely with you in his truck, looking more carefree than she had ever seen him, walking towards some apartment she had never been to before, carrying your groceries for you, and finally, walking back to the truck, a smile evident on his face, despite the lone walk.

Oh wow… Ellie was right.

Her dear old Dad had a crush. On the sweet coffee lady.

Sarah went to bed smiling that night, impatient to see Ellie for more updates, and to see her Dad with you with her own eyes.

“Hey Beanie,” your Uncle Bill greeted that Wednesday morning, trudging over to your truck as you arranged the chairs out front.

“Uncle Bill,” you ran over to hug him, “What are you doing here?”

“Felt bad I couldn’t spend yesterday with you, so here I am, needed to spend time with my favourite niece,” he said, giving you a hug back.

“I’m your only niece, and you hate my truck.”

“I do, but you are always working, and the one day you didn’t, I was not free, so here I am.”

“Aww… you’re willing to suffer through the truck for the day for me?”

He rolled his eyes, taking off his light jacket and rolling his sleeves. He shooed you inside and continued unfolding and arranging the tables and chairs for you. He was not chatty, your Uncle Bill, and was by far the grumpiest and most awkward man you had ever met. But he loved you, in his own ways, and you, him. He lived alone in a condo at the edge of the city, a quiet, retired life.

He was extremely close to his only sibling, your stepmom Jenny, and was still contemplating whether or not to move back to Wyoming to be closer to her. His only excuse for not moving immediately was you, he didn’t want to leave you alone here, but you could tell he was lonely. He’s a mysterious man, your Uncle Bill. For as long as you remembered, you had never seen him with a lady friend and was single to this day. He bought that condo to be closer to your grandma, who was living in a facility in that area until she passed and decided to just stay there. You spend every free day you had with him, if not for nothing, to enjoy his cooking. Damn, that man could cook. You wouldn’t think it, looking at him. So serious, with his full beard and sharp eyes, but he had to be the softest, kindest man known to men.

He hated the truck, too small, he said. Too claustrophobic. Even staying outside brought out the grump in him. He used to sit at a table as you and Jenny worked, scowling at everyone. When confronted, he told Jenny his aim was to scare all your customers away so you would give up the stupid truck.

When Dave dumped you, he spent a week standing outside his apartment building and work place, just to send him a message. Dave called you to beg you to call your guard dog off, and your dear Uncle Bill simply moved on when you did, telling you that his message had been delivered.

He’s retired now, but spent his days volunteering for the facility your grandma had been at, doing pro bono work for folks who needed representation. So there he was, minding the till for you as you made coffee, gruffly telling the customers how much they owed, a scowl on his face, despite your coaxing for him to smile every now and again.

“Hurts my face,” he grunted, but smiled, nonetheless, when you gave him a pleading kiss on his bearded cheek.

He retained that smile when he greeted the next customer.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Frank’s familiar voice greeted. You turned around to see him looking your Uncle up and down with interest. “Another macho man to help you mind your till, Lily? You must tell me your secret!”

“Hi Frank,” you greeted, “This is my Uncle Bill. Uncle Bill, this is Frank, he’s a retired art professor, volunteering here for the summer.”

Your Uncle Bill stood stock still where he was, staring at Frank, before mumbling something about needing to get something from his truck. Frank chirped a cheerful goodbye to him, got his coffee and left. Your Uncle Bill came back 20 minutes later, sans anything in his hands, clearing the tables, eyes looking around as if looking for someone.

He spent the day complaining about the truck being too cramped, too hot, too wobbly, the music too loud, the food too dry, the customers too smiley, the sun too bright, the bathrooms too far. But you, being used to his complaining, just smiled along and entertained him the best you could, appreciative that he gave up his day to spend time with you in this ‘too everything’ environment. He insisted on taking you out to dinner, driving behind your truck after closing, keeping you company as you took it through the wash, and parked in your garage, before driving you home after, letting you hug him for five whole minutes to show him how much you appreciated him spending the day with you.

You woke up the Thursday morning to a picture from Ellie of her, Sarah and Joel with sushi between their teeth, grinning at the camera, making your heart soar at the little family, reunited.

You drove up to your usual spot early the next morning to your Uncle Bill waiting.

“Uncle Bill? What are you doing here? I thought I won’t see you ‘til Sunday,” you said, hugging him as he helped you down from the truck, shutting the door behind you.

“Just wanted to spend some more time with you,” he said, “I had fun yesterday, just wanted to have another go at it.”

Uh huh. Right.

Well, no one would hear you complain. You enjoyed having him around. So you went about your day, him by your side. He started easing up a bit as the day went by, particularly after Frank made his daily coffee stop, smiling his reluctant smile to your customers, staying until closing, having dinner with you and hugging you goodbye.

And again on Friday.

He was rather moody on Saturday and asked you to close Sunday.

He was back Monday, looking jittery as hell, and when Frank left to go to class with his coffee, your Uncle Bill ran after him, asking him if he would be free to join the two of you for lunch.

“I thought you would never ask,” Frank said, giving your Uncle Bill his card. “See you at noon,” he said, before turning around to leave, giving your dear old uncle a dazzling smile as he did.

You stood in the doorway of your truck as your Uncle Bill smiled wider than you had ever seen him, your head tilting trying to figure out what the fuck was going on, your eyes focused on your dear old uncle, who was now staring at the card Frank gave him intently, joy written all over his face.

Wait… was he…

Oh.

Oh...

Part 7

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

This frat boy au could also work well with Austin shaving his head

I might be going off the rails here but… frat boys sometimes do silly things for the bit and I am now thinking about how John acquired his mustache and Gale shaved his head.

We had a few fraternities that did “No Shave November” except they all grew the ugliest mustaches. So, imagine John growing his lil rat ‘stache and living for the way it leaves Gale’s face all red and irritated after they make out so he keeps it. Gale pretends to be offended by the hideous mustache, but he can’t deny it feels kind of good when he’s getting his ass ate.

Then we’ve got Gale shaving his head for a costume (Halloween, homecoming week, or some stupid prank the frat is pulling, the event doesn’t matter… all that matters is Gale absolutely joins whatever shenanigans are occurring and shaves his head). We’re talking, homecoming themed party such as white trash bash or cops and robbers or something ridiculous like that and someone (Curt) basically dares Gale to shave his head and he’s so riled up he just does it. John is devastated at first because he loves running his hand through Gale’s pretty blonde hair.

Except, he gets his first blow job post-hairous and he’s lowkey kind of soothed by petting his hand over Gale’s buzzed head. Eventually, he’s rubbing his hand over his buzzed head while stressed about a major paper or finals like he’s petting a dog because it’s his new favorite coping skill and Gale can’t even be mad because it keeps John from smoking too much so he just chills with his emotional support buzz cut until after finals.

[repldemiurge]

pride was about forgiveness this year

i spent all month working to get over myself and engage with my past and future selves in a way without shame, without anger, without self-flagellation. this is the most significant period of change and importance in my life in quite some time, and it's been hard to not beat myself up for taking the time that i took to get here.

so instead of "why not then" i've been thinking "do it for her"

Do it for March 2013. For the first time you really knew. (Love the trash can. S/o to the old anime club room)

Do it for June 2010. Everyone was so nice that you got a "mature" haircut but you were so so so scared that you were gonna be a "man" soon (also the house looks like The Backrooms here?)

Do it for future Rachel - who in a couple years is prooooobably gonna have a really awkward thanksgiving.

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

Do it for July 2013. This was originally posted with "Look at how cute she is :3" #guitar babe

Definitely do it for August 2015. She was so nervous and hated how she looked SO much that she couldn't take a single photo for years without screwing up her face in every direction possible

Do it for future Rachel who's hit the point where she doesn't have to think about this every day

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

Do it for July 2011. After all, it wasn't all bad. People have always cared about you. And you still smiled a lot

Do it for June 2015, who, much to her chagrin, finally ended up having some chin fuzz. Between that and the super long hair, she just leaned into the metalhead thing for a long while. That kinda worked. (Also your thumb makes it look like you have a giant trogdor arm lmao)

Do it for February 2020. She needed help.

Do it for July 2018. You have to do it for July 2018. You have to hold July 2018 forever and say that it's going to be okay. That when your perfect lover asks you if you're their girlfriend. And you lie. and you fail. And you just sob and cry and weep. It's going to be okay. She was so close. She was so so so close

Do it for future Rachel on her deathbed. Surrounded by all her loves and precious memories. She made it.

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

Do it for September 2021. She'd given up. Just tried to bury everything. At least you looked REALLY good in this photo. Like everything else aside you look HOT here. Still *wrong*, but damn it's a good pic

and of course. Do it for her. Day 1. All the anticipation and anxiety building to this one moment. (I'm always gonna have to hold the first day of HRT stache, but I think I can look back and laugh at this one)

No more wailing. No more wondering if there was anything worth looking forward to. No more beating yourself up for what you weren't able to do. All these ghosts thank you. And you have to thank them for making you, here, now. 3 Months today.

[lover-of-mine]

Lady Whistledown... Hey Love!! Yes, I did say they wanted only Oliver and Lou to promote, and Ryan on his own. In an odd way, they thought they won for a minute with Ryan and the stache..... But here's the biggest thing. First of all, we know that article is trash and gives no real insight into who is there and who is not. And honestly, not even the "relationship" part as being accurate. And behind closed doors yes they know!!!!

In Narnia.. Remember..... Lou was supposed to become main. All summer, this was the belief. No Ryan and Oliver. So now they have to act fake, happy that at best, Lou is a guest start. They keep getting clubbed, and no mercy is being offered. To add insult to injury Lou is active again. Giving attention to the cast, while being ignored by the cast. It's like the worst levels of hell for them. They basically jumped ship for a guy they paid and is now active again but still ignoring them. The idea of the 4 musketeers as bullies is even worse. Because they need to claim that joy in the BTS is mean because Lou sits alone at the lunch table.

But honestly, it's really hard for me to picture some of them abandoning him because to do so would admit they were wrong and acted like fools since May.

I wouldn't let any fake joy be perceived as real excitement because every expectation they had has been completely obliterated.

Am I sort of mean for enjoying it? This is probably why I don't have nice things.

Hi baby 🩷

Good to know they know, they are just trying to act happy. And honestly, yeah, they can't get a win to last, and shit just keeps getting worse for them if you realize Lou has been active and still not interacting with them. And I agree that some of them are in too deep to back out now, admitting they were wrong is not something I see most of the hardcore ones doing. And honestly, after the hell that's been going on, I don't think we are mean for enjoying it. I mean, maybe a little, but it's nothing in comparison, so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Update 229 Review:

No reason for this image, just me enjoying Saitama's meaty thighs. That's all.

Story: Like putting lipstick on a hyena

We open with Tatsumaki taking a phone call. She's dismissive of the idea of shooting a commercial to promote the Hero Association to prospective heroes -- until she remembers Saitama talking about how he'd once been weak and agrees. Let it be noted that Tatsumaki doesn't do anything half-assed: she throws herself into the role of ambassador with such enthusiasm that she ends up trashing the studio.

She is less than impressed with what comes out of the session: a cutesy, saccharine call girl simpering in a commercial, about as true a reflection of Tatsumaki as lipstick and a pink bowtie on a spotted hyena. Fubuki, unfortunately, comes home [1] just as Tatsumaki gets hung up on. Oh, dear, there goes the roof. Looks like they'll be staying in hotels for a bit -- ar at Hero Association HQ -- while the damage is fixed.

More goings on under the cut.

I'd love to blame Amai Mask for producing the AI-edited monstrosity. But the true blame lies with McCoy. He orchestrated the campaign. The public lap it up, it conforming to an image that's palatable to see [I have A LOT to say about this but that's another post.]

Nastier-minded people would have asked, 'which organization', but so it goes when one has the benefit of the doubt

After the HA executives praise McCoy for his adroit management of the HA's image, they (especially a guy I'm calling Walrus 'stache) turn to the recruitment figures to find...

...ah, let me wind back a second. It's true that the Hero Association is always recruiting, but it's taken on additional urgency with Metal Knight having apparently thrown billions of Yen away on infrastructure and weaponry that don't work [2] and Tatsumaki being unmanageable. We return to the story...

...that...

...the ad campaign had made no difference. The Hero Association approval ratings were up, but recruitment was still on its downward slide.

What gave?

The answer comes from two other conversations happening contemporaneously. One is between a Hero Association scout and Axel, the leader of a vigilante group known as The Hunters, the other between another scout and a super-sumo champion named Raiden. In each case, the scout is sent off with a flea in their ear as the prospect in question has another engagement.

Yes, there's another hero organization in the wings, and it's hoovering up as much talent as it can find. It's even reaching out to current heroes.

We cut to a very dapper-looking Genos being asked by a very tired-looking Dr Kuseno what his intentions are, given this information and the former's feelings about the Hero Association. Genos starts to answer, but we'll have to wait for the answer as the scene switches to Saitama doing a spit-take as he sees the commercial.

Meta: Finally, some good fucking food

Everything can be faked (except truth)

Many people have already noted the jab at AI fakery inherent in 'Tatsumaki's ad,' so I won't belabour the point. I shall leave it to another post.

Alas, heroes don't grow on trees

The Hero Association's newfound desperation to find new heroes has been a long time coming. People who make good heroes are rare critters. There is not only the need for exceptional ability (even C-Class heroes are incredible), but there's also a need for willingness to serve as a hero, moral principles, and stability under very trying circumstances. Fooled by the previously buoyant numbers of applicants, leading to 55 Hero Tests being conducted as of the time Saitama and Genos applied, they've applied an 'easy-come, easy-goes' attitude to their recruits. When they should instead have recognised them as rare talent to be nurtured, even the lower-class heroes. Looks like there have been seven more Hero Tests since those two joined, and the news has not been good.

At no point does the HA appear to have had more than 600 heroes on the books: retention seems to have been a big problem. It fits in well with the executive Gobrich's frustration with the situation that support for heroes is too top-down and hasn't listened to their actual needs and concerns. Bushohige (the Bearded Worker) has made similar points -- but no one's listening to him, either!

Sekingar at least appears to have seen the light in this regard and at least appreciates that heroes, whatever their abilities, need to be used *well* rather than be treated as a disappointment for not being S-Class heroes. But he's just one person and has only recently been promoted.

And now... with the advent of actual competition, the spigot of fresh new bodies to take in and use up has largely dried up. What a to do!

Speaking of drying up

Genos is draining the very life out of Kuseno at the moment -- it reminds me of Uu and Reigen. Yes, the doctor made him a cyborg, and so on one level, he can't really complain if he's the it man when it comes to giving him upgrades. But Kuseno is all alone. The stress of worrying about Genos when the latter casually dumps horrors on him and the burden of designing upgrades (how do you God-proof a person, anyway?) is really getting to him. And he has no one to talk to, let well alone share the burden with. [3]

Try not to die of overwork, doctor! At least not before you can find Genos a new situation.

Asides

[1] Looks like Fubuki lives with Tatsumaki in the manga. Either that or she lives close by and has a key. Love to see it.

[2] Truly an eavesdropper hears no good of themselves. The manga change from Metal Knight being scolded in person to overhearing it is brilliant.

[3] In a kinder world, Kuseno would be able to call Bang to at least have a sympathetic ear (heh, and Bang had a personality transplant). Kind and ONE don't mix, at least when it comes to his fictional characters, so too bad.

[jewishbarbies]

I'm not sure if there is something wrong with me but what on Earth are people even thirsting over Travis Kelce like I just don't see it 💀💀💀

he’s…white trash/redneck attractive, to put it simply. I could see him cleaning up at a barn dance but he just exudes fuck boy energy, which is embarrassing considering he’s in his 30’s. the porn stache is not working on his favor.

[exhaustedcatte]

Teddy Remus Lupin

“Ted! D’you mind helping me clear out the attic?” Andromeda Tonks yelled from the kitchen.

The taffy-haired boy slung his arm across her shoulders as he veered his grandmother towards the stairs. “Yeah, ‘course I’ll help, but what’s the occasion?”

“We haven’t enough rooms for guests.”

Teddy shrugged.

They made their way into the attic, a spacious cavern with cardboard boxes piled high along the perimeter.

Andromeda handed Teddy a cloth and a duster to arm himself with, and then set to work.

The pair removed the boxes and Teddy found numerous playthings and toys, all from his childhood.

“We can sterilise them and give them to Hermione. She is expecting, isn’t she.”

“Oh Ted,” Andromeda clapped her hands together, “that’s a lovely idea.”

Andromeda levitated the boxes downstairs, to pass on to the kids and what was unusable was to be donated.

They worked in tandem, occasionally pausing to rifle through obscure Black Family possessions and some of his grandfather’s muggle keepsakes. Teddy pocketed an interesting looking device – a Walkman, it said. He didn’t want it to end up in the Weasley bin and have Arthur fiddle with it.

The doorbell rang when they were halfway through. Teddy unloaded the last of his toys into a plastic bin, and jumped over miscellaneous trash to open the door.

“Hiya Ted!” Harry grinned.

And at the same time, Draco smiled, “Hello, Edward.”

“Hey guys!” He huffed a laugh, “How come you’re both here?”

“Surprise,” Harry ruffled his hair.

His uncle shook his head in disagreement, “Your knuckle-headed godfather must’ve forgotten that today was my turn to have you.”

“Did not!” Harry pressed an offended hand to his chest.

Draco rolled his eyes at Teddy and behind him Harry mouthed ‘kinda did’.

“Teddy! Who is it?”

“It’s just Draco and Harry, grandma,” Teddy yelled back.

“Where’s your grandmother?” Draco asked him, politely sidestepping the mess that had been levitated into the drawing room.

“We’re cleaning the attic, she didn’t want anyone sleeping on the couch, so.”

“We’ll help, let’s get your grandma out of that allergy box,” Harry clapped Teddy’s back.

“I’m allergic to dust,” Draco sniffed delicately.

Harry raised a brow, blinking in disbelief, “Could’ve fooled me when you followed me to the most cruddy places, Malfoy.”

“Aunt Andromeda! Let’s get that finished for you,” Draco marched ahead, neck growing pink below his mullet.

The three boys sent Andromeda down to bake her infamous biscuits, while they tidied the place.

“So, which one of us are you banishing to up here?” Draco asked, lifting his hands to levitate boxes downstairs.

“Can’t you just use your wand, you showoff?” Harry jested.

“I don’t have my wand on me Potter, and it’s not like you don’t know how to forgo using your wand.”

Teddy ignored the banter. “I’m actually thinking I’d like this place for myself.”

Harry pivoted on his foot, “That would be wicked.”

Draco lifted another box and was magicking that downstairs when he bumped into Harry and the things in the box came pouring out.

“I swear to fucking Merlin, Potter,” Draco began, as Harry moved away – hands raised in surrender, but Teddy accidentally interrupted him.

“What the hell is that?”

“Language,” Draco murmured absently, kneeling down as well.

There was a huge album, embossed RJ. Lupin, crammed to the brim with pictures.

“Wow,” Harry breathed, touching the cover reverently.

“That’s not…” Teddy looked up for confirmation. “That’s my dad’s.”

Draco hesitantly opened the book.

Inside were pictures Teddy had never seen before.

There were photographs of four young boys, round faced and bright eyed. Pictures of them wearing matching scarves, all of them bundled in one huge sweater, them sporting matching butterbeer ‘staches. Four boys doing absolutely everything together.

The tawny haired kid, despite the thin silvery scars on his knuckles, had the biggest smile on his face. He stared hard at it, trying to burn it into memory, swallowing the growing ball of heat in his throat.

“Dad,” Harry smiled sadly, tracing a photo of James Potter tackling Remus in a hug. “I used to hear that I looked exactly like him for all my life. I don’t anymore.”

The implication was obvious. Harry was now older than James had gotten to be.

“You still look very similar. He was a handsome man, your dad,” Draco rubbed Harry’s back consolingly.

“Calling me handsome, Malfoy?”

“Take it as you will.”

The next few snapshots were of Remus, Sirius and James. Heads bent over a huge piece of parchment, fitted smartly in dress robes, pie-faced on halloween, wearing Santa hats.

Then came another year.

Remus was visibly the tallest of the quartet. He had shot up severely, his face was more rugged, almost roguishly handsome. A shadow of stubble on his face, hardened jaw, a strong nose. He had shed the last shreds of childish innocence, to give way to a handsome young lad. But even still, his big amber eyes, even through pictures, were so kind. Love omnipresent in them.

Remus was shot studying, or gallivanting with his troop in all the photos. He was stooped over a wrinkly hand (Teddy wondered if it was Hope Lupin) painting the nails a pale pink. Remus was in the library, the kitchens, the astronomy tower, all after bed-time. Teddy felt relief bubble up in him, his father had had fun in his time at Hogwarts, no matter the circumstances.

Draco turned the page.

There were a lot of pictures of whom Harry identified as Sirius Black. The man had had an incredibly handsome youth. Beautiful grey eyes, long shiny hair, cuttingly high cheekbones. His complexion pallid, a shock against the ink black of his hair. His heart shaped face drew stop at a pointy chin.

Where Remus looked hardened, Sirius appeared delicate. The Black genes were strong, he recognised a lot of Andromeda in his grand-uncle.

“He was quite the looker,” Draco acknowledged.

Teddy noticed through the corner of his eye how Harry kept looking at Sirius and back at Draco. He also seemed to find the Black genes in a relative, just like Teddy had.

There was a picture of Sirius laughing at something a girl beside him was saying. The red-head had appeared in many photos as the boys grew.

“My mum,” informed Harry.

Sirius was captured sticking his tongue out at Peter, tackling James, hugging a few other friends. All candid. Teddy assumed it was his father taking these pictures.

More artistic shots of the Black family heir were also pasted in the album – Sirius teetering on the edge of a balcony, downing a glass of wine, holding his wand up in lumos, standing against a bike in a parking lot dressed in leather.

“That’s a whole lot of Sirius,” Teddy noted quietly.

And then they flipped another page. Remus – expertly blowing a smoke-ring.

A shocked laugh escaped Teddy, “Is he holding a cigarette?!”

“Your father and his friends were quite the troublemakers, don’t be fooled by all the pictures of them studying,” Harry laughed fondly.

Draco agreed, smiling, “He retained that streak for mischief. It’s what helped him cope, I suppose.”

There was a whole spread of shaken photographs, giving away that the person behind the camera was either inexperienced or a pureblood, possibly both. All the photos were of his father. Reading, drinking tea, rolling weed, dancing too.

“My father was so cool,” he realised.

“We’d have made good friends,” Draco mused. “Maybe in another life.”

“If your head were less inflated, maybe.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

Then there were photos of just Sirius and Remus together.

There was not a hair’s gap between them in that timeframe. Them in a music shop, pointing at a stack of records. Remus reading to Sirius. Remus, Peter and Lily Potter holding up a banner for their two quidditch boys. Sirius playing with Remus’ hair. Remus applying kohl on Sirius’ eyes. The two of them laying beside each other under the shade of a tree. Them laughing, smiling, even crying.

Them kissing.

“What.”

It was a very clear photo. Remus was kissing his best friend. They were stood in the middle of an empty apartment, cardboard boxes stacked high behind them.

“What the hell?” Teddy asked weakly, head spinning at this knowledge.

“Er…” Harry turned to Draco, who also seemed at a loss of words.

And then there were more. Teddy could see in their eyes the amount of love they had for each other. Absolute adoration.

“Oh my god,” Teddy gasped at the scandalous photo. Even Harry’s eyes bugged out.

The two men were clearly not dressed below their bed linens. Sirius had draped himself over Remus’ tan chest. Both of them sound asleep.

“Well, what can I say. Seems like they had fun and I respect that,” Draco shrugged, trying to appear unfazed, but there was a distinct flush on his skin.

The photos ended abruptly after a series of shots of the Potter family and themselves. That’s when the war took a toll on them.

They closed the album silently. The quietness extended till Teddy cleared his throat.

“So… my dad and Sirius had a thing?” He asked, trying to be casual.

“I didn’t know,” Harry said honestly. “But seems so, huh.”

“Mum did mention once that Sirius was a disgusting faggot. Now look, I am too,” Draco laughed.

“It’s not disgusting,” Teddy assured hastily. He had to say it aloud, he owed it to his father, his uncle.

Harry agreed vehemently. “It doesn’t matter!”

Draco smiled at them, “I know, but thanks Ted, Potter.”

Teddy moved the album into his own plastic bin, to keep it safe.

The trio turned their attention to the rest of the things spilled on the hardwood floor.

Teddy sifted through the heap.

There were envelopes with letters; unsent, he guessed. Thick stacks of postcards, all addressed to some town in Wales. There were other things, but he wouldn’t ever know the reason his father had kept them. Quidditch jerseys with POTTER and BLACK printed on the backs, broken rectangle glasses, some sort of muggle board game. Banners with Gryffindor painted onto it. Records of ABBA, Queen, David Bowie, Frank Sinatra – the covers of which had a small Love, Lily scrawled on them. Parchments of recipes, all signed in the end with Cheers, Pete.

“Oh Remus,” Harry sighed.

Teddy blinked back his tears.

This entire house held the life of his mother, and he loved that a lot. To be able to learn of her in her own childhood home. Teddy had inherited his mother’s ability to shape-shift. He was also a Hufflepuff like his mum.

He didn’t know what of him was Remus.

But McGonagall promised him that she saw a lot of Remus’ personality in him; in his driven attitude, snark, in his pranks and his extreme love for chocolates and tea and sweets. She always smiled at him with pride and a tinge of reminiscence.

Teddy’d had nothing materialistic of his father, whose life even Andromeda knew only from the two years shared in Hogwarts. And he was suddenly gifted with more of his father’s post mortem possessions than he knew what to do with, but he’d keep them safely, he’d protect all of what was left of Remus.

Teddy ran his fingers along the edge of a photo frame. The picture inside was unlike those in the album, it was definitely a magicked one. Sirius was kissing the corner of Remus’ mouth, whose lips were stretched into a wide smile. The photo cut off right when the boys began to crack up.

“He was happy. He was in pain every month, but still so happy.”

“Ted,” Harry raised his head up. “Your dad loved you to pieces. He went through a lot, but he found people to love, and you were one of them.”

Draco affirmed this with a silent nod.

Teddy knew that, of course. In his room, in glass frames were pictures of him as a child, being held by his parents. Remus was obviously ecstatic, staring lovingly at the little cherub in his arms. Teddy didn’t doubt for a second that his father loved him. It was visible. Just as it was in his pictures with Sirius.

Teddy gathered all of the things and carefully placed them in his box, to keep in his room and to go through them leisurely.

They cleaned the attic in record time, when the smell of Andromeda’s baking wafted up and tickled their noses.

She distributed teacups and placed a platter of cookies on the teapoy.

“Grandma,” Teddy began hesitantly after they settled on the sofa.

“Yes?”

“Tell me about my dad and Sirius? Please?”

She froze midway pouring Harry a cuppa. “How did you–?”

“Remus had an album,” Draco explained softly, apologetic. “Evidence is plentiful.”

She laughed a little to herself, “Oh, of course. He had a habit of preserving all kinds of bits and bobs, your dad.”

Teddy sat up curiously. “Why?”

“I think he believed that if he didn’t have a memory of it, it didn’t exist. Things were always ripped away from him…”

It became solemn.

“So, did Sirius introduce you to Remus ever?” Draco sipped his tea.

Andromeda got a faraway look in her eyes, “It was the first time Remus had entered this house. Hand in hand with my cousin, who had been cut off and disowned then. He was the only one I trusted with Sirius’ heart. My cousin had grown up without love, but Remus was so patient and loving. And I’m certain Sirius was also the same.”

“Dad loved him, didn’t he?”

His grandmother smiled, wistful at the edges. “The two of them were the closest I will believe of soulmates. Opposites in many things but united in their values, experiences and such. He loved my Dora a lot, truly, but him and Sirius were like a house on fire.

“Even to an onlooker, they made an interesting pair. Where James and Sirius were the obvious duo, Remus and Sirius had a different dynamic built on very similar behaviours. Both stubborn, loyal to a fault, smart; even the childhood they experienced was riddled with guilt, shame, trauma. And where you could tell how much of a brother James was to Sirius, Remus meant to him very differently, and it showed.”

Harry had polished off his tea. “They deserved a happier ending…”

“Life owed them at least that,” Andromeda agreed sadly.

“Maybe they will meet again. The cycle of intertwined lives never end when two people are in love,” Draco leaned against Harry’s shoulder, unaware.

Teddy prayed silently that wherever his father was, he had gotten to meet his friends again. He hoped Sirius and Remus would get another chance at experiencing life together.

The dog star shone bright, in the night sky, beside the moon.

[ylva-syverson]

It’s a trap and she is thoroughly entangled in, holy crap. Lloyd truly has a filthy mouth good lord and he’s not subtle at all. I am indeed loving his shamelessness.

The Grey Zone 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Oh my mustachioed man!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Lloyd pulls in at the last rest stop before you officially enter the true desolation of the northern wilds. You open your door before he can even turn off the engine, unable to hold back the spew of sickness. You spit onto the tarmac as the sun sets darkly above. You grip the door and flinch as Lloyd reaches over to rub your back.

"You okay, baby cakes?" He asks as you press the back of your hand to your mouth and sit back, trapping his hand against the seat.

"Yeah, I just get car sick, like I said," you're almost breathless as the bile sears in your throat, "I should go rinse my mouth out."

"Need help?" He asks and you send him a confounded look. He winks as you struggle to decipher his meaning.

"No," you unbuckle your seat belt and grab your little leather knapsack.

"I guess you're not in the mood for any snacks?" He says as he climbs out on his side, mirror you as you shut your door.

"No, I'm good," you cough.

You walk in stride with him, trying to keep ahead as you're paranoid about your breath and any possible dribble from your vomit. He reaches past you to open the door and holds it open. You flit in and search for the bathroom sign, leaving him behind as the taste of your sickness dries on your tongue.

You hurry down the hall and push into the ladies. You crank on the sink and bend over to rinse your mouth out. You dry off, wiping away much of your black lipstick. 

You fish a mint out of your bag and reapply the tint to your lips, checking your reflection one last time. You go into one of the stalls, just to be sure and wash your hands before venturing out into the store. 

As you come out. Lloyd stands by the magazine shelf, browsing without intent. He glances over at you and smirks, his hands full.

"Got ya... ginger ale," he holds up the green bottle, "and some anti-nausea stuff." He shakes the box of tablets.

"Oh, you didn't have to..."

"I saw it, so... whatever," he hands over the items, "paid and good to go, unless you need anything else."

"All good," you muster a smile.

"You just relax, sweetheart," he waves you towards the door, "we're looking at making midnight if we're lucky. You rest up... you'll need your energy for your vacation."

"Thanks," you mutter. You don't plan on relaxing, you have textbooks and more than enough homework.

"Let me get this," he opens the door for you again.

You step through and he follows closely, just grazing the loose fabric of your pants. You feel a tug but don't think much of it right as he passes you and hits the unlock button on his keys. You near the car and drop into the passenger seat with your goodies.

You crack the seal on the ginger ale, the mint tainting the flavor. You open the box of pills and break one free of the insert. You swallow it with another swig of soda and put the bottle in the cupholder, tucking away the pills in your bag before shoving it between your feet. You lean back and buckle up.

Lloyd turns the engine and flips the stereo on again. You're tired already. You're glad he's taken on most of the driving, aside from his lead foot.

"That's it, you just chill," he reaches over and claps his hand on your thigh, "we'll be home before we know it."

"Home?" You wonder.

"Home away from home," he shrugs and pulls his hand back to the wheel and shifts into gear. "don't worry about it, babe. I got you."

You don't respond. You're not really sure how to and you're stomach is still gurgly. You just want the meds to kick in so you can close your eyes without getting dizzy.

"Alright, back on the road," he steers around the lot, following another car towards the ramp, "huh," he snorts as he speeds up.

"What?"

"Nah, just thinking... feels like... a movie," he muses as he sits back, keeping one hand nonchalantly on the wheel even as the speedometer ticks up, "like we're going away on a honeymoon. Some ridiculous romcom... or maybe a horror movie. You seem partial to the latter."

"I guess. That's a stereotype though. I'm not really a horror person."

"No?" He sniffs, "my bad. I saw that Poe collection on your shelf, so I assumed--"

"I like to read, not so much into seeing gore," you shrug.

"Fair," he replies, "surprising..."

"Why's it surprising?"

"I didn't take you as squeamish with the whole..." he points to his nose, "ring thing."

You reach up to touch your septum.

"Oh, I couldn't really see them doing it," you say.

"Not that I don't like it," he assures you, "it's a look."

You furrow your brow and nearly laugh. Is he trying to sound young and hip or something? At least he's not like your mother, lecturing you on mutilating your body.

"You got any ink? Tattoo or something?" He asks, "something mommy and daddy don't know about?"

"Um, no," you say, "it's... expensive."

"Oh, do I ever know," he clucks.

"You have a tattoo?"

"Sure do," he pats his chest, "I'll give you a look once we get where we're going. It's nothing hardcore. Mostly a college mistake."

"Ah, makes sense."

"What else is college for?" He winks at you in the rearview, "making memories."

"Sure," you agree and yawn into your hand.

"I'll shut up now," he scoffs, "you rest that pretty head."

You look at him, hesitating before letting yourself relax against the seat. You cross your arms and lean into the door, closing your eyes to keep from glancing out the window. He must have got the drowsy stuff, your head is swimming.

🖤

Soon the motion of the car turns from alarming to soothing. You let yourself sink into the anti-nauseant laced drowse itching on your eyelids. You blink, slower and slower, as you succumb to the dark sky and your induced exhaustion. You drift into semi-consciousness, the engine still whirring in your ears.

The hours slip by like seconds and you wake much before your ready too. Not quite all the way as your head wobbles and your body feels buried in sand. You drag your hand across your face clumsily as the car slows and you hear the chirping of crickets. You grumble, batting your lashes before letting them close again. You nestle into the door, reaching for sleep once more.

A soft rumble, like a chuckle, rises as the engine quiets completely. You feel a shift and hear the driver's side door. You can't tell if it's real or you're dreaming. Not until your own door opens and your seatbelt barely keeps you from falling out of the car.

Lloyd nudges you back and snickers again, "ah, look at you, sleepy girl."

He bends over you, his fingertips fluttering over your stomach as he reaches to undo your seatbelt. You moan as you struggle to keep your eyes open. His shadow blocks the moonlight as your tongue sticks dryly to the roof of your mouth. You feel... more tired than you should.

"Let's get you to bed, huh? Look at you," he lets his hand wander down your thigh, "fuck, you're so warm." He tickles you through the fabric of your pants and you shiver, "and it's damn chilly, isn't it?"

He pushes his hands between your thighs and you gasp. You reach for him and he bats your hand away easily. He cups your cunt through your pants and you squirm. He puts his other arms below your chest, pinning you to the seat.

"Wha..." you babble.

"Shhhh, it's alright, babe," he purrs as he bends, pulling his hand down your thigh as he parts them wide, dipping his head into your lap. "Mmmm, you smell delicious."

He buries his face in your pelvis and takes a deep breath before exhaling hotly into you. You whimper and push on his head. He chuckles and pulls his head back. He raises the hand he had cupped against you and sniffs that too.

"The way I'm gonna taste you and find out it you're just as good as you smell," he stands and hooks his arms under yours, lifting you out of the seat, "and you're gonna be begging me for it."

"What are you talking..."

"It's okay, honeybee,  you're fucking out of it," he snaps shut the passenger door, keeping you against him, "if I wanted to, I could fuck you in the dirt right now but that's no fun."

"Huh?" You lean against him, your feet unsteady in your platform boots.

"My dicks been hard since we got in the car, you're lucky I don't test your throat out," he guides you along the pebbles and twigs, a large structure looming limned in moonlight.

"Mr. Hansen?" You eke out.

"Relax, I'm gonna put you to bed, nice and cozy. Cozier on my dick but we'll save that," he teases as his hand creeps down to squeeze your ass, "you got some of those rings in your nips too? Kinky shit."

You shake your head, stumbling with him up the wooden steps of the cabin. The place is dark and you didn't notice if your dad's SUV was there yet. They must have got there by then.

Lloyd angles you through the front door and moves seamlessly through the dark. His strength is unsettling, knowing he could do anything and you couldn't fight him off. Even if you weren't groggy.

"Come on, princess," he hums as he takes you up the stairs, each step creaking.

"Please," you beg, "why..."

"Shhh," he hushes you as he gets you to the top.

Your panic pulses and you try to shove away from him. He lets you and you go crashing into some unseen shape and bounce onto the floor. The noise of your tumble is deafening. Lloyd cackles and you hear something else. Suddenly, footsteps barreling but uneven, a door opens further down.

"What the fuck is going on?" Your mother snarls drunkenly.

"Nothing, Connie," he calls through a chortle, "girl's just a bit hopped up."

"Hopped up?!" She shrieks and you hear her struggling before she emerges, shining a light at you from the flash of her cell phone, "what?!"

"Calm down, she had some dramamine," he scoffs, "she doesn't have the same tolerance as you, Con."

"Oh, shut up," she huffs and turns back, casting the light away from both of you, "keep it down, some of us are trying to sleep."

"Pleasant as ever," he mutters as he slides his arms under you and lifts you. You touch your forehead, dizzied as he cradles you against his chest. He walks down the hall and stops to push open a door with his foot. He stands in the frame and clucks, "just like a honeymoon, huh? Me carrying you over the threshold." He enters and moves carefully through the dark as it thickens, "but we'll save the fun stuff for now."

He puts you on the bed and you grumble. He hovers over you, his hand trails down your body. You shiver and he presses his lips to your forehead and growls, "I can wait…"

He pushes away and stands straight, lurking as you feel him staring down at you. You hug yourself and roll onto your side, weak and disoriented. He takes in an audible breath and lets it out. 

"I'm not even gonna jerk off, as much as my balls are swinging like barbells," he taunts as he leans back on his heels, "I'm saving it all up for you, baby." He clicks his tongue in his cheek, "I'm even gonna be a gentleman and bring your stuff in. Don't worry, you can be naughty for me."

You don't say a word as you close your eyes, hoping to shut out this twisted reality. You hear him retreat, slow deliberate steps that stoke your nerves. He's letting you be for now, but it won't be forever. And now you know exactly what he wants…

🖤

The morning greets you with the sight of an unfamiliar room. Your memory doesn’t rush back but trickles in. A patchwork begins to form in your mind; your father sending you off with Lloyd, his herky jerky driving, the rest stop, and the wobbly scenes that came after.

You remember a conversation but not every word. Only enough to set you on edge. You sit up sharply as the words etch in your mind; ‘don’t worry, you can be naughty for me’. You want to shrug it off as a figment of your own imagination but it’s all too real in your mind.

You look around at the bedroom. Hardwood side for the walls and similarly coloured slats across the floor. The bed frame is elaborate, hand-carved with ornate knobs at the top of each post. There’s a quilty haphazardly pulled over you, gathering at your waist as you hold yourself with palms flat to the mattress.

Your duffle is in the plaid armchair set in the corner. It’s empty. You shake your head, clearing out the last of the cobwebs. Despite the nausea meds and a night of almost lifeless sleep, you wake swiftly. You feel eerily alert of every detail. 

You get up and near the tan dresser, your reflection appearing in the circle mirror perched above. Your eye makeup is smeared and your lipstick only left at the edges of your lips. You’re a mess.

Your hat hangs on the one of the posts that holds up the mirror and your knapsack from the other. You rest your hands on the thin metal handles and slide the top drawer open slowly. You look down as the wood grinds loudly.

Your underwear is neatly folded to one side but you didn’t pack enough to fill the whole drawer. At the other side, there’s something else, something unfamiliar. You touch the lacy fabric and hook your fingers through the slender straps. 

You pull it out of the drawer and let it hang down to the floor. It’s a full body suit, lace in the pattern of spiderwebs, with no lining. It wouldn’t hide much at all. You look up and see yourself positioned behind it, as if you’re trying to see what it would look like on.

You lower the garment and clear your throat. Last night wasn’t a dream, you’re lucky it was a nightmare. You quickly tuck the lacy bodysuit back into the drawer and close it.

What do you do? Do you tell your parents? You don’t imagine your mother would believe you, if she even listened. She’s already into the wine. And your father, Lloyd is his friend. He’d probably shrug it off as one of his jokes.

You back up and turn to the rest of the room. You hear the birds chirping, trees swaying, and the soft breeze flowing in through the slightly open window. You cross to the pane and look out at the deep cluster of trees that stretches for miles. It’s all the more obvious then that you’ve walked straight into his trap.

[georgiapeach30513]

What a fantastic Friday! My timeline is all Cole and Andy tik-toks. 🤣 Sorry @annislittleshopofhorrors I think some of those Cole tik-toks are better than the movie.

The answer to today's poll is C, always C. Head to toe that look was perfect. The hair, arms, titties, nips and that swinging dick, yes please! He was also serving a little smirk the whole time like he knew exactly how good he looked.😍

I will give an honorable mention to B as the henley is always a winner, layered with a wife pleaser and who wouldn't be on their knees.

...now back to the bouncing titties

Ahahaha!! To be fair, Cole didn’t have much to work with when it came to that movie. At least there’s always edits!

Whew 😮‍💨 look C was a good night for us thirsty girls!! Did you say thirsty??

I would gladly test out the “tickly” trash stache.

[wariodemambo]

Diamond City was far from a frequented area for Rosalina. But despite her unfamiliarity, she walked confidently towards her location. An internal compass was strong with this one, it would seem. Though... to be fair, it's not like it took a local's years' worth of insight to see the great big pillar of rock and stone with a house at its peak. Yes, it was more than true that the words Wario and Subtlety went together like water and oil. Quite the private estate that man owned, but luckily for her, all it takes is the smallest bit of effort and a moment of prolonged levitation to reach the top.

Once her personal lift deposited her on the top floor, steps approached Wario's abode and all of the personality it toted. Upon the door would a light rap be heard, a gentle knocking administered by the impromptu visitor. Then, once more with some additional oomph, just in case her first wasn't loud enough. Was Wario expecting guests? Well, certainly not this one, at the very least. He and Rosalina hardly spoke, to be honest. She always made sure to converse with him once or twice after go-karting or golfing or what have you, but she'd certainly never made a house call before.

She just felt the need to visit. It had been a while since she last touched down on the planet he and so many of her special ones called home. And upon arrival, a twinge in her chest just said... check in on him. So here she was. If he was even home to begin with.

Wario never locked his front door. This is a fact especially true after his most recent loss. His busy friends could come-and-go whenever they made time to check in on their boss; showering with condolences and meals to last him a lifetime. Locking the front door would only discourage their visits, if not stop them outright — and, as counterintuitive it seemed, separated his clique from the strangers.

The polite tap gave (some of) Rosalina away, leaving Wario with a frown as it persisted. Gustavo, Mario, and his green brother would have announced themselves, Bowser was the furthest thing from subtle, and the princesses were... well, just no. With a groan, he pulled himself up, approached the entrance, and yanked the door open.

❝ THE SIGN SAYS NO SOLICITERS, JERKW— ❞

. . . . . . aieeeeee????

— BANG!

The front door crashed shut, muffling the odd noises that followed. A chicken squawking loudly, trash bags being stuffed (and promptly thrown out one of the side windows), the chirping of a confused Pokémon, the grinding of furniture across the floor, and more chicken bawking...

Until, at last, silence.

The door creaked open, as Wario peeked through the crack to confirm Rosalina was not a figment of his imagination. He heaved as he pulled the door open the rest of the way. Cyan eye shadow does nothing to hide the dark look in his eyes, and hairs stray from that iconic lighting bolt 'stache. Just her being here was enough to steal the potential words from his mouth — leaving his jaw agape as his eyes met hers. His experience sought wrongdoing, any reason for her presence as if he were about to be in trouble.

When nothing came, it was then he mustered the courage to speak.

❝ ROSIE. ❞ Blunt and filled with the same disbelief in his pupils, Wario shifted. What a house call! The past weeks stretched so long that he'd almost forgotten the other part of his life. Would go-karts even fix him at this point. He welcomed her in as he straightened up. ❝ Err — What can-a Waarrrio do for you? ❞

Pay no mind to the thousands of fresheners in the air right now, or the Igglybuff he'd scooped up after closing the door. It'd fallen asleep by the time Wario reached the couch, anyway.

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

We’re being robbed by valve because scout doesn’t have a trash-stache cosmetic (I don’t count the speedy scoundrel because it gives him long hair as well which cancels out how lame he looks with the mustache and soul patch)

All these beards, the Allfather, the Cuban Bristle Crisis, the Five Month Shadow etc. I just think scout needs something kind of pathetic to go with how much of a weenie he is

He needs a shirtless cosmetic with like the one curly chest hair

[babyjakes]

Treat!!! Happy Halloween bby! 🎃💓💓💓💓

trash stache daddy opens the door 😌 handing out “gold bars” of course, and a kiss on the cheek for his favorite girl 😌 “oh my. look at that costume, baby. careful now, i might just try to eat you up myself” 😮‍💨🤤