#Tales of Mash Up

[doctorcanon]

"Don't worry: It's my blood."

Figured out what to do with that lineart. Made him a little less feral than the initial inking. Full disclosure: Traced the hand. mIght draw a matching Flynn or Ludger. Drawn in hanfu with an axe because he's based off of my Tales of Mash Up design for him.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

The Turning of the Year: A Cinderella Retelling

In a long-ago year, in a faraway land, there lived a girl named Alena. She lived in the house of a cruel stepmother, who hated her because she was so much prettier than her own daughter, and who made Alena do all the work of the house. Though the stepmother let her eat only scraps and wear only rags, Alena grew only more kind and beautiful as the year's went by, while her own daughter, Vanda, grew ever more coarse and cruel.

Now one December, it became known that the king of the land would host a grand ball in the city upon the eve of the New Year. Alena, like all other girls, wished to attend, and asked her stepmother if she could go. Her stepmother promised that she could, in order to convince Alena to work even harder in the weeks before.

But when New Year's Eve arrived, and Alena asked if she could dress for the ball, her stepmother cried, "A ball? When there is so much work to do? We must cast out the old year! You shall attend no ball before the house is cleaned. If there is even a speck of dust left in this house at midnight, you shall bring bad luck upon us all--and it shall be very bad luck for you.”

With that, her stepmother left the house, along with her own daughter, Vanda, to purchase trimmings for their dresses at the ball.

Scarcely had Alena begun to clean the kitchen when she heard footsteps near the back garden gate. When Alena peered outside, she found an old woman walking alone, her back so bent she could not stand without her staff, and her hair so white the snowflakes seemed dark upon it.

“Good mother!” Alena cried, rushing to the woman’s aid. “Come inside to warm yourself! It is no weather for traveling.”

The old woman took a seat by the fire with thanks, and gladly shared the crust of bread that was the only meal Alena’s stepmother had given her.

“You are good to an old woman,” the stranger said. “Yet that is no surprise, for you have been good the whole year through.”

“You do not know me,” Alena said in surprise.

“But I do,” the woman replied, “for I am the Old Year. You have shown me kindness near the end of my journey, so I will be glad to do what I can to help you in yours. What troubles you, child?”

Alena said with sorrow, “My stepmother will not let me attend the prince’s ball until I have cleaned every speck of dust from the house.”

“That is easily done,” the Old Year said, “for April shall reign in this house for the hour.”

With that, though the woman remained old and bent upon her stool, she also seemed somehow to be tall and straight, young and beautiful, with apple blossoms in her golden hair. In the garden outside, the snow clouds cleared away for springtime sun, and warm breezes blew through the house, gathering all the dirt and dust and soot and spreading it neatly in the gardens outside. While spring reigned, Alena gathered blossoming branches from the garden and placed them in jars around the house. Before the hour was over, the house shone. The old woman then lost her youthful aura, and winter returned to the gardens outside.

Alena thanked the Old Year from the bottom of her heart, but at that moment, her stepmother and stepsister returned. Alena, knowing that her stepmother would beat her for letting a ragged stranger into the house, hid the Old Year in the pantry just before her mother entered the kitchen.

“You lazy girl!” Stepmother shouted, when she saw Alena sitting on the stool near the fireplace. “Why are you sitting when the house must be cleaned?”

“It is clean, Stepmother,” Alena replied.

Her stepmother protested, but when she inspected the house, she found not a speck of dust.

She returned to the kitchen filled with rage, for she did not wish Alena to attend the ball and outshine her own daughter in the presence of the prince. When there, she saw the sacks of grain that Alena had moved out of the pantry to make room for the old woman.

“Aha!” her stepmother said. “You have forgotten the grain! We cannot enter the old year with bad grain. You must sift through every kernel so you can throw out the bad and keep the good. If this is not done before midnight, it will be a bad year for you.”

With that, her stepmother and Vanda returned to their rooms to prepare their dresses for the ball. Alena wept by the fireplace, and when she let the old year back into the kitchen, she told her the new task her stepmother had given her.

“That is no trouble,” the Old Year said. “Dry your eyes, child, for July shall reign in this house for the hour.”

Though the woman remained as old as ever, Alena thought she could also see her as a woman of middle age, with roses in hair just beginning to go gray. Through the windows flew every one of summer’s songbirds--warblers, robins, thrushes, vireos, orioles, flycatchers, tanagers, grosbeaks. At the Old Year’s commands, they opened the sacks, and threw the good grain into the barrels and the bad out the back door.

The gardens outside were lush and green, and Alena spent the hour in the sunshine, gathering strawberries, raspberries, and roses by the armful. The birds finished their work before the hour was over, and then flew out the doorway. The sunshine faded, the snow returned, and Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart.

Just then, her stepmother emerged from her rooms, and Alena hid the Old Year in the pantry once more. Her stepmother and Vanda were fully dressed for the ball, but they had been so absorbed in their own looks that they had not seen even a moment of the summer that had filled the house.

"The grain is sorted, Stepmother," Alena said. "That means I can go to the ball."

With anger in her heart, her stepmother sorted through the grain, but she could not find one bad kernel to blame Alena for.

"You stupid girl!" she said at last. "Just because the grain is sorted, it doesn't mean your work is done. You have forgotten the mattresses! We cannot meet the new year in beds filled with last year's down! You must empty all the mattresses and stuff them all with fresh feathers before you can even think of attending the ball!"

She forced Alena to drag the mattresses to the kitchen, and then she and Vanda returned to their rooms to finish dressing their hair.

With that, Alena fell to weeping once again. The Old Year emerged and asked what troubled her.

"My stepmother demands I restuff the mattresses before I can attend the ball."

"That is no trouble," the Old Year said. "September shall reign in this house for the hour."

The next moment, though the woman remained old and bent, Alena also saw her as a woman not quite so old, with an elegant bearing and iron-gray hair that was woven with autumn leaves. The light outside became golden, while the plants in the garden grew brown and dry, and the trees bore apples among flaming leaves.

The sky grew dark as the air filled with the sound of beating wings, and in a moment, geese and ducks of every kind filled the gardens. The birds filed through the door, and at the Old Year's command, they pulled the old feathers from the mattresses and replaced them with a few feathers pulled from their own wings and tails and breasts. While the birds worked, Alena went to the gardens and gathered sweet apples from the groaning trees.

When the hour was over, the birds flew away, leaving behind mattresses plump with fresh new feathers. Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart, then flew up the stairs to prepare for the ball.

Her stepmother met her in the hall outside her bedchamber, her hair dressed and ready for the ball.

"I have finished the work, Stepmother," Alena said, "so I will be able to go with you to the ball."

Her stepmother did not believe her, but when Alena brought the mattresses upstairs, she found them so plump and clean and fresh that she could find no fault to blame Alena for.

"You foolish child," her stepmother said at last, so angry she could barely speak. "You cannot possibly attend the ball, for you have nothing suitable to wear."

"I have one dress," Alena said. She flew into her dark, drafty little room and emerged with a gown that had once belonged to her mother. "This dress will fit me, and it is fit to be seen even by a king."

Her stepmother could see that in such a dress, even old as it was, Alena would still far outshine her own daughter in the prince's eyes. She tore the dress from Alena's hands, and with hands made strong by fury, she tore at the seams until the dress tore in two.

"This rag?" Her stepmother cried. "You cannot attend the ball in something so old. I would not have you come and give shame to us all. You must stay here and greet the new year alone."

With that, she and Vanda put on their cloaks, stepped in their carriage, and departed for the ball, leaving Alena weeping in the hallway.

While she wept, the Old Year came to her side and asked what troubled her.

"I am without hope," Alena said. "Though all the work is done, I cannot attend the ball, for I have nothing but rags to wear."

"Nonsense, child," the Old Year said. "You shall be the finest woman there, for you will be clothed in all the bounty of the year."

The Old Year helped Alena to her feet, and through tear-filled eyes, Alena saw the woman change, so she seemed old and young and middle-aged all at once. In the gardens outside, spring blossoms sprouted beside summer's roses, and autumn's leaves blazed over winter's snow. Sun and snow and wind and rain all seemed to fill the little hall where Alena stood. Her limp hair piled high atop her head and was crowned with the blossoms of spring. Her rags became a gown as soft as the petals of summer's roses, and bright with autumn's crimson and gold. A cloak of winter-white feathers stretched from her shoulders to the ground, and her feet were shod in shoes of winter's ice, which through some miracle neither froze her feet nor melted upon the floor.

"Old Mother!" Alena cried in gratitude, throwing her arms around the old woman. "I cannot thank you enough."

"You have earned it," the Old Year said, "but I warn you that I will fade away at midnight's chime, and when I go, my gifts will disappear. You must leave quickly, child, while time lasts."

With that, another wind, warm and icy all at once, wrapped itself around Alena and lifted her through the window. In moments, she found herself before the king's palace, which was all lit up for the festival.

At the ball, her beauty far outshone every woman there, and the dancers stopped dancing to whisper about this strange foreign princess who had arrived with no escort. The king, seeing her, was enchanted at once, and asked for her hand in the dance. For the rest of the night, Alena danced with no other, and found the king as kind and handsome as all the tales had claimed.

The hours flew by in what seemed like moments, until just as the king led her out toward a balcony, the palace clock began to chime the midnight hour.

"The new year has come!" the king declared, but Alena fled from him, out of the palace, down the stairs, and to the dark and snow-covered city streets. The Old Year's wind--what was left of it--found her and carried her through the midnight sky, but at the stroke of twelve, it faded away, dropping Alena into her house's back garden, clad once more in her rags. A single shoe of winter's ice clung to her left foot--though the Old Year's gifts had faded, winter still reigned, so only that season's gift remained.

The king, when she fled, ran after her, but he could find no trace of where his partner had gone, save one token, dropped in the place where the wind had picked her up--a single shoe made of winter's unmelting ice. The king declared that he would marry no woman save for the one who fit the miraculous shoe, and at the first light of dawn, he left the palace in search of her.

He had not gone far when he came across a girl child, barely old enough to walk, with hair as soft and golden as the sun's first rays.

"Where are you going?" the child asked him, in a voice too strong and clear for one so young. The king knew at once that he spoke to the newborn Year.

"I search for the woman I love," the king said, "though I have nothing to find her save the shoe she left behind."

"I know her well," the New Year said, "for she was a great friend of my mother's. You will find her in a house at the edge of the city, where spring's blossoms sit next to summer's roses and autumn's fresh apples."

With many thanks, the king swept the child onto his horse, wrapped her in his cloak, and sped off toward the far edge of the city. Before long, he came upon Alena's house, and knew it by the baskets of blossoms, roses and apples she had kept by the kitchen window.

When Alena's stepmother had come home from the ball, she had seen the signs of autumn, spring and summer in her kitchen, and knew that Alena had been the princess at the ball. She searched in Alena's room and found the partner to the shoe the prince held, then she seized Alena by the hair and locked her deep within the cellar. As she saw the prince approach, she fetched Vanda--her own ugly, cruel daughter--and perched her near the window with the blossoming roses, with the shoe of ice upon her foot.

The king rode to the house's entrance and presented himself by the main doors. Alena's stepmother greeted him with warm joy and welcomed him inside. While she took the king's cloak and tended to his boots, she did not see the small child toddle from the prince's side and make her way to the room where Vanda sat waiting.

Once there, the New Year reached her tiny hands toward the loaf of bread that Alena had baked only that morning. "Might I have something to eat?" she asked Vanda.

"Go away, little girl," Vanda said crossly. "Don't you know that the prince is here?"

The New Year asked for bread again, and once more, Vanda scolded her. At last, the child began to cry, and Vanda hit her on the ear and sent her tumbling to the floor.

Red-faced and crying, the New Year rose to her feet and told Vanya. "You are a cruel, selfish girl. Your heart is cold as ice, and so it is winter that will reign in this house today."

With her words, all the doors and windows of the room flew open, and a wind as cold as death blew in. Snow blew into the room and fell in drifts upon the floor. Before long, Vanda's lips and hands were blue, but her feet, encased in blocks of freezing ice, were black as coal.

Vanya's screams drew her mother to her side, and the king, alarmed, trailed in after her. He saw the girl with blackened feet, and though one foot wore the slipper of ice, he knew she was not the girl he sought. He feared that these cruel women had done her some great harm.

While Vanya's mother tended to her and sent for the doctor, the king saw the New Year standing in a drift of snow. He lifted her onto a stool, wrapped her in his cloak, and asked her, "Where is the woman I love? You promised she was here, yet I do not see her, and there are no other women in this house."

"You will find her in the one place where winter did not touch," the New Year said, "for her heart is too warm to be touched by ice."

The king waded through the kitchen's drifting snow and opened the door of the pantry. There, he saw all the house's food stores covered in snow and ice, but with not a flake covering the small door that led to the cellar. With a few blows, the door broke open, and the king pulled Alena out into the morning light.

"I have found you at last," the king cried in joy, and knelt before her with the slipper of ice. "You have my heart," the king replied, "and if you are willing, I would make you my bride."

With a smile, Alena said, "I will gladly be your wife."

With joy, the king took Alena to his home and introduced her to his court as his chosen bride. The people were charmed at once by her beauty and her kindness, and before the month was over, she was wed to the king and became queen over all the land. Her stepmother and stepsister, with Vanya maimed and their food frozen, became paupers, because they, in their pride, refused all of Alena's charity. Their cruelty gained them no friends, and before the winter's end, they were found, frozen to death, in winter's snow.

Alena, reigning as queen by her husband's side, became beloved by all the land. She and her husband remained pure of soul and warm of heart, and together they all lived happily for all the rest of their years.

[braisedhoney]

say hello to the first Official Canon Characters aboard the HIVE o7 (joking, but they are legit ocs which is kinda weird to say 👀)

random lore + some extra tidbits below the cut

OKAY this is all pretty loose bc i don't wanna get top restrictive with it, the vagueness is half the fun. but here's what i got:

in the “HIVE canon”, sector heads/ranking officers (which for now is just leander and COL ig until i eventually cave and make more lmao) are specifically given custom uniforms and number prefixes instead of the CR[insert number here] format.

the “M” in front of leander’s stands for medbay. COL didn’t pick one so it’s just his name lol.

crewmates can wear any accessories they want as long as the base uniform stays the same (bee arm patches, grey, etc). all crewmate numbers gotta start with CR to be canon, but that doesn't apply to shitpost comics or like. general vibes

(there’s a reason the crew uniforms are grey. it’s the same reason leander made the captain’s gloves. )

the ship shuffles itself! it's not random all of the time, sometimes you open a door and end up in the room you were heading to like a shortcut, but other times you can open a random door and end up in the kitchen, or the training hall, etc etc. i just think an eldritch abomination ship is funny.

weirdly enough though it doesn’t do this in crisis situations. guess it’s only fun if the pranks are harmless ;;

if you get lost, call the captain (ello! o7) or COLONY over comms. they can generally get you wherever you need to go bc COLONY is directly connected to the ship and the captain’s able to make [INQUIRIES], which let us pass freely.

it’s kind of hard to tell if leander has a similar ability. the running theory is no, but he never seems confused?? when he enters a room?? so either he has one or he really just rolls with the punches. both are equally possible tbh.

in actual lore these two were probably some of if not the first few people to be recruited. obvs that’s a retcon now but shhh.

random characters from fandoms still get dragged into our shenanigans. at the end of the day this is all just for fun, and that’s one of the best parts, so hell yeah i’m keeping it.

[runawaymun]

some Celrond smoochies warmup sketches

[thenicestthingiveseen]

FirstPrince + Accidentally Married + Fairy Tale AU!

Once upon a time in a land far, far away with a bit of magical realism, there lived two boys: Alex and Prince Henry, who have been best friends for as long as they can remember. Alex’s parents are members of the royal court and the two boys spent most of their childhood running throughout the castle playing games and exploring various parts of the castle.

At 18, Henry is told that he is to be married when he turns 21. His wife will be coming to the palace to meet him and then he and Alex will be shipped off to serve in the Queen’s army as is custom.

Alex is devastated. But he doesn’t know why exactly. He knows that it makes Henry unhappy and uncomfortable and he hates that, but something more about the arrangement bothers him. He ignores it and focuses on making sure Henry survives the next three years.

We flash forward two years and the boys are safe and not facing certain death (because this is a fairy tale, duh). Henry shares his concerns with Alex about his impending nuptials. He plays it off as anxiety and fear of tripping over his words.

So, Alex - the dutiful best friend that he is - takes Henry to a clearing a bit away from where they’ve set up camp and offers to walk him through the important part of the ceremony. They walk through the vow at least ten times to make sure that Henry feels comfortable saying the words. He does feel better even if he's a bit uneasy about the prospect of marrying someone he's only met once. Never mind the fact that he's meant to be marrying a woman.

Flash forward another year and it’s Henry’s wedding day and the man in charge of the marriage says he can’t marry these two as one of them is already married. He pulls out a book and shows that Alex and Henry were married almost a year ago to the day.

It’s absolute chaos and the boys are confused because it wasn’t real? And the bride’s father is beyond pissed and feels tricked.

The clearing had magical properties and realized the sacred bond between Henry and Alex is pure and true and therefore allowed the marriage to be legitimized in their world without the need for witnesses.

Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story. 

[i-fondued]

i came on here just to say i love you all, im working insane hours right now so i haven't been posting as much outside the queue.

also...i got fall out boy tickets today?? because they will be at fenway on 8/2 which is my birthday so it felt like it was meant to be

also also i am working on sinners however i am most likely going to have to move the update day to saturday instead of late friday depending on how much i can manage to get done in the next 24 hours, wish me luck ghesties LOL

also also also...I STILL DON'T HAVE POLLS HOW DARE YOU STAFF >(

and I am so close to hitting 1666 followers, when i do i plan to do a giveaway so stay tuned for that

ghisses xxx

i-fondued

oh, and side note...Ive started the labyrinth x ghost [probable] one shot based on missy's art so stay tuned for that ehehehe

[multishipper-baby]

It's always cool to me to see fandoms where the ships aren't named the standard "mash both names together" thing.

You see the pokemon fandom where you have names based on the characters followed by shipping (like Originalshipping or Preciousmetalshipping). Interesting, although a pain to memorize in some cases and can get really long.

You have the IZ fandom where they use the characters' initials + the type of relationship (like how ZAGR is Zim and Gaz romance). Short and to the point, but can get easily confusing when you have two characters with the same initials.

You have WOY where the ship names are one or two words related to the characters or their relationship (like how Skeleton Dance is Wander/Hater). Short and cute imo, although some ship names risked showing you stuff aside from the ship- I swear I always found actual black eyes when searching for Sylvia/Peppers.

[rikalovesrice]

No thoughts just Big Bro Douxie inviting everyone over to his place for a big fat Christmas dinner ol’ Medieval style UwU

[totheidiot]

acha, arian, kalke shabhabik thaiko. ajob kono kando koiro na. cheletar shathe bhalo bhabe kotha bolba, o jeno tomar shathe friend hote chay. KOTHA BOLAR AGE CHINTA KORBA !!! ETA SHOBCHE BORO JINISH !!!

[herdreamywasteland]

The Bear, The Man, and The Fox

Note: I do not allow my works to be copied to another site or translated without permission. Please message me if you would like to translate or podfic my work. Comments and Reblogs are adored, constructive criticism is allowed, and hate or negativity will be swiftly and efficiently dealt with.

Inspired by the fairy tales Androcles and The Lion, The Bear Trainer and His Cat, and Ingratitude is The World's Reward.

A long while ago, in a place that’s not here, there was a bear. She was young, two or three, and at the age when a young bear leaves her mother to make her way in the world. It was a crisp winter morning and she was running and jumping about.

As she stopped to catch her breath, she heard a quiet rustling in the brush. Since no one had ever told her she shouldn’t stick her nose in places she couldn’t see, she shoved her snout into a bush, trying to see. As soon as she did that, her nose exploded with pain. 

She leaped back with a yelp, tears pricking her eyes. To her surprise, there was a troll biting her snout with its sharp little teeth. The bear shook her head from side to side, trying to knock it off.

When that didn’t work, she rubbed her face against the ground, a tree, and her paws, desperately trying to shake the troll off. After a minute or so of doing this, she slumped to the ground with a sad little cry. The bear decided that she would have to live with this pain because there was no way she could get the troll off.

As she sat there, contemplating how she would smell and eat, a man heard her cries.

Androcles was a slave who had escaped from his master and was searching for a place to hide. When he first heard the cries of the bear, he thought it was a kitten that had been lost in the woods. As he got closer, he was shocked to realize the pathetic sounds were coming from a bear almost as large as him.

He stared at the bear before daring to ask her if she needed help. This was back in the days when man was a little wilder and animals were a little tamer, and they could speak the same language. So it only made sense for the bear to look woefully at Androcles and nod. 

Androcles approached the bear and the troll, looking at them appraisingly. Then, he worked his fingers under the troll’s flabby lips and pulled as though he were trying to split a piece of wood by hand. The troll did its best to hold on, but soon it couldn’t keep its teeth together and let go of the bear.

The second the troll loosened its grip, Androcles threw it away, as far as he could. Only after he heard the quiet thump that signified the troll had landed, did he turn to the bear. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and began to dab at the bites on her nose.

As he worked, he asked her what her name was. She shrugged, as no one had ever given her one. Androcles paused his work and looked thoughtfully at her. After a moment he nodded to himself.

“Then I shall call you Bear.”

Many years went by, and Bear was always by Androcles’s side. She fought and protected him, and in turn, he fed her and let her lie on his feet at night. They had many adventures together, as in those days, there was more than enough time for adventuring.

Once, in the deepest part of winter, the two had to seek shelter in a small village. The villagers told them to leave, that the only house they could stay in was filled with trolls. At first, Bear didn’t want to stay, for she was still scared of trolls. 

Androcles merely laughed and told her that now she was much larger than him and that any troll in the village should turn and run. Comforted and strengthened by his words, Bear followed him into the home. She settled by the fire, Androcles in the chair to her right. 

Both man and bear were awoken by a soft scrabbling noise. In the dim firelight, the monstrous form of a mountain troll could be seen. It was much bigger than the one that attacked Bear when she was little. 

She sat up and looked to her master, her snout wrinkled in fear. Androcles merely smiled before asking the troll what it was doing in the home. The ugly brute turned and told him that it was going to stay the night. When it turned and saw Bear, it laughed as she trembled in fear.

“What a scared little kitty cat! I think I’ll eat it for dessert, after I eat you, of course!” 

The troll lunged at Androcles, cackling, but Bear lunged up in a rage. She hated trolls, she wasn’t a cat, and no one would hurt her master. She easily smacked the troll away, one huge paw catching the side of its head.

It shrieked as it went flying, landing into the heart of the fire. With a terrible scream, it lurched up and ran from the house, smoking and bruised. For a month, it wasn’t seen again.

As winter began to thaw and give way to spring, the troll dared to show its face again. It saw Androcles chopping wood in the forest. It approached him, fearfully glancing around for Bear. It asked if he still had the fearsome cat that bested it a moon ago. 

“Yes, and she grows more fearsome with each day!” Androcles laughed.

“Then I will never come back here again!” And with that, the troll ran away. 

Many years later, Bear and Androcles lived in a little house on the outskirts of a village. While there, Bear met another bear and they fell in love. Come spring, Bear had seven little cubs running under her feet.

At first, Androcles had delighted in them, playing with them and taking them on his walks. But soon, he realized that they would grow into bears as big as their mother, and still, he would have to care for them. 

One winter’s evening, when the biggest cub had chewed up his shoe, he decided to drown them. He packed them up in a sack and carried them out to the forest. Androcles didn’t think, blinded by his anger. 

He headed down to the cliff by their home, knowing that a river ran at the bottom. He set the bag down, trying to see the best place to drop the cubs. Androcles didn’t want them, but he wasn’t cruel, and wouldn’t make them suffer.

As he was looking, his foot slipped on a patch of ice and he stumbled. He slid down the cliffside, almost tumbling off. He caught a root and held on for his life, crying out for Bear. 

Bear awoke to his cries and ran to him. She leaned down to grab his shirt with her teeth and lift him. She stopped before she grabbed him, noticing the wriggling bag that smelled of her cubs. She took a horrified step back.

Angrily, she asked him what he was doing with her cubs, and why he was out by the cliffs. He told her that he was sorry, he had been overwhelmed and tried to get rid of them. Androcles begged for forgiveness and said he would do nothing to hurt them anymore. 

Bear was moved with compassion and pulled him up. He dropped to his knees and thanked her, but she merely stared at him with disgust. 

“After everything I’ve done for you, you try to kill my cubs?” 

He sobbed, telling her it was a lapse of judgment, that it would never happen again.

Their commotion had attracted a fox, the little creature wandering closer before stopping to sit in the snow. The fox asked if they could be a little quieter, as the animals were trying to sleep, speaking in a high and melodic voice, with three voices melded into one. 

This was back in the days when foxes were gods and had more than one spirit, so they were considered the wisest of judges. 

Androcles opened his mouth to say something, but Bear spoke before him.

“This man tried to kill my cubs but was stopped by his foolishness. I rescued him but I can no longer trust him. Tell me, wise ones, what should I do?” 

The fox tilted their head, looking at Bear quizzically. 

“We cannot say until we know the full story. Please, human, tell us why you did what you did.” They scratched behind their ear, their amber eyes never leaving Androcles. 

He sat on the snow and began to speak, telling the story of him and Bear, starting at the beginning. As he spoke, Bear went to the bag and tore it open with her teeth, checking to make sure her cubs were alright. She turned back to the fox and Androcles when she heard her name being called.

“We cannot fully understand how you saved him. Please, would you demonstrate?” The fox motioned with their tail to the cliff.

Androcles stood up and walked to the edge, telling the fox how he fell. 

“We are so sorry, but we still can’t understand how you were rescued. Please, show us so we may pass better judgment.” The fox stood up and walked a little closer to Androcles. They motioned Bear over, signaling with their tail.

“Please, human, if you would get in the position you were rescued in, maybe we can understand better.”

Androcles looked at them, confusion on his face. “But I might fall.”

“Bear?” The fox motioned with their paw. “Please keep human from falling.”

Bear reluctantly took Androcles’s shirt between her teeth, carefully dangling him over the edge. She looked to the fox, desperately wishing she could drop him, but refusing to do so until they had passed their judgment. The fox nodded, slowly circling them.

“Now we understand. We have reached our verdict, the man is guilty. Now drop him so that your cubs will be safe and we can all put this nasty business behind us.”

Androcles shouted for Bear to listen to him, to ignore the fox, and let him back on the ground. But Bear was not one to ignore the judgment of gods, and she would protect her cubs to her dying breath. She opened her mouth and let him fall. 

As she watched him tumble to the ground, she felt a strange twinge of longing.

“Oh wise ones, why do I feel like this?” Bear turned to the fox, who was watching her with a sad little look on their face.

“Because, little one,” They spoke, in their meandering, twisting voice. “You miss the man he used to be, the one who was kind, who rescued you. As he told us your story, we saw that over the years, he saw you less as a friend and more as something to be used.”

Bear stared at the fox, feeling as lost as she did before she met Androcles. The fox blinked slowly at her, before standing. 

“Let this be a lesson, little one. Do not invest everything you have in just one person. It will make their betrayal so much worse.” With that, the fox turned and raced off into the forest, their red coat a blaze against the snow. Bear watched in silence until the soft patter of their little black feet was nothing but a memory. 

She turned to her cubs, which were watching her with confused looks. 

“Mama,” The oldest one asked, “Why did you drop him?”

Bear looked at her cub. “To protect you.”

“But Mama,” The littlest one chimed in, “He loved you.”

Bear looked at her seven children with a sad smile on her face. “Yes, he did, but sometimes, love turns to indifference, and you can’t tell until it’s too late. He took me for granted, and since I loved him like a dog loves its master, I could not see that. But you, oh you, my cubs, you helped me see that there is so much more to life. So much more than waiting.”

As she spoke those words, Bear realized she was right. She began to walk, away from the house, her seven children following, towards a new life.

A long time ago, in a place that’s not here, there was a bear. She was old, her bones creaking as she walked, the age when a mother bear sends her children to make their way in the world. It was a crisp winter morning and she walked along, her cubs frolicking about her.

[georgi-girl]

Dipper, when someone drops a bomb on him-

"What? What!? WHAT!?"

Mabel when she sees a cute boy -

"I have just met you, and I LOVE you!"

Stan when asked why he's such a cheapskate-

"I don't like stuff. I like money."

Wendy, when she gets up in the morning-

"I feel fine, I feel great, I feel wonderful."

Soos when he gets up in the morning-

"I'm a strong and capable man."

McGucket if someone gives him a gun-

"Wyatt Flipping Earp!"

Mabel, when Stan and Ford are in the same room-

"...Family reunion, yay..." 😅

Ford, telling Blubs and Durland about his adventures-

"and then they made me their chief..."

Stan describing his relationship with Soos-

"He's both the child and pet I've never had."

Soos trying to be intimidating-

"Pain... lots of pain..."

Robbie venting about the Pines family-

"Twins are weird... You know what's not one of a kind? A twin."

Gideon when he loses to Stan-

"You win this round Hebrew."

Ford intimidating Mabels' boyfriend-

If you hurt my girl, you will answer directly to me. And whatever crimes I commit against you remember, I have diplomatic immunity in 46 dimensions. Including Lost Carcossa.

Dipper when he does something cool-

Did anybody see that?!

Soos watching Stan and Ford get along-

"I've never been so happy in my life!" 😭

Bill making a deal with someone-

I'm in such a good mood.

[doctorcanon]

The Kitchen Crew of Wonder Chef; the Restaurant in Marksburg Country Club.

Yuri Lowell: Lead Bar Tender and Front of the House Manager.

Ludger Will Kresnik: Sous Chef and Hot Food Lead.

Velvet Crowe: Prep Cook and Banquet Lead.

[kamiversee]

Fuck Me Through It ꨄ

[ { Synopsis } ] ➤ You and Geto seemed to have craved each other’s bodies more than either of you initially let on— hence why a hot & heavy phone call with him wasn’t enough to satisfy him. (Part One)

[ { Need to know } ] ➤This is a What-If scenario that stems from my fic; The F*ck List— A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt.

[ { Content & Warning } ] ➤ f!reader, dirty talk, language, manhandling, tw; spitting & slight mention to satosugu, Suguru's mouth is filthy as per usual... you get the rest.

[ { Paring } ] ➤ Geto Suguru x f!reader. Perv!Geto x f!reader.

[ { Word Count } ] ➤ 3.1k

——TOO ADDICTING. YOUR CUNT WAS too damn addicting.

Geto not only realized that, but he accepted it. Yeah, watching your fingers disappear inside your dripping hole for a bit while he jerked off was stimulating but, how dare you only cum at the mention of his best friend?

Yeah, there weren’t any feelings involved between you and Geto but damn, he’s almost disrespected that only by mentioning Satoru did you manage to cum.

Which perfectly explains why he was at your doorstep within the next few minutes. He didn’t knock or anything, simply texted you since he knew Shoko was home and probably asleep.

It was one o’clock in the morning by this point and yet there he was, impatiently waiting for you to open the door for him.

And when you do, you don’t even get to say hi or anything as he’s stepping in, roughly grabbing ahold of your jaw, and tugging you close while crashing his lips into yours.

Your apartment door is messily closed and locked as Geto hungrily makes out with you. Once the door is taken care of, his free hand latches onto your waist and you’re simply melting in his touch.

Oh Geto Suguru was pissed by this point. He’s not a jealous man, nor does he hold any romantic feelings for you— he thinks. But, you got off because of Satoru and not him? Again, how dare you?

He was going to remind you why you’re friends with benefits. Yeah, you must’ve forgotten who the hell he is.

It’s okay though. Because now, here you were whining into his mouth as he walked you to your bedroom, messily causing your back to bump into a wall or two on the way.

Gasping, “S-Suguru-“

“Shut up,” He groans into your mouth before tugging your lower lip meanly. Both your eyes crack open and his are low and aggravated, “You pissed me off,” He speaks into your mouth.

His kisses are hot, angered with you as his hand drops from your jaw and to your neck, tightly gripping onto you and earning a moan from your wet lips.

Geto’s tongue is being shoved down your throat in an attempt to silence you but of course, your horny ass just whines and whimpers against him. You had some damn nerve. Now you wanna be loud?

A ticked-off smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he finally gets to your bedroom and shuts your door behind him, locking it as well.

“M-Mmh,” You hum, “M’Sorry-“

“Didn’t I say shut up?” He breathes into your mouth, pulling away only a little to speak, “Satoru turns you on more than me, hm?” he suddenly asks.

Your lips part to answer but then you just shake your head no.

“Uhuh, right, we’ll see about that,” He scoffs, his lips mashing back into yours.

His tongue is entering your mouth yet again, swirling and intertwining with yours as the two of you near your bed. The back of your legs soon makes contact with the bed and Geto shoves you down onto the mattress, hands going to your waist to do so and lips barely leaving yours.

He’s swallowing you up, consuming your mouth entirely as he makes out with you messily— going as far as pulling away and leaving your mouth wide open just for him to spit onto your tongue. Your eyes widen and cunt throbs before his tongue is searing over your own.

You think you liked jealous Suguru… He was kinda hot. Okay, kinda is an understatement because you were soaking in your panties all over again just because of him being so rough and passionate with you.

He’s got you laid out beneath him and you moan so helplessly as his hard cock grinds down into your clothed cunt. He was twitching, aching-, leaking at the thought of what he was about to do.

Get knows Shoko’s just down the hall in her bedroom but, that only adds to his excitement. Hence why he pries his lips from yours and shifts over to your ear, “You’re gonna keep quiet f’me while I fuck some sense into you, right?”

He does not miss the way your pussy twitches and clenches around nothing more than the mere bulge pressing against you. Nodding, you answer him quietly as his words drive you crazy.

Shit, your body was so hot, you could feel your arousal building back up all over again. His lips are pressing into the side of your neck for a moment before he’s leaning up and tugging his shirt up and over his head, flinging it elsewhere in a hurried manner.

You simply stare up at the man with wide, slightly glassed eyes, dazed by his haste movements and not truly processing the fact that you were going to have to be quiet while Suguru fucked you.

Shit, you’re just now realizing that. How can you keep quiet? His mouth is so naughty with you and if he’s upset then that means he’s about to-

His hands are slipping beneath your top before you can even finish your thoughts, roughly pulling the item up and over your head before tossing it just as he did his own shirt. Yeah, Geto wanted you creaming around his cock now— he needed to remind you what he does to your body.

He moves back and off the bed only for a moment to drop his sweats and his boxers, revealing that heavy unforgiving curved size of his. You could feel yourself dripping at the sight.

Geto gestures his hand hastily, “Everything off.”

“Sugu-“

“Now,” He demands, “Don’t even know why you put all that shit back on in the first place.”

You’re moving to take off the remainder of your clothes, looking up at his darkened eyes as you do so and then scoffing, “Well, I didn’t wanna sit here naked and waiting to get fucked like some slut-“

“But…” He watches as the rest of your clothes slip off and he smirks, “You were waiting to get fucked like some slut.” Geto teases.

It seemed like his mood had lightened up a bit, “Shut up,” You whisper playfully. Maybe he was about to go easy on you-

His body was looming over yours all over again as he quickly got back into the bed. Good lord-, seeing those broad shoulders of his hovering over you, messy black hair dangling down and framing both of your faces before he moves a hand to push some of it back— not that this action really helped.

Then, your legs part nice and wide for him, cunt a wet mess just how he likes. A whine leaves your lips as his eager tip suddenly grazes your cunt.

Geto leans down to you, nice and close as he rubs just the tip of his cock in between your folds, wetting himself up with your slick and teasing you like crazy before he speaks, “Hold your legs open f’me,” He directs.

Your arms move to hook under your knees, legs bending and spread perfectly for him— to which he smiles.

His lips press to your ear for only a moment as the head of his cock nudges inside your hole, “Good girl,” He purrs and fuck does it make your pussy attempt to suck him all the way in.

“Suguru,” You whisper out, “P-Please-“

“Oh? Look at that,” He coos, tilting his head as he merely rutted only his tip in and out of you, occasionally slipping it out and up to tease your clit a few times, “Here you are begging for my cock… Again.”

You groan slightly, “J-Jus’ put it in, fuck…”

He snickers against your ear, continuing to make his shallow and teasingly soft thrusts, “No.”

A more frustrated groan leaves your throat, “Please Suguru, p-pleaseee… Want you s’bad.”

“Yeah?” His cock twitches wildly and he resists the urge to sink every inch of himself into you, “What do you want me to do?”

“Want’ you to make me cum, please,” You beg, “Fuck me Sugu…”

Leaning away from your ear a bit, “Mmmmmh… Nah, why don’t you get off on the thought of Satoru again?” He taunts, tipping his head to the side.

You frown, “I don’t want to, I want you.”

“I want you, I want this, I want that,” He mocks, inclining down to your face and staring you dead in the eyes, “Tell me what you need ‘nd stop bein’ a fuckin’ brat.”

Your head turns to the side to avoid his piercing lustful gaze, “M’not bein’ a brat, you’re jus’ bein’ mean.”

Oh that takes him by surprise, causing his head to cock back a bit, “Oh really? I’m bein’ mean? Y’know what, I can show you mean,” That last word of his leaves with a harsh and sudden push of his cock into you.

“Ohmy-,” You couldn’t even get it out before he slapped a hand over your lips causing the rest of your statement to go muffled.

In your ear again, his hips just pushing and pushing and pushing until his fat tip and resting right where you needed him, “Shut up,” Geto grunts into your ear, feeling the way your cunt just closes around his cock in response.

With not a moment's rest, because fuck that-, you had the nerve to call him mean? Yeah, fuck you, literally. Geto’s drawing his hips back in an instant and snapping them back down into yours with a heavy thrust, cock curved and knocking into that mind-blurring spot inside you.

He can feel you whimpering against his hand but, again, he doesn’t care. “Callin’ me fuckin’ mean.” He huffs out, working up a deep yet slow rhythm with you, “Since when am I mean to you? Hm?”

Your lips parted against his hand, wet and warm breaths felt hitting his palm.

Geto scoffs, “You couldn’t even answer me without bein’ loud, could you?” He teases, knowing that if he takes his hand away from your lips, those sweet yet filthily loud moans of yours will fill the air.

You nod a bit, trying to convince him that you could, to which he lifts his hand only a bit from your mouth, “I c-can-,” You tried to say, but of course, Geto just had to give one harsh thrust into your cunt to make it difficult for you.

Your eyes flicker and a moan escapes your throat, earning a laugh from him, “You were saying?”

“Mmgh, s’not fair,” You mumble out.

He frowns to mock you, “Ohh, now I’m unfair?”

“Ha-agh… Suguru,” You whine, feeling his hand rest atop your lips once more as his pace picks up.

Shaking his head at you in disappointment, Geto pulls his hips all the way back before shoving every inch of his cock back in, leaving no corner of your cunt untouched and making you moan loudly against his hand.

And thank fuck for his palm being there because that sexy sound he’d usually love to hear would’ve echoed throughout your quiet room.

“You’re loud as fuck, y’know that right?” He grunts into your ear, voice husky, “Do you want Shoko to hear? Wanna’ wake her up to come see you gettin’ stuffed full of my cock?”

Your gummy walls clamp around his shaft and he lets out a guttural but low grunt right into your ear.

“Ohhh fuuuuck, you’re squeezin’ me like you want that,” He pants, “You want your roommate to catch you bein’ cockhungry f’me? Hm?”

“Sugu-,” You moan against his hand, feeling him press his palm down into your face a bit harder as you mumble a pleading, “Shut up…”

“Don’t tell me to fuckin’ shut up,” Geto’s talking right into your ear now, hips drilling down into your cunt at a mean pace, “Needy pussy’s down there milkin’ my fuckin’ cock just cause’ I implied Shoko may catch us.”

Another moan is felt against his hand and his thrusts grow faster. Your cunt was fluttering around him, sucking him in deep every time he pulls back, begging him to keep going-, to make you cum.

His sanity was waning for a moment. Shit, your pussy was so fucking addicting. God, he wanted to stay here all day-, all night. Aside from your muffled moans, the harsh thwack of his hips to yours picked up and the sloppy meet of his dick into your hole was getting louder.

His breath was hot and heavy against your earlobe as he started to just say whatever came to mind, “Bet you won’t cum at the thought of Satoru instead of me again,” He huffs out, “He wasn’t even the one on the phone with you. I was, pretty girl. I was the one talkin’ you through it-, helpin’ you out.”

You give him a weak nod as he shifts ever so slightly and knocks the already little air out of your lungs, “Mhmmm,” You hum desperately in agreement.

“Hahh…” He pants, and suddenly, something in his brain just snaps, “Hell, whose cock is inside you right now? Mine or his? Hm?” He questions rhetorically before his hand moves away from your mouth and down to grab a rough hold of your jaw again, “Who’s fucking you dumb, huh?”

Your jaw falls in his grasp and he forces your head to turn to his, your eyes meeting his carnal gaze, “H-Hhgnn… Y-You, fuuck… oh my-, fuck fuck-,”

“Say my fuckin’ name. Who’s fucking you dumb right now?” Geto questions again, voice making your back arch off the bed slightly as a knot builds up in your core

“Suguruu-, hahhh… ngh-, i-it’s y-you Suguru,” You moan out, not knowing if you’re being loud or not.

He nods, watching the way pleasureful tears well up in your eyes, “Yeahhh, that’s right. It’s my cock makin’ you feel good right now. I’m the one deep inside you, sweets.”

A hitched gasp leaves your throat and Geto could tell you were about to let out the most sinful and loud whimper as he finally finds that mushy and tingly spot inside you. So, to prevent such a throaty noise, despite loving the sound, he quickly jerks his tongue past your parted lips.

The whimper is felt against his mouth as he kisses you passionately, swallowing up every bit of that beautiful sound you make every time you’re about to cum. Fuck, he was so addicted.

He’s pounding into you by this point, fucking you through the overwhelming orgasm you have. Your legs were shaking within your hold, you were choking slightly against his lips, and fat tears streaming down your cheeks.

When Geto does pull away from you, there’s a heavy wad of saliva hanging from his lips that connect to yours, the mess so very sexy to the man as his cock bullies your sweet spot.

He watches as your eyes roll back and your body jerks with his every thrust, hearing the quieter whines that leave your fucked out, kiss-swollen lips as he does so.

Geto’s brows push together and he groans out your name, “See? That’s how the fuck it’s supposed to be, you cum because I made you cum, not ‘cause I mentioned someone else,” He huffs, “Got it?”

You nod dumbly, “M-Mhmm.”

“Answer me with words, slut,” He spat out harshly.

“Y-Yes Sugu,” You whine softly.

A satisfied smile takes over his features and he plants one gentle kiss on your lips, his hips still thrusting into you at a slight angle, curved and weeping cock making your legs tremble, “Good girl. Such a good girl f’me,” He whispers to you.

You flash a fucked out little smile and that just about does it for him, his thrusts growing sloppy as he utters more into your mouth.

“When we’re together, you’re my good girl, alright?” He huffs, “Cause’ no one else is makin’ you cum other than me anyway, not even yourself.” Geto teases.

You pout at the man before letting out a moan all too loud. Reacting quickly, he just takes his hand and then shoves two fingers into your mouth, earning a groan from your throat.

“Shhhh, I don’t feel like explaining to Shoko that I needed to fuck some sense into you,” Geto sighs playfully, “I’m almost done though, don’t worry.”

You carefully suck on the digits in your mouth and his cock unintentionally bumps deeper into you at the sight.

“Damn, you’re so fuckin’ sexy,” He breathes, “Love’ when you do that.”

You smile again around his fingers and he leans up, pulling them out your mouth before bringing them to his own, sucking the taste of your tongue off his skin.

“Mmmh, shit. I jus’ can’t get enough of you, gorgeous,” He compliments, smiling down at you before his cock is pulled out of you quickly.

Your eyelashes flutter in careful blinks as you pant, feeling the way he decorates your torso in his messy ropes of cum.

He pants along with you before tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. The two of you remain still and in silence for a bit, neither of you knowing that if anyone had even stood in the hallway of your apartment and outside your bedroom, they would’ve heard how loud your cunt was.

The harsh smacks that left the room due to the constant meeting of skin would’ve made it obvious to anyone who walked by.

Yet, luckily for you and Suguru, Shoko was dead to the world in her bedroom— deep in her slumber and not knowing anything that transpired just down the hall.

You suppose that’s a perk of being Geto’s fuck buddy— he helps you be quiet & keep secrets… sometimes.

“Oh yeah,” Geto suddenly says, “I know about Satoru’s fingers because he touches me a lot. And no, not like that. He’s just a touchy fuck who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. I’m sure you know that already though.”

“Riiight,” You murmur, giggling a bit, “You sure there’s never been a time Satoru has wrapped his hands around your c-“

“No.” He cuts off to answer, “I’ll fuck you again if you finish that sentence.”

“Cock,” You murmur purposefully.

With a sigh, Geto moves to lean over you again, “Fuckin’ brat,” He sighs, “All night it is then.”

“Okay, okay, wait I was jus’ joking!” You huff out, laughing a bit.

He tips his face down and kisses you softly, “Mhmm, you better have been.”

tags;

@blognicole @suguruologist @luqueam @ivoryviness @sinaxalui @rxnnie18 @carlacujo @gods-landing @bitchysouljellyfish @miles4hour @sinaxalui @annananamin @heart-snow @kiyomizzx @hanuh @acehyacinth @mccookiemonster @tojis-ball-sack @cartwheel6869 @mariluvsusstuff @addie1010 @slammynics @actualz0mbie @hisbitchhh @kay-xle @cunttee3 @voids-universe @raininglovelyfire @itsbokutosjuicyass @peaceoutbritta @barbielani @gennaray @r3inae @kfmcykdy @camiihutt @tokina @curtin81937 @hopefullydecent @nameless-shade @ureuphoriasworld @forgetfulmachine @legbouk @lilliaannn @clementineee0-0 @divinelseraph @didibxx

[tgcg]

parallel movement

[1]===============================================

TG: no rose look were dj crabapple so when we hang out its a mashup i dont get what the problem is

TT: Disregarding the unsavoury implications of you "mashing up" with Karkat, I find it very interesting that you won't even say the word.

TG: i dont need to say the word because it is not even relevant to the situation it is lightyears away dude youre lost in fuckin space with this

[2]==============================================

GA: Very Well Then

GA: Tell Me Karkat What Did You Do Yesterday Again

CG: WE WENT TO SEE A RERUN OF THE EARTH MOVIE "SHARK TALE (2004)" ON ITS "VENICE FILM FESTIVAL PREMIER ANNIVERSARY" OF SEPTEMBER 10TH.

GA: You Remembered All That

CG: YES?

GA: Well

CG: ????

GA: So Anyways You Had Gone To See A Movie Together

CG: YES, KANAYA. BUT KEEP YOUR IGNORANCE-SHAFT'S LOWER MANDIBLE FROM CRATERING THE GROUND JUST YET, BECAUSE WE EVEN HAD A *MEAL* AFTERWARDS!

GA: Interesting

GA: And At What Time Did You Eat Together

[3]==============================================

TG: i dunno man like 7:40:13 pm we didnt book so we had to wait a shitload of time but thats irrelevant

TT: So you had dinner together?

TG: i swear to god if youre on this psychoanalysis non sense again im gonna flip

TG: dont you dare lift your hand up and stroke your chin in consideration with that index finger and hum in a thoughtful tone dont you do it

[4]==============================================

GA: Hmmm

CG: WOW! NOW YOU'RE EVEN STOOPING SO LOW AS TO REPLICATE LALONDE'S CONTEMPTIBLE LITTLE "PSYCHOANALYSIS" ROUTINE. CLASSIC! WHY DON'T WE JUST INVITE HER OVER HERE RIGHT NOW SO I CAN PROSTRATE MYSELF FULLY TO THE WHOLE AUDIENCE! BUT GASP, WATCH AS THE PERFORMER SKIRTS AROUND THAT THINKPAN-MELTING PITFALL LIKE AN ANGELIC FUCKING BALLERINA ROUND THE TRAPDOOR, BECAUSE THAT HOLE LEADS STRAIGHT TO--

GA: Karkat Please Relax Im Just Trying To Ascertain How Your D-

[5]==============================================

TG: --mashup

TT: "Mashup" went.

TG: yknow whats funny i dont ever hear an usher raymond iv of that word while you and kanaya are all tuckin each others hair behind yalls ears and blushing demurely

TT: You have it all wrong, Dave; Kanaya and I's regular meetings of intercultural exchange are just that, not --

[6]==============================================

CG: HMMMMM.

GA: Touché

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter twenty

Summary: The aftermath of CB & Peter's weekend away.

Warning: Mean Bucky is back.

Word Count: 1039

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: I'm so sorry this one took so long to come out and it's only a short one. OH ALSO, we have @scraftsku35 to thank for this one because they changed the characters fated while we were discussing this chapter. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez4

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

You sat with Natasha and Wanda on your couch that following Monday evening. Steve and Sam were engaged in a playful debate across the room as Bucky quietly observed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips while Alpine snuggled into him. 

After a few moments, Wanda exchanged a mischievous glance with Natasha as she stood before disappearing into the kitchen. Your eyes widened as she returned with a cake, reading the word “Virgin” written on black icing with a red prohibited symbol across it. The room fell silent as she walked over to you, handing you the cake, a sly grin spread across her face. 

“Congratulations, CB!” Natasha exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Your face turned as crimson as the icing as you took the cake. You glanced around the room. “What is this?” you asked, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Well, after we heard about your little weekend with Peter,” Wanda chimed in, her laughter infectious. “We thought you might appreciate a bit of humor, it’s just a little joke.” 

Sam burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as he made his way over you. “Oh man, this is too good!” he laughed, wiping tears from his eyes as he took the cake from your hands. “You guys went all out, huh?” 

Suddenly, a bitter laugh was let out over by Bucky. “Peter? The so-called gentleman? Oh, he’s always such a nice guy…” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as a smirk mashed over his face. “Bet the twink only got two pumps in.” 

A surge of defiance coursed through you as you decided to go along with the charade. “Actually, Bucky, Peter was amazing,” you said, you tried to keep your voice steady as your heart raced. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

Steve’s face darkened, his haw tensed as his eyes blazed with barely controlled anger. He didn’t say anything but his protective instinct was evident. The furious look on his face spoke volumes. 

Bucky’s smirk faltered before he made another sarcastic comment. “Well, I’m glad you had your fairy tale moment,” he muttered, standing up and wandering over to the kitchen. 

“Oh, it was magical…” you trailed off, “I just, I couldn’t take it all… if you know what I mean.” 

His smirk returned, though it was colder this time and his eyes darkened. “Sure, we all know Peter’s got that ‘magic touch’.” Opening the fridge, he rummaged through its contents searching for another beer. His eyes landed on a six-pack of canned cherry cola, pulling it out, he turned to face you. 

“Cans?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You hate it canned. What’s it doing in your fridge?” 

A pang of guilt dawned over you, knowing Peter had bought it for you without knowing you only liked it from glass bottles. “Peter bought me it,” you replied nonchalantly. “It was a nice gesture.” 

His grip tightened on the can, and his knuckles whitened. “Of course he did,” he muttered, putting the cola back and grabbing his beer. 

Natasha and Wanda exchanged glances, and their joking demeanor shifted to one of concern as they noticed the growing tension in the apartment. Sam, still chuckled to himself at the dining table while stuffing his face with the cake. Steve, remained silent, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on you– A storm brewing behind them. 

As Bucky returned to the living room, he took a long swig of beer before flopping back on the couch. “You know,” he began, his tone laced with sarcasm, “if Peter is so great, maybe he should’ve bought the right cola.” 

Anger surged through you as Bucky continued with his jabs. “At least Peter tries to be nice,” you snapped back. “What‘s the matter? Are you only a ‘two-pump’ kinda guy? It’s okay if you are, I’m sure Leah doesn’t mind.” 

His smirk turned icy. “Yeah right, I always get my girl to finish.” 

An unexpected pang of pain cut deeply into your heart at the use of ‘my girl’. Scoffing you were determined to maintain your facade. “Only once?” you questioned. “Not that it’s a competition, James, but Peter got me to finish three times…” 

The tension thickened in the room, his smirk wavered as he tightened his jaw. Steve’s silence was deafening. Standing, his presence commanded the room, and its attention. 

“That’s enough!” Steve’s voice cut through the room, booming with a sharp edge, simmering with restrained rage. “Come on, Bucky, we’ve got to go.” His expression left no room for debate as he looked over at Bucky. 

With one last glare toward you, Bucky stood, draining his beer before resting the empty bottle on the coffee table. Too consumed with his own emotions, he missed the quiet meow in protest from Alpine. 

Steve didn’t say a word as he opened the apartment door, his eyes burnt with anger. 

The room was left in an awkward silence, the laughter and teasing from earlier now a distant memory. Clearing her throat, Natasha spoke up trying to lighten the mood. “So, Peter was that good, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know, I couldn’t go through with it,” you admitted quietly, the lie weighing heavily on your chest. 

Wanda’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, what? What do you mean?” she asked, concern tinged in her voice.

You sighed. “I didn’t sleep with Peter,” you confessed, your gaze dropped to Alpine as she brushed her head against your leg. “I pretended I did because Bucky was annoying me, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain the mess. 

Natasha’s expression softened as she reached over to squeeze your hand, reassuringly. “It’s okay,” she said gently, “he was being a jerk.” 

“Hey Wands, where’s this cake from?” Sam’s voice was muffled but cheerful, he startled you as you thought he left with your brother and Bucky. “I want some for the next time I get–” 

He paused mid-sentence, noticing the absence of Steve and Bucky. He hastily swallowed the cake in his mouth, his head turned toward where the two had previously been sat. Frosting remained around his lips. “Wait, where’d Steve and Buck go?” 

Suppressing a sigh, Natasha and Wanda exchanged a look, realizing Sam had missed the entire drama. 

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[macfrog]

2003: a dbf odyssey

a @chloeangelic x @macfrog fic

greetings greetings one and all. welcome to the fucking circus. chloe cupcake and i have a gift for you. we put our heads together, took turns writing a classic dbf fic, and here is the hellscape we created. please enjoy. [this is entirely satirical and just for funsies. no harm intended. no tw discourse required. love u]

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. and that's all we have to say on that

warnings: unspecified age gap, tale set in 2003, female masturbation, creepy joel, praise kink, size kink, fingering, unprotected piv, degradation, angst!

word count: 4.6k

chloe's masterlist | max's masterlist

The sun shines through the window of your childhood bedroom. You’re still reeling from an argument you just had with your mom, over the degree you just spent four years and fifteen grand on. She doesn't understand your passion for fossils, she never has, and during every family function, only one person asks you how school is going. 

Joel Miller, your dad's best friend.

He’s tall. Broad. He’s built like a Dorito. Flamin’ Hot Cool Ranch. He drives a truck and he listens to dad rock. One time you saw him in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. You asked what that was, and he said it was a band from “before your time, darlin’”. You swooned at the pet name. 

He’s quiet and unassuming. Lingers on the outskirts of every gathering your parents throw. He likes to talk about construction, and wood carving, and little else. At least, that’s what you thought, before you came back home after graduating. 

Suddenly, he started glancing in your direction every time you came into the room wearing a tight little top with significant cleavage. He would clear his throat at dinner and wipe a bead of his sweat from his forehead at BBQs. 

You always called him Mr Miller, and ever since graduation, that name made him blush. Last Thanksgiving, when his family was over for dinner at your parents’ house, you started asking him about old movies, and he grumbled, then told you about 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

He said he couldn’t believe that a girl with a paleontology degree had never seen A Space Odyssey before. Promised he’d show you it sometime. ”Smart girl like you will love it,” he said. 

You had opened your mouth to respond, to lend him the quirkiest retort you could think of, when your dad had bumbled into the room, shoving you out of the way. He brought up the latest Austin Ice Bats game, took Joel up in a conversation you couldn’t be a part of - you knew nothing about minor league ice hockey. 

Your mom called you through to the kitchen and asked you to help her with dinner. When you came into the kitchen, she started asking you if you’d gone on any dates recently, if there were any cute guys in your college classes. 

You rolled your eyes, “No, mom, none of them are my type.” 

She huffed while handing you a pot of mashed potatoes, “What’s your type then?” 

You didn’t want to tell her that your type was older men. Really old, in their fifties. Your type was Joel, but you couldn’t tell her that. Instead, you described what you thought Joel might’ve looked like when he was younger. “Brown hair, beards maybe,” you said, and turned on your heel before walking into the dining room and setting the pot on the table. 

You glanced over the place settings. Your mom had already put down everyone’s drinks. Yours and Sarah’s - a glass of water each. She says water helps with clear skin. Her own - a white Russian cocktail. And your dad and Joel’s, side by side - two beers, dripping with condensation. You paced around the table, formulating a plan. 

As your mom’s voice drew nearer down the hallway, you quickly switched Joel’s beer for Sarah’s water, sitting him next to you.

When he came into the dining room with your father, you noticed that Joel was looking at you with dark, sultry eyes. He gave you a tight lipped smile as he sat down in his chair, then turned to your mother, “Looks great.” You felt his knee knock into yours under the table, but he didn’t move away. Heat pooled in your stomach. Your chest tightened, threatening to burst from the confines of your tight t-shirt.

The same t-shirt you’re wearing right now - sat at the end of your bed. Remembering the way his denim jeans felt on your bare leg. You lie back on your sheets and stare at the ceiling, thinking of his swollen muscles under his flannel shirt. The tuft of chest hair sprouting from over the collar. The veins in his hands as he passed you the salt. 

You were holding a pair of jeans in your hands, about to slide them over your legs when you looked down to see a wet spot in your panties, and now you can’t ignore the throbbing in your core at the thought of seeing him again. 

You carefully trace your fingers over your panties, grazing the wet spot, feeling your cheeks burning from the awareness that it’s your dad’s best friend making you wet. 

You lift the skirt of your barleycorn sundress and open your legs, knees wide on your springy mattress. You hope that it doesn’t make a sound as you push the fabric aside, dragging your fingers over your most sensitive spot.”Joel,” you whimper when your fingertip brushes your wet opening, but you’re startled when you hear the doorbell ringing. 

You pull your hand out quickly and your eyes flare open, chest heaving. You sit up, throw your legs over the side and slip on your jeans, button them up and turn to look at yourself in the mirror before heading downstairs, feeling the low throb deep inside of you as you carefully walk out into the hallway and hear your father greeting Joel as he comes in the door. 

“Howdy,” he says when he spots you descending the staircase.

You hold tight onto the handrail, afraid you might topple over from the sight of him and the fluttering between your legs. “Hi.”

Joel’s eyes travel from your face down your body, ending up on your legs. You suddenly feel self-conscious, but all the same, secretly thrilled that he’s staring at you in this way. You stare back, eyeing him up and down from his scruffy beard to his dusty lace-up boots. Your eyes meet again as you reach the bottom step.

Joel sniffs once. “The hell are you wearing a dress and jeans for?” he asks.

“It’s called fashion,” you sass, and he grunts in response. “Ready to watch the movie?”

“I’m readier than a fried egg on the San Antonio Boulevard sidewalk, darlin’.” There’s that pet name again. You bite your lip and walk into the living room, trying to regulate your breathing. Your dad is already on the couch, remote control in hand, saying he has rewinded the DVD and that the two of you are being slowpokes. 

“The old man’s got jokes,” Joel grumbles, motioning for you to sit down in between him and your dad. 

The three of you put your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. You angle your feet towards Joel’s, your pinkie toe nudging against the sole of his boot. He crosses his ankles and settles back into the couch, folding his arms and prodding your side with his elbow.

“It’s a classic,” he mutters, and you giggle.

Your dad’s head whips around to face you from your peripheral like he is watching a tennis match. “What’s so funny?” he bleats.

“Nothing,” you and Joel chime, focusing hard on the screen. You smile smugly at the fact that you have an inside joke with him, something just between the two of you.

You can’t focus on the movie when your dad turns it on, and you suspect that Joel can’t either by the way he shifts around in his seat. “Got ants in your butt, buddy?”, your dad snorts, and Joel waves dismissively while you stifle your laughter. 

“Just feel like I’m sinkin’ into the couch here,” Joel says, “‘S too soft.” 

Soft, you replay the way he says it, over and over in your mind. You wonder if he’ll think you’re soft if he touches you with his rough hands.

“This movie sucks,” you announce, halfway through. “I can’t believe I had never heard of it. I thought it only came out two years ago?”

Joel snorts. “It came out in 1968 and was directed by Stanley Kubrick, dingus. 2001 is just the title of the film.”

Your face flushes fifty shades of fuchsia. Your dad guffaws on your left side, clapping his hands together like an annoying seal. His laughter is so loud that he almost doesn’t hear his cell phone ringing until you point it out to him. 

“Yellow,” he says as he answers, and chuckles at his own joke, then holds up his finger and turns to the side, mumbling something into his phone. “Be there in twenty,” he says, then hangs up, and turns to you and Joel, “Gotta go pick up your mom but I should only be about forty five minutes as long as she doesn’t drag me into a conversation with her girlfriends. Y’all gonna be okay here?” 

You both nod and sit still as your dad groans and gets up from the couch, listening as he disappears into the hallway to put on his shoes and jacket, then the door shutting. 

You go to grab the remote control to keep playing the movie, and accidentally spill some of the Coke from the can you’re holding. Joel is looking at the screen while you look at the dark stain on the couch cushion, and instead of getting up to get a paper towel to clean it with, you scoot a little closer to Joel. 

He clears his throat and puts his hand on the back of the couch, right behind your shoulders, not saying a word. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife and you glance down at his crotch to see the bulge in his jeans, then look up at him. 

He looks at you for a second, then furrows his brows, “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Thinkin’ about bones.”

“Bones?”

“Specifically the one in your pants, Mr. Miller,” you say and bat your eyelashes, and then, “Just kidding.” You turn your head back to the TV but you can see that he’s still looking at you. “I was actually thinking about the Micropachycephalosaurus.” 

“What did you say ‘bout my pants, darlin’? Could swear you said somethin’”

“Nothing, I promise,” you giggle and look away. 

Then his hand comes to your thigh, long fingers splayed over your jeans, thumb tracing back and forth, igniting a flame inside of you. 

“W-what are you doing, Mr. Miller?”, you ask nervously, feeling the heat pooling in your panties again, and this time, it’s not because of your imagination. 

“Lookin’ real pretty tonight,” he says, and his other hand comes to your shoulder. You whimper at his touch. “Can just call me Joel, you know that,” he scolds with a wink.

“Th-thanks, Joel.” 

You feel his hand come up under your chin with a featherlight touch, turning your face up to meet his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your face feels hot, your heart beating fast. 

He looks at you through big brown eyes. You blink softly back, trying to transmit a code to him to clue him in on the ache making your thighs clench. You wonder if he knows Morse.

Joel grips your jaw and leans in, his smoldering eyes flashing between yours and your lips. He purses his own and before you know it, his warm mouth is flush against yours, his tongue pushing inside. He licks along the rim of your teeth and you open your jaw, letting him explore your wet gums.

In an instant, you pull yourself on top of him and remove his flannel, ripping the buttons apart and scattering the cloth to the couch. Joel’s hands curve around your round tits, he rolls your pebbled nipples between his thumbs like fiddling with a console controller. You roll your hips forward with a moan.

He's so hard. You look at him with wide eyes and a pout, “You're so hard.” 

“Are you wet f’me, pretty girl?”, he asks. You know it's wrong, your dad could be home any moment, but you frantically nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, and traces his fingers along the edge of your jeans, barely making contact with your skin. 

He stands from the couch in one fluid motion, and you squeal at the sudden way in which you’re lifted in the safe grasp of his arms. It’s astounding how strong he is. How able he is to sweep you into the air, carry you out of the living room. How his biceps bulge as his boots thud up the stairs one by one.

He reaches the landing and pauses, eyes scanning the four closed doors. He steps forward and kicks open the one closest to your bodies, before realizing it is the bathroom and reversing out again.

“Pardon me,” he mumbles an apology, and you giggle again.

“It’s the one on the right,” you instruct, and he shuffles down the hall carpet before bumping your door open. He pauses for a moment when he enters the room - your childhood bedroom. 

“Haven't been in here in years,” he says, and you know he's referring to when he helped your dad take out the old closets and replace them with new ones. You still have the same closets. Maybe he's admiring his work. You look at the posters on the wall and your floral bedspread. 

Then he lays you down on the bed and sighs. “These old knees,” he grumbles, “And my fuckin’ back.” 

You giggle. 

“Mind if I take this off, darlin’?”, he asks, gently tugging at the bottom of your barleycorn sundress. You nod again, feeling your face getting hot and your panties sticking to your pussy. 

Your back arches as he slips the thin fabric from your body, your breasts spilling out of their polyester prison. Joel straightens up, admires the view and hums to himself.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muses, then bends again to press his body against yours. His fingers tussle with the waist of your jeans, the petite buttons only women's clothing seems to have, and you growl at the effort it takes for him to derobe you. 

“I know,” he says, lips close to your ear, “‘S these big ol’ hands. They get in the way of everythin’, baby.”

You whimper pathetically, wanting nothing more than those big hands to get in the way of you. You shove your fists beneath the denim when he finally undoes the zipper, and help him drag them from your legs. As soon as the heavy fabric hits your floor, Joel’s removing his own jeans. Now, only your underwear and his separate you.

There's a wet spot on his boxers already and you whimper when you place your fingertip on it, biting your lip when he growls at the sensation. “M-Mr. Miller,” you whine, “Can I see your cock? It looks really big.” 

“‘S real big, sweetie, are you sure you can handle it?” 

“Y-yes, Joel, I'm a big girl.” 

“‘F you say so,” he grumbles, then takes off his boxers, and you admire the sight of his manhood. You've never seen a big cock like that, a real thick and long one. You don't think it'll fit inside and you gasp, eyes flashing open while you start to creep backwards on the sheets. 

“Keep the panties on,” Joel orders, following between your legs. His hairy knees push deep into the plush cushion of your mattress, his fist jerks slowly up and down his dick, which seems to only grow larger the closer he gets.

You nod obediently, biting your bottom lip. Your eyes stick on the dribble of precum he swipes with his thumb. You fall back, head sinking into your pillows, and Joel hovers over you, one hand by your head. 

You peel your underwear to the side, now positively soaked. Joel’s hand leaves his member to cup you, feeling your dripping mess. “So wet f’me,” he whispers, and you moan, long and ragged. 

Then he touches the tip of his finger to your opening and watches you squirm while he starts to push it in, entering you with one thick finger. You take all of it in stride, and you frown when he retracts it. 

“So eager,” he says triumphantly, then adds another, and you feel the coil inside you start to tighten. You can't reach as deep as he does, nobody can except for him. Your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. Tears start pricking your eyes as you get closer. 

You whine, “I’m gonna come, Mr. Miller.”

He clicks his tongue, “Just Joel,” and then he picks up the pace of his fingers, pushing them inside you until you gush all over your sheets and his hand, feeling the tears sliding down your temples and your fists gripping the sheets tightly. He made you come, it's like a wet dream. 

You gasp when you see the mess you made and he chuckles. “Sorry Just Joel - I mean,” you shake your head, clearing the hazy fog of sex your orgasm left behind, “Joel.” Your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“No need to apologize, sweet girl,” he whispers, pinching your cheek with his soaked fingers. Your own cum stains your skin, somehow cooling against the stifling hot air in your room. The air filled with lust and sex.

He draws his hand back, wraps it back around his cock, rubs your gleaming slick up and down his thickness. He groans as you coat him, head tilting back to the ceiling. For a second, you wonder if he will actually fuck you, or if he’s just here to jerk off using your cum, kneeling over you.

Your query is answered when he returns his gaze to yours and leans over you again, running the tip between your folds. Your body jolts at the contact, overstimulated and spent already. But Joel doesn’t care. The man gives no fucks.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans as he makes space for himself inside you, pushing the head in and impaling you on his fat girth. You feel so full. 

He bottoms out and moans. You watch a drop of sweat gliding from his hairline and down his temple, then crane your neck up to kiss it. His tip kisses your cervix on every thrust and you grip his broad shoulders, hanging onto him while he pounds you. 

“Good girl, takin’ this big fat cock,” he praises, panting into the crook of your neck. 

“Oh, fuck,” you feel the band inside of you tightening, about to snap, but then he pulls out of you and wraps his fingers around his cock again, stroking himself and snarling when he tells you to turn around. 

You’re spent, limbs wrung out like a rag, but you force yourself up while you look at his cock dumbly, seeing his precum dripping out and onto your sheets. Suddenly, you hear him, “What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart?”, and you immediately turn around and onto your hands and knees, seeing a photo of your parents on your window sill. 

You screw your eyes shut so you don’t think about them, and try to focus on Joel penetrating you from behind in one motion, going full hog, filling you to the brim with cock. “F-feels so good, Joel,” you squirm and moan while he slips his large hands onto your hips, fingers splaying out over the curve of your asscheeks, pulling you back so he can fill you relentlessly. 

His skin slaps against yours, the air in the room quickly filling with nothing but the sounds of his moans and yours, his wet and yours, his body and yours. Your eyes squeeze tight until you see stars, raining down over the darkness behind your eyelids. Your whole bed shakes vigorously with the rate Joel pounds into you, mattress knocking against your nightstand and sending the objects on it tumbling to the floor.

Joel notices as one in particular - your Satisfyer Pro 2 Gen 2 Air Pulse Stimulator, which you find good but really intense with its sucking power - rolls across the wooden floor. His grip tightens on your hips and he chuckles. “‘S a good girl like you doin’ with a thing like that in her room, huh?”

Your back curls. You moan in response. “Umm,” you mumble nervously, trying to think of a response when you see his lips curve into a smirk, “I- I was trying to come, last night.” 

“Oh yeah? Thinkin’ bout what, young lady?” 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You were thinking about him. He can tell - he brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Were you thinkin’ about me, darlin’?”, he asks, and you don’t respond. You look at him with wide eyes. “‘S alright, I’ve been thinkin’ about this tight little pussy, blowin’ my load in the shower. I ain’t ashamed to admit it, you’re a real pretty girl.” 

Your pussy gets wetter when you think about him touching himself and you wonder how it looks. Your dad would kill him if he knew, and you’re surprised Joel would tell you something like that, but it makes you so wet. 

The image in your mind forces you to arch your back, your body curving before Joel into the mattress. He grunts each time his hips come into contact with the plushy meat of your ass, telling you good girl and squeezing you just right as his cock hits you so deep you feel him in your chest.

“I’m - gonna - cum - again,” you pant, words muffled by the floral pattern your lips are smushed into. “Joel - I’m -”

“I hear ya, baby,” he says, hips snapping. His voice is rough, hoarse. He sounds like he needs some NyQuil. You make a mental note to offer him a refreshing glass once you’re done. “Cum for me, go on. Know you need it.”

Your walls close around him as you do as he says, tightening around the intrusion in your pussy. 

His cock begins to twitch deep inside you and he shoves you by the ass off of him. You tumble to the bed and roll over just in time to be drowned by his cum, thick white ropes spraying all over your tummy and tits. You worry with the ferocity of his release that it might reach the photo of your parents, but you’re too caught up in the pleasure of the moment, your own spend spilling out of your tight little hole.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, “Take that cum.” Then, all of a sudden, his face drops and he freezes in place. He looks at you, covered in his semen, then runs his hand over his face and tucks himself back in his pants. He looks stressed as it dawns on him that he just came all over his best friend’s daughter.

“Joel,” you say carefully. 

“Yes, darlin’”. He winces when the word leaves his mouth. 

“W-what if my dad finds out?”

He runs his hand over his beard. “I don’t know,” he says, “I gotta go.”

“But w-wait, Joel!”

He’s already shuffling out of your room, hopping as he tugs his jeans back over his hips. “M’sorry, baby, I have to-”

“Wait!” you yelp, tearing your underwear from your body. You almost trip over the fabric as you hop down from your bed. “Take these!”

You throw the panties across your room and Joel catches them against his chest, scrunching them into a ball. You sit back on your heels, totally naked in front of him, smirking at the thought of him crossing paths with your dad in the hallway and knowing the secret he holds in his jeans pocket. Knowing that he just fucked his best friend’s daughter, in her childhood bedroom.

His cheeks heat with shock. Your panties are dripping wet. He nods and tucks them into his back pocket and adjusts the crotch of his pants over his still hard cock. 

Suddenly, you hear the front door opening. 

Your parents are home. 

You gasp and fumble with your jeans, trying to put them on with shaky hands while you hear Joel step onto the first floor, just leaving the staircase as the door shuts behind your parents as they come in. 

“Hey, buddy,” your dad calls, and you hover at the top of the stairs. “What- whatcha doin’ with your shirt off?”

Joel stammers, scratching the back of his neck. Your mom stares at him, eyes raking up and down his hairy torso. You feel a hot pang of jealousy at her wandering eyes on the man you just fucked.

“She, uh,” he motions up to you, now stepping slowly down the stairs, “She spilled her drink down my shirt.” He reaches for the crumpled flannel, whipping it in his hands and throwing it over his shoulders.

Your mom tsks. “So clumsy,” she says, shaking her head. “Did you get it cleaned alright?”

Joel nods, jumping a little when you arrive at the bottom of the stairs by his side. He’s still buttoning the shirt. “Yeah, all cleaned up. Thank you, ma’am.”

You feel a surge of excitement shoot through your veins, feeling your wet leaking out onto your jeans and knowing what lives in Joel’s pocket. You sway back and forth, hands clasped behind your back, smiling innocently.

“Sweetie,” your mom calls over, “Why don’t you go walk Joel to his truck?”

“Y-yes, mom,” you stutter, and motion for Joel to walk ahead of you. 

“Have a good night,” he says and pats your dad on the back on his way out. 

You watch every one of his heavy footsteps down the hall and out of the house, slipping on your Crocs before you follow him out, closing the door behind you. 

The two of you linger outside of his truck for a moment. He looks over your shoulder, squinting in the Texas sun as he looks towards the house. You look at the gray in his beard, the curve of his nose and his salt and pepper hair. 

Part of you hopes he’ll ask to see you again, but he’s your dad’s best friend, it could never work. He kicks a small rock with the toe of his boot, arms folded. He leans against the truck and looks up at the sky. 

Your stomach flutters at the sight of him and the feeling of his sticky cum on your stomach, gradually absorbing into your skin. 

“Guess I’ll see you ‘round,” he says and straightens up. He purses his lips while he looks away, then at you. 

You giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Um, yeah.”

“Then I’ll teach you a lesson ‘bout not payin’ attention while watchin’ a movie,” he says, and his voice is sultry and raspy. His fingers are around your chin, tilting your face up to him. “You’ve been a bad girl, lettin’ your dad’s buddy fuck you like a little slut.”

Your lips smush between his finger and thumb. “Yesh, Mr. Miller,” you push between your teeth.

“The hell’d I tell you? It’s Joel.”

You nod fervently. “Yesh, Jool.”

He releases you and opens the truck door, eyeing you constantly as he gets in. 

You pick at your nails nervously as you watch him start the truck, and then drive away. 

You lean against your parents’ Honda Civic and look up at the sky, closing your eyes and sighing. Your teeth come to bite your lower lip into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue. Your dad’s best friend. 

He promised he would teach you a lesson. You wonder what the lesson is.