#Fic: Second Spring

[takaraphoenix]

'trust' for the guessing game?

Thanks for playing!! ^^

Trust in Large and Satisfying, the upcoming (March 10th) latest installment of my Size-verse:

(Providing the line before it for context to make it a lil more teasing)

“So, if you’re not having sex with Danny, do we think he needs protection from being sacrificed?” Ethan asked curiously, leaning forward to look past them at Danny’s retreating form. “Because I would like to prevent him from being sacrificed. Deuc wants us to help out around here-” “I’m sure your Alpha didn’t mean for you to have sex with my best friend there,” Jackson growled, flashing his eyes blue in warning. “Stiles may trust you people, I’m still skeptical.”

+

Stiles’ cheeks darkened in an enchanting manner. “I think someone is killing virgins. More specifically sacrificing them. Marin said that the threefold death is suspicious, but that two dead people weren’t enough to go by, but now with Emily, I feel so sure about this.” “I trust your instincts,” Peter took his mate’s hand and lifted it to kiss.

And from my upcoming ABOverse arranged royal marriage Stetopher fic Second Spring (to be posted on March 5th):

Stiles’ lips twisted into a sad smile. “You’re lucky, you got two shots at love. Not everyone does. I need you to trust me on this, dad. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need true love, I need our people to be safe. Scotty got true love. And Lydia is going to be the best queen he could ask for.”

And from my upcoming Steter coffeeshop AU prequel to Welcome to the Mean Bean, Stiles Stilinski's Five Year Business and Romance Plan:

For just a moment, Stiles perked up, just to slump down again. Learning about his magic sounded cool, but he absolutely did not trust Deaton.

+

“You don’t trust Alan,” Dalia spoke plainly. “I… never liked my daughter’s pick in Emissary either. But while I was Emissary, I didn’t have an apprentice, and when Alan moved to Beacon Hills, he… mh, he quickly got on my daughter’s good side and when she became Alpha, it wasn’t even a question to her to assign her good friend that position.”

(Can you see Peter's momma scheming and plotting with Stiles? <3)

And ah, for fuck's sake, this actually made me open Lost Memories and Gained Trust and inexplicably I fucked up already. The premise I posted on my schedule is... a fully different one than the notes inside the document? How did this turn into a whole different fic ALREADY I haven't even wRITTEN ANYTHING FOR IT. I'm gonna cry.

Anyway, have the actual notes in the actual fic (it's Steter):

post resurrection Peter with no memories following Stiles around because he has a sense of “I can trust you” and Stiles is like “…I killed you??” but nope he is now stuck with a puppy following him around

And the blind trust was meant as a reflection of a True Mates bond. That. That was the original pitch. I'm gonna have to turn this into two fics again, don't I? *sighs exasperated* Gotta figure out who gets the title in this divorce...

WIP Ask Game

[unfinishedslurs]

every robin gets a freebie

reverse robins in the aftermath of the death of filipe garzonas

A CD was in the mail within the next week, blank but for a note that slipped out when the envelope was opened. You should really trust in your birds more often, B. Learn from your mistakes for once. 

Jason felt bile in his throat. It was body cam footage, blurry and half obscured, of Robin and Garzonas on the roof. Footage that still clearly showed Garzonas taking a too-far step back, Robin lunging to reach him, and then…

But that’s not what happened, Jason doesn’t say. His tongue feels swollen and thick in his mouth. 

Batman takes off the cowl solemnly. “Jaylad,” he says. “Jason. I’m so sorry for doubting you. I never should have…”

He can’t be here anymore. He can’t be in this cave, can’t stand Bruce looking at him like that, can’t stand to even be in the vicinity of the Robin uniform he no longer deserves. 

He bolts for the exit.

“Jason!” he hears Bruce call, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. Not even when he nearly runs into Alfred, not when Damian tries to grasp his arm, not when Duke asks him what’s wrong or when Tim yelps in surprise and drops his cane jumping out of the way. He just runs, out the manor door and into the night. 

For a split second the figure on the roof is overlaid with Gloria. Beautiful, resigned Gloria, who was so scared of what Felipe would do to her that she would do anything to stop it. 

Then he blinks, and he’s on the rooftop with the Spoiler. 

“Relax,” Spoiler says, “I’m not gonna jump. I'm only three steps into my five-step plan for world dominance. Can’t leave that unfinished. Imagine the paperwork.”

“I dunno.” Jason’s hands are shaking. “You seem like the kinda freak who would enjoy that.”

Spoiler lowers her mask, and Stephanie Brown smiles at him. 

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know.” His voice wavers. “You know. You know what I did. How did you…why did you…what was the reason?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!”

“Call it tradition then, I guess.” Steph sounds almost amused. “Robin’s flock together.”

“But you don’t like me.”

“Who told you that?”

No one, but she doesn’t exactly go out of her way to talk to Jason. He just kind of assumed. 

Tim’s awkward around him. Sometimes they’re fine, like when he wandered into the library where Jason was and asked if he wanted to get ice cream together. Other times he wouldn’t see him for three weeks. Jason tries not to think about the nights Tim has had dreams that left him cackling loud enough to wake Jason up the couple times he’s stayed the night at the Nest, or the things he heard Tim shout about little birds and broken nests when he was fear gassed. 

It kind of sucks, being your brother's biggest trigger. 

(Those three weeks may be a case of mutual avoidance, but Jason will never admit it.)

When he doesn’t say anything, Steph sighs. “How much do you know about when I was Robin?”

“Uh,” he says, caught off guard, “not much, I guess?” He knows that it was because something was going on with Tim. That’s about it, really. He asked once, when he was still new to Robin and the Manor. He didn’t ask again after he saw the look on Tim’s face. 

“Bruce didn’t really want me. Damian didn’t think I was worthy of the mantle, and took every chance he could to remind me. Tim was pissed at me for it. None of them wanted me there, and I tried so hard to prove them wrong. To be the Robin I knew I could be.”

That…can’t be right. The few times he had asked about Stephanie Brown, Tim had nothing but good words to say. Bruce and Damian spent so much time wallowing in their regrets it was insane. For her to say nobody wanted her there, when her absence was a shadow that followed them constantly around Wayne Manor, was baffling. 

Steph looks down at the helmet in her hands. “All I wanted was their approval, and it made me stupid. I overestimated myself. That’s how you get killed in this game, kid. Don’t get too cocky for your britches, and all that.”

Jason is shaking again by the time they get to the Nest. He hesitates at the window, sending a pleading look to Spoiler that she completely ignores ushering him in. 

Tim spins around in his tricked out gaming chair, frown pulling oddly against the wide scars on his cheeks. He flicks his comm off. “Steph?” Then his eyes found Jason. “Jason! Thank God, we were starting to get worried about you. Duke told everyone to give you space, but…”

His mouth is too dry to say anything in response, so he just shrugs. Tim tilts his head, examining him, before looking at Spoiler questioningly. 

She takes off her mask again, lowering her hood and shaking out her hair. “We need some help,” she explains, and nudges Jason forward. 

He stays stubbornly in his place, head tilted towards the floor. Steph sighs. “If you don’t tell him,” she says, “I will.”

He whips his head around. “You promised!”

“My name is literally The Spoiler.” She bares her teeth at him. “I get that you’re nervous, kid, but I do not have time for this.”

“For what?” Tim says. God, Tim’s going to be like a dog with a bone with this. He’s never met a mystery he didn’t want to solve. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I killed Filipe!” He blurts out and freezes, moving immediately to hide behind Spoiler. She doesn’t let him, grabbing his shoulder and holding him firmly to the spot. 

Tim gapes at him. “You…” he trails off, slowly turning to Steph, who holds his gaze steadily. “The footage?”  

“I have connections.”

“Of course you do.” He rubs a hand over his face. “How are we playing this?

What?

“We keep going along with what’s been presented to him,” Spoiler responds without hesitation. “B’s paranoid, but he’s also the king of denial. There’s no doctoring on the tape itself, he won’t look any deeper.”

“And Damian?”

“Like he gives a shit.”

“True,” he admits. “Duke wouldn’t care enough to check either way, so that just leaves Cass.”

Steph swears. “Fuck, Cass. Do you think she’ll say something?”

“Yes. Ugh, yes she will. Fuck.”

“Think you can talk some sense into her?”

“Maybe.” He squints at Jason. “I’ll probably play up the ‘ridden by guilt’ and ‘will never happen again’ angle. He definitely reads it.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Jason finally says, lungs fighting for air. “I—I killed someone!”

“Not according to Bruce, you didn’t.” Tim tells him. 

“You want me to lie?”

“Yes.”

He looks at Steph imploringly, begging her to explain, but she doesn’t even look at him. “Chill out, kid,” she says, “We all get a freebie.”

“Damian got more than a freebie,” Tim points out. 

“He’d tell you it was his right as the blood son.”

“Stop joking!” He shouts, chest heaving for air. “Just—stop it! Why aren’t you telling Bruce? Why are you making plans to lie to him? What’s wrong with you?”

Tim exchanges a heavy look at Steph, before reaching his hand out to Jason. Jason takes it, trembling. 

“Plenty of vigilantes have to make hard choices when it comes to stopping people the law can’t touch,” he tells Jason gently. “I work with people who all choose different things. When it comes to people like Garzonas, who will keep doing it over and over with no remorse…it’s not a method I recommend, but sometimes there’s only one way to stop them. If Robin made that choice, I wouldn’t blame him.”

He can’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, because this is Tim Drake saying it. Damian was the first Robin, yeah, and Steph left her undeniable mark with her cheer and wit, but Tim wore the mantle twice. He made it into something new, something a bit brighter in the dark nights. Then, after Steph, he made it into a memory. Bright yellow for her hair. Red for Superboy. Even after they both came back Jason wore their colors, because Robin was persistence, and spirit, and clever words followed by hard punches, and bravery and a million other things, but it was also hope and love and remembrance for the lost. 

He wouldn’t forget that. “Why are you so okay with this?”

“You know I’ve had to make that choice too.”

Jason almost laughs, but refrains. He’s heard the stories. “Never sounded like much of a choice.”

“It was.” His eyes snap to Tim’s at the sudden edge to his voice, and Tim meets his eyes carefully. “I was fully aware of what I was doing. It’s not something I’ll ever do again, but it was my choice, and I won’t have that taken from me.” 

“I don’t think I can be Robin anymore.”

“Well, we all have to give it up sometimes.”

“Are we really doing this?” Tim asks, after he thinks Jason has fallen asleep. 

Jokes on him, Jason doesn’t think he’s gonna sleep ever again. 

“Are you seriously getting cold feet now? I thought you loved lying to Bruce.”

“I don’t love lying to Bruce, it’s just—“

“‘—necessary sometimes,’” she finishes. “Whatever. Like you don’t love the thrill of it.”

Tim doesn’t bother denying it. “This isn’t just lying to B, Steph. This is��are we really going to cover up a murder?”

The room drops ten degrees. 

“If you’re not going to back me on this, we can go somewhere else. Don’t want you getting your hands dirty or anything,” she sneers. 

“You know I’ve always got your back,” Tim says. Jason thinks back to what Spoiler told him earlier about her time as Robin, and wonders if that might not be as irrefutable a truth as he’d always thought it was. “I’m worried about Jason.”

“You wouldn’t need to be if you would just help him out—“

“You saw him. The kid looks like a ghost. He looks like I did. Don’t—no, Steph, I’m serious. I’m worried about him. At least I didn’t have to hide that I killed the Joker. You think keeping this bottled up will be good for him? It’s going to kill him.”

“The alternative is telling Batman that his precious Robin killed someone. You remember how that went last time?”

There’s a long pause, and then he hears Tim hiss an exhalation behind clenched teeth. “Don’t bring that into this. Jason’s not me.”

“That’s the fucking problem. You were his golden boy—“

“Seriously? You think I was the golden boy?”

“I’m hardly his favorite,” Tim scoffs. “Jason is.”

There’s a shocked silence. Then Stephanie scoffs. “You can’t seriously be jealous.“

“I’m trying to tell you it’ll be different from me. Have you seen him with Jason?” He waits, but Steph doesn’t answer. “He laughs. He laughs, he smiles, he’s fucking…happy. Jason makes him happy. I never did that. None of us ever—“

“Jesus, Tim,” Steph says roughly. “You made him plenty happy. Damian, Cass, Duke, you all make him laugh—“

“Not like Jason does.”

“You willing to risk the kid on that?”

A beat, and Tim sighs. “No. But it’s different now. Jason has us. All of us. It wouldn’t be like last time.”

“Jason’s not me.” He pauses, almost like he’s debating what he’ll say next, before he says, “He’s not you, either.”

Steph stays silent for so long Jason wonders if she climbed out the window and left. 

Finally, she exhales. “He’s not you, and he’s not me,” she agrees, “but Bruce is always going to be Bruce.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. Finally Steph speaks up. “Are you really jealous of him?”

“No, Steph. Jesus.”

“You’re such a liar.” It’s affectionate this time, though, clearly poking fun. 

Tim sighs, heavier than the teasing warrants. “It’s not him. It’s not him, and it’s not you, I just…I was never able to give up Robin on my own terms. I never…I never got to feel like I was putting it down. It never stopped feeling like—“

Stephanie doesn’t say anything. Eventually, one of the chairs slides back, and Jason hears a cane clacking on the ground. A cabinet opens. “Did you want coffee?”

“What happened to those awful sodas you were addicted to?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t want one,” Tim responds, voice dry. There’s no indication of their discussion in either of their tones. “Considering the first thing you ever did in this apartment was go through all my stuff and make fun of my taste.”

“Fuck it. I’m feeling abominable tonight, I should have something to fit the mood.”

“Shut up.” The fridge opens and shuts, and there’s a quiet thunk like a hand catching something out of midair. Then two drinks crack open. 

“God, I forgot how awful these were.”

(some undetermined amount of time later)

Bruce: Dick you can’t kill Tony Zucco. Batman and Robin do not kill.

Dick: Steph said Robin gets a freebie >:(

Bruce: 

Bruce:

Bruce: STEPHANIE-

[wolvesofinnistrad]

Buck is so fucking tired. Its been months, months trapped in this godforsaken day.

Hes tried everything to get out, he tried making up with his exes (except Tommy), hes tried talking to everyone he knows (except Tommy), hes even tried many implausible and at times downright stupid things (only half of those were based on ideas from Chimney and Eddie.)

Today was a break day. Hed needed a few to recover after his last attempt. At least the airtime had been nice for a few seconds before the pain cut straight to the next day. No strategizing either, not that he was getting much of anywhere since he had to remind whoever he was with that day, (usually Eddie, sometimes Hen or Chim, occassionally Maddie, rarely anyone else after the first few times) of every scheme hed already tried.

No today he was doing the only mildly interesting part of this living prison, exploring the city. He'd found a new farmer's market, went to the beach, and now he was stopping to get coffee.

As he exited the building he ran directly into someone, spilling his coffee all over himself. The burn honestly didnt much phase him anymore. Not after day 87 anyway. Still.

"Dang, watch it man," he said, none of the usual fawning apologies he'd have given before the loop.

"No it was my... fault," came a voice he knew so well yet hadnt heard in almsot a year now.

Well, for him almsot a year, for Tommy Kinnard standing in front of him it was only like 2 months.

"Oh this is fucking great," he said to himself before pulling out his phone. "Hildy make a not not to come here next loop I'm not doing this again," he said as he turned and started to walk away.

Then a hand grabbed his wrist and tugged, he tried to wrench his arm away but Tommy was just as strong as he was.

"Evan, what did you just say?"

Buck shook himself loose after another jolt of his arm before looking at Tommy. It still hurt, fuck it did, but he had worse things to deal with. "Don't worry about it Tommy. You don't ever have to worry about me again, you made that clear." Again hes about to turn away when Tommy calls out to him.

"Are you in a time loop?"

That was a new record. Chim had been the fastest to ever get it at 2 hours. Slowly he turned around, despite his better judgment.

"Considering you won't rmemeber this tomorrow, and we wont see each other, yes Tommy Ive been stuck in a time loop for months now. Its getting pretty fucking old actually." Despite the fact he was definitely being a bit bitchy, Tommys face was doing some confusing journey between surprise, relief and then happiness. By the time he stopped talking the man seemed to be vibrating before he pounced, hugging Buck so hard he thought he might crack a rib.

As much as Buck might have missed this, he was pretty fucking confused. "To-mmy..."

Tommy let go, pulling back and laughing a bit hysterically. "Evan," oh, his name sounded so good on Tommys tongue how had he forgotten "i thought i was going crazy."

"What?"

Tommy shook his head. "I mean, i didnt believe it at first. Obviously you know my skepticism, even after the Billy Boils thing." Tommy gave him a softer smile then. "But after a while, and a few different trips to the hospital it became clear there wasnt anything physically wrong with me, which meant either i was crazy, or, well, I was stuck in a time loop."

Buck stood there staring at the man he'd once been on the cusp of loving, of spending forever with, and realized they were both stuck, potentially forever, in a single day.

"I cant believe this... have you met anyone else thats on the loop?"

Tommy shook his head again, glancing around before motioning for them to take a seat outside the cafe. He grabbed some napkins, giving them to Buck to wipe at his stained shirt.

"No. Ive talked to a few people, Lucy, Sal, even Howie a few different times but never even considered someone else might be stuck too."

Buck dabbed at his shirt with little actual concern. He was more focused on this trippy development. "And youve tried to get out?"

"Oh boy, yes, tried doing everything right, doing nothing, tried talking to my dad even, that was a big mistake." His head tilted to the side in that way Buck remembered fondly, when Tommy was trying to dodge the severity of something he didnt want to admit hurt. "Heck I even called Abby thinking maybe i needed to apologize or something but... nothing." He held out his empty hands and shrugged.

Buck couldnt help what came out next. "Didnt call to apologize to me. And Id know, considering im also in the loop."

Tommy didnt say anything for a long moment until. "I thought about it. So many times. Talked myself out of it. Didnt think it was right to only contact you to try to free myself."

"Self sacrificing idiot," Buck said, tossing a balled up napkin at his chest.

"Guilty as charged."

That admission actually made Buck smile for the first time. "Dang, only took you a full blown time loop to admit it huh?"

Tommy laughed. "Groundhog day hell has humbled me I guessm"

Buck quirked an eyebrow. "What does any of this have to do with a holiday about a rodent predicting the weather?"

Tommy looked surprised, the expression soon melting into a sort of shocked amusement. "Ill explain it to you later. Looks like we've got the time. A lot of it actually."

"Yeah, I guess we do." Buck looked at him, and it still hurt, but there was camaraderie there, stuck in the same situation with only one person that understood. For the first time since the breakup he felt like things were starting to make sense again. And maybe, just maybe, if they could find a way to move past this day... well maybe they could find a way to move past their own problems too.

[faketrex]

FirstPrince, 12

Thank you, Chrissy! 💝 For prompt number 12, "the beach at ten on a Monday morning."

RWRB, canon divergence: different first meeting, set in April 2016 (nearly a year after Arthur's death but still before Rio, and well before the first Claremont Election Day).

...

If Henry had been thinking ahead, he might not have adopted a puppy immediately before fleeing the country for a week.

His Royal Highness Prince Henry will undertake a Spring Tour of French Basque Country. This will include visits to…, per Royal Communications.

Translated, Unfortunately, HRH Prince Henry would have gone irretrievably off his bloody rocker if he had spent one second more suffocating in Kensington Palace’s gray cloud of mourning. Therefore, he's going away to convalesce by the sea for a tick. Best of luck to him.

Hopefully, a week in Biarritz will set him to rights. He'll return freed of the temptation to smash vases and tea settings and any number of priceless stolen artifacts for the sole purpose of eliciting any reaction other than pity.

David the puppy may yet have a penchant for breaking things, but he's cute enough to get away with it. Henry had grown out of such a forgiving stage years earlier.

At ten a.m. on a chilly Monday morning in April, the Plage de la Côte des Basques is nearly empty. It's too cold to swim, in Henry's opinion. David doesn't care; he bounds across the sand where the waves crest and crash onto the beach, zig-zagging on his lead and getting soaked in the process. Although he's much too small to swim, he's adept at making himself thoroughly wet and sandy and sharing those conditions with Henry by shaking his tiny body to fling water over Henry's rolled-up trousers.

Watching David play, it's easy to almost forget how he'd woken Henry appallingly early after a near-sleepless night–Henry's, that is. Henry had lain awake until four in the morning, staring at the ceiling. All the while, David had slept peacefully in his dog bed, curled next to a plush toy. He had woken Henry at seven a.m. without the slightest hint of remorse.

Luckily, he's adorable.

When they return to Henry's spot on the sand, he sits and wraps David in a towel, settling him on his lap to keep him warm. Aside from the waves, the seagulls, and the chatter from surfers carrying their boards across the sand, the beach is quiet.

Henry feels muzzy with fatigue and his heart aches, still, as it has for the past eleven months, but it doesn't overwhelm him. For once, the ache is more sore than sharp.

"Hey, can I say hi to your puppy?"

The boy is standing several meters away, likely in deference to the dark-suited PPO lurking nearby. He's close enough for Henry to get a good look at him, though: dark curls hanging in dripping ringlets over his forehead, a black wetsuit bearing the stylized blue wave logo of one of the surf schools, a sharp square jawline. The grin on his face doesn't once falter while Henry looks him over.

Despite the persistent ache, Henry feels his heartbeat quicken. He might be several meters away, but that's nothing, really; he's not so far that Henry can't recognize the danger.

A boy like that could set him on fire.

David wriggles in his lap, grumbling, and the boy's smile widens.

Henry should turn him away.

"Yes," he says instead. "But you'd better have a seat so that I can hold his lead. He's a very good boy, but he's rather excited to be at the beach today."

"Cool," the boy says, dropping unceremoniously onto the sand within reach of Henry's blanket. "I'm Alex."

"Henry."

The moment of realization as Alex connects Henry's name to his face to, presumably, his status as a figurehead-in-training, is painfully obvious: Alex's expression melts from friendly interest, to surprise, to hesitance.

It was too much to hope that Alex wouldn't recognize him. His accent sounds American, but that's no matter. Even Americans aren't unaware of the unfortunate persistence of the British monarchy. There's no denying that Henry has a famous face; if the monarchy hadn't cursed him to that, being Arthur Fox's son would have sufficed. Still, he wouldn't give up being his father's son for any of it.

Henry sticks out his chin a little and doesn't look away. "I'm Henry," he repeats. "And… this is David."

Alex keeps staring at him, but slowly, oh-so slowly, one of his eyebrows creeps upward. "Henry and David, huh? Are you two planning a hostile takeover of the fruit basket industry?"

It's nothing like any reaction that Henry could have expected, no mention of the Queen or James Bond. There's no pity on Alex's face, either, just the hint of a sly smile accented by the sheen of drying seawater. "I–what?"

"It's–you know, like Harry and David?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Henry says, unwrapping David's towel and setting him down, dry and slightly fluffy, on the sand between them. "And I said Henry, not Harry."

"What a waste of a great joke," Alex complains, but his grin has fully returned–at David's antics, surely.

"You should consider yourself lucky to meet him now, in fact. David is going to grow up to be an international rock star."

"Oh, yeah?" Alex holds one hand still while David gives it a thorough sniff.

"Exactly right," Henry affirms. "In the footsteps of Bowie."

"David Beagle Bowie, huh? That's fucking cute."

A sea cure, really. Henry has always been an Austen fan, but the dream of convalescence had only been a dark joke. But perhaps–well, he can't help but wonder.

And Alex, for his part, seems in no hurry to leave.

[hockeyisforthegays]

We got Heroine Yuuji a Gojo hug, can we get him a NANAMIN HUG? 💯🔥🎉🥳👯‍♀️🪅🪩 🧍🏼‍♂️🧎🏼‍♂️‍➡️🫂🤗👨🏼‍🍼👨‍👦🧑‍🧑‍🧒🗣️

ITS GONNA TAKE AT LEAST A FEW IN WORLD MONTHS RIPPPP

[kindahoping4forever]

AshtonIrwin: Writing process moments with @ iamlpofficial for "Love Lines" out everywhere right now 😍

[jennsmelody]

you know you know when you get attached to a side character that doesn't exist? that you made up for your fanfiction or something but isn't even nearly fleshed out enough to consider an oc?

[permanentreverie]

istg i will write my first smut fic out of SPITE

[pherryt]

👀👀👀 second chances? Pwease? 💛

Thank you for the ask!!

Okay, so this snippet is still a little rough, because I literally just started this next part the morning I made the WIP poll. Like, I went to bed, closed my eyes, opened them again, grabbed my phone, and emailed this to myself.

Then i cleaned it up and posted it in a new doc.

also, Eskel won the last poll, so it's his POV

“Well, at least they're in the same room," Eskel said at last as he lounged in the pool.  Lambert sighed, leaning his head back against the edge. “I guess.” Eskel frowned at his brother. “What?” “Just, I really thought they were about to fuck in here or something.” “Seriously? You thought that they'd go from..." Eskel floundered for a word - because what single word could encompass the strange apathetic despair he'd found Geralt in after he'd done what he'd done and the way Dandelion had literally reinvented himself just to avoid Geralt? - and settled on, "that to fucking in less than 24 hours?" “Well, what the fuck was I supposed to think when Dandelion was sitting on pretty boys lap all bare assed naked? In an embrace, no less?” “My first thought would not have been fucking, actually,” Eskel said.  “They both needed a good hug in my opinion.”

[cyber-streak-extra]

Just something sweet :) The ITP: Happy Ending AU was made by @maraariana01

Title: Shall we?

Description: The two hang out quite a lot, not surprising——but after certain events, spend further time together, and relax.

Ralpho laid across the couch, waiting for Spring Bonnie to return. The orange rabbit was too tired to remember why the bunny had left in the first place.

Glancing at the clock in the darkened room, he knew it had to be somewhere around eleven PM—although the rabbit wasn’t the best at telling that sort of time.

Either way, he knew it had to be late—and that Jackie would return soon, if he was remembering what Oswald had told him once about her job.

A few hours prior, when he and Spring Bonnie had actively been watching a few new rom-com’s, he remembered Oswald heading back to his room with Ben and Gabrielle.

The kids seemed to have a break from school—although Ralpho didn’t know why, he hadn’t asked yet. Either way, they all seemed to like that.

From what he’d heard from Jackie over the phone prior to the two’s arrival, the whole sleepover thing would last until Tuesday—tomorrow would be Sunday.

He knew that they were all sleeping. Earlier, he’d passed by Oswald’s room when trying to retrieve something, and he had heard snoring. The rabbit had wondered if they still had their fort up.

The orange rabbit got to learn a lot whenever he decided to hang out with Spring Bonnie and them—which, he had been doing a little more recently.

After the encounter with the bear, he’d been brought back here—and Jackie had thankfully been able to help him out. Spring Bonnie had thanked her a lot, he remembered.

Ralpho hadn’t really left all that often recently—originally, it had been because he was still recovering and resting from the encounter with him.

Now though, it was more about Spring Bonnie—he could tell how worried the bunny had been ever since the encounter.

The bunny was concerned—Ralpho knew that—especially since Spring Bonnie had told him what he was worrying about. Funtime Freddy was still out there.

He knew Spring Bonnie was scared about what could happen—so, when he did want to leave, Ralpho simply allowed his Honey Bun to come with him.

Ears beginning to twitch, Ralpho heard something from down the hall. It sounded like it was rather close to where Oswald’s room happened to be.

Ralpho looked around for a moment, before deciding to go see what was going on—if anything really was, at least. Maybe something fell.

It was rather dark in the living room, though. So, as he got off of the couch, the orange rabbit tried to watch where he was going—not wanting to trip over anything.

As he watched where he went, slowly making his way out of the living room, he stared down at his feet and the floor. There wasn’t anything there.

For a moment, Ralpho considered turning the lights on so that it would be a little easier—although, the rabbit could never remember where that was.

The orange rabbit sighed. As he stared down, he could notice how he was moving—limping. Frankly, he’d forgotten that he was doing that, but, his Honey Bun...

Ever since the three of them returned, he knew that the bunny had been upset—and he still was, Ralpho knew.

He’d noticed how more protective Spring Bonnie had started becoming—in general, and of him and Oswald, especially. He knew the bunny wanting to accompany him was part of it.

He’d rested a lot after it had first happened—Ralpho knew that he had needed time to recover. And, even now, he still needed to do so a bit longer.

When the rabbit had started to walk around again, he’d only realized that he’d been limping when Oswald noticed it first, and mentioned it.

He could remember Spring Bonnie suggesting that he still rest, or for him to carry him—although Ralpho wasn’t exactly against that second option.

Walking down the hallway, Ralpho came to a stop when he noticed something. In the middle of it, Jinx was laying there.

The cat seemed to be awake, as the rabbit saw little eyes staring up at him. She meowed.

“Hey, Jinx.” The rabbit said. He reached down to scratch her chin, before continuing on his way to Oswald’s room.

Ralpho’s tail twitched. He knew how the rabbit animatronic felt—how they both did—partially, at least. The orange rabbit didn’t know everything.

He never thought that he was exactly good with situations like this. A part of the orange rabbit thought that he might be getting better at comforting—yet he wasn’t sure.

Ralpho’s ears twitched. They lowered, and he needed to move them—they were blocking what little he could see in the darkened house. He didn’t need to trip.

He wanted to help them both out—yet he just wasn’t sure how exactly. Does Oz think...

The rabbit’s thoughts came to a halt when he finally reached Oswald’s room, and he spotted a familiar yellow bunny in front of the door.

The door to the room was fully opened, although Spring Bonnie wasn’t entering—he remained where he was, simply watching.

From where Ralpho himself stood, he could see Gabrielle still in the little fort that had been made, chest rising and falling.

Oswald lay in his bed near where the three had made it the comfy little fort. Fetch slept peacefully beside the boy. Oswald shifted slightly.

He hadn’t realized it originally, but Ben was in the fort, too. He remained sprawled out, a blanket across both him and Gabrielle, as he snored.

Spring Bonnie relaxed—no longer as tense as he had been—as he saw those signs. Ralpho could see the bunny’s ears go back up as he started to close the door.

“Springy?”

Spring Bonnie turned away, still closing the door—trying to be quiet. In the darkness of the hallway, he could easily make out Ralpho standing there.

“Spring-“ Ralpho had started. Before he could finish, the bunny was quick to make his way over, and gently hug the orange rabbit.

Ralpho returned the hug. “Did it happen again, Spring?”

While he didn’t technically need to, it was still possible for the orange rabbit to sleep—it was nice. Though, he knew that it wasn’t possible for Spring Bonnie.

Some time ago, he remembered when he had first learned of what occasionally happened. He’d been in the living room with Oswald, half asleep, while trying to watch something with him.

Oswald himself was laid across the couch, watching the monster movie that played, when Spring Bonnie had approached the two in a panic. He’d been leaking.

From what the bunny had told him, it was like a flashback—but with what else he’d said, Ralpho figured that it was like both—sort of.

Spring Bonnie nodded.

Separating from the hug, Ralpho reached to take hold of the animatronics hands into his own. “C’mon, Springy. Why don’t we head back?”

____

Ralpho sat beside Oswald on the couch, as some sort of monster movie played on the TV. It was just the two of them, as Thomas and Jackie were at work, and Spring Bonnie was doing chores.

He wasn’t too sure about Jinx and Fetch, though. The last he’d seen either of them was when he first arrived—the dog greeting him, while Jinx was eating.

Although he had sat down to watch the movie with Oswald, Ralpho was partially distracted as he busied himself with writing something down on a piece of paper.

While Oswald couldn’t exactly see what was on the piece—Ralpho was keeping it to himself—the boy thought that he could see “Springy” written down on it for a moment.

“What are you doing?” The boy finally asked.

“Just trying to make a little special something, Oz.” The orange rabbit answered with a grin. Although, he was admittedly having trouble with what exactly he should do.

“For Springs?”

Ralpho nodded.

The two sat there for a little longer—Oswald simultaneously watching the film and watching Ralpho write—or at least attempt to. While Ralpho talked on and on.

After another minute or two, the orange rabbit finally stopped. Having nowhere else to put the paper, he took his hat off, and placed it in there.

“I should probably get going, Oz.” He stated, before reaching over to mess with Oswald’s hair, before getting off of the couch.

Oswald watched as Ralpho left the living room—he went down the hallway, so the boy assumed that he was wanting to say goodbye to Spring Bonnie.

He refocused back on the movie—only to realize that he had missed his favorite part of it. So, grabbing the remote beside him, Oswald pressed ‘rewind’.

After another minute, he heard footsteps getting closer—and Oswald turned just in time to see Ralpho approaching the front door. “See ya later, Oz!”

Oswald waved, even if Ralpho wouldn’t see because of the direction he was facing. He glanced back towards the TV as the door opened.

“Wait, Ralpho-“ The boy started, a thought having rather quickly crossed his mind.

“Whenever you leave, where do you even...” Oswald turned back, only to no longer see the orange rabbit there, and the door closed. “...Go?”

____

Ralpho stared at the words on the screen, one ear twitching. He’d never done anything like this before—which was why he needed to practice, anyway.

He stood up, moving back a little bit—but remained close enough to the screen so that he could actually see the words and images.

Just as the orange rabbit began to carefully move, partially wondering if he could get someone for this, a noise coming from the kitchen distracted him.

Stopping, and shutting the device off, he made his way over. Spring? The orange rabbit wondered.

However, when he got there, it wasn’t Spring Bonnie. Instead, it was Jackie. She was beside the counter, having gathered a few things.

Does she know how? He thought with a tilt of his head, ears twitching. Maybe she could help?

“Ralpho?”

He stared at her for a moment, before waving. “Hey, Jackie.” He smiled, and made his way over to her. “What are you doing?”

“Before I head off to work, I want to make the kids some pancakes.” Jackie answered, holding in a yawn.

“Maybe I could help?” The orange rabbit offered with a shrug.

She blinked at him.

“It won’t end up like the time with the cake, promise.” He... well, that was at least what he hoped for.

____

Spring Bonnie made his way out of the bedroom with his son and his friends, and towards the kitchen. Gabrielle was still half asleep, and a bit far behind.

“Oh- hey, Springy.” He heard Ralpho’s voice, followed by Ben snickering about something. He noticed Gabrielle and his son just staring.

He turned away from the kids, and towards Ralpho. The orange rabbit was standing there, covered in both pancake batter and syrup. There was a bit of a mess on the counter.

“Ralpho, what happened?”

“I tried to make breakfast,” Ralpho answered with a shrug, “I should’ve expected this.” He wasn’t sure if this was better or worse compared to the cake.

“Mom should’ve done this.”

“Yeah, probably.” Ralpho nodded in agreement.

Spring Bonnie finally moved. He made his way over to Ralpho, trying not to step on anything. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” The yellow bunny wrote.

____

Oswald, Fetch, Ralpho, and Gabrielle all sat around the board game. Spring Bonnie would’ve liked to play, too, but he was busy at the moment.

Oswald had suggested that he could play with them in the next round whenever he finished—whenever that would be—and he had seemed to like that idea.

Technically, both Gabrielle and Oswald had already finished. Oswald first, followed by his friend. Now, they were just watching and Ralpho.

When Oswald had discovered what all the animatronic dog could do—such as write—he made sure to keep a lot of paper around for Fetch.

With how everyone was seated, Gabrielle sat to the left, with Fetch halfway laying across her lap, with a pen and a few pieces of paper surrounding the two.

Oswald sat to the right, beside Ralpho, who was no longer wearing his hat. Earlier on, the orange rabbit had decided to place it atop Oswald’s head.

The boy didn’t mind all that much—although considering that it was rather big, he kept having to move it. He just hadn’t decided to take it off yet.

“Who do you think it’ll be?” Oswald had wondered earlier, leaning over a little closer to Fetch and Oswald. The animatronic dog had taken the chance to give him a lick.

“Ralpho, maybe?” The young girl had guessed with a shrug.

As Ralpho continued to play against Fetch, he could very clearly hear Oswald and Gabrielle talking to each other—mostly discussing things about the game.

There happened to be a few other games, and Oswald had been debating if he should go get those, too. He still was. Ralpho didn’t know the names, though.

“Why don’t we get a snack?” Oswald eventually spoke up again—before the boy had said anything, Ralpho had heard the sound of something growling.

“Sure,” Gabrielle nodded. Gently, she nudged Fetch off of her, before standing back up. She reached down for a moment to give the dog a quick pet.

She joined Oswald’s side a moment later, and the two started to make their way out of the bedroom, and towards the kitchen.

Just as the two made it through the door, the sound of a groan—and some excited barks—stopped the kids. Gabrielle was the first to turn back around.

Fetch seemed rather excited—if the speed of his tail meant anything. “What happened?” Oswald asked. He and Gabrielle reentered.

In Fetch’s mouth, he held one of the many pieces of paper. The writing on it consisted of “Yay!” And “:D”.

____

After Thomas had given his son some money, the kids, Ralpho, and Spring Bonnie had all settled for heading over to Jeff’s Pizza for some lunch.

Hopping out of the car, Spring Bonnie paused for a moment, and looked around. He didn’t see anybody except for the orange rabbit and the kids.

The last time, he’d learned that Funtime Freddy had ran off before he actually entered—he didn’t know where the bear could possibly be now.

The bunny’s ears lowered slightly. This was where they’d...

Spring Bonnie’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand grab his own. When he focused, the bunny realized that it was Ralpho.

“You okay, Honey Bun?” The orange rabbit questioned.

Spring Bonnie nodded.

Moving closer, Ralpho gave the animatronic bunny a kiss on the cheek, before beginning to lead him into the pizzeria. “C’mon, Springy.”

Entering the pizzeria, it only seemed to be them, the kids—who were seated in a booth nearby with some pizza—and Jeff himself, who looked half asleep.

Moving closer to the booth, Spring Bonnie decided to sit next to Oswald and Ben, while Ralpho sat beside Gabrielle.

The only other time the orange rabbit had been around here, was when he and Oswald went there some time ago. Minus the animatronic bear situation, he enjoyed hanging out with the boy.

“Ralpho.” The rabbit’s ears twitched at the voice—which belonged to Ben. He turned to look at the boy, ears continuing to twitch.

Ben sat in his spot, holding out a slice of pepperoni pizza. Ralpho stared at it. “Why don’t you try it?” The boy offered.

Ralpho kept staring it for another second or two, debating on it. He’d tried some food before in the past, but he just hadn’t been able to taste it.

He’d declined the last time he’d been offered by Oswald—but it still looked good. Maybe he could try it this time.

He reached over, taking the pizza slice from Ben, who then went to eat his remaining slice, while talking to Oswald about something he’d thought of.

The orange rabbit held the slice in his hands, before moving it closer, and taking a few decently sized bites from the slice.

Just like he had figured, the orange rabbit still didn’t taste anything, just like the last time he’d chosen to eat.

Despite that, Ralpho decided to continue to eat it.

____

When Oswald and Gabrielle had decided to go to the park to hang out, Ralpho accompanied them alongside Spring Bonnie. Even Fetch had joined.

Fetch was rolling around in the grass and running around, while occasionally staring at a squirrel or two—but he never went after them.

There was a bench not too far from where the two where standing, which Oswald and Gabrielle were using to sit around and chat.

It had been getting pretty cold recently—which was why Ralpho guessed that the two had some jackets.

He’d never liked whenever it got cold like this—especially at night. The orange rabbit remembered getting pretty chilly during a lot of Bunny Calls.

The rabbit, ever so slightly, began to shiver. He never did well with it, either—but there had never been much that he could do for that.

From the corner of his eyes, he spotted Spring Bonnie beginning to write—and it didn’t take that long for the yellow bunny to finish.

“Cold?”

Ralpho nodded.

Spring Bonnie motioned for the smaller rabbit to come closer, and with another nod, Ralpho did just that, wondering what his Honey Bun wanted.

Once he was close enough, Spring Bonnie brought the orange rabbit into a hug, while wrapping his coat around him, placing his chin against Ralpho’s head.

Ralpho grinned—more than normally—as he was quick to return the hug, his tail beginning to wag. He moved a little bit, so that he could kiss Spring Bonnie’s cheek.

“Thanks, Springy.”

____

Spring Bonnie had been gone for a while—if Ralpho remembered correctly, then he had gone to go get groceries. The orange rabbit was excited.

While his Honey Bun was gone for a while—an hour or two at best, Ralpho continued to check things out for what he had been wanting to do for a while.

As the orange rabbit entered the living room, he spotted Spring Bonnie there, laying across the couch, just now starting up a rom-com.

“Spring!” The orange rabbit called out.

Ears twitching, the yellow bunny looked away from the TV, and towards Ralpho. He tilted his head to the side.

“C’mere!”

Nodding, Spring Bonnie got off of the couch, making sure to pause the rom-com—he didn’t want to let it keep going—he’d miss something.

As Spring Bonnie approached, the orange rabbit could feel his tail starting to wag.

“Sooo...” Ralpho started when the bunny stopped in front of him, tail continuing to wag. “Honey Bun, have you ever danced before?”

He never really had—he’d made some attempts here and there, but that was it. He’d never done it with anybody before, either. That was going to change, though.

Ralpho was certain that it would go well—he doubted that it would be all that bad or something.

Quickly, Spring Bonnie shook his head in response.

Just like Ralpho, Spring Bonnie had never done it with anyone—or in general—but he’d noticed others dancing together before—it always seemed nice.

Ralpho lightly hummed. “I haven’t either, Springy. But,” He reached over, taking the bunny’s hands into his own. “Why don’t we try?”

The taller bunny almost seemed nervous. “C’mon, Springy, it’ll be fine. Trust me!” The rabbit grinned.

Spring Bonnie took a second to think about it, before nodding.

“Okay!” The orange rabbit’s grin grew.

Ralpho still held onto one of Spring Bonnie’s hands, while the bunny freed his other, and placed it gently on the orange rabbit’s back.

Once they’d both adjusted, Ralpho took a few steps back, and Spring Bonnie took a few steps forward, trying to be careful.

Before he had finally asked Spring Bonnie, Ralpho could remember several dances that he’d found—and he wondered if they could try all of them.

Accidentally, as another step was taken, both the orange rabbit and the yellow bunny stumbled—and Ralpho felt himself falling back.

Although, Spring Bonnie had, fortunately, reacted quickly. He leaned forward, and wrapped both arms around Ralpho to keep him in place, instead of just falling.

At the same time, Ralpho hurriedly wrapped his arms around Spring Bonnie.

The orange rabbit stared up at Spring Bonnie with a small smile. As the bunny began to lift him back up, Ralpho placed a hand on his cheek.

He snickered a little bit. “This may take a while, Honey Bun.”

____

During some of their attempts, both still stumbled around here and there—mainly over each other—but sometimes because of a misstep that didn’t involve the other.

Music had come across Ralpho’s mind shortly after the two of them first began—so, using Thomas’s phone that the man had forgotten, he settled for playing music from there.

He didn’t know most of the music that was playing, but he recognized a few here and there—mainly because he’d heard the same ones on a few rom-com’s.

With his little research, he’d seen a lot of dances—and with the ones that provided videos, it had all seemed relatively easy—but it wasn’t.

Carefully, Spring Bonnie had chosen to spin Ralpho—much to the orange rabbit’s delight, before bringing Ralpho closer to him again.

Once he was back by Spring Bonnie, the grinning Ralpho inched closer, before pressing a kiss on the yellow bunny’s lips, wrapping his arms around him.

Ears shooting up, Spring Bonnie could feel himself starting to heat up, before returning the kiss, wrapping his own arms around Ralpho.

The bunny could spot Ralpho’s tail wagging, and he could feel his own doing it, too—although he wasn’t sure if it was all that noticeable, due to it being somewhat hidden with the coat.

Ralpho pulled away, and stared up at Spring Bonnie with a grin. “I love you a ton, Honey Bun.”

Spring Bonnie gently placed his hands on the sides of Ralpho’s face. I love you, too.

[takemehye]

nvm still on hiatus 🫠

[xcziel]

if anyone has recs for 21+ bldrama, kdrama, or (bts-friendly) kpop discord servers that tolerate lurker-types and slow typers i'd appreciate a heads-up

[kevinday-apologist]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63212728

Posting this then turning my phone off and going to bed please enjoy 🫶 or don’t idc

[sqoa]

"no, baby, we're going to be late."

sex addict!satoru frowns at your words: he looks like a kicked puppy, denied love from his other half. how will he go on in such a state? achingly hard behind the steering wheel despite having drained his balls into you over the hood of his car before leaving for some important meeting.

you're already late, thanks to the second orgasm satoru insisted on pulling out of you. you made a mess of his car, and you worry you're messing the leather seats, what with the heinous amount of his cum leaking out of you. you glance over to satoru's pocket, where a little bit of lace hangs out: he had pocketed your panties despite your whining protests.

and he had made you cum a third time on his fingers as he drove with one hand.

"please," he whines, "i don't even need to cum, baby, just wanna taste you." he's leaning over to kiss your lips, get you hooked on his taste. he's such a liar, you know he'll fuck you dumb with his tongue until you're begging for his cock, too.

"no, satoru."

"i'll.... i'll do that thing you like! with my fingers, you know?" he waves his fingers at you.

"....no."

"babyyy," he whines, and then, as if he's gotten an idea, his face lights up. "i'll let you edge me for a week."

oh. he's good. the image that springs into your head at his words, of him desperate and begging for seven whole days of denial, causes you to squeeze your thighs together. you can't help but think of all the different ways you could tease him, pull the poor boy desperate. he can barely last an hour without draining himself inside of you: a week will ruin him.

"deal."

edging week fic soon :p

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: Joel was a bad man. Perverted, dirty-minded, and old. He couldn’t keep you out of his thoughts no matter how hard he tried. You were the new neighbor across the way, though he’d made sure you’d never spoken. He kept his distance, kept to himself. Until Dina nearly dragged you into his dining area, forcing you to sit with him as he averted his gaze. And just like that, she got up and left—leaving you to whatever quiet little plan she'd already set in motion. || smut MDNI 18+, peepaw!joel, oldman!joel, big ol' girthy age gap (not specified but LEGAL), soft!joel, the man's obsessed, perv!joel, daddy kink, pinv, f!receiving oral, masturbation, << joel watches you, joel mentions reader's body is 'little' but only because he's a big boy, big dick joel miller, idk what else to put here, this fic lives in a world where creampies ≠ pregnancy, this takes place *before Ellie & Dina get together || a/n: couldn't stop thinking about this all damn night. Ok he’s actually an angel but THINKS he’s a bad man

Just focus on the wires, Miller. The wires.

But the zap bit into his fingers the second he looked, eyes drifting up just for a moment, out the window and onto you.

You were kneeling in the garden bed along the edge of the street by your house, wrist-deep in dark soil, the late-spring sunlight gilding your skin like something out of a goddamn dream. Your shirt had ridden up your back as you reached forward, and he caught the bare curve of your spine, the subtle arch of it with every shift of your hips.

He hissed quietly at the sting in his palm, jerking his hand back from the breaker.

He was supposed to be working. Minding his own business. In his own house. At his own dining table. Just tinkering. That was all.

Wasn’t his fault the window faced the street. Wasn’t his fault you were outside in cutoff shorts and a t-shirt, sleeves shoved up as you planted an unruly bramble of something in the dirt.

God bless late spring, he thought. Then immediately cursed himself for it, trying in vain to look away. But you stretched your arms over your head, back arching. Your shirt lifted with the motion, a sliver of skin flashing above your waistband before falling back down.

He blinked, hard, and dropped his head.

The wires. Focus on the wires.

The breaker sat in his palm, cold and sharp-edged. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his nose, trying to reorient himself with the tangled mass of copper and springs he was meant to be working on. His pliers hovered over the rusted coil, but his mind had already betrayed him.

The air inside felt too still. Dust floated through shafts of sunlight that slanted across the kitchen floorboards. A breeze fluttered the thin curtain over the sink. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped. A dog barked. Life, irritatingly, continued.

Then he heard voices. Loud enough to pull him from his head. He looked up.

Dina was out there now, talking to you, animated as ever. You frowned at something she said, then shook your head. He didn’t know why that made his chest ache, but it did. 

He wanted to know what she’d asked. Wanted to know what you needed. If you asked, he’d do it. Build it, fix it, find it. He’d do it with no hesitation.

But asking meant talking. Talking meant being near. And Joel didn’t allow himself that kind of luxury with you.

Because if you saw him— really saw him—you’d see right through the practiced nods and gravel-toned grunts. You’d see the way his eyes trailed a second too long, the way his jaw clenched when you laughed at someone else’s joke. You’d catch the heat of it. The filth of it.

And you’d run.

He wouldn’t blame you.

But God, he wasn’t sure he could take it if you did.

And yet… if you hated him, at least you’d be thinking about him.

As he stared out the window, Dina suddenly gestured toward his house, thumb hooked over her shoulder. Then your eyes followed. You looked right at his place. And shrugged.

Shrugged.

He had to sit back for a second, stunned. What the hell did that mean? Were you talking about him? Dina was, clearly. But you…were you indifferent? Unbothered? That hollow thud behind his ribs wasn’t from a breaker.

He told himself he didn’t care. He tried. But then she was dragging you to your feet.

No.

You resisted at first. Body language stiff, reluctant. But Dina…Dina was not the kind of girl to take no for an answer. Joel knew it well, she was Ellie’s closest friend, after all. And now she was dragging you up his walkway.

“Joel?” Dina called out, knocking.

He scrambled to look busy, heart pounding, thoughts buzzing like flies.

“Yeah,” he called, low and even. “Come in.”

The front door creaked open in the corner of his eye, the sound of footsteps soft and careful as they moved closer. And then your legs came into view. Long, bare, sun-warmed. He had to force himself not to look higher, not to follow the shape of you all the way up to that sweet little body wrapped in tiny shorts and a thin tee, practically begging to be devoured.

The wires, Miller.

“Hey,” Dina said cheerfully.

“Howdy,” Joel replied, short and clipped.

“What’re you working on?” she asked, plopping into the chair beside him.

He kept his tone casual. “Old breaker. They were gonna toss it, but it’s just a spring issue.”

She leaned over the table, inspecting it. “Teach me?”

He grunted in what he hoped passed as agreement. Felt the chair next to her shift. Felt your hesitation fill every inch of the room.

There was a beat, some hushed whispers of Dina urging you again, but Joel still kept his eyes down.

Then the chair across from him scraped, and you sat. Tension spiked in his chest.

“Joel,” Dina said sweetly, “have you met my new best friend?”

Joel lifted his head just enough to look at her. “Thought Ellie was your best friend.”

“She’s in the Hall of Fame. But this one—” she beamed at you “—makes the best apple pie in Jackson.”

“I know.”

Ah, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

You gasped. A soft little breath that made his stomach twist. He still didn’t look at you, but now he could picture it perfectly. The way your lips parted. The way your eyebrows probably lifted.

He wasn’t supposed to know.

You’d left it for him on a rainy afternoon. Knocked once, maybe twice, then stood there for a minute like you were trying to decide if you should wait. But when he didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft against the damp porch.

He’d seen you enough around town, neighbors fawning over your story, your smile, your damn cooking. He didn’t want any part of it. Didn’t want to be another man pulled into your orbit just because you were sweet and sunny and made people feel something.

He told himself he wouldn’t touch it. But later, when the sky had gone pink and the house was quiet, he peeled back the foil, took one bite, and almost dropped to his knees.

It was perfect.

The kind of taste that sent him spiraling back through decades. Holidays at his grandmother’s house. His little hands and floured countertops and the sound of laughter he hadn’t heard in years.

He tried to hate it. Hate you for making it.

But Joel Miller was a lot of things. Stubborn, angry, mean when he had to be.

He was not strong enough to hate you.

Not even close.

Dina leaned over the table, elbows planted, chin in hand. “So listen,” she said, flicking a glance toward you before turning back to Joel. “Ellie told me you’ve been fixing up old stuff again. Thought maybe you could take a look at my space heater—it’s making this really weird buzzing sound, and I’m ninety percent sure it’s not supposed to smell like burnt popcorn.”

“What you need that thing for now? S’warm out now,” he grumbled over to her.

Dina’s brow furrowed at him, “My place is freezing!”

Joel rolled his eyes, grunting, eyes back on the breaker. “Probably just dust. I can swing by later.”

“Sweet,” she said, clapping her hands once. “I told Ellie you’d say yes.”

You shifted in your seat, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Joel could see it in the corner of his eye, the way you didn’t quite know where to look. Your gaze darted from the breaker to the worn tabletop to the window. You didn’t want to be here.

Dina, ever the social architect, didn’t miss a beat. “Anyway,” she said, standing suddenly and brushing her hands down her jeans, “I’m gonna run back and check on Ellie. She’s making me a cassette tape in the garage.

You looked up, surprised. “Wait, I thought we were gonna—”

She cut you off with a little wave of her fingers. “You’re fine. Stay. Learn how to fix shit. Or don’t. Flirt awkwardly. Whatever works.”

Joel finally looked up at that, shooting her a warning glare, but she just grinned and backed toward the door.

“Thanks, Joel. You’re the best,” she said sweetly. Then, turning her back to him, shot you a wink.

And just like that, she was gone.

The front door clicked shut behind her, and silence fell over the house again.

Thick as syrup.

You cleared your throat softly, the sound barely audible over the ticking wall clock and the quiet hum of the fan. Outside, the breeze rustled through the garden beds, and you could still hear the soft creak of Dina’s boots fading down the porch.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just let the silence stretch, long and taut, like a wire about to snap.

Then he finally exhaled, “She can be a bit…”

Your eyes lifted to his face, and he had to remind himself to hold your gaze. Don’t be impolite. Don’t be a scrooge. So he looked up a you.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, lips quirking at the sides.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he said, voice low as he looked back at his hands and quickly busying them, placing in a spring to the small breaker.

“I know…” you said, hesitating, and then, sitting straighter, you added, “Actually, I was gonna ask you…think somethin’s wrong with my water heater.”

His gaze snapped up. 

Anything you needed.

He’d do it. 

Fix it, build it, find it. 

“Been a few days now,” you continued, rushing the words under his stare. “Water’s comin’ out freezin’, and the pressure’s been real weak. Can you come look at it for me?”

Joel paused, the breaker in his hand feeling like a hundred pounds. 

Don’t, Miller. He told himself. But his mind, his imagination, the unhelpful bastard that it was, already lept at the thought.

You, naked under a stream of frigid water. Shivering. Nipples tight from the cold. Your fingers rubbing at your arms, slick and bare and goose-pimpled. Hair heavy, dripping, clinging to your collarbones. That soft little sound you might make when the water hit.

He swallowed hard, fighting the flush rising under his collar. He couldn’t have you suffering like that. No man in his right mind would leave you to freeze in your own house.

“Yeah,” he said, voice catching. He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat. “Yeah. Sure.”

“How’s tomorrow?”

Joel nodded, quick and clipped. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t already planning it out down to the damn hour. He’d come by early. First thing. Get it done and gone before he did something stupid like linger.

But early meant sleepwear. Meant you might answer the door in those tiny shorts he pretended not to notice through his window.

Afternoon, then.

That’d be safer.

“Just, uh,” he said awkwardly, fingers twitching around the pliers. “Maybe don’t be there when I show up.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, brief and sharp, “In the shower.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, “Right. No—of course. Definitely not.”

But his ears burned. And no matter how hard he tried, the image came back anyway.

You. Cold. Naked. Wet.

He was so fucked.

Joel felt sick to his stomach just crossing the street.

Would you know?

Could you tell he’d spent the whole damn night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your tight little body haunting every inch of his imagination as he tugged at his fist beneath the covers?

He felt filthy. Perverted.

Bad.

He was a bad man, and worse, he knew it.

He probably didn’t need that second cup of coffee that morning—his limbs jittery, his hand aching as he lifted the old metal toolbox from the shed beside Ellie’s garage. His knees popped as he straightened, the ache behind his eyes a dull throb. He was too old for this.

Too old to be thinking about you like this til all hours of the night. Like some teenage, horned-up fool.

Still, he made his way over, the weight of the box not half as heavy as the tension in his chest. At his feet, the little garden bed was already blooming—blackberry bushes nestled in the soil and climbing your freshly painted fence. They suited the house. Suited you. Sweet, wild, a little thorny. He wondered what you planned to do with them. Jam, maybe. Pie, if he was lucky. If he was ever lucky again.

He doubted he’d get the chance, not after today.

Not with the thoughts scrambling around in his head, sharp and dirty and desperate to spill out.

He knocked once with his knuckles, quiet, almost hoping you wouldn’t hear.

Maybe you were out—off at the community garden, like he’d seen you some mornings with a basket slung over your arm. Or off sweet-talking the horses, sneaking carrots to your favorites. Maybe you forgot.

But no such luck. The door opened.

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes widening like you hadn’t expected him to actually show. The sound of your voice—saying his name for the first time—ripped something open in his chest.

Say it again, he wanted to beg. Please. Just once more, so I can keep it locked away. So I can die with it in my memory. 

You smiled, a little sheepish.

He didn’t smile back. Just kept his brow furrowed, his expression hard. He couldn’t afford to let you get close. Couldn’t let you mistake him for someone safe.

“Hi,” he nodded, voice low.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Uh, my shower’s just… in here—”

“Need to take a look at the water heater first,” he cut in.

“Oh,” you blinked, hands still gripping the door and its frame. “Right…”

“Can I come in?” he added, one brow raised. A flicker of something like amusement in his voice. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was.

“Course,” you said quickly, stepping aside. “Please.”

He stepped inside.

Into your world.

It smelled like cinnamon. Like apples and woodsmoke and something fresh baked—though he saw no tray of anything waiting on the counter. Just your scent, clinging to the walls. Like you lived here completely. Like you’d settled in, made it your own.

Of course you had.

Fresh flowers sat in a mason jar on the table. Little framed paintings dotted the walls—ones he recognized from the barter-and-trade shop, and a few of horses that made his chest ache. One in particular, just a lone cowboy on a mountainside, was his personal favorite.

“The uh… water heater’s down in the basement,” you said, already walking toward the narrow door at the back of the kitchen.

Joel followed, but when you stayed behind, hovering uncertainly near the top of the stairs, he didn’t protest. It was better that way. He needed to get himself under control.

He ducked into the dark, found the breaker box, and the old water heater behind it. It didn’t take long to spot the issue.

The main switch was off.

Just… flipped off. No blown fuse. No leak. No damage.

He stared at it, confused. Then narrowed his eyes.

No.

No, no, no. That wasn’t right.

Had someone messed with it? Played a prank? Messed with you?

But he’d never seen anyone else go in or out of this house. You lived alone. He was sure of it. Which left only one possibility.

His pulse thumped in his ears.

He flipped the switch. Waited for the hum. Then made his way back upstairs, each step landing heavy beneath his boots.

“You should be all good now,” he said as he reemerged.

“Yeah?” you asked, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy,” he nodded.

Easy. To get him here. To get him to look. To fix it.

Fix it, build it, find it. He was your man. He wanted to be your man.

“Well,” you said, fidgeting, “you sure you don’t need to check it upstairs?”

Joel moved to the sink instead, turned the handle all the way to hot, and waited. Within seconds, steam curled up from the basin. He held his hand under it, felt the sharp bite of heat.

“Good to go,” he said, glancing at you. He wondered if he would’ve noticed it before, but this time he was certain. You turned a little pink under his gaze, pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh,” you murmured. “Good.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave.

He didn’t want to.

Not now that he knew, by some cataclysmic star crossed miracle, you’d brought him here on purpose. That you’d wanted him here. But he wasn’t sure what that meant. What he was supposed to do with it.

Still, you let him make his way to the door. Sweet as anything, practically shoving cookies into his hands as thanks.

He refused, hands up in surrender as he backed toward the entryway.

“Really,” he said, voice lighter now, accent thicker as he let his shoulders relax, “I’m fine, darlin’, please. Just—” his hand found the doorknob, “Just let me know if there’s anythin’ else you need. You just holler, alright?”

You smiled, soft and a little playful. “Alright. Well… thank you.”

But, somehow, your water heater broke again only a few days later.

Then the lights went out in your second bedroom. 

And then— his last and final strike—the curtain rod came crashing down from your bedroom window on a Saturday morning.

Joel stood on a small foot ladder beside your bed, boots braced on the tread, hand wrapped around the curtain rod bracket as he tightened the last screw into the wall. The hardware clinked softly against the metal as he adjusted the fit. You sat on the edge of the bed behind him, legs swinging, talking about something—weather, or the community garden, or a dog you’d seen with a lopsided face. He wasn’t really listening.

Not in a rude way. He just liked the sound of your voice more than whatever it was you were actually saying.

He hummed now and then, nodding at the right moments, letting you fill the space. It helped. Gave him something to focus on besides the fact that he was in your bedroom, that even your curtains smelled like you. That your nightstand had a little dish with jewelry in it and a book with a pressed flower between the pages. That your closet door was cracked just enough to show a glimpse of your laundry basket, and his brain, the traitorous thing, kept wondering what might be folded inside.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and gave the bracket one last twist.

“You sure must’ve worked real hard to get this damn thing off the wall,” he said, voice low.

Your words stopped mid-sentence.

He turned his head, just enough to catch the look on your face.

Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Silent.

Caught.

The silence stretched between you like something taut and dangerous.

Joel straightened up slowly, the curtain rod still in his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked, voice gentler than it should’ve been. “Or should I just assume you wanted me back over here so bad, you started pullin’ things off your walls?”

“I—” you choked, voice barely above a whisper, the color draining from your face as the words stuck in your throat.

Joel caught the way your fingers curled against the bedsheet, how your knees shifted slightly, like you might bolt. And God, part of him wanted you to. Part of him needed you to.

But the other part, the selfish part, couldn’t bear the thought.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he said softly. “I like your company too.”

Your eyes lifted to his, wide and searching.

“You… you do?” you asked, like you didn’t believe it. Like no part of you had expected it to be true.

Joel nodded, slow. “Yeah.” The word came out tight. It took effort, like he had to shove it past all the reasons why he shouldn’t say it.

You stared at him, stunned and unmoving. He stood still for a long beat, then finally stepped down from his stool. The floor creaked under his weight as he crossed to your bed, each step slower than the last. He moved slower than he really needed to, but it kept him steady, until he finally sat beside you. 

Not too close, not touching you, but he could feel the heat of you anyway. He caught the faint trace of your perfume, something soft and warm and inviting, and it nearly knocked him out. He wanted to breathe it in until it lived in his lungs. He wanted it to cling to his shirt, to the collar of his flannel, so he could press his face into it later—alone in the dark—like that might be enough.

Or better, that filthy corner of his brain, the beast that lived inside him wanted you to smell like him. Wanted it clinging to your sheets, your wrists, the hollow of your throat. Wanted people to catch it in passing and wonder why you’d let a man like him get that close. 

But he wouldn’t. He was trying to be good, to have restraint.

His hands stayed on his knees, tense, knuckles pale where they pulled against the denim. This was your room, so soft and warm and clean. The kind of place he could get lost in if he wasn’t careful. 

“Ain’t a good idea, what you’re doin’,” he murmured, “I’m an old man, honey.”

Your eyes tracked over his face as he looked at you, “I like that you’re older, Joel.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, jaw flexing. Christ. You didn’t know what you were saying. 

“I’m old enough to be your daddy, baby,” he whispered. The words came out rougher than he intended.

He heard the way your breath caught. Saw the way your body stilled. Like something inside you had jolted awake.

He should’ve looked away.

Instead, his gaze found yours as he swallowed dryly. When he finally got control of his heavy tongue again, he asked, “That do somethin’ to you, sweetheart?”

You didn’t speak. But the answer was all over your face.

Joel exhaled slowly, leaning back just enough to get a better look at you. Still not touching, but close enough to see the flush rise in your cheeks.

“Gonna answer me?” he asked.

Your voice trembled. “Y-yes.”

His brow lifted slightly.

“Yes, I like… thinking of you that way.”

His stomach turned over. “You think about me, huh?”

You hesitated, lips parting, and for a second he thought maybe you’d lie.

Then your voice hit him square in the chest.

“All the time.”

Joel went still. Your words rang in his head, loud and clear. Like a bell tolling inside his ribs.

Now he knew. You wanted him. You thought about him the same way he thought about you. And if he so much as reached for you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

So instead, he just looked at you. He let his eyes rake over your face, your body, looking at how your thighs had pressed together. How your breathing had changed. How your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt like you didn’t know what to do with your hands now that the words were out.

And then, his voice came low and steady, like it was coming from somewhere deeper than his own body, “Show me.”

Your brows drew together in confusion, your mouth falling open. “What?”

His eyes locked with yours, and he knew you could see it. The way his pupils had all but swallowed the color from his irises, how tightly he was clinging to the last scrap of control he had left. He could feel the sweat at the back of his neck, the pulse in his throat, the ache in his hands from how hard he was trying not to reach for you. Not to ruin you.

He couldn’t let himself slip. Couldn’t let it crack wide open.

“When you think of me,” he said, quieter now, words coming like gravel dragged behind his teeth, “what do you do?”

You looked away for a second, your gaze dropping to the bed beneath you, cheeks heated and mouth parting like you didn’t know how to answer. But then your eyes found his again—wide and shining, nervous and breathless.

“You want me to… to show you?”

He didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly.

That was all he needed. Just to watch. That was the line. That was what he could live with. He wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t lay a single hand on your sweet, perfect, young body. He’d sit still like a good man, like a gentleman, and let it wreck him quietly. He’d carry the memory of it back across the street like a loaded gun and bury it deep where no one would ever find it.

You hesitated, breath shivering, legs pressing together as you sat there, body unsure while your eyes held his like they were searching for something—permission, safety, the truth of how far this would go.

“S’alright,” he said again, his voice soft like velvet, “Just lay back.”

He saw your throat bob, and then, slowly, you leaned back onto your elbows, shifting further onto the bed. The mattress dipped with your weight, the sound of your shorts brushing the sheets too loud in the stillness. He swallowed hard as you arched your back just enough to hook your thumbs in the waistband of those tiny, soft little shorts, sliding them down your hips, exposing the smooth skin beneath inch by inch.

“Slow–” he said, voice rough and wrecked. You paused, and nodded, eyes never leaving his face as you gently brought them down your legs. Your hand quickly and gently let them fall to the floor. 

And there you were. 

Laid down on your own bed, your legs bending slightly, thighs pressed together, hiding yourself from his fiery gaze. Joel’s knuckles popped with restraint to keep himself from spreading them for himself.

He tried to keep his eyes on your face, so sweet and flushed and burning with heat. You let out a breath, seemingly collecting your courage as you let your thighs fall to the sides. He couldn’t do it anymore, his eyes dropped almost immediately, giving in. Your precious puffy lips were outlined in the panties, light colored enough that he could see the stain of wetness forming in the cotton.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your fingers slid slowly down your stomach, over your panties, pressing lightly between your thighs.

Joel’s lungs locked. His jaw ticked. Every muscle in his body coiled tight as wire.

This is all I get, he told himself. This is enough.

He could feel his pulse hammering behind his eyes. His jeans were too tight, his hands were trembling, and he hadn’t even touched you.

You moved your fingers again, slower this time, dragging them up and over the damp fabric, letting out the softest sound—barely audible, but to Joel it was deafening. It struck him in the chest like a damn hammer.

He was going to die here. He was going to die right here in your bedroom with his boots on the floor and you moaning into your own palm, and he was going to deserve every second of torture.

You didn’t rush.

Joel thought maybe that would save him. That you’d move fast, try to get it over with. But you didn’t. You took your time. You let your fingers glide softly over the front of your underwear, lazy strokes that did more to him than anything explicit could have. Your thighs shifted, knees bending up and falling open a little wider, and Joel could see the heat of you blooming beneath the thin cotton, darkening it, making it cling.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, just to breathe. Just to stay sitting where he was and not reach for you, not grab your hips and tear those panties clean off your body. When he opened them again, you were watching him. Watching the way he breathed through his nose, the way his fists stayed locked tight on his legs, the way his gaze kept dropping down no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

You circled yourself again, slower now, the fabric catching slightly, and your breath caught in your throat. Joel’s heart was pounding so hard he thought you must hear it from where you lay.

His voice came out low, nearly wrecked. “Take ’em off.”

You paused, fingers freezing for a moment, your expression flickering with nerves and something else—excitement, anticipation, the realization that this wasn’t just about putting on a show. This was about him needing it. Needing you.

You slid your thumbs under the waistband and raised your hips off the mattress. He watched, helpless, as you peeled them down your legs—slow, hesitant, like maybe you were savoring the tension just as much as he was—and let them join your shorts on the floor.

Laid bare in front of him, thighs parted, glistening, flushed, and so fucking soft-looking it almost hurt to look directly at you, you looked like a god damn angel.  Joel swore under his breath and dragged a hand over his mouth again, like it might erase the things he was thinking. It didn’t.

His voice cracked when he spoke. “Touch yourself.”

You nodded, barely, and your hand slipped down again. But this time, there was no fabric in the way. Joel watched your fingers move over your folds, the way your hips tilted up to meet them. He could see everything now, every flicker of pleasure across your face, every little tremble in your legs. When you let out that first real moan—low and quiet, almost like you were trying to stifle it—Joel’s body jolted like he’d been shot.

“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking.

You rubbed slow, steady, getting yourself wet, and his eyes dropped to where your hand moved, slick and glistening, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for what he wanted to see.

“Put a finger inside,” he said, and it came out lower than he meant it to—rough, almost angry with need.

You looked at him, lips parted, lashes heavy. “Joel…”

“Do it,” he rasped. “Just one, baby. That’s all.”

You hesitated, breath shaking. Then you did it. You brought your fingers lower, traced the slickness, and pushed one inside—slow, stretching, burying it to the knuckle—and Joel’s hands finally left his knees, flying up to rake through his hair as he groaned quietly.

He couldn’t fucking take it.

And neither could you.

Your back arched, mouth falling open with a quiet gasp—daddy—as you moved your finger in and out, your palm pressing down against your clit for more friction. Joel couldn’t even pretend to look away now. He was locked in, watching the way your body responded, the way you started to tremble.

And then he heard your voice again. Small, breathy. Needy.

“Please.”

Joel’s heart stuttered.

“Please, Joel,” you said again, whimpering now, your eyes shining, mouth wet, hips starting to lose their rhythm. “I don’t… I can’t… I need you.”

He clenched his jaw so tight it ached, his whole body bowstring-tense as he leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his thighs, fists clenched again, because if he moved even a little further he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t beg me, baby. I can’t—”

But you did. You begged anyway.

“Please touch me,” you said, breathless, desperate, your hand moving faster now, legs trembling under the pressure building in your body. “I want you, Joel. I think about you all the time, and I—fuck—I want it to be you.”

He shook his head again, slower this time, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. But then your leg moved—bare and trembling—and your ankle brushed against the back of his hand where it still rested uselessly on the bed.

And that was it.

That one small touch, like permission and invitation all wrapped into one. He didn’t think. Couldn’t. His fingers wrapped gently around your ankle, warm and steady, and for a second he just held it. The first time he’d touched you. The first contact after all this time spent trying to keep himself in check.

You whimpered under the weight of his touch, a soft, aching sound that nearly unraveled him. His thumb traced a slow, reverent circle against your skin, and his heart beat so hard it was nearly dizzying.

So soft. So warm. So alive.

He bent forward without a word, still clutching your ankle, and pressed a kiss to the inside of it. The smallest kiss. Barely even a breath. But it was everything.

His lips moved again—just a little higher.

Then higher still.

Trailing up your calf, slow and worshipful, his hand shifting to the back of your leg, guiding it gently as your thigh began to tremble. You were still breathing hard, hand stalled now, frozen against your center as you watched him.

He pressed another kiss to the inside of your knee. Then just above it. Each one a little firmer than the last, like he was testing the shape of you with his mouth. 

And then, eyes locked on your hand still buried between your legs, he grasped your wrist gently, his touch reverent but sure. He pulled your finger from yourself and brought your hand to his mouth and looked at you like he was asking permission, even now, even on the edge of ruin.

You didn’t stop him.

So he parted his lips and took your finger into his mouth.

His tongue circled it first, slow and wet, curling around the soaked digit, savoring the taste of you, dragging it over the pad with aching, deliberate pressure. He sucked it in deeper, lips wrapping tight as his tongue moved along the underside. You watched, frozen in intense rapture, mouth parted and chest heaving. His eyes never left your face, even as he groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering half shut.

You whimpered his name again—breathless, high, barely held together.

He let your finger go with a wet sound, still panting, his voice hoarse and ruined when he finally spoke.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby.”

You whimpered his name again, breath catching as he released your hand and kissed higher on your leg, faster now, the heat of his mouth so close to where you wanted him. He nudged your thighs further apart with gentle pressure, his hands firm but trembling slightly as they moved up the backs of your legs, his thumbs dragging over the delicate curve of your inner thighs.

He paused just before reaching you. Breathing heavy. Hovering.

“This is what you wanted?” he asked, barely a whisper. “You want me here?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already breathless, already gone. “Please, Joel.”

That was all he needed.

He dipped his head and finally—finally—dragged his mouth over you, slow and sure, tasting you like he’d been starving for it. His tongue parted you, flat and warm, collecting everything you’d made for him. He moaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, and his hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open like you were something sacred.

And God, you were.

Joel wasn’t delicate with it. But he was steady, focused. Slow only because he wanted to draw it out. He licked a purposeful stripe up your center, then did it again, dragging his tongue in slow circles over your clit until your back arched off the mattress.

You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting into the graying strands.

Daddy daddy daddy fell from your lips like a prayer, and he groaned into you, tongue pressing deeper, tracing the way you opened for him. He noticed you said it the most when you were falling apart. When your brain was lagging and hazy. 

And couldn’t stop thinking—this is what you taste like when you think of me.

He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just once, firm and slow, and your legs clenched around his shoulders as a broken sound tore from your throat.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, beard soaked with you.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh again, slower now, lips softer. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You begged again—don’t stop, please don’t stop—and he didn’t. He buried his mouth back between your legs and gave you everything. He wanted you to come on his tongue. Wanted to feel it. The way your body would tighten, the way your thighs would tremble, the way your breath would stutter in that pretty chest of yours before falling apart completely.

He was going to carry the sound of it for the rest of his life.

And still—he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t grind against the bed or reach for relief. This was for you. All of it.

If he could only have this, this taste, this sound, this moment, he’d take it.

And he’d burn for it later.

Joel’s tongue moved with steady, reverent purpose, his mouth open and hungry against you, like this was the only way he knew how to live anymore, by giving you this. His hands stayed firm, keeping your legs open, thumbs brushing softly against your trembling thighs, grounding you even as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge.

You were panting now, moaning freely, head thrown back against the pillow, your fingers tangled in his hair, his name falling from your mouth like it was the only one you’d ever known. He could feel the way your body was coiling, tightening, the way your hips were starting to stutter beneath him, like you were trying to chase that last bit of pressure before it ripped through you.

He sucked gently around your clit again, tongue flicking against it just right, and that was all it took.

You broke.

Your whole body arched, legs tightening around his shoulders, a sharp cry punching from your chest as you came hard against his mouth, your fingers fisting in his hair, holding him there while you rode it out. Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound dark and satisfied, almost possessive as he kept licking through it, gentle now, working you down slowly, coaxing every last tremble from you with his mouth still warm and wet against your skin.

He felt it, all of it. The way your muscles fluttered and clenched, the way your hands shook where they gripped him, the way your breath hitched as you tried to come back to earth.

And still, he didn’t stop touching you. Not yet. His lips moved lower, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, your hips, the crease where leg met pelvis, like he couldn’t stop worshipping you now that he’d started. His beard was damp with you, his mouth swollen, his hands still gentle where they rested at your hips.

But then your hands shifted.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers curling tight in the collar, and tugged.

“Joel,” you gasped, voice high and breathless, chest heaving as your eyes found his, wild and wanting, “Please.”

He lifted his head, eyes glazed, lips shining, chest rising and falling with every labored breath. “What, baby?” he rasped, even though he already knew. Even though his own body was screaming with the need he’d been trying to bury.

You pulled again, harder this time, dragging him up your body with shaking hands, your mouth still parted, your skin flushed and damp.

“Please,” you whispered, again and again, like you were unraveling, like the word was all you had left, “please, Joel… please, I need you…”

Your legs parted wider beneath him, your hips rising, searching, the fabric of his jeans rough between your thighs as he braced himself over you.

“I can’t—I can’t wait anymore,” you whispered, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your voice shaking. “Please—I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me, Joel. Please.”

And who was he to deny you?

Hadn’t he said it himself?

Anything you needed. Anything you wanted. He’d be the man for you.

He'd said the words and meant them. Even if they were only in his head, he meant them down to the marrow in his bones. And now, here you were, laid out beneath him, skin flushed, lips parted, pupils wide and pleading as you begged for him. Begged with your hands, your voice, your whole trembling body. And something inside Joel cracked so deep it felt like it might never close again.

He couldn’t stop himself.

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue slipping past your lips so you could taste yourself on him. It was filthy, intimate, perfect. He should’ve been ashamed of how much he needed it, how tender it felt even with the heat still thrumming through him.

He’d always thought that stuff was bullshit—the way books and movies and every sappy romance insisted sparks flew when two people kissed. That it meant something. That it could change you.

But this… this was something else entirely.

This was fire and gravity and truth all wrapped into one aching, perfect moment.

And for a moment, Joel believed every goddamn word.

His hands fumbled with his waistband as his tongue explored your mouth, your sweet cooing noises filling his ears, your breath soft and sweet as honey as you gasped against him. The sound of his belt unbuckling and zipper lowering filled the room, sharp and electric. Finally, he wrapped his hand around himself, freeing his cock as it sprang free, tender, aching, and flushed dark and thick with need. He swore under his breath as the air hit him, the head already leaking for you. 

The idea of being a good man was long gone now. Left back on the floor with his restraint, his better judgment, his self-control. All that was left was you. Your scent, your skin, the desperate way you reached for him like you couldn’t bear another second of distance. Your gasp hit his mouth like a spark to gasoline. You moaned into him, hips lifting, thighs spreading wider around his waist as he rocked forward, lining himself up, his cock dragging through your slick folds.

He groaned deep in his chest, the weight of your heat soaking him instantly, the wet glide of your cunt against the underside of him making his whole body jolt.

And then you whimpered.

Joel pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips.

“I know, honey,” he cooed, his voice low and sweet, like a lullaby wrapped in filth. “I know it’s a lot, but you can take it. You can, baby. I know you can.”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your throat, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious even as his cock pressed closer, sliding lower with each slow grind.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, barely able to breathe it out. “Knew you’d be so good, so sweet. Just let me in, honey.”

You whimpered, needy and breaking, and he slid forward again, this time pushing the head of his cock inside, slow and careful, watching every flicker of sensation cross your face. You were so warm. So tight. Your walls clenched around him instantly and his head dropped to your shoulder with a strangled groan.

“Jesus Christ,” he choked, his voice barely holding. “You feel so fuckin’ good, angel.”

You clung to him, arms around his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until you were gasping, trembling, completely filled.

Daddy. It was like a siren’s call from your lips.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to lose himself too fast.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin. “You take me so good. So perfect for me.”

And then, finally, he moved.

Slow at first. Measured. Deep, rolling thrusts that pulled back just far enough to make you whimper before he pushed forward again, thick and steady, dragging every inch through your soaked, desperate cunt. He kissed your shoulder as he rocked into you, his voice hot in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re doin’ so good.”

You were breathless beneath him, hips lifting to meet every stroke, your nails digging into his back, your mouth pressed against his neck as you moaned and gasped and whispered his name like a prayer.

Joel was unraveling with every sound you made, every pulse of your body around his cock. He held your face, kissed your lips, your cheek, your temple, the top of your head. He told you how beautiful you were. How tight. How fucking sweet you felt around him. Told you you were his good girl. His angel. His.

Joel moved inside you like he was trying to memorize every inch—slow, deliberate, reverent. His hands mapped your body like he’d never get the chance again. One gripped the underside of your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide for him, the other braced beside your head, grounding him, holding him back from fucking into you the way his body screamed for.

But he didn’t want to rush this. God, he couldn’t. Not when you felt like this.

So tight, so warm, so wet and fluttering around him with every slow thrust of his hips. Each roll of his body drew a breathy moan from your lips, and he drank them down like they were keeping him alive.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your cheek, his voice rasped and heavy with worship. “Just like that, sweetheart. Grippin’ my cock so good, angel girl.”

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, your body arching into his with each stroke, and every time your hips rocked up to meet his, he felt it—that trembling pulse in your cunt that told him how close you were.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, then lower. “So goddamn sweet. Feels like you were made for me.”

Your hands slid down his back, clinging, like you couldn’t get close enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice soft and shaking, “You feel so good—I don’t want this to end.”

His heart almost broke right there.

“Baby,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours, hips rocking slow and deep, “don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” you whimpered. “I—Joel, I think I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you. I used to dream about this. About you.”

Joel groaned, low and guttural as he kissed you. Not hard or frantic, just deep and warm, letting you feel every bit of how much that meant to him. How much he wanted to give it back.

He rolled his hips slower, deeper, angling just right until he felt your legs tense around his waist again, your body tightening, that little gasp he was starting to crave spilling from your lips as you tipped your head back against the pillow.

“There she is,” he whispered, voice rough and desperate. “You’re gonna come again, ain’t you? Gonna let me feel her squeeze my cock, huh?”

You nodded, mouth open, breath catching on each thrust. “So close—oh my God, daddy, daddy—”

“Come for me, angel,” he said, his voice shaking now. “C’mon, baby girl. Be my good girl and come.”

You cried out as it hit you, body seizing under his, thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around him in tight, wet pulses. You clung to him, your fingers locked in his hair, your mouth gasping out his name again and again. 

He kept moving, kept fucking you through it, slow and steady, letting you ride it out, watching the way you shattered so beautifully for him. He held you through every wave, every twitch, every soft sob of pleasure.

And then he couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your cunt still fluttering around him, soaked and tight and perfect—Joel’s control finally snapped.

His hips stuttered, breath coming in short, punched-out gasps, and he buried his face in your neck.

“Fuck—oh baby, I’m gonna come—Christ, you feel so good—I can’t—I can’t—”

He gripped your thigh tighter, pulled you flush against him, and thrust deep one final time as his release hit him hard, spilling into you with a broken groan. His whole body shook, teeth gritted, face buried in your skin as he came in long, slow, pulsing waves that left him shaking above you.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there. Still inside you, just breathing with you. His hand smoothing softly over your ribs, then your belly, then your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered finally, voice barely there.

You nodded, turning your head just enough to kiss his jaw. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, really look. Your skin was warm and glowing, your eyes heavy, dreamy, dazed in the way he hoped he’d be seeing again and again. You looked happy. Content.

He’d wait ‘til tomorrow to let the guilt creep in.

PEEEEEEE PAAWWWWWWWWWW

[vampjaeyun]

PARK SUNGHOON FIC REC LIST

s, smut | f, fluff | a, angst | suggestive is noted

my laptop is fried from all the tabs lol, but these are my fav psh fics, or at least the ones i have liked/remember ! its LONG lol > word count lowers as you go down the list! (not in order)

grocery store receipts [ hot neighbor!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,f,a

to the boy: who took me to prom [ best friend's brother!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,f,a

harvest of purity [ innocent!sunghoon, strangers to lovers ] s,f,a

stupid in love [ bestfriend!sunghoon, summer au ] s,f,a

we'll always have this summer [ summer au, strangers to lovers, city girl x country boy au ] s,f,a

gods & monsters [ step-brother sunghoon x fem!reader x stepbrother!heeseung ] s,f,a

park sunghoon: the boy next door trope [ shy figure skater!sunghoon x popular extrovert!reader ] s,f,a

king of tears [ chaebol husband!sunghoon, second chance romance au ] s,f,a

crossroads romance [ ex!sunghoon, suprise return au ] s,a

unlucky girl syndrome / part two [ grumpy x sunshine au, love triangle au ft. jake ]

sex for dummies! [ academic rivals au, university au ] s,f,a

tangled desires [ enemies to lovers, rich kids au ] s,a

the dollmaker [ husband & dollmaker!sunghoon, gothic/supernatural elements au ] s,f,a

love next door [ childhood bsf!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,a

teacher's pet [ professor!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,f,a

you're such a brat [ arrogant!sunghoon x bratty!reader, enemies to lovers ] s

cherry pits [ dad!sunghoon x fem!reader, dilf au, neighbors au ] s,f

three weeks & three days [ best friend's ex!sunghoon, halloween au ] s,f,a

lucifer [ fallen angel!sunghoon x virgin angel fem!reader ] s

first date etiquette [ neighbor au, first date au ] s

dior girl [ designer!sunghoon x fem!reader, dark!sunghoon ] s

night-shift / day shift (pt.2) [ boss & camboy!sunghoon ] s

give up heaven [ ex-bestfriend & hockey player!sunghoon, friends to lovers ] suggestive,a

get you better [ boyfriend's best friend!sunghoon, cheating au ] s

urs [ situationship!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,f

say my name [ neighbor!sunghoon, enemies to lovers ] s

star-crossed / part two [ prince!sunghoon x servant fem!reader, greek mythology ] s,f

cherry [ outcast!sunghoon x class president fem!reader, enemies to lovers, 90's au ] f

bittersweet teeth [ brother's best friend!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s

past wounds, present hearts [ ex bully!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,f,a

heavenly [ playboy & ex bf!sunghoon x fem!reader, fake dating au ] f,a

forbidden attraction [ wizard!sunghoon x witch!reader, hogwarts au ] s

hidden desires [ brother's bestfriend!sunghoon ] s,a

traditionally nontraditional [ husband!sunghoon x wife fem!reader, newly married au ] s

bed [ fiance!sunghoon x fem!reader, mini honeymoon au ] s,f

tides and temptation [ siren!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,f,a

on the rebound [ babysitter!sunghoon x fem older!reader ]

the pussy eating competition! [ munch!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s

dangerous when wet [ virgin loser!sunghoon, best friend's little brother au ] s

lovers in the night [ friend!sunghoon to fake dating au ]

nudes i can't send [ toxic ex!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s,a

forbidden [ brother's best friend!sunghoon x spoiled fem!reader ] s

mark me yours [ idol bf!sunghoon x idol fem!reader ] s

late night rendezvous [ spiderman! sunghoon, established relationship ] s,f,a

don't wake dad [ stepbrother!sunghoon ] s

fixed comfort [ drunk bf!sunghoon x fem!reader ] f

cabin fever [ established relationship au, ski resort au ] s

wet [ established relationship au, pool sex ] s,f

pretty best friend [ bsf player!sunghoon x nerd!reader ] s

girls need love [ best friend's brother!sunghoon ] s,f

such a mess together [ academic rival!sunghoon x ] f

dangling charms / cat and mouse (pt.2) [ nerd!sunghoon x fem!reader ] s

spring snow [ exes to lovers + strangers to lovers, accident au ] f,a

horror [ bf!sunghoon x fem!reader, movie night au ] s

loyalty [ hockey player!sunghoon x class president!reader ] s

birthday sex [ established relationship au ] s

kiss me more [ friend!sunghoon, first kiss au ] s,f

ceo sunghoon who loves taking care of you because you're his [ ceo!sunghoon, age gap au ]

post argument [ bf!sunghoon x fem!reader ] f,a

i found your blog [ best friend!sunghoon x tumblr writer fem!reader ] s

right to the core [ bf!sunghoon, esablished relationship ] s

jealous over a bunny? [ established relationship au ] s

ms. & mr. president [ student council vice president!sunghoon, frenemies to lovers ] f

intentions [ popular!sunghoon x fem!reader ] f

nasty sex [boyfriend!sunghoon ] s

panty sniffing [ perv!sunghoon ] s

porn star material!sunghoon

perv!sunghoon