#chase stokes locks

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!readers on hot ones

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is based partially off of the new hot ones interview with the obx cast. just imagine drew and actress!reader are on opposite teams rather than drew being the question person lol. yall really seemed to like the last interview-fic i did so voila <3

“I’m already sweating.” Madison said, fanning herself as they filed into the studio. Lights and a white backdrop surrounded a table covered with wings, four chairs on each side. They’d already been briefed on how things were going to go, the eight of them divided into two teams and answering questions, their answers deciding whether or not they’d be subjected to one of the very hot wings laid out in front of them.

Drew came up behind y/n, pulling out her chair for her before heading to his own seat opposite her. She smiled at him, soothing her dress down as the rest of the cast sat down. Madelyn, Rudy, and Carlacia took seats on her team whereas Drew sat with Chase, Madison, and JD opposite them.

“You better not be expecting me to go easy on you, Starkey.” Y/n grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she looked at the man across from her, his eyes crinkling as a smile crept across his face.

“You better not be expecting me to go easy on you, my love.” Drew raised his eyebrows teasingly.

“Ok, are we ready?” One of the producers asked, to which the cast responded with excited (or perhaps anxious) cheers. The camera focused in on Chase, who reached and spun the bottle of hot sauce sitting in front of them, the ultimate decider of which team would go first. It spun for a moment before landing on Madelyn, her teammates erupting with hollers as Chases picked up one of the cards.

“Alright, Mr. Rudy,” Chase smiled cheekily. “Outer Banks has hooked viewers with its countless twists and turns, however, name one storyline you think should’ve never made it out of the writers room.”

Everyone let out some groans and giggles as Rudy began to lose himself in thought… and continued and continued to think.

“Is there a time limit on these?” JD quipped, causing Rudy to roll his eyes, stroking his chin in playful contemplation.

“This is off to a great start.” Y/n said, elbowing Rudy lightly.

“Ok, ok!” Rudy said. “I’d say… I wish they didn’t switch to the second treasure so fast. They should’ve stuck at the first treasure longer.”

“That sounds like an answer to me!” Carlacia clapped as the team opposite them picked up their wings with a groan. They each took a bite, chewing for a second before they all reached for the drinks in front of them.

“Shit.” Drew swore as he took a long sip of milk, his cheeks already beginning to flush a bright red.

“Don’t worry there’s more where that came from.” Y/n grinned as Drew shook his head. Y/n reached in front of her, grabbing another one of the question cards.

“Oh, JD,” Y/n read in a sing-song voice, “Outer Banks centers around a group of teenagers, but our cast ranges from 24 to 33 years old. Which of your costars is the least convincing teenager?”

The table erupted into “oohs” as JD surveyed his co-stars, a nervous grin on his face before his gaze landed on Chase.

“I think I have to say Mr Chase Stokes.” JD chuckled.

“Is it because of the beard?” Chase teased as y/n and her team picked up the wings in front of them. With a deep breath, y/n took a bite, her mouth immediately bursting with heat. With a groan, she reached for the ice water in front of her, hoping to soothe the fire in her throat as her eyes began to water.

“No more jokes, baby?” Drew asked as y/n fanned herself off with her hand. Y/n rolled her eyes, tossing the old question card at him. Drew picked the next card, his gaze locking onto the girl in front of him.

“Oh, perfect. Y/n,” Drew began, “part of Outer Banks’ charm is the chemistry between the cast. That being said, who here is the worst scene partner?”

“Oh no!” Y/n groaned, putting her face in her hands as the table broke out in gasps and laughter. She stole a glance at the second wing in front of her, royally coated in fiery hot sauce before thinking of an answer.

“Ok, ok! I’m going to answer, but,” y/n said with an anxious giggle, “you have to let me explain!”

Her co-stars leaned in, each of them with looks of anticipation covering their faces as y/n sat up straighter in her seat.

“My answer is…” y/n paused for dramatic affect, chewing at her bottom lip nervously, “Drew, but—”

Everyone erupted into shrieks and laughter, Drew’s jaw dropping at his girlfriend’s answer. Madelyn covered her mouth, locking eyes with Carlacia before they both turned to y/n.

“No, no, no! You have to let me explain!” Y/n reached across the table, grabbing Drew’s hand, his mouth still agape.

“This is going to be good.” Rudy chuckled.

“He’s not a bad scene partner, he is just so different from Rafe and always makes me laugh, so it takes us a million takes to get a scene done!” Y/n clarified, Drew’s shocked expression melting into a small smile.

“See, you’re just such a funny guy and I love you so much that it makes it hard to do scenes with you. It’s a compliment, really, baby.” Y/n finished with a quirk of her eyebrows, her costars swooning as the couple gazed at each other softly.

“Good save, good save.” JD teased as he and his team reached for another hot wing. The game continued for several more rounds, various questions, and, of course, lots of spicy wings, until they finally made it to the finale.

The table was moved out, their seats being arranged in a circle for a cutthroat game of musical chairs that would ultimately determine the winner of the game. Round after round, the numbers dwindled until one chair and two players remained: y/n and Drew.

“No mercy, y/n!” Madelyn shouted from the side as y/n and Drew rounded the chair slowly.

“C’mon Starkey boy!” Chase cheered. Y/n looked up for a moment, her eyes meeting with Drew’s as the music suddenly stopped. Before she knew it, Drew’s arms wrapped around her torso, lifting her off her feet with a shriek. He quickly sat down in the chair, pulling her down with him, and winning the game.

“Sorry baby,” Drew smirked, pressing a kiss to y/n’s cheek. Y/n groaned playfully, tossing her head back to rest on Drew’s shoulder as the two of them laughed in the chair.

“You’re lucky I love you, Starkey.” Y/n grinned, kissing Drew’s jaw.

“Do you? Do you really?” Drew teased, nuzzling his nose into the crook of y/n’s neck, causing her to squeal with laughter. In all her life, y/n would’ve never expected that she in all her competitive nature would be ok with losing a competition, but here she was, happy as ever.

[swordgrace]

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: bob tells you that he loves you.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robert reynolds (sentry) x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mention of past insecurities/trauma, love-starved bob, very fluffy drabble!

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is short & sweet, wanted to get this out of my system before I post longer works! I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Three words, eight letters, and two bleeding hearts.

Bob tells you first — though, it didn’t fully register, the seriousness of it, until you’d both fully stirred from slumber.

Dawn’s first breath whispered through tinted window panes, slivers of an ember-orange pooling over the foot of your bed, passing over marble floors. Within your quarters, you’re tangled together in a heap of joined limbs, locked legs.

It murmured still, exhaling tendrils of vibrancy, veiled through darkened glass, striking your visage with a sudden glower. Brows furrow, reactionary to the first glow of morning.

Twilight began to dissipate, with not an ounce of haste, dismal darkness giving way to violet, the celestials clinging to the horizon. Sun began to pierce through, sharp, still early enough for you to fall back asleep.

Each breath he takes is full, unburdened — his flesh radiates with the body temperature of a superhuman, a constant fever pitch. Against your collar, his cheek is pressed beside your shoulder, tangled around you as if he’s coiled, protective.

Space is a nonexistent thing whenever you sleep together, an amalgamation of limbs, woven within one another, two hearts intertwined. It was something you’d grown accustomed to, his heartbeat a tranquil melody in your ears.

It’s hushed, in the early hours before the Watchtower stirs; it’s your home, he’s your home.

Whatever pain he feels is lighter when you hold him, when he holds you, mesmerized by the serenity you bring him. Bob couldn’t ask for someone better than you — someone kind, someone who holds his heart with gentleness.

A soft hum reverberates through his chest, a contented sound that accompanies his waking mind, eyes still fluttered shut. Hands rest over your abdomen, one arm looped beneath you, the other draped across your body.

Your hands are holding steadfastly to his forearm, keeping him anchored there beside you, chin nestled against his downy crown. As the glare of dawn begins to blanket your features, you sigh, wanting to swat it away.

His shirt clings to your frame, a few sizes too large, fabric kissing the middle of your thighs, fuzzy socks tugged to your shins. Bob’s sweater sleeves are a touch too long for his arms, emerald wool prickling against your bare arms.

It’s him who begins to move first, limbs beginning to stretch, knees bumping into yours. Warm digits flex into your ribs, akin to stoked embers seeping through the material of your shirt.

Eyelashes flutter in rapid succession, a low exhale tumbling through his lips as he cranes his head, catching a glimpse of your countenance, relaxed by that of sleep. Bob smiles to himself, a reminder that you’re real, beating heart calling your name.

In the gentle hours of morning, Bob’s owlish stare never wavers from you, admiring you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen; you are.

Sometimes, he still feels disbelief sitting heavy within his heart, still surprised that you’ve stayed with him after everything, after knowing him. Shadows haunt his steps, but you chase them away, the light that persists.

Holding you close, his heart thrums a soft serenade, climbing up a tick when your leg threads with his, shuffling atop the sheets. Bob’s hands trace circles into your sides, as if to soothe both himself and you, face buried beside the hollow between throat and shoulder.

Lips reverently grace your shoulder, mouth warm as it sinks into your bones, enough to cause you to stir. Your eyes remain closed, still groggy, fingers dancing over his hand as you snuggle closer, if that were even possible.

Without thinking, without hesitation, three words come tumbling from his mouth, as if it’s second nature, something he’s said before to you in-secret.

“I love you.”

His utterance is tender, though still touched by recent rest; the gears in his head begin to turn when you absorb it fully. Wide, bewildered eyes gaze at him, floored, lips parting to make room for a startled gasp.

Bob says it as if he’s spoken it into existence a thousand times before, wrought with a softness, cadence still hazed by the fringes of sleep. His body stirs beside you, brunette tresses mussed from the pillows, arms caged around your middle.

It’s as if you’re caught within a dream, when his half-groggy confession slips through your ears, a whisper carried upon the breeze. At first, you barely register it, brows furrowing together, wondering if he’s mumbling in his sleep.

“What?” It comes across as discontented, but that’s far from the case — you’re still wondering if that’s what he meant, heart slamming into your sternum.

Realization washes over him, followed by the white-hot sting of embarrassment as he attempts to mumble an apology. He fears he ruined things — maybe he said it too quickly, maybe you weren’t ready, maybe you didn’t feel the same way.

Bob swallows the growing lump within his throat, averting his gaze as he untwines from you, shifting into a sitting position. In the recesses of his mind, like a patient predator watching through black hedges, he hears It.

She doesn’t love you.

The Void slithers through the patched cracks in his thoughts, as if attempting to claw through his barriers, the ones he’s worked tirelessly to repair. Bob ignores It as best as he can, jaw tense, feeling your hand press against his knee.

“Bob, did you … Did you really mean it?” Admittedly, you prayed that it was the case, that he meant it, not something whispered with vague meaning. Your heart burns a gaping hole through your chest, overcome with a wave of emotion.

Sleep suddenly dissipates from your body, as if you’ve been assailed by cold water. Within your throat, your breath catches, fingers skimming until they find his elbow, physical contact reminding him of where he is.

Bob valiantly wrestles with validation, with the snarling hum that threatens to manipulate his own insecurities. He’s winning, heartbeat beginning to steady as he regains composure, swallowing anxiety, head jostling in a nod.

Blue hues flutter to you, turned onto your side, digits caressing over his arm, bringing him back from the encroaching penumbra that threatened his thoughts. A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, sheepish.

The look you give him is nothing short of ardent, a gaze meant only for old lovers, a confession shared through heartbeats. Sluggishly, you pull yourself up into a sitting position, missing the comforting heat of his body.

He’s loved you forever — loved you in-secret, wondering if you would reciprocate. Part of him didn’t think himself capable, terrified of it being consumed by darkness, but it hasn’t overtaken him; he knows it won’t.

“Yeah, I — I meant it,” Bob murmurs, cadence stirring with a flicker of confidence, resolute in his admission. There’s tears swimming in your gaze, lips splitting as a laugh of disbelief flutters from your throat, hastily wiping at your eyes. “Meant it for a long time, now.”

Daybreak crests over the horizon, a golden aurora, framing you in picturesque lighting, as if the heavens were giving you a sign. It strikes against your features, bringing out a euphoric glow within your gaze.

Bob stares, world passing him by, his eyes all over you; a subtle hitch festers within his throat, perspiration slicking his palms as he steels himself for your response.

“I love you too, Bob — I love you so much.” As those beguiling words slip from your tongue, he wants to sob, chin warbling as he withstands the onslaught of sentiments that come crashing around him.

It’s gentle, clean; he scarcely recalls the last time someone told him that they loved him and meant it. Much of his life were fragments, of lost love, of isolation, of feeling unlovable.

He knows that you mean it wholly, unconditionally; tears sting his eyes, and he feels as if he’s soaring. The tenderness and sincerity within your cadence is something that he clings to, something pure.

Careening forward, your forehead nudges his, noses ghosting over one another, a gesture that settles his nerves instantaneously. Bob is smiling now, wide and elated, marrow echoing your name, his heart threatening to burst from his chest.

A shudder passes through him when your palms come to cradle his jaw on either side, thumbs tracing circles over his flesh. His fingers curl around your wrists, soothingly caressing your skin as his eyes flutter shut.

It isn’t some crescendo of a confession — it’s stable, oozing with warmth, offering a mutual sanctuary that you seek in one another. Though, in the ardent silence, he’s murmuring ‘I love you’ even still, lips pressing into your palm.

In the afterglow, he finds you — he finds his heart.

[slut4sugu]

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁I feel like kyojuro rengoku would be a passionate eater, like even when he's riled up he'll take his time with you yk? That's just in his nature; after all he loves his pretty little flame

౨ৎ: authors note— i deadass wanted to write about him lol i rewatched kny and omfg him adn tegen beating up the upper 6 would've been so cool (i miss my man bro HE SHOULD'VE STAYED ALIVE LONGER)

His breath hot against the inside of your thigh, and his voice—that voice—is soaked in reverence as he says:

“Your scent... intoxicating. I could live here.”

Kyojuro groans, hands full of your thighs, spreading them with a kind of worshipful greed. He stares like your pussy is a divine flame he was born to tend to. He’s been down there for damn near twenty minutes and refuses to stop.

You’d tugged his hair, thighs trembling, begging, “Kyojuro—baby—I need to rest—” but he only kissed the crease of your thigh and murmured, “Rest while I dine, then. You’ve fed me purpose. Let me feed on you.”

You don’t even know what he’s doing with his tongue anymore. It’s just pressure, warmth, devotion. He moans into you like he’s tasting heaven. Every flick of his skilled toungue, Every circle around your clit is deliberate.

Knowing your body inside and out is something Kyojuro treats like a sacred duty. He’s studied your reactions, mapped the way your plush thighs tremble when he hums just right, how your moans catch when he flattens his tongue and drags it slowly, slowly up your soaked center.

You arch, legs shaking on either side of his head, and he grins against your pussy, licking you deeper with a noise that vibrates through your whole damn soul.

“—Kyo, oh fuck, baby—” You reach down and try to pull his head back, overwhelmed, eyes glassy, voice wrecked. “You’re—you’re doing too much, I can’t—!”

He growls softly, grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer like he didn’t hear a word.

“Yes you can pretty,” he rasps, lips wet, pupils blown wide with lust and adoration. “I’ve barely started.”

His mouth seals over your clit again and your back arches off the bed. It’s obscene — the way he devours you like he’s starving, like the taste of you is keeping him alive. You’re soaking his face, and he loves it.

Your hands shake as you dig into his hair, helpless, whining. “Oh my god, Kyo, I’m—fuck—I’m cumming—”

“Good girl,” he growls, tongue never stopping, drinking every twitch and cry with a satisfied groan. “Let go. Give it to me.”

And you do. You shatter. Legs locked around his head, hands tangled in his golden-red hair, body jerking through wave after wave of blinding, full-body pleasure. And the whole time, Kyojuro doesn’t stop. He can’t.

Not when you taste like fire and honey. Not when you moan his name like it’s sacred. Not when your thighs tremble against his ears like they were meant to hold him there.

Even when your hips twitch away from his mouth, even when your voice breaks with a sobbed, “Kyo—please—too much—” he’s still chasing every drop of your release with slow, reverent licks, gentler now, like he's trying to soothe the flames he stoked so high.

Only when your legs finally fall open, loose and trembling, does he lift his head — face glistening, eyes wild with adoration. He leans in, kisses your inner thigh, then your belly, then your lips, breathing hard.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, brushing sweat-slick curls from your face. His voice is raw, worshipful. “So beautiful. So perfect.,”

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a whimper and a half-laughed curse.

He chuckles low in his chest, climbing up to cradle you. One strong arm pulls you into his chest while the other strokes soothing patterns down your side. “Shhh. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

And as your heartbeat slows and your lashes flutter closed, Kyojuro holds you like something precious — like a man who just touched divinity and vowed to protect it with everything he is.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Quickie?

Summary: Reader wants to sneak in a quickie before the BAU takes off again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x FBI fem!reader

Category: fluff, suggestive (16+)

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content, secret relationship, reader works at FBI but not BAU

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is much more positive than the last post :)

main masterlist

You and Spencer have been secretly seeing each other for a few months now. Since you work in a different department, you don’t get to see him as often as you’d like, and you never have the chance to join him on cases. 

The moment you see the news that the BAU is heading out on another case, your heart sinks just a little. You understand that Spencer’s job is demanding—he’s always chasing criminals across the country, putting his mind to work in ways that save lives. But it doesn’t make it any easier when he’s gone for days at a time, leaving you to miss him in silence.

With a quiet sigh, you pull out your phone and type out a message:

Meet me upstairs before you go?

You don’t have to say where. You both know. The fifth-floor office—empty, forgotten, your little sanctuary within the walls of the FBI. It had started as a joke, just a place to escape prying eyes when work got overwhelming, but over time, it had turned into something more. A safe space for the two of you.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Give me five minutes.

You don’t hesitate, pushing away from your desk and making your way to the stairs instead of the elevator. The anticipation sits heavy in your chest, a mixture of excitement and something almost desperate.

By the time you push open the office door, Spencer is already there, leaning against the desk, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours.

“You’re fast,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“I wasn’t going to waste any time,” he murmurs, already reaching for you. His hands find your wrists, pulling you closer as he stays seated on the desk. His touch is warm and grounding, even through the layers of clothing.

Your fingers drift up to the collar of his cardigan, playing with the fabric as you let yourself relax in his presence. “I hate that you have to go.”

“I know.” He sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I hate it too. But I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

You nod, though it doesn’t really make it easier. “I just wish we had more time.”

His hand moves to your waist and tightens ever so slightly. “Me too.” There’s a pause, a hesitation in his expression, before he adds, “I think about you all the time when I’m gone.”

Your heart stutters at his confession, a warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah?”

Spencer huffs out a soft, shy laugh. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but smile, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his face. “Then you better come back to me in one piece.”

You lean in, pressing a sweet kiss to Spencer’s lips—soft, slow, something that feels like a promise. When you pull away, he stays close, murmuring against your mouth, “Always.”

Something about Spencer’s breath ghosting across your lips sends a shiver down your spine. The soft pink hue creeping down his neck is so endearing that it stokes a fire deep in your stomach, pooling heat beneath your skin. You lean in for another kiss, slow and deliberate, savoring the way he melts beneath your touch. One hand threads gently through his hair, fingers curling lightly at the roots, while the other traces delicate patterns against his chest, nails just barely scratching over the fabric between you.

Spencer gets lost for a moment, his mind short-circuiting as he tries to process the reality of you—of your lips on his, of your hands in his hair, of the way you look at him like he’s something to be devoured. It still feels surreal, like a dream he’s half-convinced he’ll wake up from because someone as beautiful as you want him like this doesn’t seem possible.

But then reality crashes back in—the fluorescent hum of the office lights, the distant chatter from the floors below, the ever-present risk of someone walking in. His fingers tighten briefly against your waist before he forces himself to gently push against your shoulders.

“Wait…wait,” he murmurs, his voice breathless and uneven as he tries to collect himself. “We can’t do this here.”

Your lips are already trailing along his neck, warm and teasing, and the way you hum against his skin makes his resolve waver.

“Do what?” you tease, your voice laced with mischief as you press another slow, deliberate kiss just beneath his jaw.

Spencer exhales sharply, his head tipping back slightly before he forces himself to lean away, his cheeks flushed as he fumbles for words. “Um… this.”

Your fingers curl at the nape of his neck, holding him close, your voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

“What are we doing, baby?” you whisper, letting the words linger between you, daring him to say it.

Spencer’s breath stutters as he struggles to find the right words, his hands hovering uselessly over your hips as if he can't decide whether to pull you closer or push you away. His face is already flushed, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

“I—I’m… Y/N, I’m going to… uh, get—” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries and fails to look anywhere but at you. Finally, he forces the word out in a near whisper as if saying it any louder might make it worse. “Hard.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you tilt your head slightly, fingers still tracing lazy patterns along his chest. His honesty is endearing, his nervousness downright intoxicating, and the way his voice wavers only makes the fire in your stomach burn hotter.

“Oh,” you murmur, feigning innocence as your hand moves just the slightest bit lower. “Is that a problem?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, exhaling sharply through his nose like he's gathering every ounce of self-control he has left.

“Yes,” he says, though it sounds more like a plea than a protest. “We’re at work.”

“And?” you press, leaning in just enough to let your lips ghost over his jaw.

He shudders, his grip on your waist tightening. “And… I can’t walk out of here like that.”

“Who says you’ll have to leave here hard?” you murmur, your voice dripping with mischief, your fingers still dancing lightly over his chest.

Spencer’s breath hitches, his body stiff as your words' weight settles over him. His pupils dilate, and for a brief second, you see the internal war flashing across his face—temptation battling with logic, desire against reason.

“Y/N…” His voice is barely above a whisper, shaky and uneven, like he’s already losing control. His fingers dig into your waist as if anchoring himself, but it’s no use—you can feel him unraveling beneath your touch.

Still, he shakes his head, his resolve clinging to the last fragile thread of professionalism he has left. “No, we can’t—not here.”

But his voice lacks conviction, and the way he’s looking at you, lips parted, breath shallow, tells you he wants nothing more than to give in.

You pout, tilting your head as your fingers trace slow, lazy circles against his chest. “Not here?” you echo, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame… I was really looking forward to helping you with your little problem.”

Spencer exhales sharply through his nose, gripping your hips a little tighter like he's trying to physically keep himself in check. “It’s not—” He swallows, glancing toward the closed door like he’s calculating the risk. “It’s not a little problem.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you press closer, feeling the way his breath stutters at the contact. “Oh?” you tease, letting your hand trail just a little lower—not too much, just enough to make him squirm. “Is it a big problem, then?”

Spencer groans, tilting his head back in exasperation. “Y/N…” he warns, though his grip on you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens.

You press a quick, teasing kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse hammers beneath your lips. “I just think it’s kind of unfair,” you say innocently. “You’re about to leave for who knows how long, and I won’t even get to see you. The least I could do is make sure you’re… comfortable before you go.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather every ounce of restraint he has left. “You are not making this easy.”

You hum, dragging your nails lightly over the fabric of his shirt. “You told me you didn’t want it to be hard.”

His breath catches, and he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it—just frustration laced with something darker, something wanting. “You cannot say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “You’re the one who admitted to getting hard at work.”

Spencer groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder like he’s conceding defeat. “You’re evil.”

You giggle, threading your fingers through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. “But you like it.”

He huffs out a breath against your neck, warm and shaky. “Unfortunately.”

You grin, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of his face before pulling back just enough to look at him properly. “Relax, baby,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over his chest. “I wouldn’t actually do anything here.” You lean in, your lips brushing against his in the softest tease of a kiss. “I just like making you squirm.”

Spencer exhales a laugh, shaking his head, but you can see how his eyes have darkened and how his fingers are still gripping your waist. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice lower than before. “I noticed.”

You smirk, pressing one last playful kiss to his lips before pulling away completely, smoothing out your shirt like nothing had happened. “Well,” you say cheerfully, stepping back toward the door. “Have fun on your case.”

Spencer stares at you like he’s still recovering as if he’s not entirely sure if he should be frustrated or turned on. Probably both.

“You’re evil,” he repeats, though the way he’s looking at you says he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[thef1diary]

Behave | P. Gasly

Kinktober 9/11 - Spanking

Summary: Pierre finds a new way to punish you for misbehaving

warnings: 18+ smut, spanking, pussy spanking, spreader bar, unprotected sex

wc: 4k

kinktober masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

“Someone needs to learn how to behave,” Pierre murmured, his voice low and rough. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer until you can feel the heat radiating from him, every breath fanning the embers of something wild inside you.

“Pierre,” you breathed, his name escaping your lips in a soft, desperate whisper. There’s a tremor in your voice, a quiet plea that you can’t quite articulate, as though you’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—whether it’s mercy or more of his touch. Your gaze locks onto his, wide and pleading, searching for something in the storm of his eyes.

The atmosphere is charged, electricity crackling in the air as you hold Pierre’s gaze. His expression is full of heat and mischief, the corner of his mouth curling into a knowing smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. You can sense the shift in his demeanor—playfulness giving way to something darker, more intense.

“You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you?” He said as he stepped closer, his fingertips grazing your cheek before trailing down to your jaw, tilting your face up toward his. “I think it’s time I teach you a lesson, ma belle.”

Pierre’s words hang in the air as he leans in to brush a kiss against the edge of your lips—just a whisper of contact that only stokes the growing heat within you, far from enough to satisfy the desire simmering between you.

Before you can chase the sensation, Pierre slips back, his departure was swift as the fleeting kiss. He settles onto the couch, reclining with a confidence that sends a thrill through your veins. His gaze never strays from you, the weight of it heavy with intent as he parts his legs, creating a space meant just for you. He holds his hand out, fingers curling in a silent command for you to come closer.

“Viens ici,” (come here) he instructed, the French rolling off his tongue, low and smooth. There’s a dark intensity in his voice, a firm edge that leaves no room for doubt—you will obey.

You take a step forward, then another, until you’re standing between his knees, your breath shallow as the anticipation coils tighter inside you. Pierre’s touch is gentle yet possessive as he grips your hips, guiding you even closer. His fingers work at the waistband of your pants, and without breaking eye contact, he eases them down, inch by inch, letting the fabric slide to the floor. The cool air brushes against your newly exposed skin, heightening the sensitivity of every inch he reveals.

“Good,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as he slips his hand around to cup the back of your thigh, his thumb grazing the curve just below your hip. His other hand traces a path over your lower back, the warmth of his palm searing through you as he guides you down, draping you over his lap with deliberate care.

The position feels simultaneously vulnerable and thrilling—his arm settles over your lower back, keeping you pinned there, while the cool leather beneath you contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his body. His hand rests on the curve of your ass, fingers spreading slightly to caress your skin. It’s a light touch, almost teasing, that sends a shiver through you before his palm lifts.

“Count them,” he instructs, his voice deep and commanding, the tone sending a shiver through you.

Before you can even prepare yourself, his palm comes down hard against your skin, the first smack landing with a sharp crack that reverberates through the room. The sting radiates outward, spreading into a heat that blooms across your flesh as you gasp in surprise. His hand doesn’t pull away; instead, it stays there, pressing into the warm spot he’s just marked, his fingers kneading the sore skin with a touch that’s both comforting and tantalizing, making the ache linger in the most delicious way.

“One,” you manage to whisper, your voice shaky as you draw in a breath.

Pierre hums in approval, the sound low and satisfied, as his hand lifts once more. This time, the blow is firmer, more deliberate, and the sting is sharper, making you let out a trembling exhale. “Two…” you whisper, feeling a wave of heat wash over you—not just from the spanks, but from the building tension winding tighter inside you.

His strikes follow a rhythm, precise and unhurried, each one calculated to draw a different response from you. As his hand lands again and again, your reactions vary—a soft gasp, a low whimper, the way your fingers clutch at the couch’s edge for something to hold on to. With each slap, you feel the warmth spreading further, the skin tingling under his touch, the heat pooling low in your belly.

Pierre’s hand drifts over the heated skin, rubbing the tender spots where the sting lingers. His fingers slip lower, tracing the curve of your thigh, barely grazing the edge of your underwear.

As his hand brushes over the fabric of your underwear, his fingertips pause for the briefest of moments. His touch shifts slightly, exploring, and he notices the dampness that’s begun to seep through the material, a subtle but undeniable sign of how his discipline is affecting you. A wicked smile curves across his lips as he presses his fingers against the growing wetness, a teasing pressure that makes your breath hitch.

“What’s this?,” he murmurs, his tone dark with satisfaction. “You’re already soaking for me.” His hand slips away just as you start to lean into his touch, and he brings it down again with a sharp swat, landing directly over the damp spot, the force sending a jolt of pleasure through you that mixes with the sting.

“Count,” he demands, his voice thick with control, his eyes watching intently as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Five,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you feel the heat building, not just on your skin, but deep inside you, the ache spreading and intertwining with the damp fabric pressed between your thighs.

Pierre’s grip tightens around the waistband of your underwear, and with a sudden, forceful tug, he pulls the fabric upward. The flimsy material digs into your skin as he shoves it between the cheeks of your ass, exposing you fully. The sensation of the fabric sliding against your most sensitive areas is a sharp contrast to the cool air brushing over the newly exposed skin, making you shiver as you feel both vulnerable and on display.

“There we go,” he says, his tone low and possessive, as his fingers trail over the freshly revealed skin. He lingers at the edges of the taut fabric, pressing it in just a bit deeper, the pressure sending tiny shocks of sensation through you. His other hand rests on the small of your back, steadying you as you shift involuntarily at the intensity of his touch.

The exposure makes each moment feel heightened, every breath you take sharper, as Pierre’s gaze and hands travel over your heated flesh. The vulnerability amplifies the ache inside you, making it difficult to hold back the tiny, involuntary sounds that escape your lips as his fingers trace the outline of your exposed curves.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a rich rumble that sends a shiver down your spine, “five more.” His hand smooths over the exposed flesh, as if savoring the sight and the warmth radiating from your skin. “Don’t lose count or we’ll start from one,” he added, his tone laced with that same commanding edge that makes your pulse quicken.

Before you can fully prepare yourself, his palm comes down again, harder this time. The smack lands with a resounding crack, the sting spreading sharply across your skin. You wince at the intensity, but the rush that follows is undeniably intoxicating, the heat blooming in waves that seem to sink deeper.

“Six,” you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of pain and pleasure, the numbers becoming harder to say as your body reacts to every smack, every caress that follows.

He doesn’t give you a moment to recover. His hand strikes again, the sound echoing in the room as the heat on your skin intensifies. You draw in a ragged breath, the sting blending with a swelling ache that pulses through you.

“Seven,” you manage to whisper, your fingers curling tighter around the couch, as if searching for something to ground you amidst the spiraling sensations.

Pierre’s fingers massage the tender spots, sending a shudder through you, and you almost lose yourself in that comforting sensation—until he pulls back and lands another firm smack.

“Eight…” you whispered, the sound breaking at the end, your whole body taut as the tension inside you winds tighter and tighter.

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as his hand hovers over your skin, a teasing pause that makes your anticipation spike. “Two more, ma belle,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with authority and a hint of satisfaction. Then, without another word, his palm comes down again, and this time the sting is more pronounced, the sensation vibrating through your entire body.

“Nine,” you gasped, the number leaving your lips in a rush as you feel his hand rub over the heated skin once more, his touch gentle but deliberate, as though savoring your reactions.

The final strike comes swiftly, without warning, and it lands with a force that sends a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through you, making your breath hitch sharply in your throat.

“Ten,” you choked out, your voice trembling as the lingering heat settles into your flesh, and the ache inside you deepens into a craving you can’t quite quell.

After the last slap lands, your body trembling with a mixture of relief and lingering ache, Pierre’s hands slide over your skin, gently massaging the sore, reddened spots as if to soothe the stinging warmth he created. His touch shifts from punishing to possessive, his fingers tracing along your curves in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Good, you’re behaving,” he murmured, his voice softening just a fraction. “You took that so well.” His touch remains firm yet comforting, and as his fingers slip lower, teasing the edge of your underwear again, you feel his approval seep through his caresses, each one promising more yet leaving you on the edge, craving what might come next.

“But we are not done yet, mon ange,” he stated, his voice rough with desire. Before you could react, he scooped you up effortlessly, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he hoisted you into his arms. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, and the heat of his body pressed flush against yours made it impossible to ignore the pulse of need that had been building inside you.

As he carried you toward the bedroom, you couldn’t help but grind against him, seeking any bit of friction to ease the ache deep within. His cock pressed against you through the fabric, and the way you moved against him made a low groan escape his throat. His grip on you tightened, one hand sliding down to cup your ass, where marks were surely forming, encouraging the movement as your hips rolled against him.

“You’re that desperate, hm?” he murmured against your ear, his voice darkly amused, yet there was a hunger in it that matched your own.

When he reached the bedroom, he pinned you against the wall beside the door, his hands gripping your thighs as he pressed his body even closer to yours. His mouth found your neck, kissing and biting with just enough pressure to make you gasp. “Look at you,” he rasped, his tone a mix of approval and possession. “Grinding on me like you can’t wait a moment longer, behaving like a bad girl again.”

His lips captured yours before you could deny his claim, before you could tell him that you’d behave for him. The kiss was rough and demanding, as if he was trying to consume every bit of your desire. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way his muscles flexed under your touch as you clung to him, and the undeniable erection pressing between your legs as you ground against him one last time before he pulled you away from the wall.

With a sudden movement, he turned and carried you the rest of the way to the bed, tossing you down onto the mattress with a mixture of gentleness and roughness that left you breathless. The cool sheets felt like a shock against your flushed skin, but before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you, his body pinning you down as he kissed you deeply, his hands already roaming possessively over your exposed skin.

As he moved above you, his chain swung between your bodies, the cool metal brushing against your heated skin with each of his movements. The feeling of the chain dangling against your chest, combined with the weight of his body and the way his mouth devoured yours, made your head spin with need.

Pierre shuffled down your body, placing a lingering kiss as he went, until he reached the hem of your panties, the dampening patch growing with each passing second. He slipped his fingers into the waistband, pulling it away in one fluid motion, tossing the sheer fabric aside like it was nothing more than a fleeting thought. He placed his hands on your thighs, spreading his fingers wide to savor the softness of your skin. His grip tightened, fingers digging into your thighs, eliciting a delicious ache that coursed through your body. With effortless ease, he parted your legs, leaving you beautifully exposed on the bed, entirely at his mercy.

His gaze instantly dropped to your pussy, the soft sheen of your desire compelling him to lick his lips, a sly smirk creeping across his face. He leaned closer, his lips inches away from your cunt. Pierre’s eyes flicked back to yours, searching for your reaction, and he found you watching him with anticipation, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

With a teasing flick of his tongue, he parted your folds, savoring the sweet taste of your arousal. He dragged his tongue through your slickness, sending a wave of pleasure cascading through you. You arched your back instinctively, the sheets beneath your clenched fist crumpling as you felt a rush of warmth radiate from deep within.

Your other hand tangled in his hair, fingers curling tightly as you urged him closer, a soft whimper escaping your lips. He groaned at the sensation, pulling back just enough to place a soft kiss on your sensitive clit, igniting a spark that made you shudder.

Just as you surrendered to the sensation, he surprised you by bringing his palm down between your thighs, slapping your cunt. The suddenness of his touch jolted you, instinctively causing you to close your legs, a reflex born from both shock and desire.

He noticed immediately, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “You can’t even keep your thighs open for me, can you?” he teased, a playful challenge lacing his voice. “If you can’t manage that, how do you expect me to believe you can be good, ma chérie?”

“Pierre—”

With a slow shake of his head, he stepped away from the bed, leaving you trembling with anticipation as he sauntered over to the closet. The cool air caressed your exposed skin, heightening your awareness of every sensation.

After a moment, he returned, and your breath caught sharply in your throat. In his hands was a spreader bar, its sleek surface gleaming under the soft light. It was crafted from polished metal, sturdy yet alluring, with two leather bands attached at either end—perfectly designed to secure your ankles in place. The sight of it sent a rush of heat flooding through you, a mixture of excitement and trepidation filling your veins.

“Maybe you’ll behave with this,” he said, his voice low and filled with promise. He approached with a predatory grace, the spreader bar held confidently in his grip. You could feel your heart racing as he knelt at the edge of the bed, his expression both commanding and enticing.

He gently tugged your legs apart, adjusting your position to accommodate the spreader bar. The cool metal felt foreign against your skin, and a thrill coursed through you as he positioned it perfectly between your ankles. You gasped softly at the sensation, the way it forced you open and vulnerable to him.

With deft movements, he wrapped the soft leather bands around your ankles, fastening them snugly to the ends of the bar. Each strap tightened around your skin, anchoring you in place and amplifying the thrill of submission.

“This will keep you spread and open for me,” he purred, his gaze roaming over your body with a mixture of hunger and admiration. The realization of your vulnerability sent a rush of heat flooding through you, a mix of anticipation and desire igniting in your core.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin as he surveyed the scene before him. “Just relax and let go,” he instructed, his voice a velvety whisper that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. “You’re safe here with me.”

With you secured and vulnerable, Pierre’s gaze darkened with a mix of desire and intent. He brought his palm down against your soft skin, the impact sending ripples of sensation through your body. The weight of his hand felt commanding, anchoring you in place as he explored.

“This time,” he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips, “you won’t be able to close your thighs.” His fingers began to trace lazy patterns along your inner thighs, the teasing caress leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The spreader bar held you open, and you could only gasp as he relished in your exposure.

As his hand came down against your pussy, the jolt of sensation shot through you like electricity. Your back arched instinctively, a desperate attempt to ease the overwhelming feeling that coursed through you. The urge to close your legs—to shield yourself from the intensity of his touch—surged within you, but the spreader bar kept you splayed wide open, a reminder of your helplessness.

“Please, please, please, Pierre,” you whispered, the words spilling from your lips like a breathless mantra. Each plea was laced with need, your voice trembling as you struggled to cling to some sense of control.

“Ah, there they are,” he breathed, voice dripping with mock satisfaction as though he’d stumbled upon a lost treasure. “There are your manners.” His thumb traced your folds, dipping ever so slightly in your cunt before sliding out and nudging your swollen clit.

The way he looked at you—half-chiding, half-amused—made your pulse quicken. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he continued, “beg for me.”

His fingers worked against your pussy, spreading your folds while bringing his other hand down to slap your exposed clit. You cried out loud, his name falling from your lips over and over again, the sound a desperate plea for more.

You squirmed on the bed, the soft sheets beneath you contrasting sharply with the heated intensity of his hands. Each deliberate stroke of his thumb circling your clit sent spirals of ecstasy racing through you, drawing out breathy whimpers that filled the air. His lips curved into a smug smirk, clearly reveling in your response as he maintained his hold on the spreader bar with his other hand, effectively pinning you in place.

“Need your fingers,” you managed to mumble between your moans. “Please, Pierre.”

He chuckled softly at your pleading words, a wicked glint in his eyes that made your heart race. “Are you sure you want my fingers? Or do you want my cock?” he taunted, his fingers slowing for a moment, building the tension between you. You writhed against the bed, the desire pooling low in your belly, urging him to continue.

Your eyes widened, and a desperate string of pleas left your lips, asking for his cock.

With a knowing smirk, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you longing for the sensation you had just experienced. He unbuttoned his pants with deliberate slowness, his gaze locked onto yours, savoring the anticipation that hung in the air between you. Each movement seemed to amplify your need, the tension coiling tighter in your belly as you watched him.

As he pushed his pants down, revealing the hard evidence of his desire, he maintained his hold on the spreader bar. The metal gleamed in the dim light, keeping your legs wide open, utterly exposed to him. This position only heightened your vulnerability and eagerness, a thrill coursing through you as you felt the cool air against your heated skin.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a low growl filled with hunger. “So eager, so ready for me.” You could barely contain the shiver that ran down your spine at his words, your body aching for him.

With one hand gripping the bar, he leaned on the bed, his desire evident in his eyes. As he positioned himself at your entrance, the world around you faded, and all you could focus on was the anticipation of what was to come.

He thrusts into you, allowing you to take him inch by inch, each moment stretched to savor the fullness. You could feel every ridge and contour as he filled you completely, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body.

Holding the spreader bar high, he kept your legs spread wide, your ankles resting against his shoulders. This position intensified your vulnerability, leaving you utterly exposed to him, and every thrust felt deeper, more intimate. The way he held you like this made your heart race, your body arching instinctively to meet his every movement.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy crashing over you, and you couldn’t help but let out breathy moans that filled the air around you.

“More,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. “Please, don’t stop.”

With a knowing grin, he brought his thumb down to your clit, rubbing tight circles that ignited an entirely new level of pleasure. The dual sensations of his thrusts and the friction on your sensitive bud sent shockwaves through you, leaving you gasping. Your body responded instinctively, arching towards him, craving more as he skillfully kept the rhythm.

As your legs rested against his body, he delivered sharp slaps to your inner thighs, each one sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. The mix of pleasure and pain kept you teetering on the brink, every hit leaving you more breathless, more desperate for him.

When his hand finally returned to your clit, rubbing faster and harder, the pleasure surged within you like a tidal wave, building in intensity with each stroke. Your breath hitched as the world around you faded, leaving only the two of you, the bed, and the intoxicating sensations he was creating.

As he continued to push you toward ecstasy, he delivered a firm slap to your clit, the sudden burst of sensation causing you to gasp sharply. That one deliberate action sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting every nerve ending as you felt the heat pooling low in your belly. It was a thrilling combination of pleasure and pain, driving you ever closer to the edge.

“Please…,” you managed to whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, pleading for release as your body instinctively responded to his every move.

With a final thrust and a precise flick of his thumb against your sensitive clit, you felt the world around you shatter. The climax crashed over you with an intensity that left you gasping his name, the sound reverberating in the air between you. Your body shuddered uncontrollably, waves of pleasure radiating from the core of your being, and in that moment, you surrendered completely to the overwhelming pleasure he had drawn from you. Each pulse of bliss washed over you, leaving you breathless and entirely at his mercy.

As the aftershocks faded, you couldn’t help but hope the spreader bar would see more use in the future—and if it meant you had to misbehave to make that happen, then so be it.

Taglist: @chilling-seavey @cheer-bear-go-vroom @ggaslyp1 @nominsgirl @moll1701 @mrs-saturday @teamnovalak @sassy-chan @ruti26-11 @kennysimp101 @falling-feels-like-flying @laeblue @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bountychanti @savewaterdrinkvodka @cloud-55 @aarchiives @holylovercopsludge @black-fireproofs @lazydragonpeach @biancathecool @myownwritings @rebelatbay @ethereal0810 @leclercsluvs @01rrdbull @fallingforfalll2 @lilorose25 @laur2608

[littlemelaninfics]

Since this is not a Wendy’s, thank god, can I order reader riding Eddie? No plot if you don’t want, I’m down for straight to the point👍

Oh you think you’re funny. You are. Ma’am. Pull up to window two, please. I love to the point 🫶

"Fuck. You are so sexy," Eddie grunts as you rise to straddle his squirming hips, his fingers pressed up to your lips as you plant kisses along their pads tenderly, the both of you letting out a gasp as his throbbing cock sinks into your heat.

"Takin' me so good, mí amor. Just like I taught you," he praises with a low groan as you begin rhythmically grinding your hips against his own, working the length of him in and out of your grip passionately. "So fuckin' pretty for me, baby. Got the prettiest girl in the whole wide world, right here on top'a me."

"God, fuck. Eddie," you whimper as his words continue to stoke the fire within you that’s already been burning for hours. He joins in the effort of rolling you against him, his impressive size hitting every sweet spot inside of you so perfectly, so deliciously. "Feels so good," you gush, your eyes locking with his as you smile shyly, giving the palm of his hand you're cradling a kiss.

"My girl," he beams back, one of his hands finding your cheek to cradle the outline of your jaw as his thumb slips into you mouth resting on your tastebuds, the other settles down just below your belly, thumb tracing over your burning clit as you begin to work faster over his bucking form.

For a good while, there's nothing but the sound of hitched breathing and low moans exchanged between the two of you as he takes you apart from the inside out, knowing exactly how to work you, a fine craft he's been mastering for ages.

"C'mon, princess. Take what you need from me. Show me how good I make you feel,” Eddie urges with slight growl in his throat when he senses the increase in pressure from deep inside you, your breaths intensifying as your toes begin to curl.

"Please Eddie, please," you pant, pressure building up through your core as you chase your desperate release.

"There you go, babydoll. There it is," he chants, his cock hardening beneath you as you clench down uncontrollably, waves of pleasure rolling over you as you surrender completely.

"Fuck, baby. Shit," the man grunts as he spills inside of you, an exhausted huff of air escaping you as you collapse over his trembling body.

"Did so fuckin' good for me," Eddie praises softly into your ear as he strokes back your hair, allowing you as much time as you need to recover from your high. "Always do, my perfect girl."

[velarisdusk]

In the Stillness of Want

Day 18: Orgasm Control | Rhysand x Reader word count: 1.3k author's note: putting those daemati powers to WORK ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The bedroom was dim, bathed in the soft glow of faelight, casting shadows that danced across the walls as Rhysand hovered over you. The scent of him — heady, like night-blooming flowers, spiced with salt and smoke — swirled in the air. You could feel it, that thick anticipation, the kind that crawled under your skin, leaving your body prickling and alive. Your pulse thundered, the beat of your heart so loud in your ears it drowned out the quiet sounds of the night. 

Rhysand’s dark eyes held yours, a predatory gleam in his eyes as his fingers traced lazy circles over the curve of your hip. His touch was featherlight, tantalizing, teasing you enough to make you want to scream. Every brush of his skin against yours sent a pulse of desire straight through you, pooling between your thighs, tightening in your belly. 

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he moved his hand lower, but it was still too light — too soft. A breathless whimper escaped your lips, and you arched into him, seeking more. His dark hair fell forward, brushing your skin as he lowered his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Every touch was measured, calculated to pull you along just far enough without giving you what you needed. You could feel it. Everywhere. 

A gasp escaped from you, fingers gripping the silk sheets beneath you as your hips shifted involuntarily, seeking more. But he withdrew, pulling back just as you chased that edge. Your breath caught, frustration burning in your chest. It was the way he toyed with you, hovering, withholding. 

“Patience,” he whispered, lips grazing your skin, and your whole body trembled. 

It was a word he’d whispered to you many times before, somewhere between the playful kisses and quiet confessions in the dark. You’d discussed what tonight would be, and now, lying there beneath him, body stretched taut, you felt the depth of it. Of his control, of your surrender. Of the power he wielded so effortlessly over you. He could push you to the edge and leave you suspended there for hours if he wanted. And you would let him.

The tension coiled inside you, tightening with every pass of his fingers, every word that ghosted into your mind. His mental touch was just as torturous as the physical — brushing the edges of your thoughts, reminding you that you weren’t in control. Not tonight. He could feel every tremor, every need, and he reveled in it. 

Your breath came faster as he continued his slow exploration, fingers ghosting over every inch of your skin, like he was learning you anew. There was a heat building inside you, one he stoked with every touch, every teasing caress that skimmed just close enough without giving you what you craved. 

You let out a frustrated sound, shifting beneath him, seeking more friction, but his power flared — just a subtle, invisible thread — and your body froze. The motion you’d tried to make was stopped dead, every limb locked in place, suspended in that moment of helpless anticipation. 

“Rhys…” you gasped, trying to plead, to beg. 

But he wouldn’t allow that either. 

Your throat tightened, words dying on your lips as his mental command silenced you. His gaze was molten, eyes filled with dark satisfaction as he felt you struggle. Inside, but unable to move, unable to speak. 

“Look at you…” Rhysand purred. “Completely at my mercy.”

You tried to move again, tried to arch your back, anything to find some relief from the building need inside you, but his power held firm, keeping you perfectly still. He dragged his fingers over your skin, teasing you, touching you in all the places you craved without giving you what you truly needed. 

Your body burned. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, suspended in the sheer pleasure of it, teetering on the edge of something immense but unable to fall. Every nerve screamed for release, but he denied you, over and over. You could feel the slick wetness between your thighs, the ache in your core that begged to be filled, but he wasn’t ready to give that to you yet. 

You look beautiful like this, Rhys whispered into your mind, his voice smooth as sin, the talons dragging over your mind sharp as a blade. So ready… so needy. His eyes darkened, a hint of that familiar wicked smile curling at the edges. He was enjoying this — watching you come apart, knowing you couldn’t do anything but feel. 

Those talons brushed your mind again, the barest tendril of power that slid through your thoughts like smoke. The touch was so intimate you could barely breathe. It felt like he was everywhere all at once — inside you, around you, holding your body in his invisible grip. The heat between your legs pulsed in time with your heartbeat, building.

You tried to speak again, tried to beg him to please do something, but the words froze in your throat as he held those back too. 

He hummed, eyes glittering with amusement as he leaned down to kiss you slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. His tongue slid over yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, and still, his power held you in that excruciating place, where every nerve was aflame, every breath a struggle to keep from breaking apart.

You could feel the wetness between your legs, the ache inside you growing unbearable, and yet he kept you there, helpless, trembling. His power wrapped tighter, pulling you closer to the edge than you thought possible, and then easing you off again. Every inch of you screamed in desperation, sensitive to the brush of his fingers, the heat of his breath, the control his mind had over yours. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. You were lost, drowning in the sensation, in the weight of his presence inside you, around you. It was as though every part of you was tuned to him, strung tight like a bow, waiting for the moment he would finally release you. 

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, his hand sliding lower between your legs. You could feel his satisfaction, his pleasure at watching you, feeling you struggle against the grip he had on your mind and body. “I suppose I could…”

Then his fingers brushed over your clit, just the lightest touch, and he loosened his hold on you — just enough for you to writhe beneath him. Your entire body trembled, and the tightness inside you snapped. You gasped, body quaking as the orgasm ripped through you.

But he didn’t stop there.

As the last wave of pleasure ebbed away, he wrapped those talons, that dark power, around your mind like a vice. Your eyes widened in shock, your body already exhausted and spent, but he didn’t care. He forced the orgasm back through you, dragging it out of you with a ruthless grip. 

He released your throat and you cried out his name over and over, your body jerking involuntarily, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before, an unrelenting tide of pleasure that wracked your already spent body. He held you there, suspended in the midst of that forced climax, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as he toyed with you — his mind pressing you deeper into the release. 

When he finally let go, when he finally let you come down, you were breathless, your body limp beneath him. His lips brushed over your temple, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest as he whispered against your skin. 

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re not done yet. I think I can pull a few more out of you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @isnotwhatyourethinking

@randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @90angiex @fourthwing4ever

[mommyownsmee]

I need it.

I can already feel it—that perfect moment when I sink inside you, the initial stretch as your body gives way to me, that hot, wet tightness pulling me in, locking me inside you. My grip on your hips is bruising, my fingers digging into your flesh, keeping you still while I thrust deeper, deeper, until I bottom out and feel the way your body clenches around me, sucking me in, desperate to keep me there.

The pressure, the friction, the heat—it’s overwhelming, intoxicating, perfect.

Every thrust stokes the fire inside me, sending shocks of pleasure up my spine, making my breath ragged, my muscles taut, my entire being focused on just this—pounding into you, making you take all of me, using you to chase the maddening urge that has consumed me.

The slick sound of me fucking into you, the heat radiating between our bodies, the tight grip of your cunt around my cock—it’s everything, too much and not enough all at once.

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

most people ship Starscream with a reader who is just meek and one massive fawn response to being kidnapped, can i ask instead that once on the ship reader is just a MENACE? (doesnt matter who or how theyre kidnapped, theyre there now) Reader just antagonizes /everyone/ and likes to antagonistically flirt with Star? cus thats way more fun <3 (thinking of IDW/G1 but really any version of him works)

G1 Starscream is a shit, so I thought he would be the perfect match. Two petty bitches = EVERYONE else gonna suffer.

The first few days on the ship was nothing but screaming. Starscream assured them that once you had been tamed, you would stop that....

You did not stop.

The actual kidnapping had been quiet, making starscream think he picked the perfect little hostage to hold over the autobots. You would clearly cower in what ever box they kept you in, and beg to be released. Maybe even weep a little. Megatron would praise him for a job well done, and let his guard down a bit more.

You were not, however, the perfect docile hostage. You were just in shock. Once that faded away you decided to make it very clear you were unhappy about the situation. Starscream had entered the room, followed by Megatron, boasting on the fact he had captured an autobot's pet. You were mid escape, perched on the edge of the box he stuffed you in. There was silence, starring. Then you jumped on him with a screech. Clinging against the seekers metal, kicking, pounding and biting. Eventually, soundwave peeled you off him and put something heavy over the box to avoid that again.

So you started screaming. Insults peppered within the highest pitch you could reach. Your throat went raw, but it was worth watching them flinch and cover their audials. When you were hungry, you screamed, when you were woken up by their stomping around, you screamed. When they filmed a video, threatening the autobots with your well being, you were screaming in the background.

The only one you were quiet around was Megatron. His threats just felt *sincere* in the graphic detail he would give when telling you what he would do if you did not shut your trap.

When the screaming began to hurt too much, you turned to insults. Calling Megatron Bucket-head while on that hostage call had earned a laugh from the autobots and a fusion cannon to the face. Soundwave didn't know how to respond to you calling him the Dj wanna be. Starscream hurled back insult after insult till it was tit for tat. The only positive was that he wasn't hard to look at. Being around the cons more, you found them to be particular about their looks, almost as much as Sunstreaker.

Eventually you were banished to his quarters and his sole responsibility till the autobots gave them what they wanted. He sat on his berth, polishing his plating. Nothing else to do. He fed you, he let you run around (be chased by ravage) for exercise.

"Need a hand pretty boy?"

He pauses, head shooting up and fixing you with a glare, "What was that squishy?"

You grin, leaning against the glass of your temporary home. Making a vulgar gesture you repeat yourself, "Need a hand pretty boy? Looks like you could use someone to give you a few good stokes."

Starscream throws down the cloth and stands, marching over to you again, "Mind your tongue *welp*."

"Oh I think I would rather *waggle* it."

The Decepticon doesn't know how to respond to this. Your screaming he could take until he locked you in a closet till you tired out. Your insults he would just shoot back. This? He was stumped.

"Come on pretty bird, you don't want to chat?"

"Careful *pest*." Starscream hisses, "Don't make me silence you."

"Oh? Think you got something big enough to silence me?"

The autobots aren't surprised when you are returned only a couple days after being taken. But they enjoy bringing you along on future missions when Starscream is sighted.

[bookvvitch]

Just my thoughts on Never Been Kissed Dabi

WC: 752

Pairing: Dabi and fem!reader

CW: Romance, fluff, kissing, longing, passion, very slight hurt/comfort

SFW

The pattered hum of rain fills the otherwise quiet space that pauses between your words. You've come to expect a calloused look from him, hard glances that dare not linger for much too long. But the way he stares into you now—owl-eyed, brows softly tilted—has you yearning to see how deeply this gentleness goes.

You cup his jaw within your palm, thumb grazing across the well-worn seams that line his face in uneven rows. He's so beautifully broken. You swear that up close like this, you can see his brushstrokes. He exhales sharply, jaggedly, trembling like a lamb who's been brought to you for slaughter. It almost breaks your heart how unsteadily he greets a kind touch.

Up until now, everything has felt manageable, a slow kindling of heat stoked at an even pace. However, tonight feels different. Every swipe of your fingers across his skin is a lit match held up to a tinderbox, ready to ignite. You're careful with him, as though you're aware of how delicate he is in this state, how any added pressure is sure to crack him.

He guides his shaking hands to hover above your form, planting them tentatively at the dip of your waist when he notices the way you keen into the gesture. He traces the outline of your silhouette. Relishes in each and every surface of you he's allowed to take in. How is it possible that he has you in his hands like this?

It disarms him when you say his name. Sends a bolt of electricity crackling throughout his extremities. Your whisper is soft in the same way a knife's blade goes unnoticed through skin, those two syllables ringing in his ears, your voice the strike of a tuning fork. He feels himself stumble beneath his own unbearable weight, his back pressed against the wall as your hands chase him, refusing to relinquish the purchase they've taken. Syrup coats his mouth, throat bobbing in a swallow.

You run the flat of your hand down to his chest, fingertips grazing his clavicle on the way. "Your heart's beating so hard," you coo. "Am I scaring you?"

Dabi shakes his head languidly, transfixed on the shine atop your lips, on the arch of your lashes which hang over a pair of blown-out pupils. "Think I'd let somethin' like this scare me?" But the tremor in his timbre betrays him.

You're breathless when you ask, "Will you tell me if I hurt you?"

He's about to fall apart, so incredibly overwhelmed just from the way you slot yourself against him, waves of crimson flushing his neck and climbing up to his hairline. There's no way this is actually happening. No one has ever wanted to actually kiss him before. It only makes sense for his answer to be a resounding, "No."

You shiver at the way this single word is spoken, low and warm in his chest, the only acknowledgement of his answer a grasping handful of his shirt. There's a subtle hum in your throat when you lean in, the press of your lips on his gentle, but no less driven. Cerulean eyes are squeezed tightly shut, an unfamiliar burning filling his lungs with each ragged breath he hastily gulps down.

He can't feel much sensation in his bottom lip, but he catches the warmth of you, the pressure, the puzzle piece of your mouth locking with his own. Instinctually, he opens for more, prompting you to lick into the slippery warmth he offers. He tastes just like he smells, sweet and smoky, like honeyed pipe tobacco. It has your brows knotting at the center, movements picking up pace. You become greedy with him, taking what he gives you and more, your teeth clashing together in all of the fervor. This gesture is met with a desperate groan into your mouth.

Your hands weave through his hair. He boils at the touch, skin prickling with a white-hot thrum as he parts just enough for a few sips of air, the exhale of which brushes choppy into your face. He feels so dizzy. So drunk off of you, off of the plush of your lips, off of this crushing, burning want.

The way he desires you borders on painful. It's a new kind of ache. Something foreign which shakes his bones and weakens his knees. And with the way you murmur sweetly into him how badly you want him, too, he wonders how he'll manage to let go of you tonight without leaving claw marks in his wake.

[highinmiamiii]

MONEY POWER GLORY

club owner!joe kessler x exotic dancer

A/N: this piece goes hand in hand with @billybutcherxyou / @foxiewrites and I’s DBF!Butcher series. best to be read alongside their most recent post, so make sure to check that out first. (cw: themes of manipulation, power dynamics, implied threats, and mentions of the adult entertainment industry.) NO USE OF Y/N

summary: Kessler, the sleazy owner of Club Kess, where petal works, dangles promises of fame and fortune, but his intentions are far from pure. Highlighting petal’s willingness to play his game, even as she’s fully aware of the dangers that come with it.

—————

She walks into the dimly lit office at the back of the club, the heavy bass from the music outside thrumming through the walls. Kessler, the club’s owner, sits behind an oversized mahogany desk, a fine Cuban cigar smoldering between his fingers. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and the faint tang of his expensive cologne. His eyes, sharp and calculating, follow her as she approaches, amusement flickering in them.

“Ah, there she is,” Kessler purrs, his voice smooth like honey with an underlying edge that makes your skin crawl if you listen too closely. He leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestures for her to sit. “My favorite girl.”

She offers him a small, confident smile, though there’s a tightness in her chest she can’t quite shake. She’s been working for him for some time now, just barely making enough to have a little extra cash after repaying her father’s debts and getting out of every negative situation. Billy still couldn’t seem to get off her ass. She’s good at what she does, and she’s determined to be more than just another one of Kessler’s showgirls.

Once she had even the slightest taste of financial freedom to splurge on a cute top or take herself out to lunch somewhere nice, she’d never go back to her old life. Her life had been full of losses, wins, failures, and falls.

Kessler’s gaze never wavers as she takes her seat across from him, the leather chair creaking slightly under her weight. He exhales a long plume of smoke, watching her with that same calculated amusement, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“I’ve been watching you,” Kessler continues, his eyes narrowing as he takes a drag from his cigar, the smoke curling around his face like a serpent. “You’ve got something… special. A spark, if you will.”

“You’ve been doing good work, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment slipping from his lips like it’s second nature. His voice carries a certain weight, commanding attention, respect, and maybe even a little fear. “Better than most of the girls who walk through that door.”

Her smile widens just a fraction; the words hit their mark. She’s been craving validation like this—something to tell her that all the hours, the effort, the sacrifices are worth it. The faint praise settles into her bones, stoking the fire she keeps burning inside.

“Well, I aim to please,” she replies smoothly, her voice laced with just the right amount of sultriness. She knows how to play her part, knows what Kessler wants to hear. And she’s more than willing to give it to him if it means getting what she wants in return.

Kessler’s smirk deepens, his eyes glittering with something dark, something dangerous. “That’s why you’re my favorite, baby,” he purrs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with predatory intensity. “You’ve got the looks, the talent, the drive. Everything a girl needs to make it big. And I’m gonna make sure you do.”

She feels a thrill of anticipation run through her at his words. She’s been chasing this dream for as long as she can remember—the idea of being more than just another face in the crowd, of standing out, of having everything she’s ever wanted. Money, power, glory. The trifecta that’s kept her going through every hardship, every setback.

“A-anything, Mr. Kessler,” she says, her voice almost a whisper, leaning in slightly as if she’s afraid to miss a single word. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Kessler’s smile is almost fatherly as he leans back in his chair, taking another drag from his cigar. He likes this part—the moment they’re fully under his spell, ready to do whatever it takes to make his promises come true. He’s seen it a hundred times before, but there’s something about her that makes it all the more satisfying.

“It’s simple, really,” he says, his tone almost conspiratorial. “You just keep doing what you’re doing, baby—keep turning heads, keep bringing in the crowds. Make them want more of you, make them crave you. And when the time is right, when you’re ready, we’ll take that next step.”

He pauses, letting the words sink in, watching as her eyes widen just a fraction, her breath catching slightly in her throat. He’s got her, and he knows it.

“What next step?” she asks, her voice hushed, almost afraid of the answer.

Kessler’s smirk returns, sharper this time. “Movies, baby. Real stardom. You’ve got a face for the camera, and I’m gonna make sure you get there. But you have to trust me, follow my lead. Do that, and you’ll have everything that pretty little heart o’ yours desires.”

She bites her lower lip, a move she knows he finds irresistible, playing into the moment. It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear—the promise of something more, something bigger than the life she’s been living. Dealing with her asshole of a father and his gambling debts, instead of living the life of a normal girl her age, she was working the pole at Club Kess. She’s come too far to turn back now, and Kessler knows that. He’s got her wrapped around his finger, and she can’t even bring herself to care.

“I trust you,” she says, the words coming out easily, as if they were always meant to be spoken. “I’m a big girl, I can take it,” she adds cheekily.

Kessler chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down her spine. He reaches out, brushing a thumb across her cheek, the touch as possessive as it is comforting.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Stick with me, baby, and I’ll make sure the whole world knows your name.”

She feels her heart pound with a mix of fear and excitement. She’s heard the rumors, knows what happens to the girls who fall out of Kessler’s favor, but she’s convinced it won’t happen to her. She’s different. She has to be.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze locking onto hers with predatory intensity. “You want more than just the dance floor. You want to be a star.”

The word hangs in the air between them, heavy with unspoken promises. She can feel the pull, the allure of everything she’s ever wanted, dangling just out of reach. But there’s a part of her, the smart part, that knows there’s always a catch when someone like Kessler is involved.

“I do,” she admits, keeping her voice soft, almost vulnerable, knowing that’s what he’s looking for. “But I know it’s not easy. I’m willing to work for it.”

Kessler’s grin widens, and for a moment, she can see the wolf behind the businessman. “That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart,” he says, his tone oozing with false sincerity. “You’re different. I see big things in your future. Movies, magazine covers, hell, maybe even your own show one day.”

The flattery is relentless, and she finds herself nodding along, even as a small voice in the back of her mind tells her not to fall for it. But it’s hard not to, especially when he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

The words are intoxicating, and for a moment, she lets herself believe them. But then Kessler’s gaze hardens, just for a split second, and she catches a glimpse of the man behind the mask—the one who’s willing to destroy anyone who doesn’t play by his rules.

“But remember,” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more menacing, “this business is tough. It chews up the weak and spits them out. You keep up your end of the bargain, and I’ll keep up mine. But cross me… and, well, I’m sure you know what happens to girls who get on my bad side.”

She forces herself to smile, to play along with his game. “I won’t disappoint you, I promise,” she says, her voice smooth as silk, hiding the unease coiling in her gut.

“Good girl,” he replies, the smirk returning as he leans back in his chair, satisfied. “Now, go out there and show them what you’re made of. Got big plans for you.”

She nods, offering him one last smile before she turns.

As she’s about to leave, Kessler’s voice cuts through the lingering haze of cigar smoke. “Actually—hold on a sec, baby,” he drawls, his tone smooth but with an edge that halts her in her tracks. She looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

Kessler reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out an old Polaroid camera, the kind that spits out instant photos with a soft mechanical whirr. He holds it up, a sly grin spreading across his face. “One more thing before you go. Gotta get a picture to go with the others, yeah? Keeps things personal, keeps us close.”

She hesitates for a moment, feeling a strange twist in her gut. This wasn’t part of the usual routine, but then again, Kessler always liked to blur the lines. “A Polaroid?” she asks, forcing a light tone, though she can’t keep the edge of suspicion out of her voice.

Kessler chuckles, but it’s a low, menacing sound that sends a shiver down her spine. “Just for the collection,” he says, as if that explains everything. “A little keepsake for me. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

The unease deepens, but she can see the challenge in his eyes, the unspoken command. He wants her to trust him, to play along. And if she refuses, if she makes a scene, she knows what that might mean for her future here.

So, she swallows her discomfort and flashes him her best smile, the one she reserves for customers she’s trying to impress. “Of course, Mr. Kessler,” she says sweetly, stepping closer to the desk.

Kessler’s grin widens as he raises the camera, the lens glinting in the dim light. “Say cheese, darling.”

She hears the click, followed by the whir of the camera spitting out the photo. Kessler catches it before it hits the desk, holding it by the edges as the image slowly develops.

She forces herself to stay calm, to keep that practiced smile in place, even as Kessler’s gaze flicks between her and the photo with a predatory glint. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her, before he slips the photo into his desk drawer, locking it away.

“Alright, baby,” he says, his tone returning to that of the smooth-talking club owner. “You go on now. Remember, I’m watching.”

She nods, mutters a soft “thank you,” and finally makes her exit, feeling the weight of his gaze on her until she’s out the door. As she steps back into the dimly lit hallway, the thumping bass from the club outside washing over her like a wave, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s just crossed some invisible line, one she might not be able to step back from.

But she pushes the thought aside. This is what she wanted—what she needed. If playing Kessler’s game was the price she had to pay for her shot at fame and fortune, then so be it. She’d play, and she’d win.

Because she knew one thing for sure: in this world, you either play the game or get played. And she wasn’t about to let herself become just another one of Kessler’s pawns.

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] Telling Tails

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 3710 Tags: merfolk AU, human Dream, merman Hob, meet-cute, canon role reversal

Notes: Once upon a time I set out to write a mer-Hob AU to give him courting behaviors of certain fish as a cute interspecies thing. Perhaps I will get there eventually; in the meantime, please enjoy their first meeting which I have finally revamped and redrafted into satisfactory shape juuust before time runs out on MerMay 2025. This precedes Good Luck Charm by a couple of months at least.

Special thanks to @the-apocrypha for the title 🫶

Summary: On a university-sponsored research trip in Australia, marine biologist Dream discovers a new form of sea life that he was not expecting.

On AO3

Dream is not surprised to find a waterline-level cave out on the rock formation in White Horse Cove, on the side not visible from shore. Nor is he overly surprised to find someone stretched out on the damp rocky floor with their eyes closed, as the morning light fills the first several feet of the cave brightly in a way that is conducive to sunbathing.

The fact that the sunbather has a bright orange tail with brilliant yellow fins and blue-and-black leopard-like spots is rather less expected, however, and Dream gasps his surprise.

The sound startles the man—the merman—surely not?—who sits bolt upright, eyes wide and panicking as he locks gazes with Dream not an arm's length away.

Dream's heart skips a beat. He's beautiful—

"Ah, fuck!" The merman—there is no other explanation, no mistaking the flurry of fins and scales and long wet hair as he moves—the merman twists and flops and dives past Dream, a less-than-graceful plunge off the rock and into the sea and then he is gone.

"Wait!" Dream cries, to the bright flick of yellow and orange vanishing into the depths, but of course it is no use.

He could swim back to the boat, could don his diving gear and follow—but no. The merman is already gone, and will be more so by the time Dream could be equipped to give chase.

He swallows back his disappointment, his disbelief, and tells himself resolutely that he surely imagined the entire thing.

But he did not imagine it, he knows this; the knowledge lodges in his mind, burrows down into his consciousness and curls around his common sense, stokes his curiosity.

He saw a merman.

Merpeople do not exist.

But he saw one.

He returns the next day, hoping perhaps to repeat the discovery, but he is the only visitor to the cave in the hours that he spends there. When the tide has gone out and come back in, high enough once more to cover the floor of the cave more than ankle deep, when he has spent all day waiting with nothing to show for it but a poor sketch from memory—long hair, long fins, vague face—he admits defeat and swims back to his boat.

He returns again, and again, every morning with the drift of the tide, diving to explore beneath the surface when the cave remains empty. He finds nothing of note, nothing to hint at the existence of merfolk, nothing at all out of the ordinary; by day six, he is trying to convince himself to make peace with the likelihood that he will never find any trace of the merman he knows he had seen.

On day seven, the merman is back, sunbathing at the front of the cave again.

Only this time, he has human legs, is wearing swim trunks, is sitting further away from where Dream is treading water, stunned.

"…Hello," Dream manages.

"Hi," the man says, warmly polite. His hair is piled into a prettily-haphazard bun on the back of his head, not freshly wet but still visibly damp, suggesting he has been out of the water for maybe an hour. He is cross-legged with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them, one hand holding the other wrist; he is meant to look casual and relaxed, Dream is certain, but the tension and the nervousness coming off of him is palpable.

He is still beautiful.

"You're. I saw you here, last week?" His thoughts are still trying to catch up; he hoists himself into the cave, doesn't move closer.

The man's shoulders drop a tiny fraction. "Yeah, yep! Startled me good, y'did!" He chuckles lightly, a carefree and casual sound; the fingers of his dangling hand wriggle, a nervous and distracted sort of gesture that draws Dream's attention to the profusion of hair on his bare legs, and arms, and what Dream can see of his chest.

"You had a. A tail, last time," Dream says, somewhat awkwardly, tearing his gaze from the sprinkling of hair on the man's bare toes.

"Oh, that, yeah!" The man grins, bright and disarming. "I'm a mermaid performer, with the, ah, the local fair."

Dream is convinced this is a lie even as the logical part of his brain points out that this explanation makes far more sense than believing in merfolk. He knows what he saw, the flexing of muscle and the fanning of fins, the bending and twisting that did not match up to the way that human legs would move in a costume. The merman speaks with casual confidence, but the tension in his frame and the nervous fidget of his clasped hand are easy to read.

"…No, I don't think you are," Dream says, and the man's bright smile dips before returning to full wattage.

"Callin' me a liar, are ya?" He laughs, a light and enchanting sound that Dream immediately wants to hear more of. "Merfolk, they don't actually exist, I'll have you know."

"And yet, here you are," Dream counters, bold, determined. If this man is an ordinary human, then he will feel foolish, certainly, but Dream is confident despite all conventional logic that he is not wrong.

He has never been very good at letting the most likely explanation dissuade him from an idea to the contrary, much to his mother's chagrin growing up. Countless times all his life he has had his wondering hypotheses scoffed at, his fears and anxieties dismissed, been told how ridiculous they all are. And it's not as if he didn't know that the monsters under the bed were unlikely to be real or that the end of the rainbow was scientifically unreachable, that statistically he would not drive his car into a fiery wreck, but Mother's insistence that he cease with such foolishness no matter his fears or his questions only triggered stubborn certainty that he could be right.

He'd done his best through his teen years to hide these tendencies from her and cope with the anxiety and stifling frustration on his own, and he'd found as he progressed through the sciences in school that his natural tendency to latch onto what-if's that others dismissed served him extremely well. Sometimes he was still wrong, but many times he would find answers that other students missed and it had given him the confidence to excel at university. The anxiety was far less of an issue once he found his own doctor to see about it and a prescription that worked and now he is halfway around the globe in Australia on a research grant, part of a four-person team studying fluctuations in various fish populations in relation to seasonal and environmental variables. He'd put forth several hypotheses as to what they would find when they started; Lucienne had simply nodded agreeably and Jessamy and Matthew—or Jess and Matty, as they warmly insisted he call them—have gleefully kept track of his predictions compared to their results and so far he has yet to be wrong.

He knows that he is not wrong now. This man, human shaped with human legs, is nevertheless not a human. Dream is not going to accept the far-more-likely explanation he's been given when he knows what he saw, and what he saw was no mermaid performer.

He tries an approach of understanding. "I imagine you prefer to keep the existence of your kind a secret—"

"What, mermaid performers?" The man chuckles. "Too right, absolutely, can't let the world know we're out here faking it."

He is lying, deflecting, Dream knows it but the wink and the easy grin are so charming, he is nearly ready to second-guess his conviction.

"I promise you," he pushes on, despite the giddy warmth in his stomach incited by the flippant tease. "I am not here because I want to tell others about you, or drag you off to some lab for sampling and studying, or anything of the sort. I am here purely of my own curiosity, my own. Drive, to know and understand the world around me. I promise nothing but respect for your secrets, your safety, and only appreciation for anything you might share about yourself or your kind."

"I certainly can't speak for all mermaid performers, we're a very diverse lot. But alright, alright, ask away."

Dream is mildly frustrated but also impressed; the more this man leans into his story the more confidence he gains for it and it is. Attractive. The poise that he is finding, the settled charm, the easy smile. Dream is smitten, despite himself, and knowing that he's falling for an act only makes it worse. The merman probably supposes he can flirt his way out of this; Dream is determined not to let him.

He changes his tactics.

"Why were you out here in your costume, alone? Does it not carry a high risk of drowning, to swim in an open uncontrolled environment with your legs so restricted and no one to assist you if needed?"

The man shrugs. "I like the practice. And I'm a very good swimmer." He answers so easily, his smile natural and warmly beguiling.

Dream presses on. "Might I see your costume, then?"

"What?"

"Your costume. It was incredibly realistic, I recall, and I should like to see it more closely, if I might?"

"Didn't, ah. Didn't bring it with me, sorry." The merman flashes his smile again but his confidence is wobbling. Dream pushes.

"Could we meet here again, and you bring it next time?"

"I. Actually can't," he says, and Dream can see the way he brightens as he lands on a new lie. "It's so important to the performance that you believe it's real, see. Like you did, obviously. So yeah no, I can't show you how it works. Barter secrets, and all that." He smiles, brilliant and charming, apologetic.

Barter secrets? Dream can feel his brow furrowing. "You'll share your secrets if I can offer secrets of equal value?"

He doesn’t think that's quite what was meant, and the confusion that crosses the merman's face backs him up. "What? No. Like. I can't let you see it too close, right? Can't let anyone figure out how I make my performance so realistic or they'll start copyin' what I do."

"Do you perhaps mean trade secrets, then?" He's amused more than anything now; mermaiding cannot possibly be as secretive and competitive as this man makes it sound, further strengthening Dream's conviction that he's being fed a load of bollocks.

"Yeah, that's it, sorry, got my words mixed up." The smile he flashes is tense around the edges; Dream hones in on his advantage.

"Understandable," he says, sympathetically, conversationally. "If 'job' and 'trade' are not synonyms in your culture, it's an easy mistake to make." He speaks with confidence, assuredness, never mind that he is guessing at reasons; if this merman can lie to him with such ease then he can fake his own certainty in pursuit of cracking that facade.

"Yeah nah, not really—" The merman cuts himself off, visibly redirecting whatever he'd been about to say. "Us mermaid performers, we—we speak our own language, true enough!" There is none of the confidence of a moment before, his pretty face flustered, struggling to keep the easy smile.

Dream watches him intently, uses the silently-intimidating stare he'd learned from his father to give it weight.

The merman stares back, something like panic rising in his eyes—which are a lovely rich brown, Dream can't help cataloguing despite himself.

Dream blinks at long last, slow and assured, and breaks the silent stalemate.

"You. Are no mermaid performer."

The merman draws himself up. "I—" He pauses, mouth still open, clearly wavering.

Dream arches an eyebrow.

The merman deflates, quite suddenly. "I'm not." He rocks forward, knees folding down so he's sitting properly cross-legged, lowers his head and rakes his hands into his still-wet hair, tugging at the loose strands in their messy bun. "Bloody fucking fuck, I'm gonna be in so much trouble—"

"Why?"

The merman sits up again, throws his arms wide, face incredulous. "You saw me! Tail and all! That's absolutely forbidden! I've exposed—" He clamps his mouth shut, something like fear flickering in his eyes.

The giddiness of victory wars with a tinge of guilt at how worried this merman clearly is. The idea that there are other merfolk, as implied by that outburst, has Dream's mind spinning, has him remembering that of course his own curiosity is not the only factor in play and he has no right to endanger this man just to satisfy it.

"Peace, my friend," he says, hands held up placatingly. "Should you leave right now, and never return, I would have no way to find you. Nor would I try. I don't wish to endanger you, or risk harm to. To anyone else." He takes a deep breath, drops his hands. "I apologize, for putting you in this position—" He breaks off.

Wait.

His eyes narrow at the merman, appraising.

"Why did you come here today, if the risk of discovery is of such concern?"

"Well. Because you already discovered me, right? Had to put another explanation in your head so you'd forget about looking for me."

"I wasn't looking, precisely—"

"You were so looking!" The merman gestures emphatically. "Never saw you here before but then you came back every day, stayed in the cave for hours, went divin' in the cove—what were you doin' if not lookin' for me?"

Dream blinks. He's been watching me? The thought warms him far more than it ought. "Alright; I was hoping to see you again, yes. But if you hadn't turned up today, or ever again, I would have given up at some point on waiting for you to reappear, and perhaps eventually I might have convinced myself you were not as real as I thought."

"Fuckin'—sharksacs, really? The effort I put to my cover story and sellin' you on it, and I could've just kept lurkin' instead?"

Dream can't tell if that's delight or exasperation, but he's charmed by the way the merman's accent has sharpened a bit as their conversation goes on. It speaks to an easing of the tension that had been so obvious in him to start with. As if the merman is growing comfortable with him, now that the lie is dropped.

"I had no idea you were observing me, this past week," he says, instead of any of that. "I saw no trace of you."

"Too right!" The merman straightens up, grins proudly, and oh, but that suits his face wonderfully. "We're very good at not bein' seen. S'what keeps us safe."

"So then, you wanted to be seen, today?" Dream gestures lightly toward him. "For here you are."

"Like I said. Wanted to put you off the scent." The merman hunches in, just a little. "Couldn't watch the sunrise with you pokin' around here either, could I."

"The sunrise?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "Startin' t'miss it. S'pretty enough undersurface, but it's always a bit muted. Up here everything's so bloody sharp it almost hurts."

"You come here regularly to watch the sunrise?"

"Yeah."

"And that was worth the risk of discovery? Even though your intention was the opposite?"

The merman looks at him then, long and searching. "This'll sound a bit bonkers, maybe. But. I trust my fins, right, and they say." He blows out a breath. "They say you're fair coral. Y'never…you didn't hunt me down, just searched a bit in the cove here. I've always been fascinated with humans but I've always been told that if humans discovered merfolk exist, they'd be after us in numbers with equipment to catch us and take us ashore and study us like they do other sea life. But you…you were only ever just you. Waitin'." He shakes his head. "Still. Anyone back home finds out you've seen me norm-o, there'll be a right panic."

"What can I do to ensure that doesn't happen? I don't want to cause you trouble."

"Oh I can keep a secret, no worries. And I'm dead sure I haven't been followed." He shrugs, tilts his head a little and toys with an earlobe. "Jus' speakin' outta caution, mostly. Not s'posed to reveal myself but went n' did it anyway, had to have a cheeky panic about it. She'll be right, though." He gives a little nod, as if agreeing with himself.

Dream is very aware that the merman did not offer 'stay away' as the easy answer to 'what can I do', and it fills him with a boldness that he is learning to embrace, here, with home and family half a world behind him.

"Then. I have a proposal for you." He takes a deep breath, trusting his instincts. Evidence suggests this merman is as eager to talk to a human openly as Dream is in learning anything he can about him. "Would you like to meet with me again? Here, if it's still a good secret location, on a regular basis. You can tell me anything you'd like about your life and your people and I will tell you anything you want to know about mine. And I will share this with no one."

The merman is staring at him, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide; he looks both disbelieving and ready to vibrate out of his skin with excitement and Dream does his best to commit the lines of that face to memory, so he can try to capture that wonder later in a sketch.

"F'real?" The merman casts his eyes down, back up, fidgets with his hands. "That—shouldn't, should I, but—" He bites his lip, adorably indecisive.

"Three days," Dream offers. "I will come back each day, will be here if you decide you should like to. To talk. To get acquainted. To share stories. If you decide the risk is too great, I will understand. If you don't show up by the end of the third day, you have my word I won't come back again nor make any effort to find you."

He holds out a hand, solemn and serious. "When humans shake hands on an agreement, it's a matter of honor. It means I won't go back on my word, and will keep to the terms we agree upon."

"Nah yeah, I know handshakes." The merman stares at the offered hand, lifts his own, hesitates, then clasps Dream's firmly. "Alright. I'm trusting your silence, obviously. An' I'll think it over, then, decide if I want to come back or not."

Dream gives their joined hands a single shake and lets go. "Then. I hope I will see you in the next three days. But if not, I will respect your decision. And your secrecy, no matter what." He stands to go, even though he really, truly does not want to. He is overflowing with curiosity, buzzing under his skin with the excitement of discovery and confirmation, burning with the need to learn everything he can right this very second.

He desperately wants to see the merman's natural form again, to memorize the colors and patterns and placement of fins, to confirm whether the hairy chest and arms he currently sports as a human remain when he changes.

But he cannot force the merman into any agreement, cannot rush any decision that this stranger needs to make about trust and his own safety. Dream will leave, and give him the promised time to consider the proposed arrangement.

"I hope to see you again," he reiterates, settling his waterproof tote more securely across his chest, meeting the merman's eyes. "But if I do not, then let this be farewell." He offers a hint of a smile, committing those wide eyes and that pretty face to memory once again, then turns and steps off the cave floor, sliding neatly into the water.

Swimming away is far harder than it ought to be, but he manages.

~

Back at the house where his research team has been stationed, Dream forces himself to settle and redirect his mind. The lack of other people helps, somewhat; solitude so often serves him well.

Lucienne has gone back to London for the break; Matty and Jess have gone home to Perth. They'd invited Dream to stay with their family but in truth, however much he has come to appreciate the twins' company, he welcomes the time alone. His family money means he can afford to cover the rent on the house and the boat for the interim, as of course such things aren't grant-funded over the break, and late Spring in Australia left to his own devices is far more appealing than late Autumn in London in his sister's flat with her insistence that he get out and mingle more often.

Lucienne, as the lead on this posting, had agreed that having Dream stay to look after the house and equipment until they returned to gather summer data was a good idea, especially as he could fund it himself. She calls each evening to check in—first thing in the morning on her end—to verify that all is well and nothing is needed, but other than that Dream is left to his own devices.

Which gives him an open schedule to meet with his merman, for the next few weeks at least.

Assuming that he comes back, of course, and agrees to keep meeting.

Dream is confident that the merman will come back; there had been such curiosity in his bearing, such an excited light in his eyes.

Those eyes—

"Enough," Dream says aloud, to himself. This is about far more than how pretty the merman is; Dream can school his baser observations in that regard. There is so much knowledge he stands to gain, here, and even knowing that he won't ever be able to share it with anyone, he is still so desperate to learn. To know.

Those eyes continue to haunt him regardless. As does that smile.

Perhaps trying to capture them on paper will help to quiet them in his memory.

And if not, he will hopefully see them again within the next three days.

= Started: 4/23/24 Drafted: 5/28/25 Posted: 5/31/25

Since I made an effort at Aussie Hob this time around I may do minor revisions on Good Luck Charm to match the flavor of this a bit more cohesively now that it exists.

[pankowcrumbs]

Outerbanks Masterlist

For Outerbanks Cast and Characters

Please request anything you would like to read!

💕Fluff 🌶️Smut 18+ ❤️‍🩹 Angst 🖤Sad 💛Male reader ❤️‍🔥 possessive 💔 heartbreak

Main MasterList

Rudy Pankow

💕That Zombie Just Blinked! (one shot requested)

Rudy gets Scared going through a Haunted house and needs to be protected by Y/N.

💕 Birthday Adventure (one shot requested)

Rudy organises a Birthday celebration you'll never forget.

💕 The interview Mishap (one shot requested)

An unfortunate incident happens on a livestream interview but not to worry Rudy is always coming to your rescue.

💕 Dramatically Lost (one shot requested)

Rudy loses you in a supermarket and makes sure you're embarrassed enough not to do it again.

💕 Faint (short story requested)

You faint due to the hot lights and Rudy is by your side in a heartbeat.

💕 Little Moments (one shot requested)

You and Rudy escape for a small moment together in between a scene.

💕 Hard scene to film (one shot requested)

you and Rudy have to film your characters Death scene in Outerbanks.

💕 Flour fight (one shot requested)

You play a game with the cast to bake cookies but one team is blind, one is deaf and the others can't talk.

💕The Accident (one shot requested)

A fun road trip turns into a horror trip when the car flips

💕Book Date (One shot requested)

Years after your first date with Rudy you find a sweet note he left in your book

💕Escape Room (one shot requested)

You and Rudy accidentally get locked in a cage in an escape room

💕Pillow fight (one shot requested)

A pillow fight gets a bit rough and you end up getting hurt

💕Crutches (one shot requested)

You are in an interview on crutches and Rudy is concerned for you

💕Little Nap (one Shot requested)

You and Rudy fall asleep on a road trip

💕 Campfire Chaos (one shot requested)

Chase is trying to deliver an intense monologue but as he speaks, his voice cracks. Rudy starts imitating the voice crack in the background and ruins the scene.

💕Watergun (one shot requested)

Rudy with a Watergun chasing after the cast.

💕 The alarm clock (one shot requested)

Rudy who is way to happy for the morning is your alarm clock.

💕A night to remember (one shot requested)

Grammys red carpet and you and Rudy spot Chase of all people.

💕Wrong guy (one shot)

You've been Drew's best friend and shadow for years being in love with him waiting...but maybe you were waiting for the wrong guy.

Drew Starkey

💕 New Year's Realisation (one shot)

at the strike of 12 O'Clock you and Drew share an unexpected kiss.

💕 Little Sister (one shot requested)

You're Rudy's Little sister and have come to visit the set only to meet Drew who has no idea you are Rudy's sister.

💕 Snowfall (one shot requested)

you and Drew play Jenga while stuck inside from the snow

💕Chaos (one Short requested)

Drew is pure chaos when you go into labour 3 weeks early

💕 Puddle (one Short requested)

Drew tries to prove he could be in an action film and ends up landing in a puddle.

💕 Goodbye one Short requested)

You get into an accident and Drew is heartbroken.

J.J Maybanks

Rafe Cameron

Chase Stokes John B

Jonathan Daviss (JD) Pope

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All rights reserved. No part of these stories may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

teasing/testing/kissing 🥵 the devil request for lovely anon it's a short one, sorry about that! this heat's killing me. i might revisit this at some point. thank you so much once again laura for all of your help, advice and encouragement ❤️

Read on AO3

-

So dangerous it was to tease a devil, like holding your hand out near a hungry lion’s mouth. At some point he’d snatch out, faster than she could pull back, and the game would be over – but until then, Tav couldn’t deny the rush she experienced each time she denied him, each time she slipped away just as his claws were about to sink into her soft mortal flesh. The frustration, the intrigue that alighted his clever eyes and tensed his handsome shadowed jaw, were delicious treats she shamelessly feasted on. Holding any semblance of power over a creature like Raphael was addicting. To know he desired her the way she desired him was enough to make her toes curl in her boots.

The more he pulled, the more she pushed. At first it was light, easy. Heated glances shared, a flirty word here or there from a naturally charismatic charmer who liked to talk; words that she would return, equally blasé, equally sultry. To let him know she was interested. That she wanted to play. It was fun. Thrilling. Ah, but she was fanning the embers of a roaring inferno in her passionate devil, and she simply couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

“Have a drink with me,” he began to ask, to challenge. She wouldn’t be baited.

“Maybe some other time,” she’d say, all faux regret and longing, dissolving into the fog of day-to-day before he could ensnare her, wolf and doe.

She began to see more of him. Raphael wedged himself into her life in spaces she didn’t know existed, always smouldering with the want she’d stoked, always challenging. Tempting, same as she. Push me a little further, sweet thing, his dark gaze promised, and find out what I’ll do.

As it turned out, steal her away to the Hells where she couldn’t escape him was what he’d do. A snap of his fingers after one nudge too far – really, all she did was blow a kiss, hardly cause for kidnapping – and she was in the House of Hope. Nowhere to escape. To be devoured at last.

“You’ve played with fire without consequence for far too long, little mouse,” the devil purred. Crowded her. They were in his personal chambers, she thought. Subtle. “I think it’s time you got burned.”

“I’m fireproof,” Tav declared, arms crossed.

“Are you now? Hmm…I think we should test that claim, shouldn’t we?” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered, the rough pads of his fingertips hot. He was savouring the sensation of her blood risen beneath her skin by her flush, his eyes intense, a little twitch of amusement in his expression. He dragged his thumb across her lower lip, pulled it a little.

“Yes, we should,” Tav breathed. She was entranced by him. Enchanted. She couldn’t help it. He smelled like fire, smoke, cherries. She couldn’t stop looking at his pretty mouth, twisted into a smirk. How the tables had turned.

“How should we test it?”

“Kiss me,” Tav murmured. Raphael chuckled, a deep and raspy sound that gave Tav goosebumps. His glinting, arresting brown eyes became half-lidded with satisfaction.

“Given your recent behaviour, I don’t think you deserve it,” he crooned, petting at her cheeks like she were a sweet pup. He relished in her brief outrage, frustration, but it didn’t last. She was too sly.

“Well, then. I suppose you’ll never know if my claim was true, will you?” She hummed. Looking up at him. Their faces so close their breaths mingled. “And don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the game. I thought you devils liked a chase. Unless those things you said about preferring it when clients put up a fight was all talk…”

“Impertinent chit,” he growled without venom.

“Got under your skin though, didn’t I?” Tav said smugly.

“Hardly,” Raphael scoffed. Tav’s smile turned a little mean.

“Then it won’t matter to you if, say…I kiss Haarlep instead, will it?”

“You will do no such thing.” This time Raphael’s snarl was sharp. He gripped her jaw tight, his ring and pinky fingers teasing the column of her throat. She gasped as he nuzzled beneath her ear, spoke directly into it. The scratch of his stubble felt so good. “How comfortable you are with me…such a lack of respect. I wonder, what should I do about it…?”

“Fucking kiss me already,” Tav snapped breathlessly. At last, the devil acquiesced – or at least with what he considered a kiss. Even he couldn’t deny their magnetism forever.

He bit at her. Sank his teeth into her plump bottom lip, sucked it into the humid cavern of his mouth to taste the tiny beads of blood he drew. Tav groaned, grabbed fistfuls of his coat. He still held her jaw, controlled the pace of his “kiss”, but Tav was never one to lay down and take it. She bit him right back, licked at his silky thin lips, lingered in their corners to push her gasps behind his teeth and make him feel them in his throat. In his lungs. Their mouths joined in a proper kiss, and this time Tav greedily swallowed Raphael’s throaty grunt. He kissed the same way he bit: hard, consuming, selfish. Tav couldn’t get enough. One hand abandoned its place on his chest and slid up the back of his neck. She sank her fingers into his lush hair, gripped his locks and tugged. He pressed her against the wall, overwhelmed her with the squash of his body. She could tell how he felt about each indulgent pull of his dark roots by the stiffness nudging against her belly, how his hips jerked with every tug. A pleasant squeeze of arousal settled in her gut. So damn good. Eventually they peeled apart, both breathing heavy.

“So,” Tav panted. The tips of their noses brushed. She yanked his hair again just to make him shudder, so she could watch the expansion of his pupils, the pleasure on his face. “Proof enough for you yet?”

The devil’s grin held a fleeting hint of fangs. “Not even close.”

[princessfbi]

Kisses twelve for Bucktommy

Kisses + 12. Against a wall kiss + Bucktommy

Danger. That’s what he tasted like. Danger. Danger and those stupid freaking cherries he kept popping in his mouth whenever he lingered in one spot for too long. The same mouth Tommy couldn’t resist. Not even as he clawed his own nails into his thighs until he was sure he would bruise or looked away whenever he was near or ground his teeth to dust as he watched him flirt with other people at the bar. Did they feel it too? Did they feel like they were the center of the universe when those sky blue eyes were focused on them? Did they feel the burn in their chest when they watched those two perfectly plump lips lift up into a smirk? Did it matter? Because none of them were out there with them. Just Tommy. Just Tommy was getting to kiss Evan with a hunger that had been churning in his gut. Evan made a small, desperate sound as his back hit the wall behind him. His hands, his legs, wrapped around Tommy like he wanted to climb him like a tree. It was frantic and messy with teeth clashing and tongues battling but Tommy didn’t care. It was dangerous and stupid. Anyone could walk out on them. His whole freaking house was just past that barely propped open back door and all it would take was for someone to come looking for him to find him like this. The thought had his heart lurching up into his throat. Tommy sucked in a breath that burned harsher than whiskey as lips pulled away. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Maybe this was all he could ever have. But he knew he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to be seen that way. “No one can know,” Tommy said, his voice more of a growl when murmuring those words against Evan’s lips. He hated himself for it when Evan's lips were so soft. He bit after his mouth, sucking Evan’s top lip in between his teeth and pushed in with his tongue to stoke the fire some more. Evan shuddered in his arms as the filthiest little whine filled Tommy’s lungs. They shouldn’t. Someone would come looking for him. Howie probably. And Howie was the best of them. He wouldn’t look at him differently if he found Tommy with a hard on and the twunkie bartender in his arms. But he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t stop either. Not when his hands wrapped so perfectly around Evan’s waist. Not when Evan tipped his head up and chased after Tommy’s mouth like he never wanted to let go. Evan arched up into him and Tommy groaned as that hard unmistakable length rutted against his own. Pleasure sparked like kindling and Tommy was engulfed with Evan Evan Evan. He pinned Evan’s hips back and could’ve gotten drunk of the way Evan responded to that. Evan writhed beneath him. Fingers fisted in his shirt collar and tugged and pulled on the fabric until it was going to be so overstretched he’d never be able to wear it in public again. “Come on,” Evan said, grinning against Tommy’s mouth. Tommy bit another kiss for his troubles. “You think I’m going to ruin this? Do you know how hard it was to get your attention?” Tommy stopped at that, his heart thundering in his chest. “My attention?” Evan hummed as he nodded and Tommy saw it there too. That flash of vulnerable honesty that streaked across the cocky overconfidence. All that flirting. All that torture he’d put Tommy through and it was to get his attention? Tommy's? But that vulnerable truth? That small token given to Tommy for safe keeping? It made something in Tommy's chest flutter free from the cage he'd locked himself in all those years ago and for once, Tommy didn't want to chase it back. It was Evan’s turn then to hide. He skated his hands into Tommy’s hair and pulled him down, sighing into the kiss when Tommy blanketed him with his body. He fit so perfectly in his arms. Yeah. Tommy was screwed.

For @buddie-buddie and @bigfootsmom

[bullet-prooflove]

Kinktober 24: Full - Nick Torres x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @whateversomethingbruh @district447 @lovebookheart @stelacole

Companion piece to:

Where Evil Grew - Nick has to tell you the bad news about your sister.

Grief - Nick tries to be there for you after the discovery of your sister's body.

Falling Apart (NSFW) - Nick turns up on your doorstep when his father disappears for a second time.

Acts of Service - Companion piece to Falling Apart (NSFW) - Nick turns up at your door after you suffer an injury.

What You Like (NSFW) - Nick remembers exactly what you like.

Red Rag - Sawyer finds away to piss off Nick.

Right Place, Right Time - Sequel to Red Rag - You tell Nick the truth about you and Sawyer.

Nick Torres has always been about making your dreams come true, even before the two of you got together. Now that you’re his, he dedicates himself to fulfilling every single one of those filthy fantasies you keep locked up inside that pretty little head of yours, especially the ones you’ve never told anybody else.

“You’re going shy on me.” He teases you one night.

You’re straddling his lap as he sits on sofa, the TV on in the background. His thumb chases over the line of your jaw as he looks up at you the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile.

“Go on tell me…”

“It’s so filthy Nick.” You whisper, your cheeks colouring. “Like we’ve done some dirty stuff together but this…”

“You know I’d give you anything.” He tells you, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. “Anything you damn well want.”

“Every hole.” You say finally, your forehead coming to rest upon his. “I want to be filled. Not with other people, just with you.”

“I can do that for you.” He murmurs, his mouth claiming yours. “This weekend we’re going to make that fantasy come true.”

On Saturday night, he turns off both of your phones, draws the curtains and shuts out the outside world. He pours you each a glass of wine before he starts his seduction because he want you relaxed, pliant. He takes his time undressing you, working you up until your dripping, desperate, needy and that’s when he brings out the toys.

The leather wrist and ankle restraints, the black butt plug with the glittering blue gem and the vibrator you tell him feels exactly like him when it’s inside you.

“You’re going to come with my cock in your mouth.” He tells you, slipping a pillow under your hips before he lubes up his fingers, using them to trace over your asshole. “But first I’m going to fill these pretty holes of yours.”

When he’s finished with you, you look like the perfect little gift, all trussed up for him to play with. His cock juts out from his body, precum leaking down the shaft as he watches you test your restraints. You’re lying on your stomach, your wrists bound behind your back, attached to your ankles, that gem shimmers from between your cheeks as he taps it once turning it on. A low groan escapes your lips as the vibration starts and his hand dips lower activating the vibrator. The noise you make, it almost makes him come right there and then.

“You still want this baby?” He asks you, his palm cupping your jaw. “Want me to fuck your mouth?”

“Please.” You whimper as his fingertips stroke over your cheek.

“Oh honey.” He sighs as he guides his cock into the confines of your mouth. “You always say please so nicely.”

Christ you feel good, you always do, no matter which hole he’s fucking. His fingers tangle in your hair, holding your head in place as he begins to thrust into that hot, wet cavern, taking his own pleasure as yours builds and builds, like a fire being stoked.

You’re getting close now, he can feel it in the way your mouth tightens around his dick, the thrum of your stifled moans as he picks up the pace. His palm slips down to the nape of your neck holding you flush against him, throat full of his cock. The ecstasy raises up inside of you like a tidal wave, stealing through your entire body as you cry out your rapture around his cock, tipping him over the edge. He pulses down your throat, thick white streaks flooding your mouth as he looks down at you with gorgeous brown eyes of his.

“That’s it baby.” He murmurs, pushing his come deeper. “Make sure you swallow every single drop.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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