always sweet 🍒

your favorite fic author's favorite fic author

[h0ney-fiction]

๋࣭ ⭑ Kenny Omega

The Bet Masterlist

๋࣭ ⭑ 𝙈𝙖𝙭𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙𝙢𝙖𝙣 (𝙈𝙅𝙁)

Bedroom Collection (OC!Sebene)

Morning

Open the Door

Threads of Destiny

Misc. Fics

Late Night Drive

๋࣭ ⭑ 𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙤 𝘾𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙡𝙞

Smoke

8

๋࣭ ⭑ 𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡 '𝘾𝙈 𝙋𝙪𝙣𝙠' 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙨

The Assistant Masterlist

Misc. Fics

Chick Magnet

Vegas

Persephone

Chicago

Birthday Girl (feat. MJF)

Backroad

After Wrestlemania

Close Enough To Touch

Titty Accident

Before The Party

๋࣭ ⭑ 𝘾𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙍𝙝𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙨s

Dirt On You

After The Rumble

Victresse

Leave Here With Me

1:47 AM

๋࣭ ⭑ Seth Rollins

The Girlfriend Experience Collection

Pt. 1

Pt. 2 - High Tide

Misc Fics.

Spoiled (feat. CM Punk)

Ours (Seth, Punk, and Roman)

๋࣭ ⭑ Singlet Fics

Buttercream (John Cena)

Favorite Girl (Tama Tonga)

29 (Swerve Strickland)

Peace ( Adam Page)

Homecoming (Eddie Kingston)

Nashville (HangSwerve)

Monday (Sami Zayn)

Brownstone - Pt. 1, Pt. 2 (CM Punk and Damian Priest)

[aewsmut]

I can definitely see Max wear panties, especially if he's in a certain mood.

I also think he purposefully acts like a brat sometimes so he can get tied and gagged. I think he secretly enjoys it 😉

Oh for sure !!! ;) Someone will cum in his panties and make him wear them

he may be the biggest brat in existence, i actually can't deal with him.

[h0ney-fiction]

…and if I write a threesome fic around this with Punk would y’all judge me? 🥺

[h0ney-fiction]

Untitled (Casual)

summary: A chance encounter at a bar turns into a long night.

wordcount: 3.5k

ratings/warnings: smut with little plot. vanilla (for now).

a/n: 677 words of this is set up and the rest is...well...

"You like that?"

I was lying on a stranger's couch, listening to the deep cuts of his vinyl collection. The room was dark, lit mainly by the television playing the postgame on mute and the distant light of the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the stranger as he crouched amongst milk crates sprawled across the floor.

I could only see splashes of him. His shaved head, outline of a full beard, and broad shoulders.

Denim taut across his thighs.

"Okay, that's… different," I said, pushing myself up on my elbows. They sank into the leather as his eyes flicked to my face, though he tried to hide it behind a sip from his glass.

"Doesn't tickle your fancy?"

The vibrato in the way he said "tickled" went straight through me. My thighs pressed together, rubbing the fabric of my panties. The sudden friction earned a whine, but the music was loud enough to drown it out.

I cleared my throat. "No, it's not that. It's just..." I trailed off as I listened more closely, only to realize I didn't know what they were saying. It wasn't English. Or Spanish.

"Is this Portuguese?"

He smiled, a rarity this evening, as he stood up and walked over, the couch sinking with his weight as he sat next to me. I curled my legs to make space, but he grabbed the foot of the closest, pulling it over his lap.

He smelled like clean laundry and coffee.

"Back when I was on the road a lot," he began to explain. "I used to room with this guy who was really into jazz. I always thought it was a little too high-brow for me—"

"Really? You look exactly like the kind of guy who goes to the symphony."

Getting even a hint of amusement out of him felt like a prize. He worked hard not to give me the satisfaction.

"Anyway, he played me this record. I always thought he was so pretentious for playing this shit. A three-hundred-pound Samoan from California, what the fuck does he know?" He chuckled. "Turns out he was playing it for my benefit. Said it soothed me."

I snorted a laugh as he finished the rest of his drink. I waited for him to explain it further, but like everything else about himself, he let the explanation die there. He set the empty glass down on the coffee table and sprawled out, holding my ankle. His thumb brushed over the ball of my foot, absentmindedly.

I sat myself up, scooting closer.

"You can't end it like that," I pestered. "Did you need soothing?"

Jon shrugged, shifting underneath my gaze.

"I thought I knew everything," he confessed. "And I got knocked on my ass a lot for it."

His face was close enough for me to see a faded pattern of yellow and purple under his left eye. Tired eyes. Weathered skin. I wondered about the stories he held.

I reached out to touch the discoloration, a faint purple around the socket.

"Is this recent?"

"A few weeks ago."

"From work?" My thumb hovered over the corner of his eye.

"Hazard of the job."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

When I first laid eyes on Jon, he was the one man at the bar drinking non-alcoholic beer and actually watching the Reds game. Hat brimmed low.

He looked like he wanted to disappear.

I don’t know what compelled me to take the seat next to him—he didn’t even move his drink when I sat down. He pretended not to stare as I took up the space and ordered a drink.

Now, barely two hours later, he was leaning into my palm, closing his eyes. My hand found its way down to his beard, getting a fistful of wiry greys against softer strands of sable brown.

He leaned in further, pressing his forehead against mine, breathing in the space between us. "Your hair still smells like the bar."

"It's the sweat."

"I like it."

A beat passed between us. The Portuguese crooner sang on.

"I have condoms," he said, pulling away. He watched me expectantly, waiting for an answer. "You're on the pill?"

"IUD."

"Even better."

His other hand went to my knee, then my thigh. My dress was thin, so the warmth of his palm spread like wildfire. Jon brushed my hair behind my shoulders, his lips soon filling the crook of my neck. His lips were wet and warm. Plush and textured as he licked, kissed, and then bit down.

I whimpered as my head lolled to the side. His body took form to me, his tongue licking from my shoulder to my ear. I moaned in surprise as he then wrapped it around my ear, suckling on my earlobes.

I arched my back. He held me tight with both hands, one on the small of my back, the other tangled in the base of my hair.

"I like it when you make that sound," he whispered against my ear. He gave the lobe a bite.

The pleasure made my nipples pebble under my dress. The thin cotton between me and the couch suddenly felt unbearable.

His tongue was hot against me. I needed his taste, my mouth watering. I turned my face, my nose bumping against him. I caught his lips with mine, tasting the bitter hops of the fake beers he'd been drinking all night. He opened himself up, letting me explore, letting my tongue play with his.

He was an avid and generous kisser. Dominant but not overbearing.

"Jon…" I sighed.

"Yeah?"

"Don't stop."

He groaned into my open mouth. I took advantage, sucking on his tongue. This earned me a squeeze of my thigh, moaning into his mouth, and biting his bottom lip.

"Fuck, baby," he laughed, nipping at my jaw. He patted my thigh. "Come on."

I scrambled off the couch, a little dizzy. But Jon was there, grabbing me by the waist and leading me through the kitchen. Feeling defiant, I pressed him into a counter, my panties exposed from the quick motion.

He let me have my fun, steely blue eyes watching as I got up on my tiptoes to kiss him again. His hands gripped my ass, squeezing tight so we were flush against each other. I liked the way he tasted. How tongue curled to lick my upper lip right before we broke apart.

"Let's go to my bedroom," he groaned, foreheads pressed. "Wanna eat your pussy."

A heat wave swept through me. I could feel him pressed against me, a heartbeat thrumming at the same rhythm as mine. He watched my face as he said it, and the raw desire made me slick.

And he could feel it, too.

"Take me there."

He pushed the small of my back and guided me down a short hallway, kicking a pile of clothes aside in the process. The bedroom was modest, with a king bed and a dark-wood headboard, black sheets in disarray. The room smelled just like the laundry detergent off his clothes.

He pressed his lips against the back of my neck, his hands feeling down the dress until he found the hem. He tugged at it, raising the fabric. I raised my arms as he took his time, his knuckles grazing my skin. The dress puddled at my feet, leaving me in just my underwear.

"I love your body," he whispered, running a hand over my ass. "So fucking soft."

His hands went to my bra, unclasping it before I could even process the motion. He reached out, tracing a finger down my sternum, over my stomach, to the waistband of my panties. His hand slid in, the texture of his calloused palms grazed the sensitive skin just above my clit.

"So ready for me," he murmured, fingers finding my clit. He circled a few times, just enough for me to squeeze my thighs around him. "All this for a stranger?"

"You're not a stranger," I corrected. "I know where you live."

That smile again, briefly.

He slipped my panties off and led me to the bed. His lips found mine again, pushing me down gently onto the mattress, my head landing on the pillows. His tongue traced the seam of my lips before delving inside, tasting me deeply. He pushed his knee between my legs, the denim rough against my inner thighs.

He made no move to undress himself as he kissed down my neck, his teeth grazing my collarbone. He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting, drawing out a gasp from me. Jon looked up as he rolled his tongue around the sensitive flesh, only enhancing my moans. He then went to the other, giving it the same attention.

My hands caressed the back of his neck as his free hand came up to toy with the other breast, rolling the peak between his thumb and index finger.

"Jon," I gasped, my hips bucking.

"I know, baby," he mumbled against my skin. "I hear you."

He continued his descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my stomach, his beard tickling my skin. He got on his knees as he settled between my legs, his breath hot against my core. Jon licked my inner thigh like salt off the rim.

I gasped when he took his first taste. His flattened tongue swirled around my clit, teasing the sides before sucking hard. Shaking, pleading, begging as he found his rhythm just like the song playing in the other room.

My hands found his back. Nails clawing for skin. Jon moaned into me, sucking and pulling before swallowing me whole.

"Oh, baby, fuck," I huffed, my breath becoming no more than sobs and gasps.

"You can do better than that," he drawled, pushing my knees apart, opening me up more. His beard soaked in me as he ate. The sounds of his pleasure encouraged my own.

Before I could even answer, two fingers pumped into me. He set a slow, steady pace, his pumps synced like a bass drum as he lapped at my clit. He was consuming me, feasting on my body with self-satisfaction.

"Baby," I cried out, my back arching. "You're going to make me come."

"I know."

He pushed deeper, curling his fingers as he continued to lick, the wet sounds filling my ears. My skin felt hot, the pit of my stomach tight, my mind going blank with pleasure.

Like an overran rivulet, I flooded him.

Jon hummed, not pulling away until I ran dry. My stream ran down his beard, dripping off his chin, onto his shirt. He didn't care, shaking his head to bury himself deeper. He swallowed my release as my legs trembled. He stayed until my body was limp, my mind fogged.

Jon got on his feet, a smug look on his face as he wiped his beard with the back of his hand. Jon then crawled on top of me, caging me in with his arms. He captured my lips in a deep kiss, letting me taste myself. His nose danced across my cheek as he kissed my temple before getting out of bed.

I heard him shuffle around as I caught my sense of reality back. The music changed to something more familiar. I think it was a Steely Dan record, but I wasn't sure.

Footsteps came back to the bed. Jon's weight dipped the mattress as he crawled back on. I managed to get on my elbows to see he had a condom in one hand and my abandoned glass of water in the other, freshly filled.

He gave me the water, watching as I drank. His eyes were beautiful under the low light. Glimmering aquamarine.

"Need a break?"

I shook my head, setting the glass down on the nightstand. I reached out for him, my hands finding the hem of his shirt. He wasn't shy from my touch, helping me to pull the fabric over his head. Dark hair covered muscle. Jon grabbed the buckle off his jeans, shrugging as I watched him undress, exposing more of himself.

He was built with a dense body, strong arms, and a defined chest through all the hair. I liked his tattoos, trying to decipher the one on his inner left arm.

I wanted to ask about it, but he was already opening the condom wrapper.

"Let me do that," I reached out, taking the packet from him. He relaxed his stance as I got on my knees on my mattress. I kissed his shoulders, avoiding his lips as I moved down his body. He was hard, straining against the cotton of his boxers.

I palmed him through the cotton, enjoying the feel of him. He groaned, head tipping back as I licked against the seam. I kissed his hips and the skin underneath his stomach as I peeled down his boxers. He bounced out, landing heavily on his stomach. I couldn't help but smile.

"You act so cool," I said, my thumb swiping the bead of precum.

He was thick, flushed at the tip. He was uncut and big enough to fill, but not hurt.

Jackpot.

I kissed the inside of his thigh before taking him in.

"Baby," he sighed, threading a hand through my hair. He was gentle as I took more of him, my tongue swirling around his length. I took him as deep as I could, the head hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, humming from my throat, earning a pitched moan escaping his lips.

I pulled back, a string of saliva connecting my lips to the head of his cock. I looked up at him through my lashes, my smile wide. I could feel his focus on me.

Jon made me feel good, and I wanted to crack him open. I took him again, setting a steady pace. My saliva was everywhere as my head bobbed. I loved the way he quivered against my tongue.

He started to thrust into my mouth, his hand cupping the back of my head, which told me he was trying to be gentle. Throaty, deep moans that I could feel in my own chest. I could feel his body tensing, giving himself to me.

I let him fall from my lips with a wet pop, grabbing the condom and rolling it on him. I squeezed his balls as I lay back down, pulling him with me. I was a giggling mess as he settled between my legs. His eyes lost their steeliness, replaced by a desire that was all for me.

He leaned down, capturing my lips as he pushed into me. Jon swallowed my gasp as a slow burn turned into a full blaze. He went deeper, stilling as he bottomed out, giving me a moment to adjust.

"You feel so good for me, baby girl," he panted against my lips. He rocked his hips, his movements smooth. "So wet."

He moved like an oar through water. He pulled out slowly, just to slam back in, each movement hitting deeper. He set an unhurried rhythm, letting me feel every inch of him. His tongue found the crook of my neck again, my ear, the hollow of my throat.

The whimper he got out of me earned a laugh, a breathy sound against my skin.

"Got nothing to say now."

The pace changed. He reared up, grabbing my hips and pulling me into him. Each snap of his hips rippled my ass like waves. It was wet, sticky, and primal. I was desperate to kiss him, feel his tongue suck on mine like he did my clit. But he watched me, my face contorting, my breasts bouncing with each thrust.

He leaned back on his heels, pulling me with him. The change in angle had me seeing stars, my head falling back. I braced myself on my elbows as he held my hips, slamming into me.

"Baby!" I gasped, my hands gripping the sheets. "Right there."

He didn't say a word, just grunted and nodded as he continued, his pace unwavering. I could feel another orgasm building, a balloon ready to pop. He pulled me in close, my back flush against his chest. His lips found mine, swallowing the other's moans. As he let one of my legs go to rub my clit in circles.

"I wanna feel you come on my dick," he growled into my ear. "Can I make you come like before?"

The words alone made me tight, ready to burst. I couldn't hide the look on my face. His fingers went faster, his hips matching speed. My toes curled as I came undone. Jon watched me as my eyes rolled to the back of my head, and a hand cupped my scalp.

"So pretty," he grunted, watching himself disappear into me. "My pretty girl."

I shuddered in his arms, my mind went numb. My nails dug into his back as I cried out, my body trembling. He kept going, pulling every last bit of pleasure from my body before he found his own release.

He came with a strangled cry, the throb of him inside me as the aftershock of my own orgasm sent a jolt of sensitivity through me. He collapsed on top of me, his weight grounding me. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest. We lay there for a moment, our breathing louder than the music, the sweat cooling on our skin.

Jon pulled out slowly, kissing my shoulder as he went. He disposed of the condom, padding back to the bed. I went easily when he drew me into his arms, my cheek resting against his chest. The hair was damp against my cheek. His arm was draped over my waist, holding me close.

The record ended, the needle lifting with a soft click. I kissed his skin as his hand caressed the skin right above my ass.

"You can sleep here," he said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, a little rough.

"Okay."

He kissed the top of my head. "I'll get you a toothbrush in the morning."

I pressed my face deeper into his chest. We lay there for a while, the silence comfortable. The moon cast a soft glow through the window, illuminating our skin against the sheets. His lips alternated between kissing my temple and my scalp. I traced the lines of his tattoo on the arm that held me.

"I have a kid," he divulged.

"I figured." Some of the clothes he kicked away were smaller than the rest. Plus, he had a spare room with stars on the door.

"A girl," he continued. "She's with her mom tonight."

"Still married?"

"Divorced."

I tilted my head up. His eyes were soft in the moonlight. "I'm sorry? Or congratulations?"

He shrugged. "It's better this way."

I kissed him, a soft, slow kiss.

"I'm not here to judge you."

He gave me a small smile. "I know." He kissed me again. "What about you? Any kids hiding somewhere?"

I shook my head. "No kids. No husband."

"Why'd you pick me up from the bar? You could have had any guy in there." His thumb stroked my back.

"You seemed interesting."

He let out a soft laugh. "And that was enough?"

"That was enough." I propped myself up on my elbow, looking down at him. "What about you? I could've robbed you, but you got me in your car and drove me to the outskirts of town."

"If you were a criminal, I figured I deserved it," he deadpanned. "And I've hung around worse."

"What do you do?" I asked.

"Guess," he wanted to be coy. His hand is kneading my ass.

I pouted my lips, feigning contemplation.

"A truck driver?"

He laughed again. "You think I can afford this place on a trucker's salary?"

"They're the backbone of America."

His laugh turned into a howl. I already liked it when he laughed like that. Like it got away from him. I caught a dimple I hadn’t seen before. He touched my skin, running a finger over my stomach. I shivered.

"No, not a truck driver," he said, still chuckling. "Though I do spend a lot of time on the road…I wrestle."

"Okay."

"Okay?" He seemed surprised by my lack of reaction. "What does 'okay' mean?"

"There are worse ways to make a living."

He shook his head, appreciating my lack of fanfare.

"So…I'm on the road a lot. I'm not always available."

"Is this your way of telling me you want to keep things casual?"I asked, not unkindly.

He thought for a moment, his hand never stopping. "I'm telling you I want to see you again…but I can't promise you I'll always be around. Physically or emotionally."

"I get it," I said.

"Do you?" he pressed.

"I'm a big girl, Jon," I assured him. "I know when to turn away."

He studied my face for a long moment. I held his gaze. He must have found what he was looking for, because he leaned up and kissed me. It was more intimate than the other kisses we'd shared. It was the sealing of a pact. A hidden deal.

"Good," he said, against my lips. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

[h0ney-fiction]

Hey, y'all! I've debated about posting an update, but I did vanish lol. My personal life has actually been good, getting a job and a (mini) promotion alongside general disinterest in wrestling, this blog took a back burner. I greatly appreciate all the love that has been consistently shown throughout my absence; it truly means a lot. To be short, I'm going to start fresh with my writing load. I will mainly work on The Assistant and a new chaptered story that will feature many of the men who have graced this blog, and also some new ones (send me some inspo ;) !). Here is a moodboard of how I'm feeling right now.

[spiicii]

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[h0ney-fiction]

This is amazing! Congrats to all the nominees and thank you to the wonderful, gorgeous, people that organized this.

[1000-year-old-virgin]

SAILORR - Rent Free

[h0ney-fiction]

Smile for Me, Baby

summary: Punk has a tendency to...disappear in roles. Tonight, he came home with fangs, diamonds, and a need he’s kept caged for far too long.

wordcount: 2.7k

ratings/warnings: smut with little plot. bdsm-ish dynamics. spanking. light breath play. *mild* blood play. unprotected sex.

taglist: @xnightmarexpunkx

a/n: got really inspired by Jill Scott for this one. (iykyk). Reposted to fix a consistency error at the end.

The sun hung low behind me, just shy of setting, and the neighborhood felt eerily still as golden hour slipped into blue. No sprinklers. No songbirds. Not even a lone jogger in sight.

When I shut my car door, the sharp clink echoed loud enough to make me flinch.

Inside, everything was exactly as I’d left it. A pile of shoes by the door—my heels joining the mess. Mail barely touched the counter. An abandoned French press was sitting on the living room table like it hadn’t moved all day.

Where was my husband?

His car was outside. He had to be home.

I drifted back toward the kitchen, the dishwasher’s finished-cycle lights casting the only glow in the room.

“Punk?” I called.

Silence.

I sighed. Probably in the office, lost in whatever rabbit hole he’d fallen into today.

I took a few steps toward the fridge, ready to start dinner for two—until I noticed the jewelry case on the island. Open. Empty.

My heartbeat quickened.

I crossed the living room. No one. Up the stairs to our bedroom. Empty.

But I could feel him here, somewhere in this house, hiding with the biggest shit-eating grin on the planet.

There was no sign of life in the basement.

“Okay,” I muttered, shutting the door with a pointed click. “Very funny, you little shit.”

I made it all the way back to the kitchen when a floorboard creaked directly above me.

I froze.

I hadn’t checked the guest room.

I sprinted up the stairs, adrenaline pushing my legs faster than my thoughts. I hit the top step, rounded the corner —

— and hands snatched me by the waist.

My arms were yanked behind my back as I screamed in a laugh, legs kicking as he pinned me to the wall and lifted me like I weighed nothing. Tattooed hands locked me in place.

“Well, well, well,” my husband whispered, lips brushing my ear. “What do I have here?”

Green eyes peered down on my brown, his gaze somewhere between amused and ravenous. But it wasn't until he flashed his teeth that I got a chill that shivered down my spine.

Silver fangs. Diamonds caught the hallway light like stars across his teeth.

I couldn’t help the glee bubbling up, but I forced it down, keeping my face arranged in wide-eyed terror. Alarmed. Afraid. Helpless. The damsel he expected.

"What are you going to do to me?" I gasped.

Punk's breath was hot against my skin. The fangs, while fake, were sharp. Every kiss from my temple down to my shoulder had an edge.

His body pressed against mine, solid, radiating heat that made the world narrow to just us. With a swift push, he made us aligned, his hands cupping the back of my thighs, pushing the stiff fabric of his denim between my legs.

"Whatever I want."

My toes curled at the sensation. Heat pooled in my stomach.

Punk's lips were soft when he kissed me. The silver fangs pressed against my own lips, a cold barrier that promised something more dangerous than the warmth of him behind them. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth, seeking permission. I parted from him without hesitation.

He tasted like coffee and peppermint, a familiar combination that usually meant he'd been working late. Tonight, it tasted like he’d been waiting all afternoon to get his hands on me.

For the past three months, he’d been playing a role—one that demanded aggression, intensity, and being holed up away from home for days on end. Method acting, he called it.

Torture, I called it.

He’d come home broader, heavier in the shoulders, eyes darker.

The fangs were a parting present.

A goodbye to the character he’d lived inside. A hello to the one who only ever existed behind closed doors— just for me.

“I could fuck you right here,” he rumbled against my neck. “Right on this floor. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

My stomach fluttered at the threat. The promise.

With his weight holding me in place, the question didn’t need an answer. Still, I nodded before I could stop myself.

“Use your words,” he grunted.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Do you remember the safe word?”

“Toad mug.”

The first gift he ever bought me—some silly little mug from a farmer’s market. I pictured it sitting in the living room even now.

"Good memory," Punk teased.

The fingers gripping my thighs flexed, pulling me tighter against him until there wasn’t a breath of space left. My pulse thudded hard enough that he could probably feel it against his chest.

I craved friction. Needed closeness. Wanted him inside me.

My hips rolled against his denim. A sharp nip met my neck in response.

All the air left my lungs. His fingers wove into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back, baring my throat. His mouth followed, lips trailing slow fire down the curve, fangs ghosting my pulse—a promise of bite held back.

"You rolled those hips on purpose," he growled, the sound rumbling right through me. "Needy girls finish last."

I let out a soft, broken moan, chasing the friction anyway. The texture is close enough to tease, too far to satisfy.

"Are you going to be a good girl?"

"Yes."

"No teasing?"

"I'll try," I answered.

He smirked, and the fangs caught the light once again. "I'll hold you to that."

He set me back on my feet and let me lead the way to the bedroom. I padded down the hall on shaky legs, hyper-aware of his shadow. Every step tugged my dress higher, thighs slick from his fingers, panties soaked through.

I crossed the threshold, turning to face him—but he was already there, crowding me against the dresser. Tattooed hands yanked at my dress buttons, popping the top half open with zero patience. Fabric parted, cool air kissing flushed skin, emerald eyes devouring the black lace bra underneath, nipples tight against it.

"Off," he commanded, voice gravel, no room for debate.

My fingers found the hidden side zipper, dragging it down slowly, teasing, even if I knew better. Cotton dress loosened, whispering off my shoulders, sliding over my hips to puddle at my feet. I stood bare but for the drenched black lace bra and panties clinging slick.

"Don't be shy, baby," he cooed, fangs flashing wicked.

Bra clasp snapped open under my fingers, straps slipping down arms to the floor. Lace cupped my breasts one last second before I let it fall, nipples hardening to stiff peaks in the cool air. Punk's gaze dragged from my toes to the top of my head, appraising. He sank to his knees, tattooed fingers trailing fire down my sides. He thumbed the waistband of my panties, peeling down lace over thick thighs to puddle at my feet—leaving me bare, glistening, exposed.

Legs parted wide, shaky stance against the dresser. His shoulders nestled my thighs apart, hands cradling my hips to hold me cherished, steady. Fangs dragged against the flesh of my thigh, diamond studs catching light like a secret star—every scrape of pain blooming into pleasure, heat pooling like spilled wine.

His tongue traced the line his fangs made, soothing the trail before tasting me with a satisfied groan. My back arched off the dresser as he buried his mouth against my center. I moaned his name as he lay his tongue flat against me, dragging from slit to clit, a broad stroke that made my toes curl and nails scratch at the wood.

He hummed against me, the vibration a low thunder rolling through my core. With his hands firmly planted on my hips, he held me captive to his worship—gasping, moaning, or rolling my eyes back as his tongue swirled around my swollen pearl in spirals, sharp edges threatening a thrill of wicked endings, grazing so close, but never crossing.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, lips glistening, fangs gleaming.

"This is what you wanted, princess?"

His tongue flicked across my clit before I could respond. He kissed, licked, then nipped the side of my thigh before diving back in, palming my ass to spread me wider for his feast. I bucked into his mouth shamelessly, a spank landing sharp in consequence.

I bucked again—harder this time—and his palm cracked down fiercer, sting blooming hot across my cheek. "Stay still," he groaned into my clit. Tongue plunged deep, swirling around before latching on, sucking, and rolling. I gripped the dresser instead, biting my lip bloody.

I trembled on the edge, coil wrapped tight…

Only for him to deny me.

He pulled away suddenly, a glistening trail of his saliva and my sweetness connecting us. I let out a wounded cry that turned into a gasp when he hoisted me up, spinning me toward the mirror.

He stood between my spread legs, hands planted on either side of my hips, caging me in. I could feel the hard length of him through the denim.

His hands kneaded my ass as he pushed in slowly, our heartbeats pulsing through the denim. My wetness warmed the fabric slick between my thighs. All I could do was catch my breath as one hand snaked up my back, neck, into my hair—massaging my scalp before fisting a chunk of curls at the root, yanking my breath away.

"Look," he snarled, forcing my gaze to the mirror.

My reflection: neck blooming fresh bruises, love bites dancing across décolletage, ass deep crimson, eyes carnal and pleading. I could finally see the man behind me in full—black hood, dark blue jeans, hips taunting with every push. But his face: refined in the dim light, all eyes and fangs. Devilish lips smirked, tongue licking venomous grills, still tasting me. He met my gaze in the glass—satisfied with his work. "You ready for more, princess?"

The hand on my ass released its grip, finding the zipper of his jeans. I heard the metallic jingle as he freed himself, a pierced tip glinting back at me. From top to bottom, his diamonds almost blinded me. He pressed the diamond head against my entrance, circling slowly. Precum beaded, slicking the studs as they kissed my heat.

The metal drew a huff and squirm—and Punk reveled, tightening his fist in my hair, forcing the air from my lungs. Fingers snagged my nipple—flicking sharp, then squeezing ruthlessly. His lips trailed fire up my neck to crash against mine, tongue thrusting past fangs—cold diamond grazing, hot hunger consuming.

"Use your words," he tsked. "Or can't you?" Should I stop?"

I shook my head wildly at the thought of him pulling away, the words catching in my throat as he tugged again. He pushed in, stretching me slowly, only to pull back in one sharp, teasing withdrawal.

"Color?"

"Green."

"You can talk," he teased.

"Fuck off," I bit back.

I was just seeking punishment at this point. His grin said he knew it. "Don't be so rude," he mocked. "Or I'll have to fill that bratty little mouth and nothing else."

He thrust into me—diamonds burying hilt-deep with a satisfied grunt. He paused, letting me adjust to every inch, every glittering diamond, every ridge. Then pulled back slow, almost all the way out—stopping just before he'd fully leave.

"Fuck, Punk!" I yelped, hand bracing the mirror as my head swam. The world narrowed to him inside me, fangs at my throat, hand fisted in my hair.

"You gotta tell me you want me, princess," he rasped. "You know I'm needy like that."

"I need you," I breathed, the words finally breaking free.

"Say it properly." He punctuated with a slow, measured thrust, the dragging of mental only electrified each motion, making my vision swim with stars. "Tell me what you need."

"I need you to fuck me," I whimpered, surrendering completely. "Please, Punky baby? I need you to make me come until I can't think."

He chuckled against my ear. "Anything for you, princess."

His hands dragged down my spine as he thrust into me slowly, letting me feel every inch—the throb of his patience, the veins of his self-control, and the titanium ring that held it all together.

"Feel that?" he rasped, fangs grazing neck. "All for you."

He pushed my head down, spine arching deep, hands planted firm on my lower back to hold me still. With a hard, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. My ass met the cold metal of his zipper and button with a loud clap, ripping a yelp from my throat. He pulled out slow—then slammed back in, our wicked reflection flashing flushed skin in the dying twilight.

Our gazes locked in the mirror, green devouring brown. His lips parted, breath bated as he found his rhythm. The flash of fangs with each thrust, the glint of diamonds, the dark look in his eyes—I was pinned in place, trapped by the pleasure of being his prey.

His hips bounced off my ass, pressing in every so often just to stop and rumble within me. My breath was short, my legs were shaking, and my eyes were starting to see stars.

"You're so creamy, baby," he moaned, voice cracking as his pace turned fractured—uneven, unpaced, half circles. I clenched around him, squeezing tight as my only form of resistance. He responded with a growl and a series of short, sharp thrusts that had me crying out, pressing back into him to meet every punishing drive.

"Oh god, baby, I'm gonna—"

Muscles crushed his ring, cream gushing like an overdammed river. Vision blurred. Out of air. Pure bliss—legs buckling, head swimming, fingers digging into the dresser.

He shattered right after—hot pulses flooding me, spilling out in messy rivulets down my thighs as his hips jerked. A deep, guttural groan tore from him, his body shuddering against mine, face buried in the crook of my neck as he rode it out. The fangs of his grill scraped my shoulder, a final, sharp bite marking the end.

His grip loosened, turning into massages, his lips kissing my bare skin as he helped me off the dresser and onto the bed. He fell right beside me, panting for his breath. I curled into his side on the rumpled sheets, our sweat-slick bodies sticking and sliding, breaths syncing in heavy pants. The mess between my thighs cooled sticky on the fabric.

"Not a bad wrapping gift, is it?" he said, smug, admiring the wreckage made of me.

"No," I breathed out a laugh, still feeling aftershocks ripple through me. "Not at all."

He propped himself up on an elbow, smirking down at me, fangs glinting under the bedside lamp. His free hand traced lazy patterns over my hip, dipping into the sticky mess we'd made, smearing it possessively on the side my thighs.

"Good," he muttered. "Because the real gift is that I don't have to go back. I'm all yours again."

His words were like warm honey, melting the last edges of tension from my bones. I shifted in his arms, craning my neck fully to drink him in—the man I married, not the shadowed beast he'd borrowed for months. Green eyes soft as spring moss, crinkles at the corners from too many smirks. The fangs were still there, but now just our secret toy in his nightstand.

Punk yawned, stretching out on the bed.

"How about I run you a bath, order some sushi, and feed it to you while we watch Love Island?"

"Oh," I moaned. "I could come again."

Punk's laugh rumbled deep, chest vibrating under my cheek as he scooped me closer, planting a lazy kiss on my forehead—fangs safely tucked away now.

"Greedy girl, what will I ever do with you?"

[xnightmarexpunkx]

Re-Reblogggginnnggg

@eringobragh420 lol

[eringobragh420]

o.m.g.

i sure missed @h0ney-fiction stories ... 🥵🥵🥵🥵

thank you for the tag, @xnightmarexpunkx!

[h0ney-fiction]

Thank you!! You surely have been missed in this community, too. Welcome back ❤️❤️❤️

[h0ney-fiction]

Smile for Me, Baby

summary: Punk has a tendency to...disappear in roles. Tonight, he came home with fangs, diamonds, and a need he’s kept caged for far too long.

wordcount: 2.7k

ratings/warnings: smut with little plot. bdsm-ish dynamics. spanking. light breath play. *mild* blood play. unprotected sex.

taglist: @xnightmarexpunkx

a/n: got really inspired by Jill Scott for this one. (iykyk). Reposted to fix a consistency error at the end.

The sun hung low behind me, just shy of setting, and the neighborhood felt eerily still as golden hour slipped into blue. No sprinklers. No songbirds. Not even a lone jogger in sight.

When I shut my car door, the sharp clink echoed loud enough to make me flinch.

Inside, everything was exactly as I’d left it. A pile of shoes by the door—my heels joining the mess. Mail barely touched the counter. An abandoned French press was sitting on the living room table like it hadn’t moved all day.

Where was my husband?

His car was outside. He had to be home.

I drifted back toward the kitchen, the dishwasher’s finished-cycle lights casting the only glow in the room.

“Punk?” I called.

Silence.

I sighed. Probably in the office, lost in whatever rabbit hole he’d fallen into today.

I took a few steps toward the fridge, ready to start dinner for two—until I noticed the jewelry case on the island. Open. Empty.

My heartbeat quickened.

I crossed the living room. No one. Up the stairs to our bedroom. Empty.

But I could feel him here, somewhere in this house, hiding with the biggest shit-eating grin on the planet.

There was no sign of life in the basement.

“Okay,” I muttered, shutting the door with a pointed click. “Very funny, you little shit.”

I made it all the way back to the kitchen when a floorboard creaked directly above me.

I froze.

I hadn’t checked the guest room.

I sprinted up the stairs, adrenaline pushing my legs faster than my thoughts. I hit the top step, rounded the corner —

— and hands snatched me by the waist.

My arms were yanked behind my back as I screamed in a laugh, legs kicking as he pinned me to the wall and lifted me like I weighed nothing. Tattooed hands locked me in place.

“Well, well, well,” my husband whispered, lips brushing my ear. “What do I have here?”

Green eyes peered down on my brown, his gaze somewhere between amused and ravenous. But it wasn't until he flashed his teeth that I got a chill that shivered down my spine.

Silver fangs. Diamonds caught the hallway light like stars across his teeth.

I couldn’t help the glee bubbling up, but I forced it down, keeping my face arranged in wide-eyed terror. Alarmed. Afraid. Helpless. The damsel he expected.

"What are you going to do to me?" I gasped.

Punk's breath was hot against my skin. The fangs, while fake, were sharp. Every kiss from my temple down to my shoulder had an edge.

His body pressed against mine, solid, radiating heat that made the world narrow to just us. With a swift push, he made us aligned, his hands cupping the back of my thighs, pushing the stiff fabric of his denim between my legs.

"Whatever I want."

My toes curled at the sensation. Heat pooled in my stomach.

Punk's lips were soft when he kissed me. The silver fangs pressed against my own lips, a cold barrier that promised something more dangerous than the warmth of him behind them. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth, seeking permission. I parted from him without hesitation.

He tasted like coffee and peppermint, a familiar combination that usually meant he'd been working late. Tonight, it tasted like he’d been waiting all afternoon to get his hands on me.

For the past three months, he’d been playing a role—one that demanded aggression, intensity, and being holed up away from home for days on end. Method acting, he called it.

Torture, I called it.

He’d come home broader, heavier in the shoulders, eyes darker.

The fangs were a parting present.

A goodbye to the character he’d lived inside. A hello to the one who only ever existed behind closed doors— just for me.

“I could fuck you right here,” he rumbled against my neck. “Right on this floor. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

My stomach fluttered at the threat. The promise.

With his weight holding me in place, the question didn’t need an answer. Still, I nodded before I could stop myself.

“Use your words,” he grunted.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Do you remember the safe word?”

“Toad mug.”

The first gift he ever bought me—some silly little mug from a farmer’s market. I pictured it sitting in the living room even now.

"Good memory," Punk teased.

The fingers gripping my thighs flexed, pulling me tighter against him until there wasn’t a breath of space left. My pulse thudded hard enough that he could probably feel it against his chest.

I craved friction. Needed closeness. Wanted him inside me.

My hips rolled against his denim. A sharp nip met my neck in response.

All the air left my lungs. His fingers wove into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back, baring my throat. His mouth followed, lips trailing slow fire down the curve, fangs ghosting my pulse—a promise of bite held back.

"You rolled those hips on purpose," he growled, the sound rumbling right through me. "Needy girls finish last."

I let out a soft, broken moan, chasing the friction anyway. The texture is close enough to tease, too far to satisfy.

"Are you going to be a good girl?"

"Yes."

"No teasing?"

"I'll try," I answered.

He smirked, and the fangs caught the light once again. "I'll hold you to that."

He set me back on my feet and let me lead the way to the bedroom. I padded down the hall on shaky legs, hyper-aware of his shadow. Every step tugged my dress higher, thighs slick from his fingers, panties soaked through.

I crossed the threshold, turning to face him—but he was already there, crowding me against the dresser. Tattooed hands yanked at my dress buttons, popping the top half open with zero patience. Fabric parted, cool air kissing flushed skin, emerald eyes devouring the black lace bra underneath, nipples tight against it.

"Off," he commanded, voice gravel, no room for debate.

My fingers found the hidden side zipper, dragging it down slowly, teasing, even if I knew better. Cotton dress loosened, whispering off my shoulders, sliding over my hips to puddle at my feet. I stood bare but for the drenched black lace bra and panties clinging slick.

"Don't be shy, baby," he cooed, fangs flashing wicked.

Bra clasp snapped open under my fingers, straps slipping down arms to the floor. Lace cupped my breasts one last second before I let it fall, nipples hardening to stiff peaks in the cool air. Punk's gaze dragged from my toes to the top of my head, appraising. He sank to his knees, tattooed fingers trailing fire down my sides. He thumbed the waistband of my panties, peeling down lace over thick thighs to puddle at my feet—leaving me bare, glistening, exposed.

Legs parted wide, shaky stance against the dresser. His shoulders nestled my thighs apart, hands cradling my hips to hold me cherished, steady. Fangs dragged against the flesh of my thigh, diamond studs catching light like a secret star—every scrape of pain blooming into pleasure, heat pooling like spilled wine.

His tongue traced the line his fangs made, soothing the trail before tasting me with a satisfied groan. My back arched off the dresser as he buried his mouth against my center. I moaned his name as he lay his tongue flat against me, dragging from slit to clit, a broad stroke that made my toes curl and nails scratch at the wood.

He hummed against me, the vibration a low thunder rolling through my core. With his hands firmly planted on my hips, he held me captive to his worship—gasping, moaning, or rolling my eyes back as his tongue swirled around my swollen pearl in spirals, sharp edges threatening a thrill of wicked endings, grazing so close, but never crossing.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, lips glistening, fangs gleaming.

"This is what you wanted, princess?"

His tongue flicked across my clit before I could respond. He kissed, licked, then nipped the side of my thigh before diving back in, palming my ass to spread me wider for his feast. I bucked into his mouth shamelessly, a spank landing sharp in consequence.

I bucked again—harder this time—and his palm cracked down fiercer, sting blooming hot across my cheek. "Stay still," he groaned into my clit. Tongue plunged deep, swirling around before latching on, sucking, and rolling. I gripped the dresser instead, biting my lip bloody.

I trembled on the edge, coil wrapped tight…

Only for him to deny me.

He pulled away suddenly, a glistening trail of his saliva and my sweetness connecting us. I let out a wounded cry that turned into a gasp when he hoisted me up, spinning me toward the mirror.

He stood between my spread legs, hands planted on either side of my hips, caging me in. I could feel the hard length of him through the denim.

His hands kneaded my ass as he pushed in slowly, our heartbeats pulsing through the denim. My wetness warmed the fabric slick between my thighs. All I could do was catch my breath as one hand snaked up my back, neck, into my hair—massaging my scalp before fisting a chunk of curls at the root, yanking my breath away.

"Look," he snarled, forcing my gaze to the mirror.

My reflection: neck blooming fresh bruises, love bites dancing across décolletage, ass deep crimson, eyes carnal and pleading. I could finally see the man behind me in full—black hood, dark blue jeans, hips taunting with every push. But his face: refined in the dim light, all eyes and fangs. Devilish lips smirked, tongue licking venomous grills, still tasting me. He met my gaze in the glass—satisfied with his work.

"You ready for more, princess?"

The hand on my ass released its grip, finding the zipper of his jeans. I heard the metallic jingle as he freed himself, a pierced tip glinting back at me. From top to bottom, his diamonds almost blinded me. He pressed the diamond head against my entrance, circling slowly. Precum beaded, slicking the studs as they kissed my heat.

The metal drew a huff and squirm—and Punk reveled, tightening his fist in my hair, forcing the air from my lungs.

Fingers snagged my nipple—flicking sharp, then squeezing ruthlessly. His lips trailed fire up my neck to crash against mine, tongue thrusting past fangs—cold diamond grazing, hot hunger consuming.

"Use your words," he tsked. "Or can't you?" Should I stop?"

I shook my head wildly at the thought of him pulling away, the words catching in my throat as he tugged again. He pushed in, stretching me slowly, only to pull back in one sharp, teasing withdrawal.

"Color?"

"Green."

"You can talk," he teased.

"Fuck off," I bit back.

I was just seeking punishment at this point. His grin said he knew it.

"Don't be so rude," he mocked. "Or I'll have to fill that bratty little mouth and nothing else."

He thrust into me—diamonds burying hilt-deep with a satisfied grunt. He paused, letting me adjust to every inch, every glittering diamond, every ridge. Then pulled back slow, almost all the way out—stopping just before he'd fully leave.

"Fuck, Punk!" I yelped, hand bracing the mirror as my head swam. The world narrowed to him inside me, fangs at my throat, hand fisted in my hair.

"You gotta tell me you want me, princess," he rasped. "You know I'm needy like that."

"I need you," I breathed, the words finally breaking free.

"Say it properly." He punctuated with a slow, measured thrust, the dragging of mental only electrified each motion, making my vision swim with stars. "Tell me what you need."

"I need you to fuck me," I whimpered, surrendering completely. "Please, Punky baby? I need you to make me come until I can't think."

He chuckled against my ear. "Anything for you, princess."

His hands dragged down my spine as he thrust into me slowly, letting me feel every inch—the throb of his patience, the veins of his self-control, and the titanium ring that held it all together.

"Feel that?" he rasped, fangs grazing neck. "All for you."

He pushed my head down, spine arching deep, hands planted firm on my lower back to hold me still. With a hard, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

My ass met the cold metal of his zipper and button with a loud clap, ripping a yelp from my throat. He pulled out slow—then slammed back in, our wicked reflection flashing flushed skin in the dying twilight.

Our gazes locked in the mirror, green devouring brown. His lips parted, breath bated as he found his rhythm. The flash of fangs with each thrust, the glint of diamonds, the dark look in his eyes—I was pinned in place, trapped by the pleasure of being his prey.

His hips bounced off my ass, pressing in every so often just to stop and rumble within me. My breath was short, my legs were shaking, and my eyes were starting to see stars.

"You're so creamy, baby," he moaned, voice cracking as his pace turned fractured—uneven, unpaced, half circles.

I clenched around him, squeezing tight as my only form of resistance. He responded with a growl and a series of short, sharp thrusts that had me crying out, pressing back into him to meet every punishing drive.

"Oh god, baby, I'm gonna—"

Muscles crushed his ring, cream gushing like an overdammed river. Vision blurred. Out of air. Pure bliss—legs buckling, head swimming, fingers digging into the dresser.

He shattered right after—hot pulses flooding me, spilling out in messy rivulets down my thighs as his hips jerked. A deep, guttural groan tore from him, his body shuddering against mine, face buried in the crook of my neck as he rode it out.

The fangs of his grill scraped my shoulder, a final, sharp bite marking the end.

His grip loosened, turning into massages, his lips kissing my bare skin as he helped me off the dresser and onto the bed. He fell right beside me, panting for his breath. I curled into his side on the rumpled sheets, our sweat-slick bodies sticking and sliding, breaths syncing in heavy pants. The mess between my thighs cooled sticky on the fabric.

"Not a bad wrapping gift, is it?" he said, smug, admiring the wreckage made of me.

"No," I breathed out a laugh, still feeling aftershocks ripple through me. "Not at all."

He propped himself up on an elbow, smirking down at me, fangs glinting under the bedside lamp. His free hand traced lazy patterns over my hip, dipping into the sticky mess we'd made, smearing it possessively on the side my thighs.

"Good," he muttered. "Because the real gift is that I don't have to go back. I'm all yours again."

His words were like warm honey, melting the last edges of tension from my bones. I shifted in his arms, craning my neck fully to drink him in—the man I married, not the shadowed beast he'd borrowed for months. Green eyes soft as spring moss, crinkles at the corners from too many smirks. The fangs were still there, but now just our secret toy in his nightstand.

Punk yawned, stretching out on the bed.

"How about I run you a bath, order some sushi, and feed it to you while we watch Love Island?"

"Oh," I moaned. "I could come again."

Punk's laugh rumbled deep, chest vibrating under my cheek as he scooped me closer, planting a lazy kiss on my forehead—fangs safely tucked away now.

"Greedy girl, what will I ever do with you?"

[d-lanx]

i feel like this is gonna be feeding into the @thlayli-ra vampire au

[h0ney-fiction]

May or may not write a fic about this grill 🤗

[h0ney-fiction]

3AM in San Francisco

summary: After seven years apart, two former lovers meet in a bar—and leave with far more than old memories.

wordcount: 4.3k

ratings/warnings: smut with plot. alcohol use.

a/n: is it too late for halloween fics? lol titled after the song of same name. thank you to my pookie @punkssavior for beta reading.

Some say the night that slips into the day after Halloween is when the veil between the living and the dead grows thin.

I’ve never been one for superstitions, but it was almost 3 AM in San Francisco—six hours past my bedtime, two drinks past my limit—and I was staring at what I believed was a ghost.

His hair was the color of honey burning in the sun, his broad shoulders draped in all black, his face carved forever into my memory.

Underneath the strobe lights, he was a ghastly sight.

It appeared time had only treated him kindly. Features that may have once been unrefined and boyish were now polished and divinely crafted.

He shouldn’t have been there, not in this city, not in this life.

I whipped my head around, desperate for an anchor—maybe the beer girl poster behind the bar, perhaps a friend I’d lost somewhere between the espresso martinis—or hell, maybe divine intervention in the form of an axe swinging from the ceiling to end the whole nightmare.

But when I turned back, he was still there.

My glass suddenly felt slick in my hand, the condensation sticking against my palm. I could feel the bass underneath my feet, gin on my tongue. I tried to swallow, but the saliva in my mouth had gone to sand.

For a terrifying second, I thought he was looking right at me. His eyes, dark as spilled ink in this light, cut through the crowd. I watched him weave through the crowd, a black ship through a sea of glitter, leather, and sweat. His eyes swept the room—then, to my horror, locked on mine.

Every step he took towards the bar was a step closer to my grave.

I slammed the rest of my drink down.

"Are you here to kill me?"

My voice was just above the bassline as he came into earshot. He furrowed his brows, confused, before a moment of connection flashed before his eyes.

“Johnny Cash,” he replied, gesturing to his suit.

“You’re from Long Island,” I snorted.

“We’re from Long Island,” he corrected, raising a finger. His tone was almost indignant, though his eyes gave him away—bright, teasing, alive. He smirked, took a sip of his drink, and leaned in. “And Johnny’s for everybody.”

“You were invited to a party last minute,” I said. “Had the suit in your closet, googled for five minutes, and landed on this.”

He laughed, the sound familiar enough to make my heart hurt. “You know me too well.”

I laughed along, the strobe lights dancing blue, yellow, and pink across his face.

"I can't tell if that is a good or bad thing."

"You tell me."

I wanted to say something clever, something that would remind him of how he made me feel without reeking desperation.

He took another sip of his drink, the ice rattling against the glass like dice.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” I said, the words tangled in my throat like old cords, knotted from years of neglect.

He smiled. “Well, that’s a start.”

"Max, what are you doing here?"

Max shrugged his shoulders and looked around the crowd. People shuffled behind him, pushing his body closer to mine. There was a brief moment where all I could see was leather and smell cognac mixed with his cologne.

"Just like you," he started, "I'm out celebrating Halloween with some friends."

"Hardy har har," I deadpanned. "Don't be coy with me, Maxwell Jacob Friedman."

He leaned in, so close that I could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my jacket, and his smirk widened. “Coy? Me? I would never."

My eyes went to his hands. I looked at his knuckles, the skin smooth over the bones. I thought of all the times they were wrapped around my throat, pulling my hair, or wiping away my tears.

I took a step back.

"You know what I mean. Why are you in California? Here. In my bar. In my neighborhood."

Max’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Didn’t realize it was your neighborhood. Didn’t see your name on the welcome sign.”

“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t make this a bit.”

His smirk dropped. “I'm not. I'm not doing a bit.” His gaze was steady now, and the playful glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by something I couldn’t quite read. “I'm filming a movie. I'm renting a spot out in the suburbs until the new year.”

I blinked. “A movie?” My voice sounded smaller than I meant. “Since when do you—?”

“Since now,” he said, shrugging like it was the most mundane thing in the world. "You would know that if you didn't have me blocked everywhere."

I scoffed, "Like I don't have a good reason!"

He gestured at me, a lazy, encompassing wave. “So, it seems fate has a sense of humor.”

I scoffed. “A sick and twisted one. And it's not fate, it's just a coincidence."

The DJ shifted to a slow jam—a signal that it was last call. The beat pulsed through the floorboards as pairs coupled up to sway, a heartbeat pulsed through the floor we were both forced to share.

“Call it what you want,” he said, finishing the last of his drink and setting the glass down on the bar with a decisive click. "It's good to see you."

"Wanna get out of here?" The words were out before I could stop them.

He blinked. For a split second, I thought he was going to laugh, turn on his heel, and disappear back into the crowd of people he belonged with now.

But then he nodded.

The crisp autumn night air was a welcome reprieve, a jolt of cold that sobered me up enough to feel the full weight of what I’d just done. The bar had been a liminal space, a bubble of loud music and cheap lights where the past couldn't really touch me. But out here, on the uneven pavement, the city's quiet hum seemed to press in on us, expectant.

“Two questions,” he started, shoving his hands in his pockets. The wind ruffled the ends of his dark hair, and for a terrifying second, he looked like the Maxwell I fell in love with, standing outside my dorm in the snow, waiting for a fight that would end with us tangled in my sheets.

"What is your costume?"

The feeling of polyester and satin suddenly felt noticeable against my skin, mostly in the places it lacked. My shoulders, arms, and legs. The veil behind my head whipped in the wind, brushing my cheek and tugging at the fold of my costume.

I looked down at my feet, then at him. “Isn't it obvious? I'm the Bride of Frankenstein.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The bride?"

"Mmhmmph," I answered, popping the 'p'. "I lost my bouquet to a pirate trying to stop him from proposing. I told him I already have a husband."

Max didn't say anything, but I could feel him looking at me. I could see the effort he was trying to make on his face not to laugh. Naturally, I lifted my left hand and motioned the 'put a ring on it' dance. His lips twitched, betraying the slightest grin. He looked me over like I was some exasperatingly ridiculous puzzle.

Exactly the woman he fell in love with.

I couldn't help the smirk on my face as I turned on my heel and walked down the hill, maybe leading Max back to my apartment. Maybe leading Max back to my bed. Maybe leading Max back to an early death.

I wasn't sure yet.

The bar faded into the background, heels clicked against the cracked pavement, and behind me, his footsteps followed. The wind swept down from the bay, salty air entrancing my veil, whipping against my cheek. I reached up to pull it off, but he beat me to it—fingers brushing the back of my neck as he untangled it gently.

"Thank you," I mumbled, slowing my pace so he could finally walk beside me.

"Are you cold?"

I shook my head, but he already shrugged his blazer off, placing it over my shoulders. I mumbled another thank-you before leading the way through the park. The streetlights flickered as we cut over the pickleball field, the moon trailing behind.

My apartment was just over the hump when he asked:

"How long has it been?”

“Don’t start,” I bemoaned.

“I’m just asking.”

"You're just asking a question you already know the answer to."

A car passed, giving him just enough time to catch my gaze. Warm. Intense. All-consuming. I loved and hated the way he could look at me like that, and I would forget all the pain, all the fights, all the nights spent screaming, all the mornings spent crying. I’d forget everything but him.

"What? No, I’m not. When you travel and take as many bumps as I do, toots, time—”

"Almost seven years," I answered. "Can you believe that?"

"I do," he said so seriously.

I laughed. "Of course you do."

We walked in silence for a block; the only sound was the distant wail of a siren and the click of my boots. The city was putting itself to bed, but I couldn't feel more awake.

The building was a classic Victorian, painted a soft, fading yellow. I stood there, my veil in my hand, the night air cold against my exposed skin, fumbling for my keys. All the niceties of the evening had worn off, leaving me with just the cold, hard facts of the situation.

Max was here. With me. In front of my building. I took a deep breath and put the key in the lock. The door swung open, revealing a narrow, steep staircase. He followed me up, each step creaking under our combined weight. The hallway was dimly lit, a single bare bulb casting long, distorted shadows that danced like ghosts on the faded wallpaper. I stopped at the second door on the right, feeling his anticipation as I slid the key into the lock again.

The apartment was cozy, but it was mine—a collection of thrifted art, mismatched mugs, and furniture from family and yard sales past. The city’s lights streamed through the bay window, painting the room in silver and blue. That view was worth more than the discounted rent.

I turned to face him, my back against the door. He was standing close, too close, the scent of him filling the small space. For a long moment, neither of us said a word. The city lights spilled in behind him, outlining his frame in a faint halo—my salvation and my ending.

"Do you want anything? Water? Beer? An edible?"

Max snorted, "I'll have one if you do."

"Of?"

"Whatever you're offering."

I swayed into the kitchen, grabbed two glasses of water, and returned to the living room. I set them on the coffee table and sank onto the couch, patting the cushion beside me. Max didn’t hesitate; he eased in next to me, close enough that our shoulders and thighs brushed.

The strangest, and somehow most familiar, thing about Max was the way he made me feel. He didn’t make my stomach flutter or my pulse race, but he didn’t bore me or leave me cold either. He was steady and wild at the same time, a friend, a lover, a home I never knew I’d missed.

"So…" Max started, his voice low, teasing. He let his hand rest lightly against my thigh.

“You're married.”

I looked at my bare finger where my cheap plastic ring should be. “In the spiritual sense.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “And to whom might I owe this pleasure?”

“A monster.”

His thumb began to draw slow circles on my leg, the friction a delicious distraction. "A monster," he repeated, his voice a low hum. "And where is he tonight? Out terrorizing villagers?”

I leaned into him, my head on his shoulder. "I don't know. I was hoping to find him tonight, but the night turned out to be more... nostalgic."

His other hand came up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine. "Am I the monster or the nostalgia?"

"Both," I breathed. "You're both."

He closed the remaining distance between us, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was both a question and an answer. It was filled with desire but inquisitive, a rediscovery. He tasted like cognac, orange juice, and a past I’d tried to forget. My hands came up to cup his face, feeling his beard against my palms.

I missed the softness of his lips, the way he could wrap his arms behind my back to pull me closer, and the way he knew how to make me weak without even trying.

My mind went blank. My body took over, pulling him closer, fingers twirling in the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands slid down my back, pressing me flush against him.

Heat seeped through my clothes, making me arch into him. A soft moan escaped my lips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing in that familiar, knowing way only he could.

We broke apart, our foreheads resting together. Max kissed my nose, and all the feelings I've been trying to hide for nearly a decade came up again. The anger, the resentment, the heartbreak—it was all still there as if it never left. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes wanting and searching.

"I've missed you," he whispered. "I've missed us."

The words hung in the air between us. I wanted to believe him, to let myself fall back into the easy rhythm of us, but the past was a tangled mess of love and pain.

"Don't say that," I whispered back, my voice small.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not fair."

He didn't argue. He just kissed me again as an apology. And I let him because I'd missed it, too. I'd missed him more than I'd ever admit.

Maxwell’s hands lifted the hem of my dress to my hips. One hand slid over my thigh, the other following, drawing me closer into his lap. I caught his bottom lip, my hips rolling against the fabric of his pants.

I loved and hated how easy he could have me.

"I think you missed me, too, starlight," he breathed, pulling away for a moment.

I felt a jolt of electricity rush through me at the name, my cheeks feeling warm.

"Maybe I did."

It was my turn to be coy. Underneath my thighs, I could feel Maxwell's ever-growing desire. His hands caressed my legs, traveling down to my feet. He kissed my forehead and squeezed my feet, kneading them. "We could have done this a lot earlier if you didn’t shut me out, starlight," he murmured. His voice was half-teasing, half-aching. “I was even desperate enough to send you money through Venmo just to get you to talk to me.”

I laughed softly, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and vindication. “You’re unbelievable."

"I would have sent a million dollars if it just meant five minutes of your time."

"You know..it's never too la—"

"Alright," Max dragged the word through his teeth.

"Alright?"

"What do you want me to say, star? Sorry for being an emotionally unavailable little shit with an undeveloped frontal lobe?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he sighed. "I'm sorry for being an emotionally unavailable little shit with an undeveloped frontal lobe." He lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

He laughed, the warmth of it vibrating through my very bones. The sound washed away the years of silence and replaced the aching void with something akin to relief. He pushed a stray hair away from my face, his touch gentle.

"I’m sorry I left the way I did," he said softly. “I was a kid. I thought I was making the right choice for my future, and I didn't know how to take you with me."

"You didn't even ask!"

"What was there to ask!? You think your dad would have been okay with you dropping out of Cornell to follow her good-for-nothing boyfriend down to Florida on a wrestling dream?"

“I don’t care what he would’ve thought!” I snapped, heat rising in my chest. “I cared about us, Max. About you!”

Max ran a hand through his hair, frustration flickering over his face. “I know, star. I know. I just—I thought I was protecting you. I didn’t know any better, but I wasn't the one who iced me out of their life."

I blinked, batting my eyelashes until the tears that threatened to stream down my face disappeared. His hands hovered over mine, tentative at first, as if testing the waters of a river too wild to cross.

"I hated not knowing," he muttered, voice tight with something I couldn’t name. “I hated being out there, thinking about you… not knowing how to find my way back.”

I had spent so long building walls, convincing myself that shutting him out was my armor. But here he was, with a key I didn't even know he still possessed.

"I wanted to hate you," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I tried so hard to."

He leaned in close, his hands finding the sides of my thighs again.

"I know."

The apology was in his eyes, and I could see the regret for every fight, every silent car ride, every slammed door. He was so close to me, I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. My chest ached with a phantom pain, the ghost of a thousand unspoken words. And as he kissed me again, I tasted the bitterness of our past and the sweetness of this unexpected reunion.

His hands went back to my hips, sliding my dress up further. His thumbs brushed against the back of my corset. I gasped into his mouth as he lifted me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Lips warm, erection hard, and cologne intoxicating. I guided his hands to untie the costume, pulling at the cheap ribbon until it gave way.

“Let’s move to the bedroom,” I breathed against his lips.

He didn't need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he stood, lifting me with him. I clung to his arm, the sudden rush earned a squeal out of me, much to his pleasure. I buried my face in the crook of his neck as he carried me through the small apartment, navigating the familiar path through blue hues of night.

I kicked the ajar door to my bedroom open, revealing the prints on the walls, a stack of books teetering on my nightstand, and the unmade bed, a tangled mess of my own making.

My feet touched the soft rug, and I stood before him, helping me out of the corset and skirt. I helped him out of the remainder of his suit, the man in black no more.

I reached for him, my hands tracing the lines of his chest, my fingers brushing against the bluff of hair in the middle of his chest. This Maxwell was as strange as he was familiar. Same eyes, same soul, but refined. The boyish pudge I once knew was now hard muscle.

My eyes roamed over him, taking in every new detail, every scar that told a story I wasn't a part of. Possessiveness shot through me.

I wanted to know every story. I wanted to be the one he came home to. I wanted to be the one he cried to. I wanted to be a part of them all.

"I adore you, starlight." He kissed me, pulling me closer until we were flush against each other.

I responded with a sigh, his hands tangling into my hair. Skin to skin, I was lost to him.

"I wanna feel you, baby," I breathed. "I need to."

I turned onto the bed, my head hitting the pillows, my stomach against the mattress. Like a good boy, he hovered over me, his arms caging me in. I felt his lips on the back of my head, trailing down to my neck, kissing my ear.

Warm breath, sure hands as he palmed the cup of my ass. His kisses on my ears turned into nibbles, then one bite to awaken the senses. He spanked as I squeaked into the pillow, my back arching into an invitation for more.

He let out a low laugh. I could feel the rumble more than hear it. His hands kneaded my flesh, pulling a moan out of me as he pinched my nipple. I pushed back again, practically begging for us to become one. He obliged, one of his hands moving from my ass to between my legs. His fingers found my heat, the sound of me only a confirmation.

He started to rub my clit in slow, fast, tight circles that increased their pace each turn until my hips jerked, a moan escaping me. Stretching his hand, he slid a finger in, then another.

"You're so wet, starlight," he whispered against my ear. "So much more than I remember."

He pressed some of his weight on me, intoxicating my senses. His other hand came around to cup my breast, thumb flickering my nipple. His tongue was wet and hot against my ear, licking down to my shoulder.

His legs made an authoritative stamp over mine to stop my squirming. My breath came out as a huff as he put his full weight on me. He knew I loved it when I gasped for breath, every sensation in my body only able to feel his pleasure. Max curled his fingers as he continued to finger me, the other hand now in my hair.

"I never stopped loving you," he said into my ear. "I adore you, Star."

My hips moved of their own accord, meeting each of his thrusts. He added a third finger, stretching me to my limit. I was close, so close. I could feel the pressure building, the tension coiling in my stomach. His thumb returned to my clit, rubbing in hard, fast circles.

I came with a cry, my body shuddering beneath him.

He let me ride it out, his fingers slowing their pace before withdrawing completely. He flipped me over, my body pliant, my mind hazy. He was on top of me again, his legs between mine, his elbows on either side of my head.

I reached for his cock, wrapping my fingers around him. He embraced my touch as I stroked him, my thumb spreading the bead of precum over the tip. He groaned, his hips bucking into my hand.

I licked underneath his chin, tasting the salt of his skin. I pulled him down for a kiss, wrapping my hips around his waist and my tongue around him. He let me take the lead for a little bit, my hips grinding against his. It was a slow, gentle motion to get him inside.

He pushed into me, and a second of pain turned into pure delight. It didn't take long for him to find his rhythm. To hitch my breath, tear me apart, all to hold me back together again.

Nails against skin. Cotton absorbs sweat. His pleasure was in tandem with mine. Each thrust harder, deeper. His hair tickles my cheek. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. His pace quickened. His breath came out in ragged gasps.

It felt so good, I could see heaven.

Max was everywhere. His whole focus was on me, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to be the only person he ever saw.

"I love you," he whispered. "I've always loved you."

A flood of emotion washed over me, my orgasm ripping through me with a force that left me breathless. He followed me over the edge, his body tensing, filling me, a cry of my name on his lips.

We stayed tangled for a long time, breath cooling on each other’s skin, his leg still hooked over mine like he was afraid I’d slip away again. He pulled me into his arms, my head on his chest, hips, lips at my temple, as I listened to the steady beat of his heart.

"You're staying until the New Year?"

Max slowly nodded.

"Then what?"

He shrugged.

"Ever thought about moving to California?"

"Hold it, toots."

He broke away just enough to look at me, the lightness of his eyes caught in the moonlight. "How about I take you back home for Christmas first, huh?"

I laughed. "Your mom would love that. She still calls me on my birthday."

"She does?" he asked, a little too surprised.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand and pulled up my text messages. I scrolled through them until I found the most recent one—a photo of her garden with a 'Happy Birthday, sweetie!' text.

Max's face softened, a genuine smile reaching his eyes. "I guess some things don't change."

"No," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I guess they don't."

Max exhaled, staring at the photo on my phone like it was some kind of omen.

“We’re really doing this,” he said.

“Don’t say it like we’re exchanging vows,” I shot back.

“And you’re going to unblock me now?"

I scoffed. “Relax. You’re still on probation.”

He nudged my thigh with his. “Probation? Star, I think I just earned early release.”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile breaking through my lips betrayed me. "I think your hearing is still pending."

He leaned down to kiss me again, slowly, deeply.

“Okay, starlight,” he kissed lower down my chest. "I'll be on my best behavior."

[moon-cherie]

[eringobragh420]

⌞ a little wicked ⌝

✘ pairing — Seth Rollins ♥︎ f!Reader ✘ kinktober — brat-taming. ✘ words — 1.6k ✘ warnings — nsfw. dirty talk, d/s vibes, daddy kink, face-fucking, cum, 18+ ✘ taglist — if you'd like to be added, please click here!

✘ masterlist. ✘ kinktober.

Seth held the hotel room door open, letting you stomp past him in your pink heels, the sparkling, translucent wings on your back slapping him in the face as you crossed the threshold.

“Man, you are asking for it tonight,” Seth snapped, following you inside and allowing the door to close on its own.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” you shouted, stamping your foot, which hurt more than you let on, and you folded your arms across your chest.

Seth mirrored the gesture, his biceps on full display just beneath the sleeves of his blue scrub top that matched the blue scrub pants. “Yes, you did,” he spoke deliberately, brows rising and falling. “Tell me you did, and I can make this a lot easier on you.”

Pursing your lips, you smoothed your barely-there pink, mini-dress, straightened the tiny crown on your head, and squared your shoulders. “I didn’t do—”

“Alright, get on your knees,” Seth interrupted dismissively, shaking his head. “I’m fucking done with your shit.”

You hesitated. Not that you were scared—quite the opposite—but you actually wanted to fight about what happened, not just sweep it under the rug of fucking.

“I swear to god,” Seth chuckled, strolling toward you, midnight eyes drinking you in from heels to crown, “if I have to tell you again, you’re gonna need help walking out of here tomorrow.”

You gulped. He loved to spank you until your ass was raw, hot, and sensitive. Until you sobbed, begging him to stop, apologizing for whatever offense you’d committed. He hadn’t punished you so hard as to need assistance walking, but you wouldn’t dare put it past him. And if he ever went too far, there was always a safe word in place.

“Do you want me to—?”

“Just get on your knees.”

Take my costume off, is what you were going to say, but at Seth’s clipped, angry tone, you descended carefully to your knees, minding the high, thin heels on your feet, the tightness of your costume making it that much more difficult.

“Cute little tooth fairy,” Seth remarked, his smile deliberate, wicked, as he slowly approached you. “We were gonna have fun tonight. But you had to pull that shit—” You opened your mouth, clamping it shut at the rounding of Seth’s gorgeous chocolate eyes. “Now tell me you did it on purpose. Then tell me why.”

Your jaw worked, eyes hooded as you stared up at your boyfriend. After inhaling deeply through your nose, you replied confidently, “Fine, I did it on purpose.”

Seth nodded, unfolding his arms, sliding a thumb down his abdomen to hook and tug the waistband of his scrub pants. You could see a line of brown hair trailing from his belly button and disappearing into the pants. The material of the scrubs was thin, making the outline of Seth’s thickening cock that much more defined, and you unknowingly passed your tongue across your lips.

“Why?” Seth urged.

Your hands itched to touch him, to massage the palm of your hand over his growing bulge, but you were already in trouble, and you absolutely believed he would make it difficult for you to walk the following morning. You clasped your hands in your lap, though your indignation couldn’t be completely quelled.

“Because you were ignoring me,” you confessed, brows arched.

Seth tilted his head. “I was ignoring you?”

“Yeah!” you retorted, Seth’s own eyebrows climbing into his hairline. “You spent all night talking about fucking football! Are you kidding me? I didn’t squeeze my ass into a slutty fairy dress to not have my boyfriend feeling me up all night!”

Your boyfriend’s nostrils flared, the restraint in his eyes quickly fading. “And?” he prompted with clenched teeth, rough, experienced fingers sliding under your jaw, squeezing just enough to make your heart quicken.

Your fingers tightened around themselves, thighs trembling, knees beginning to protest from their position on the hard-carpet floor. “And,” you mocked, Seth’s grip much stronger on your jaw now, “I saw someone who was looking … so I talked to him.”

“Him?”

You steeled yourself. “Punk.”

Your eyes stayed locked with Seth’s, but you still saw him reach inside the scrub pants and pull out his long, curved cock. You swore you actually felt your pupils dilate just as you watched Seth’s do the same.

“You piss me off so fucking bad,” Seth murmured, stroking his dick.

You glanced down, watching his big hand and lithe fingers work his impressive manhood, the branching veins and leaking head making your mouth water. Your gaze returned to your boyfriend’s. “Clearly.”

Seth slapped his solid dick against your cheek, wiping the precum from the tip along your hot skin, and you winced, his other hand still gripping your jaw. “I’m gonna fuck the attitude right out of your pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he benevolently explained, your pussy juices already beginning to soak through your panties. “So do you wanna make it easier on yourself and apologize first?” He tilted his head, eyes drifting to your parted lips. “Or am I gonna have to fuck that out of you, too?”

“You should be the one apo—”

As soon as your jaw dropped, Seth shoved a thumb inside to pull your cheek to the side just before launching his cock passed your lips—his flavor coating your tongue—directly into the back of your throat, instantly finding resistance. You gagged, body convulsing, tears prickling your eyes.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Seth chuckled, removing his thumb, both hands on the sides of your head. “Thought you grew out of this shit. Makin’ me jealous.”

You smiled despite your mouth being full, despite the drool seeping from the corners and trickling down your chin. Grown out of it. You hadn’t grown out of shit—you just wanted him to think that, so that when you did act out …

Seth suddenly bypassed the tight ring in the back of your throat, his cock sliding into place in your neck like you were the lock and he was the key. Your nose mashed into the trimmed hair at the base of his dick, hands on his muscular thighs, though you didn’t try to push him away. He held you there for as long as he knew you could take, yanking himself out, his cock soaked in your spit.

“Jerk me off,” he ordered, hands falling to his sides, and you grabbed his shaft with both hands—because it fucking took both of your small hands to cover the area of your boyfriend’s impressive dick. You twisted your grips in opposite directions, moving back and forth at the same time, and Seth was pissed, but he couldn’t fight the proud smile. “You ready to apologize?”

You considered for about two seconds before shaking your head, slowing your hands. “Nope,” you replied. “I didn’t do anything wro—” He swatted your hands away, grabbed his cock, and stuffed it back into your mouth, rougher this time. You could feel the anger and the jealousy rolling off him in waves, and it only succeeded in turning you on even more.

“See,” Seth bristled, one hand cradling your head, holding the tiny crown in my place, the other on the side of your face. “That’s where we disagree, baby doll.”

He fucked your mouth this time at a quickening pace, your jaw aching, mouth drooling not only onto your chest and dress, but your thighs as well, some of it even landing on the carpet. He commanded your attention, your respect, your reverence through your locked gazes.

“You could’ve talked to anyone,” Seth growled, using your mouth as he pleased, holding your head at the perfect angle for maximum insertion into your throat. “And you picked him.” Your glistening eyes narrowed, but a bout of gagging interrupted your attempt to be cavalier, Seth somehow smiling and snarling at the same time, your eyes refusing to leave his. You wished he’d take that stupid scrub top off, show off his flexing abs like he loved to do, but he was too concentrated on teaching you a lesson. Not that you could see much anyway through your overflowing, watery eyes.

When Seth removed himself, you sputtered, “Because it would piss you off!”

“Fucking knew it,” Seth mumbled, stroking his cock against your forehead, his fingers grazing your cheek and nose. “Just so fucking desperate for Daddy’s attention.”

Your eyes rolled back, hands clutching his massive thighs, tongue snaking out to lick at his dick, his fingers. “I just don’t like sharing you—” Seth licked his lips. “—with anyone.”

“Now say you’re sorry,” Seth breathed, his hand a blur on his dick still poised above your face.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you obeyed, leaning forward to slurp one of his balls into your mouth. You weren’t sure how much more you could take without touching yourself—a standing rule during punishment.

“Fuck,” Seth groaned, pulling your head back by your hair just in time to shoot his cum on your forehead, nose, cheek, chin, across your lips. As you licked at what you could around your mouth, Seth knelt in front of you. “Daddy’s sorry, too,” he said, index finger dragging the puddles of cum into your mouth where you sucked it clean. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, “But don’t ever disrespect me like that again.”

taggies: @terrortwinunicorn @southerngirl41 @sharmelasworld @sykokittyy @caralinda0914 @kianaleani @xbriexx @neurodivergentempress @aureliacorvina @stacys-momxx @beccalynns-world @fafomama @onlyangel4 @femdisa @partypoison00 @vanissillier @ladygagaswifey @spiicii @mightypocketcow @alliecatsworldsblog @kglee83-blog @dpriestxripleysgirl @sgt-peppers-coffee-club @the-whatever-22 @sweetdreampruneplaid @oldmanluvr13 @yeriissgurll @hiimnormall @moonlightsinner @admpage @91062854-ka @xnightmarexpunkx @bestintheworldxoxo

[h0ney-fiction]

WIP/Update

Hey y’all! First of all thank you so much for all the love on Concession Stand Girl! I have a few more tricks up my sleeve but I wanted to put out there I will likely take a winter break in January to focus on original work. If you have any requests or ideas please send them in sooner than later as I may do a cut off. All unfinished requests will be priority first. I believe my current WIPs are:

- Baby Kinktober (really just vamp!punk rn lol)

- 2 Cody Fics

- Last chapter(s) of The Assistant

- Last chapter of Brownstone Trilogy

I’ve been thinking of rewriting/finishing The Bet but idk. 🤷🏾‍♀️ I would also like to do some AEW fics to finish off the year…but we’ll see how my brain works that out lol.

Again, thanks so much for everyone’s support this past year and see y’all at the next story. 🥰

[h0ney-fiction]

Concession Stand Girl

summary: In the grind of the indies, a young Punk can’t ignore the concession stand girl.

wordcount: 4.1k

ratings/warnings: smut with plot. punk yearns.

Caramel and vanilla punched Punk's nose every time he ran the ropes closest to the concession stand. It was bad enough that he could barely focus with the incessant sound of muffled pop bullshit coming through the back. Who was it? Britney? Mariah? Fuck if he knew.

"Can you turn that shit off?" Punk yelled after his fifth lap across the ring. His voice cracked with sweat and irritation.

From the corner, Colt shrugged, a towel draped over his shoulder. "Pretty sure the guy running concessions likes it. Says it keeps him moving."

Punk rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. "Yeah, nothing says ‘future of professional wrestling’ like trying to run a headlock with fucking Butterfly on repeat."

He leaned against the ropes, chest heaving, and shot a glare toward the back of the gymnasium that led to the food counter. Sweet syrupy air poured in, clashing hard with the stale sweat and mildew of the training hall. It was like somebody was trying to drown him in Vanilla Lace.

"Swear to God, I’m gonna go back there and—" Punk started, but cut himself off when a girl’s laugh rang through from the concession side.

"What? Do you need water or something?"

Curls and cherry lip gloss came into view. A snug, matching red baby tee followed, and Punk hated himself for noticing the V-cut dip, the flash of lace, and the rhinestoned Baby Phat logo that glittered under the fluorescent lights. Another girl came up behind her.

“Can you save the concert for later, ladies?” Punk called, waving a hand toward the back.

They groaned and rolled their eyes.

“It’s the new Ashanti!” the girl in red shot back.

"I don't care who it is! Turn. It. Down."

Red shirt sucked her teeth, nodding her head to the girl behind her to turn the radio off. Her brown eyes were miffed, taking him in.

It was early enough in the practice where Punk wasn't a pig, sweat just beginning to cling to his skin despite the air conditioning. Strands of bleached blonde hair were slicked back, not yet sticky.

The music went from distractingly overbearing to barely above a hum from his distance. If Colt ran his mouth like he always did, Punk wouldn’t hear a thing.

"Is that good enough for you, your highness?"

"Yeah. Thanks, princess," Punk replied, in a tone more indignant than it deserved.

She smirked, giving a curtsy before turning on her heels.

"Sorry about him," he heard Colt say from behind.

But it was too late, little Miss Red Shirt was already walking away. Each swish of her hips in low-rise jeans carved itself into his memory.

"Good going, idiot," Colt said just loud enough for Punk to hear.

Punk didn't bother responding. He was already on the mat, stretching his legs and arms.

There were bigger fish to fry.

Weeks went by. Seasons changed. Punk kept training. The concession stand girl continued to sell pop and chips as they listened to music that made his ears bleed.

Sometimes, during a show, when he was waiting for his match, he could see her, Walkman strapped to the back of her jeans, headphones firmly placed over her ears. The overhead lights caught her big, brown doe eyes, and those stupidly full lips she twisted to the side.

Girls were an elusive thing at this time in Punk's life. Beautiful distractions. Desirable sidelines. He didn’t have the time and certainly didn’t have the money to do anything but focus on the ring. Colt and he were getting a real pop from the crowd. The hatred and disgust in their eyes as he scanned the bleachers lit something deep in his chest. That was the drug. Not liquor. Not lust. Not some girl selling Snickers and Pepsi.

Still, when he’d climb the turnbuckle and throw his arms wide, he sometimes caught her out of the corner of his eye. “Funny thing—she only ever ditched the headphones when his music hit. Never bothered to be part of the crowd booing for trying to aim their popcorn at his head. She just…watched.

And that burned Punk more than anything.

He cut his promo, Raven cut his, then Raven made him eat shit on the mat harder than necessary. But when Punk dragged himself up, breath ragged, there she was. Dark amber eyes were still locked on him.

Back in the locker room, Colt went on and on—heat, angles, the next booking two towns over. Punk nodded along, half-listening, wringing sweat out of his wrist tape. But all he could think about was the faint flicker of brown eyes. Big curly hair, cherry-coated lips in the distance—and the gnawing, stupid need to make her look again.

It was months before he actually spoke to her.

By then, the routine was muscle memory—run, drill, wrestle, collapse, repeat. Same peeling walls, same sticky floors, same stale stench of sweat and mildew mixed with the faint, cloying sweetness drifting in from the concessions. He told himself he didn’t notice anymore. That he didn’t hear the tinny hum of her headphones or feel her gaze sticking to him from afar. But he did. Every time.

That night, his legs were shaking from the strain of exercises and the adrenaline that never quite left after a match. He sat on the edge of the ring, wrist tape hanging loose, head bowed, trying to let the sweat drip into the mat rather than his thoughts. Colt was somewhere in the back, probably scavenging free food, as usual.

“Your blond is too brassy for your skintone,” a voice said.

Punk’s head snapped up, and there she was. Dark curls were highlighted in chocolate brown. A deep cut baby shirt was now a hoodie zipped up.

"Oh, yeah?" he said, sharper than he meant to. "You go to hair school?"

"Communications," she corrected. "But even the blind can tell you're an Autumn."

"How can a person be an autumn?"

She laughed, and her eyes lit up. It was a pretty sight. "Oh, my God. Are you serious?"

"I guess?"

"You have warm undertones." She took a step forward.

Punk raised a brow. He didn’t get the term, but he definitely got the implication. He flinched for a second as her hands raised towards his hair. Her fingertips grazed his roots.

"Is this your natural color?" She asked, leaning forward.

He swallowed, eyes set on the way her cherry lips pursed. "Uh, yeah."

"The blonde isn't bad, but your natural color is better. I can fix this. Do you wanna come by my apartment after the show next week?"

Punk couldn't help but grin. "Oh, yeah, princess? You'll fix me?"

Her brows furrowed for a moment before they shot up, and her eyes widened.

"Not like that," she blurted. Her cheeks went red, punching his chest with her arm. "Just—you know, the color's a little off. That's all. And I'll cut the layers. You'll stop looking like a fucking bum."

"Oh, thanks," Punk snorted, standing up. She didn't even reach his shoulders.

"It's true," she huffed. "What are you gonna do? Like, I'm sure you can go to the salon down the block."

He thought for a moment. Things were certainly on the upswing, and Rob was loving what he and Colt had going on. Talks about belts were becoming more casual, and eyes from other promotions were starting to notice. Maybe a haircut wouldn't kill him.

"Sure," he shrugged, taking a step forward. "Should I just meet you outside after the show?"

"How about in the cafeteria? There's a door that leads right to the train line to my apartment. Plus, well," she bit her lip, looking past him to the back of the gym.

He raised a brow.

"Your friend might not appreciate not being invited."

"Who, Colt?" Punk laughed. "I'll leave some water out for him; he'll be fine."

She laughed. It sounded so sweet and light, but her eyes were sharp and playful. "See you next Friday."

She grabbed a pen and a napkin to write her number. When the napkin tore through, Punk offered his arm. She didn't seem to mind, her pen pressing lightly around the tattoos of his forearm, cursing letters and numbers into his skin.

Joni. Short for Joanna.

"This'll stay," he teased, rubbing the ink into his arm.

She shrugged, a smile playing on her lips as she tucked the pen back in her purse. "Guess we'll see."

Punk spent almost every night that week on the phone. He and Joni talked for hours, getting to know each other and figuring out how the other's mind worked. She was so different from him. Grew up in New York City in one of those neighborhoods that only have brownstones. She was the youngest of three sisters, Madison and Sabrina. Her parents never fought or divorced. She got a new charm for her tennis bracelet every Christmas.

"You sound so spoiled," Punk laughed, lying flat on his bed, the phone cord stretched between the receiver and his ear.

"And you sound like gutter trash," she shot back.

"Yeah? What else can you tell about me?"

"You're obsessed with the idea of next."

He paused.

"I mean, not like, the future. More like...you're constantly working on being something, and when you achieve that goal, it's not good enough. You don't seem like the kind of guy that settles."

"Wow, so not only are you spoiled, but you're also a fucking psychologist."

"Hey, it's just a thought," Joni laughed. "And besides, the idea of being better is pretty inspiring. You have a lot going for you. Everyone sees that."

"Thanks, princess," Punk chuckled, though her words warmed his chest.

"So, hey, my roommate just told me she's going away for the weekend. Something about her parents got tickets for her and her best friend since kindergarten to go to this thing in New York for the weekend."

Punk felt his heart hammer. "Okay, cool. That's good, I guess. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Joni drawled. "I don't want you to think I'm just trying to ploy you to sleep over."

"Ploy?"

"Yeah. You know, to—"

"I know what the word means," Punk snorted. "I just don't know anyone who actually uses it."

"I'm a Communications major," she huffed.

"I know."

"Anyway, I just don't want you thinking—"

"Hey, Joni?" Punk interrupted.

"What?"

"Are you going to fix my hair tomorrow or not?"

She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I will. I'll buy us some Chinese, and we can hang out."

"I'll buy the food. You work your magic and we'll be fine."

Joni could hear Punk's shit eating grin through the phone.

"Whatever," she mumbled, the smile on her face betraying her. "Just don't lollygag with your friend, okay? We gotta get on that train the second you're done. I wanna wash your hair and still be able to watch That '70s Show."

"Whatever you say, princess."

"Shut up."

Punk laughed, and they chatted for a while longer before saying their goodbyes. It was weird. He felt like a kid again, the fluttering of a crush. It was nice to feel safe, though, instead of the perpetual rush he'd been living on called the indies.

You could see the season turning outside Joni’s window, the first glimpse of winter coming in. Punk watched through the arch of her kitchen, sitting in a chair placed in front of her kitchen sink. Joni didn't pay him any attention. Her head was bowed, the comb in her hand scraping down his scalp, combing out knots.

"What the fuck do you use to wash your hair?"

"Head and Shoulders. V05."

The screech that came out of Joni's mouth could only be heard by a dog. Punk winced, shooting her a glare over his shoulder.

"You're gonna wake the neighbors."

"They're snowbirds. I'm sure they're in Florida by now."

"I can still hear," Punk groaned.

"Shut up and stop being such a baby." She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a box of bleach and hair dye. Chinese takeout boxes were long abandoned on her coffee table.

"Your hair is like 5 different shades of blonde. This is gonna take all night."

The vent over Joni's oven wasn't enough, so they opened the window above the sink. Cool October air blew in. It smelled like fallen leaves, a faint scent of rain on the horizon.

"Why didn't you sleep with oil in your hair like I asked you to?"

"And be a greaseball for my match? No way, pudding."

Punk took to bleach like a cat to water. They watched most of an episode of Friends that Joni's roommate taped before taking him back for a rinse.

"This is why you need to keep a deep conditioner in your hair."

"What?"

"Nothing. Hold still."

"Hey, Joni," Punk said, after a while.

"Hm?"

"How come you never have a reaction when I'm in the ring?"

Joni stopped rinsing for a second, her hands stopped on the side of his head.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I think I'm just trying to figure you out. What's the real you and what's fake."

The water kept running on Punk's head as Joni's hands passively massaged the strands.

"What did you decide?"

"Still thinking."

The last of the bleach was rinsed from his hair. Joni's towel was warm against his neck, and her hand was gentle as she ran the excess water from his hair. She took the framing strands, clipping them away, before adding black dye to the rest. Silence filled the rest of the time as they finished the episode, letting the static overplay as they went to the sink for the final time.

"What do you think?"

Punk took the handheld mirror out of his hands; the embellished pink looked silly against his black, chipped nails. But the color was perfect. He had never seen himself look like this. His hair was clean, cut, and dyed. He felt like a new man.

"It's good," he managed. "Real good."

"I'm glad you like it."

"I do."

Joni moved him to the bathroom, his overgrown body and limbs only reinforced the feeling Punk was in a Barbie dream house. She made him sit down again, his legs spread wide, grabbing a dryer and taking the space between.

Joni was sweet. From the way she smelled to the way her hands felt in his hair, to the way her breath brushed the tip of his ears, making him shudder.

"If you ever think of changing it again, I wouldn't mind doing it," she said.

"Is this your way of asking for a date?" Punk replied, trying to turn his head, but Joni forced him still.

"Not a date, a haircut," she corrected, but the heat of her cheeks couldn't lie. "Or, we could dye it purple like I insisted at the store."

"Yeah. I bet you would like that, princess."

She clicked the dryer off and ran her hands through his hair. Joni spun around to grab a jar of pomade, but as she spun again, Punk couldn't help but take her waist.

Her eyes went wide.

Punk swallowed hard, and he pulled her onto his lap.

Joni squeaked, but her arms found their way around his neck, her fingers tangling in the fresh strands.

"Hey," he said, voice hoarse.

"Hey," she whispered.

Their noses brushed. Her breath hitched. His hand gripped her waist. The kiss was soft, barely on her lips. Joni's fingers trailed up Punk's neck and into his hair. She pulled, tilting his head back. The second kiss was deeper. He could tell she wanted just as much as he. Maybe even for as long as he. She could feel the groan in his throat, and her tongue brushed his.

Joni pulled away. Her breath was heavy, eyes wide, and cheeks flushed. Punk's hand trailed up, tracing the curve of her jaw.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No," he replied. "Why would I want anyone else when I've got a princess?"

"Stop it," she said, pushing against his chest.

But he pulled her closer, and her legs straddled his waist.

"You're so fucking hot," he breathed.

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

"It's true. Tell me you don't know it. Look at you, you're gorgeous."

She laughed and buried her face in his neck.

"Don't hide, princess. Lemme see you."

"Oh, my God."

He tilted her head up and kissed her again. Joni's hands pressed hard against his chest, pushing him back until they were standing. She grabbed his hand and led him down the hall to her room.

Joni's room was exactly what Punk expected. A canopy bed surrounded by a sea of makeup, music, and beauty products, all swaddled in baby pink and white. She sat him down, the mattress dipping beneath them, and the canopy above gave the room a sepia-tone glow.

"Take your shirt off," Joni said, her fingers already slipping under the hem.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smirked.

His shirt hit the floor, and so did hers. Their lips became intertwined, and the sound of denim unzipping echoed in the room. Punk didn't have a chance to look at her before she pushed him back. He caught her by the wrists, his eyes scanning every inch of her skin, her breasts, her stomach, the soft flesh of her waist, her thighs.

"Holy shit, princess," he groaned, pulling her down and kissing her neck.

She let him, her fingers trailing along his biceps, her hands gripping his shoulders as he kissed down to her chest. His mouth closed around her breast, and her head fell back. She arched into him, moaning softly.

"Punk," she breathed.

"Yeah, princess?"

"Have me."

He pulled back, and his lips found hers, her thighs straddling his waist, his hands gripping her ass. Joni rolled her hips, the cotton of her panties grinding against the bulge in his boxers. She whimpered.

"You wanna take these off?"

She bit her lip and agreed.

Punk's hands left her skin for a moment, his hands fumbling with the waistband. They slipped past his thighs, and he was hard and ready. His fingers were already slipped under the band of her panties, and they were gone.

God, she was more beautiful than he could have ever dreamed.

"Jesus," Punk groaned.

Joni laughed and leaned forward, kissing him hard. Punk's hand slipped between her thighs, and she was already wet for him. Punk wasn't a fan of the big guy upstairs, but he was sure thanking him right now.

His fingers slipped inside, and Joni moaned, her face pressing into the crook of his neck. Her hips rocked, and her hands were braced against his chest, fingernails biting into his skin. Even when she was in pleasure, she was sweet, her moans so soft, her breath hot and panting against his ear.

"C'mere, baby," he murmured, breaking away.

His lips trailed to her breast, shoulders, waist, and hips as he pushed her flat onto the bed. He settled between her thighs, his tongue tasting the salt of her inner thigh.

"Punk!"

His mouth was already between her thighs, his hands wrapped around her hips. She cried out, her back arching, and her head tilted back, her curls cascading across the pillow. He kept her from squirming away, but Punk kept pulling her back. His tongue was relentless, and the sounds she made only urged him on. Joni could tell he's made many women weak to their knees before.

"You're so good," she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair.

Punk pulled away, licking his lips, and kissed the softness of her inner thigh.

"Yeah? You like that?"

"Yes."

"You want me to make you come?"

"Let me—," she breathed. "Lemme do you."

"What?"

"Lemme go down on you. Please, I've wanted—"

"You've thought about it, princess?"

"So many times," she groaned, and Punk couldn't resist the grin that tugged on his lips.

He rolled onto his knees to let her have a taste, and she sat up. Her hand was around his shaft, and she licked her lips.

"Fuck, princess," he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed as her mouth sank onto him.

His hips rocked forward, and she gagged, pulling back.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," she coughed, a smile on her face. "Don't stop."

She took him deeper, and his hands were in her hair. He was gentle, and Joni was grateful for it. Her hand twisted around the base, her tongue circling the head, and she sucked, making his head fall back.

"Oh, God," Punk groaned, his fingers gripping the sheets. "Keep going, just like that."

She didn't need the direction. She was already working, her free hand moving down, and she took his balls. Punk inhaled sharply as Joni looked up at him, eyes big and doe-like, and his dick was halfway down her throat.

"Fuck, you're not so innocent, are you?" he exhaled.

She pulled back, her tongue circling the tip again, and Punk knew he was almost there.

"Joni, wait—"

He tugged her hair lightly, and her mouth slipped away, her tongue still pressed against the underside of his shaft. Punk moaned, shaking his head at her.

"You got condoms?"

She nodded and leaned over the bed, digging into her nightstand. It only took a second for her to find them, rip the wrapper, and slip it on.

" C'mere."

He eased her down onto his lap, his knees pressed to the mattress. Punk guided himself inside, and her legs were wrapped around him. His hand was on her back, and she rocked, her hips rolling with his. Their lips pressed together, her hands on his face, and their tongues tied.

"Punk," she moaned, her hips rocking harder, her walls tightening around him.

"You feel so good, princess," he groaned, his hands moving down, gripping her ass and thrusting up.

Joni cried out, her head falling back. His lips kissed the exposed skin of her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. He was so deep, and she was so tight, it was like he was made for her. Their moans became synced, and honey turned into wine. Pleasure became the only thing on their tongues as desire turned into reality. A fire consumed them. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and their breathing became ragged. Joni could feel her toes curl, his veins pulsing in her grip, her name becoming a prayer on his tongue.

"Princess," Punk huffed, "I don't know how much longer I can last."

"I'm so close, baby."

He pulled her close and pressed their foreheads together, the pace growing harder, deeper. Hands entangled in each other's hair, lips dragged across skin as hands wrapped together, a sea of moans, and the sound of her bed hitting the wall.

"I'm gonna come," she whimpered.

"Me too, me too, just—"

Their lips crashed together, and his fingers were between them, circling her clit. He could feel her need. Her nails dug into his back.

"I know, princess," he said, his voice cracking. "Let go for me."

Joni's cry was muffled as she came, and her grip tightened on him, sending him over the edge. She held onto him, her fingers stroking his scalp, her forehead pressed against his, her clit. He could feel her clench around him, the cry from her mouth, and he let go. Joni was coming apart in his arms, her hips bucking wildly, her walls tightening around him. His body went numb, and the world fell away. Maxing carbs and chasing belts was a blur in the backseat of his mind.

"Fuck, Joni," he hissed, his head falling against her chest.

Panted breath and tangled limbs. The air was sweet with sex. They stayed still for a moment, her head bowed on his chest and her fingers tangled in his hair. Her chest rose and fell against his, and he could feel the pulse in her neck.

"Hey," Punk whispered.

"Hey," Joni replied.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she breathed, a laugh rumbling in her chest. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he chuckled.

Joni checked the clock on the bed stand, 12:45 flashed back at her.

"Well, I guess you have to spend the night."

"Something tells me you didn't plan that."

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Let's clean up. I'm taking a shower."

"I can come."

"After you throw away all the dye and bleach."

Punk grinned. "Anything you say, princess."

[allelitewrestlings]

[h0ney-fiction]

Buttercream

summary: when pending divorcée bakery owner Esmé closes up shop late one night, she doesn’t expect a celebrity to walk in desperate for caffeine. over coffee, pastries, and vulnerable conversation, she finds herself opening up in ways she hasn’t dared in years.

ratings/warnings: grown. unprotected sex.

wordcount: 4.4k

a/n: going back to my roots of writing fics for people that literally have none lol.

Fluorescent blue lights hung over my head as I pushed the subfridge's door closed for hopefully the last time today. My feet swelled, my back ached, and I'm sure there was flour in every crevice possible.

Years ago, hell, even a month ago, I wouldn't be so glum about this. I woke up before the crack of dawn and had my hands deep in flour and sugar before most people had their first cup of coffee. Everything in my life felt sweet. I owned my own bakery with the love of my life, was finally making a profit, and I was finally able to enjoy my life without the fear of having to return to a corporate machine.

Then I found him fucking one of our cashiers in the supply closet. Ribbons of blonde hair bounced next to the buttercream.

Three weeks later, I was here at closing time, trying to get both my inventory and life together. It was a miracle I'd even managed to stay open this long, but I refused to close up shop. Especially now, when it was the one true thing I loved.

The bell over the front door jingled, and I slammed the fridge door closed.

"We're closing!" I called from the kitchen. "But we open at 5 AM tomorrow!"

"Sorry, please! Just one cup of coffee and I'll be on my way. I'll pay triple for it."

The voice was deep, the timber filling the emptiness of the cafe. He sounded out of breath and tired.

I peeked through the kitchen window, seeing a tall man with his hand on the counter, leaning forward. He wore a deep brown suit, the pinstripes thin enough for me to only be able to see them under the fluorescent lighting. His shoulders were wide, his frame husky and athletic. He wore a ball cap, but I could tell it was only to hide what was underneath. It clashed with the dusty pink of his tie and the white of his shirt. He must have been a boxer, or perhaps even a professional weightlifter. His physique was sculpted by lifting—my mind wandered at the thought of what he lifted.

"Please, miss. I've been up since 2 AM, and I've been thinking about a flat white all day, and your café comes up as the best one in town."

His words were sweet, and his eyes were sincere. The blues looked weary and pleading.

"Fine," I exhaled, conceding. "Lock the door and take a seat wherever. I'll be with you in a moment."

He grinned, the smile warm and welcoming.

"You're a saint," he said, taking his hat off as he moved toward the door.

I turned and moved to the espresso machine, quickly starting a new batch. I ground the beans and watched the little bits swirl into the metal. I heard the scrape of his chair against the floor as he took the armchair closest to the barista station. His exhaustion was audible as I grabbed milk to steam.

"Rough night?" I asked.

"More like a rough month."

I giggled, pouring into his mug. "I can understand that. Would you like something else?"

"No, thanks."

"How about this? You're the last person in, and I'd hate to waste a good batch."

I turned, placing the steaming mug in front of him. He smiled at the coffee and then at me. His jaw was defined and square, the bronze of his tan exalting the white of his teeth and the blues of his eyes. I gave a faint smile before turning back on my heel, grabbing a slice of parchment paper to grab a piece of baklava cinnamon roll, and putting it on a plate.

"Here," I came back, placing it in front of him. "I think you'll like it."

"What is it?"

"It's our baklava cinnamon roll, and it's the most popular thing we make here."

He smiled and pulled out his wallet.

"No, no," I shook my head. "This one is on me. Consider it a gift."

"I can't-"

"You're already paying triple for the coffee; the treat is free."

A soft snot escaped him, quickly learning there was no way to get out of this without either eating it or having an argument.

"Fine, thank you. At least sit with me and eat the other half."

His hands rolled out a pair of cutlery from the napkin, using the butter knife to cut the treat down the middle. Maybe it was because I hadn't gotten laid before the Big Bang, but I couldn't help but notice the size and strength of his hands with every flex of his fingers.

"What's your name?"

"Esmé."

"That's pretty. My name is John. I assume you're the Esmé that's on the sign ?"

"Butter and Esmé. That's me."

He smiled, and I felt like I was under his light. It was welcoming, and I knew I had his full attention. Being a gentleman, he took a napkin and placed his half on it, sliding the plate over to the seat next to it. I took a seat on the couch, feeling the soft velvet for maybe only the third time since opening six years ago.

John cut into his half of the roll, the fork sinking easily into the sticky, sweet dough. “God,” he muttered after the first bite, closing his eyes briefly. “That’s unfair. If I lived closer, I’d be here every morning.”

I smiled; the compliment made my heart sing. "We bake them fresh every morning. Where are you from?"

"Boston originally, but I currently live in Florida," he answered, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Florida, huh?"

"Yes," he chuckled, "it's not all gators and conspiracy theorists."

"You're right, there are snakes, too."

His eyes lit up, his laugh grew. The timber was like fire, enclosing me. I couldn't help but laugh along, too.

"Touché."

I could feel his eyes on me, watching. The way he looked made me feel like I was the only woman in the world—a feeling I hadn’t felt in so long, but one I could get used to. I broke off another piece of the pastry, letting the silence stretch for a moment.

"Do you travel often?"

"For pleasure? Not nearly as much as I'd like," he answered. "I've travelled all over, but mostly for work. That's why I'm here today, actually. Did you happen to watch your morning news?"

"Yeah, actually," I nodded.

I blinked, recognizing the voice from the TV while kneading dough earlier. Between waiting for the bread to rise and rolling out pastries, I’d glimpsed a tall, muscular man charmingly dodging questions about his dating life on live morning television.

"You're that guy!" I laughed, pointing.

John chuckled from deep in his chest, the sound making me glance at him again. His muscles shifted as he moved, the curve of his mouth lifting, and his whole body carried a sense of ease I felt I’d drawn out of him.

"Yeah, that was me. I'm promoting my new show and have been in interviews all day."

"It was very cute, the way you answered their questions."

"Cute?" He repeated me, raising his eyebrows as he took another sip. "Is that what you would call it?"

"Shayla and Kayla can make a guest nervous with all of their...energy," I said, waving my hand vaguely.

He snorted, nodding in agreement. "I've worked with worse, trust me. At least they're entertaining, even if it's at my expense."

"Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve seen them do worse, too," I said, leaning back into the couch.

"Thank you, Esmé."

"It's no problem. How long are you in town?"

"Just tonight, unfortunately. I need to be in San Diego by 2 tomorrow."

"Busy man."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

I nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you ever get homesick?”

He shrugged, the thought crossing his eyes. “Homesick? Not really. I would be lying if I didn't say it gets a bit lonely at times.”

The earnest honesty was refreshing. For some reason, it made me want to know more.

"How do you combat it, being lonely?"

"I don't know. I don't think I've found a panacea, yet."

John stood up for a moment and shook off his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. He unbuttoned the cufflinks from his shirt, putting them in his pocket. I waited as he rolled up his sleeves to reveal smooth, tanned skin free from imperfections.

For some reason, an image of Superman popped into my head. Just for a moment.

I broke off another piece of the pastry, letting the silence stretch for a moment. “I…I'm going through a divorce." I said quietly, almost to myself. The words felt strange, almost foreign, as they rolled off my tongue.

John’s gaze softened, the fire of his laugh giving way to something gentler. “I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely.

“It’s fine,” I shrugged, smiling faintly. “Working in the bakery keeps me busy. Can't be broken-hearted when you're surrounded by sweets all the time, right?"

"You can be," he replied gently.

My gaze flicked to him, his eyes meeting mine. We sat for a moment, looking at each other, before John cleared his throat and continued, "It's not a crime to miss your ex-husband. Or whoever hurt you. You don't have to be constantly baking and working and doing things just to distract yourself."

"I don't miss him...I just want to forget about what he did."

Silence filled the space between us. It was John's turn to look at me.

"What did he do?"

"He fucked one of the cashiers."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Ah."

"Did he know how lucky he was?"

"I...I don't think he would call himself lucky—"

"Bullshit!"

John's voice cracked through the air like a whip.

I jumped at his tone, blinking at his sudden outburst. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, shaking his head. "That man must have been a complete idiot to let you go."

My cheeks flushed red, and I couldn't stop the small smile from tugging at the corner of my lips.

"You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. If I'd had the opportunity to have you, I would have been on my knees, begging and thanking God that I'd met someone like you.

"John..."

His eyes burned into me, and my head turned to him to hide my gaze. I could feel my heart skip a beat, wanting his words to be true, but how could they be? This was all just a dream. I hit my head against one of the machines, and I was in a coma at the hospital.

Right?

"Don't you dare tell me I'm wrong, Esmé."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing heart. I finally dared to meet his gaze, his baby blues immediately looking into my sable brown eyes. I wanted to look away, to remind myself that this was a stranger, a fleeting visitor in my life, but something familiar made me stay.

“Esmé…” he said again, softer this time, leaning just slightly forward, the scent of him brushing past me. "Do you have anywhere to be after you close?"

"I don't...Why?"

"Because I'd love to take you out to dinner tonight."

"Dinner? Like a date?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes, actually," I breathed out in a half-laugh.

My hair was up in a bun, with loose strands around my face from the day. I looked plain in a t-shirt and jeans, and I was pretty sure there was flour on my boobs. Yet, his gaze didn't falter, his smile didn't crack.

"I think I can change your mind."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I will walk out the door and respect your wishes."

I paused for a moment. "I guess...I guess you can take me out."

"You guess?"

"I mean, yes, please take me out to dinner."

I could tell John was used to having to sell people on who he was, not an ounce of offense showing on his face as he chuckled, and his voice turned teasing. "That's what I thought. I'll make it even easier for you. I'm sure you want to change, no? I'll give you the place and address, and you can meet me in an hour. If you ghost me, I'll always remember you like those Hallmark movies."

I couldn't help but laugh, "Deal. Give me the details."

We exchanged information, and John left, leaving the empty coffee mug by the register.

I quickly closed up shop and ran home, jumping into the shower. I felt out of practice, but excited to relearn. My hands washed my body, feeling the curves that had been hidden for years.

When was the last time someone had touched me?

Being a tourist in your own city was never a bad thing. I hadn't explored the nightlife in years, and something was thrilling about being on an adventure with a handsome stranger.

John was a natural gentleman. He was quick with his wit, charming, and he had a way of making me feel like we had known each other forever. He made it easy for me to be myself and share the woman I was right up to the moment he walked into my café.

We took a stroll through the streets of downtown, his hand hovering above my back, leading me. The young crowd was starting their night, trying to get into the next hottest bar.

"Do you live around here?"

"Not far," I nodded. "About ten minutes."

"Does your ex still live with you?"

"Yes, in the basement. He's moving, hopefully soon, and I'm trying to buy him out of the cafe."

"Buy him out? Why not sell?"

"It's the only thing I have left. It was my dream, all the way from baking in my shitty ass college apartment. I chose comfort for a long time instead of it, and now I have it..."

"You can't stand to let it go," John completed.

"Exactly."

We took a turn onto a less crowded street, the sound of laughter and music fading. I was trying to find a way to talk myself out of it. That this wasn't a situation I was supposed to feel so comfortable in. That there was no way I was meant to feel this much comfort with someone I barely knew.

But then, as the lights became fewer and the people thinned, John stopped in front of a small boutique hotel and turned to me.

"Can I offer you a nightcap?"

There were more reasons to say yes than no.

"That would be lovely."

He led me inside and to the elevators, the lobby quiet save for a lone worker fighting sleep or boredom away at the front desk. The elevator creaked as it climbed, John standing so close I could smell the woody vanilla of his cologne. Any other night, and I might have felt anxious, worried about the future and the implications. But, right now, the only thing on my mind was the desire to feel his arms around me.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened, John guiding me through. I followed him to a door with the brass plaque reading 727, and he pulled a card from his pocket; the red light turned green as the door unlocked.

The room was nice, featuring a full living area that led to a king-sized bed occupying most of the space. The white linens looked pressed and crisp, a deep navy duvet folded at the foot of the bed. It was one of those hotels for people who lived in a tax bracket much higher than my own.

John hung his jacket in the closet, pulling the tie loose around his neck.

"Wanna raid the mini bar? I think I saw a bottle of champagne at the bottom."

"Champagne? What are we celebrating?"

"Our night together, of course."

His voice was warm and gentle, but I could see a flicker of mischief behind his eyes. His lips were pressed in a way I wasn't sure if he was serious or teasing.

"Sure, why not?"

I followed him to the fridge, admiring as his biceps stretched the fabric of his button-down.

"You want to open it?"

"And miss a muscle man like yourself do all the work?"

John laughed, shaking his head. "As you wish, m'lady."

"Oh, my lady, he says." I giggled as the cork popped off and into the ceiling.

"Oops, hope they don't charge me for that," he said, pouring the bubbling liquid into the flute glasses.

John handed me a glass before looping his arm around mine, taking a seat on the couch.

"To new friends."

"To new friends," I repeated.

We clinked glasses as Denver nightlife played below us, the sound muffled through the window. John watched me, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. You're just cute."

I smiled, feeling the blush rise to my cheeks. "I'm glad you think so."

"I have eyes, don't I?"

"I think my ex-husband would disagree with you."

"Well, he's an idiot," he scoffed. "I don't recall you telling me he'd gone blind."

"No," I laughed. "I didn't."

"Then there you have it. The only explanation is that he's an idiot."

I raised my glass, smiling as he clinked his glass against mine. We drank in silence, our eyes wandering over each other. I slid closer, his arm going around my shoulders. I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt.

"What would you say to a little nightcap, John?"

"Are you saying you'd like to have another drink with me?"

"More than that."

He looked down at me, a soft smile playing on his lips. His free hand came up to brush a strand of hair out of my face.

"I'd love nothing more."

John's lips were soft and surprisingly gentle. His hand cupped my cheek, the heat of his palm radiating through me. The kiss held care and passion. I was already missing him when he broke away.

"Come with me," John whispered, breaking away.

I followed him into the bedroom, his hands reaching for the buttons of my dress. He slowly unbuttoned them, his lips trailing along the exposed skin.

"I don't think you've been treated in the way you deserve, Esmé."

He continued to undo the buttons, kissing the exposed skin as he went. When the last button was undone, he stepped back, his gaze taking in every inch of me.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "How could someone take you for granted?"

I blushed, not used to such praise. I was used to being the background character in a man's life, not the star.

"John..."

His hands traced over the cowl neckline of my dress, brushing the straps off my shoulders. He kissed my collarbone, the hollow of my throat, the crook of my neck. My hands tangled in his shirt, tugging him closer, needing to feel him against me.

Black silk pulled under my bra, lips trailing behind as he unhooked the latch and let the cups fall away. I sighed, his warm breath brushing against my skin.

"John," I breathed, his name slipping out before I could stop it.

John's hands slid down to my hips, pulling me against him. "Tell me what you need, Esmé."

"You."

His eyes brightened at the word, a smile breaking across his face. He kissed me again, his tongue teasing mine. I let him have his way, rolling and suckling my tongue and bottom lip. He sat me down on the foot of the bed before stepping away.

"Stay right there, beautiful."

I watched as he took his shirt off, exposing a muscular torso. I couldn't help but bite my lip, seeing his rippling muscles, his skin smooth and without flaw. Trousers followed, exposing a pair of dark briefs barely hiding his hard-on.

"Let's get you out of these."

John got down on his knees, caressing my thighs down to my knees along the way. He gently eased my underwear down and off, his hands returning to my legs. He lifted them, resting them on his shoulders as his head dipped between them.

My breath hitched on his first taste, his tongue lying flat against my clit. He took his time moving around it, swirling his tongue in a way I felt every motion.

"Oh, John," I gasped.

"You like that?" His breath vibrated against me

I didn't have time to respond as he sucked on me. My head rolled back, my hand combing through his hair, pulling him closer. One of his hands reached up, grabbing what he could of my breast. He kneaded it, his thumb brushing over my nipple. I bit my lip, a sigh escaping me.

No one had paid this much attention to me in years. I had forgotten how good it felt to have a man's undivided attention.

I had forgotten how good sex could be.

His fingers slipped inside, his tongue still tasting me. I could feel myself growing closer, the heat coiling inside me.

"You're so sweet, baby."

His fingers curled, and I cried out, his lips wrapped around my clit. My orgasm crashed through me, John's free hand holding me steady as I shook. He waited for me to come down before releasing me, his mouth and chin glistening from the living room's light.

"Good?"

"Perfect."

"I'm glad," he said, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead. "Lie down for me, beautiful."

I moved up the bed, and John's hands hovered over me. When my head hit the pillow, he kissed me, the taste of myself on his tongue. I rolled my hips, just to feel him. He moaned into me, his cock twitching. He groaned, his hands fumbling to get his briefs off.

I needed him so badly. His lips on mine, his body pressing me down, his heat inside me—an ache that rolled down my thighs.

"Esmé," he breathed, his voice heavy. "May I have you?"

"Yes," I nodded, no hesitation.

He leaned over me, his lips finding mine again, a low groan rumbling in his chest. I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck. I opened my legs for him, wrapping myself around his waist.

He was so thick, I gasped as he slid inside, stretching me. I took a deep breath and exhaled, my breath brushing against his ear. John moans, easing himself inside. I felt full, the weight of him resting on top of me. I rolled my hips, testing the water. His cock twitched, the feeling making me whine.

"Fuck," he hissed.

I dug my nails into the firm curve of him, pulling him deeper until we both moaned into each other’s mouths.

"You feel so good," I whimpered, squeezing his cock.

"Baby, you're gonna kill me."

"Good, die inside me, please."

He laughed, his whole body vibrating. "TMZ would love that photo."

I began to laugh, but my breath caught in my throat as he found his motion. He was slow at first, testing the waters of my ocean. His hand cupped the side of my face, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. I took it in, sucking gently, and his breath hitched.

"Don't hold back," I whispered, licking his ear.

A low laugh escaped him. "Oh, you're dangerous."

I smiled, knowing I was the one in control. John's hips began to pick up the pace, the sound of his skin meeting mine echoing through the room. His hands roamed my body, grabbing anything he could. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I pulled him deeper, needing him.

"More, John."

He obeyed, his hands moving to the back of my thighs. He pushed them against my breast, my knees on his shoulders. The sensation of his cock hitting deep inside was maddening. The moan that escaped me was one I had never heard before.

"Oh, god! Yes!"

"God, baby, you're so beautiful."

His hands cradled my neck, his thumbs massaging my scalp. I closed my eyes, his lips meeting mine, his tongue teasing and exploring. I rolled my hips, wanting to feel every inch of him.

"Don't stop!"

I cried out, my orgasm hitting me suddenly. John moaned, his cock twitching inside me. His hips picked up speed, his hand sliding down and gripping my hip. He slowed his pace, but kept his motion tight. I sucked and bit his bottom lip when I wasn't panting for air or moaning his name.

"I'm close," he whispered, his voice heavy.

"Cum for me, baby."

He groaned, his lips finding mine, his hips rolling one last time. His body tensed, and I could feel him pulsing. I held him as we kissed, rolling my hips against him, the sensation sending shivers down my spine. He was so warm, so hot inside me.

John kissed my forehead before breaking away. He rolled off of me and onto his side, pulling me into him. His lips were on my temple, and his arm draped over me.

"Esmé," he whispered.

I smiled, kissing his shoulder. "John."

"You're incredible."

We were quiet for a moment, the lights and sounds of the city floating through the open window. I could hear his heartbeat, my ear pressed to his chest.

"Esmé?"

"Mmhm?"

"I don't want tonight to end."

"Me either," I admitted, looking up at him.

"Do you ever take a sick day? Vacation?"

"Sometimes."

"Come with me," he said, his words so faint I barely registered them.

"What?"

"Come with me," he repeated, the excitement and eagerness filling his voice.

"What do you mean?"

"To San Diego. I have to be there for SmackDown, then we can go to the airport and go anywhere you want."

I watched his eyes; his hopefulness to have me along was genuine. The idea was reckless, absurd even. I was a stranger, and here was this handsome, charming, funny, and kind man begging me to run away with him.

But why not me?

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

He was so excited, so thrilled, I couldn't help but kiss him. I giggled, his hands running through my hair, pulling me on top of him.

"You'll love San Diego. It's so beautiful, and there's so much to do. We could go out to Coronado and spend a night or two there."

"Really?"

"Yes. Oh! Do you have a passport?"

I nodded. He smiled.

"We can go wherever in the world afterwards, then. You choose. Paris? London? Berlin? Rome? Sydney? Tokyo?"

"John, John, stop," I giggled. "One step at a time."

He was beaming, his smile taking up most of his face. His excitement was contagious. I kissed him again, and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into him.

I was already ready for round two.

[h0ney-fiction]

queen, i love your work - i’m legit kicking my feet every night reading your posts 🫡

i saw this and had to request an insanely thirsty, aggressive pussy eating scenario 🫥

you’re punks wife but you’re both so comfortable and enjoy bringing people in. sami’s been involved before but you get to choose penta to join for your bday 🫠

could end with locker room chat of seth being upset it wasn’t him 😚

*daddy kink is sooooo encouraged* ilysm

First of all, thank you!! Secondly, love this concept. I love Penta but think he has no personality so I wouldn’t know what to do 🤣. Do you have any alternates?