#zip up hooded sweatshirts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrcmoni · 2 months ago

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℘ ࣪₊ bleeding blue ࣪₊ ㅤㅤ℘

MASTERLIST

synopsis: after destroying her hair, billie turns to you, her fiancé, in hopes of you being able to fix it.

genre: fluff

pairing: cosmetologist fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 10.8k

warnings: slight cussing

authors note: i know y’all see how long this is, if there is any spelling mistakes or continuity errors ignore it, i was up for 2 days. enjoy x 💋

the hair salon is quiet now, the hum of blow dryers and chatter replaced by a peaceful stillness. the sunset pours through the large glass window, casting a golden haze over everything it touches. soft amber and pink rays stretch across the polished floors, catching on stray hair strands and scattering delicate reflections off the mirrors and the chrome edges of styling chairs. shadows of tall ferns and succulents perched on the counter sway gently, their movements dappled by the fading light. the air still carries the faint traces of shampoo and hairspray, mingling with the rich warmth of the evening, as if the room itself is exhaling, releasing the weight of the day into the tender embrace of the setting sun.

your last client had left over an hour ago, leaving you with just enough time to clean up and dream of how good your bed will feel once you finally sink into it. now, in the corner of the room, you’re sitting under the hooded dryer—not because you need it, but because it’s your favorite chair in your booth. its worn leather hugs your body, offering a secluded cocoon, perfect for resting after a long day of standing.

you lazily scroll through your phone, the cool screen contrasting with the slight ache in your hands. you tap open the messages app, clicking the second most recent contact—it pulls up your fiancé’s profile, her name sitting at the top in bold letters.

you: almost done, cleaning up and i’m omw home. 💗

a small smile tugs at your lips as you glance at the text, thumb hovering before tapping the blue arrow to send it. you’re about to switch over to instagram when the soft creak of the front door opening cuts through the silence.

your eyebrows knit together, your smile fading into a frown as confusion prickles at the edges of your mind. instinctively, your eyes flick toward the entrance, words already forming on your tongue, ready to tell whoever it is to leave and come back tomorrow.

but then, there she is.

billie stands in the doorway, framed by the last lingering rays of sunlight that sneak through the glass. she’s wearing her oversized tour zip-up, her name stitched neatly on the chest. the royal blue thread contrasts sharply with the heavy yellow fabric, the colors a loud declaration against the soft, muted tones of the salon. her thumb grazes her bottom lip, the tip of her nail caught lightly between her teeth as she crosses her ankles.

the lanyard of her car keys hangs outside the pocket of her sweats, a bold red and black that sways slightly as she shifts her weight. the key fob itself is tucked away neatly, hidden. her star beanie is tugged low over her head, barely peeking out beneath the hood of her sweatshirt, which is pulled up and cinched just enough to hide all of her hair.

“hey, baby,” she says, her voice syrupy, dripping with a softness that only she could manage. the corners of her lips press together in a tight, almost apologetic smile, but there’s a flicker of amusement there—a twitch of mischief that she just can’t seem to hide.

her wide, doe-like eyes dart toward you, then quickly away, like a child caught red-handed. guilt and playfulness swim together in her gaze, her cheeks tinged faintly pink. she bites her bottom lip, the expression teetering between sweet and sheepish, her fingers fidgeting at the hem of her hoodie as though it’ll keep her hands from giving her away.

it’s the kind of look that says: i know i messed up, but come on—you can’t really stay mad at me, can you?

you straighten in your seat, eyes narrowing as you take in her stance, her tone, her very presence in a place she knows she shouldn’t be after hours.

“what did you do?” you ask, your voice sharp with suspicion but softened by the ghost of a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“okay, so please don’t be mad,” she says, stepping further inside, her voice carrying that sugary lilt she always uses when she knows she’s done something questionable. her fingers clasp loosely together at first, but then they start to fidget, her thumbs tracing uneven circles over each other—slow, deliberate, and trembling. the motion falters, sometimes smooth, other times jerky, betraying the nervous energy humming beneath her calm façade. with each rotation, her thumbs press a little harder, as if the movement alone could ground her spiraling thoughts. even when her hands shift positions, the circling doesn’t stop, the weight of her tension held in that small, silent gesture.

“billie,” you warn, your tone light but firm, enough to let her know you’re not in the mood for whatever nonsense she’s about to throw your way.

her feet shuffle as she moves quickly across the room, closing the gap between you with a hurried urgency. before you can say another word, she’s on her knees in front of you, her hands reaching to cradle your own. the cool press of her engagement ring brushes against your skin—a sharp but gentle reminder of the promises you’ve both made, the weight of forever between you.

“first of all, i love you,” she whispers, her voice careful, the words wrapped in precision as she tilts her head up to meet your gaze. her expression teeters on the edge of vulnerability, her wide blue eyes swimming with a confession she’s not quite ready to say aloud.

your eyes narrow as suspicion prickles up your spine. “billie.” the repetition of her name carries a sharper edge now, though it’s softened by the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“and second…” her voice trails off as she reaches for her hood. slowly, she pulls it down, followed by the star-patterned beanie covering her head. when her hair finally comes into view, the mess of it hits you like a freight train.

your jaw drops. the usual cascade of silky brown strands is now a disaster—a patchy, uneven palette of brassy yellows, burnt orange streaks, and sections so dark they seem almost untouched. the back looks half-finished, with random tufts sticking out like stubborn weeds refusing to blend.

in shock, you reach out, your fingers lightly grazing her damp hair before cupping her jaw to turn her head from side to side. the light from the window catches the chaotic patches, making the disaster even more glaring. your brows knit together as disbelief bubbles out in a soft, incredulous laugh.

“billie. what the hell is this?” you finally manage, your tone caught between amusement and horror.

she winces, the sheepish grin on her face growing wider. “i tried to do it myself,” she admits, her voice a hurried tumble of words. before you can respond, she’s already jumping to defend herself. “it was a box dye, okay? it looked so easy, but it wasn’t. now it’s a hot ass mess. save me, please.” her hands clasp together, fingers intertwining as she looks up at you with a desperate, pleading expression.

you groan, the ache in your feet from the long day suddenly feeling heavier. “of course, you would try to dye your hair at home,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. your eyes scan the spotless, freshly cleaned station you’d been so close to leaving behind.

“but billie, i just cleaned everything,” you complain, dragging the words out with a soft groan.

“i’ll buy you dinner,” she interrupts quickly, her lips curving into a hopeful smile.

your eyebrow arches, unimpressed. “you buy me dinner all the time. you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

without missing a beat, she grabs your right hand—the one adorned with the diamond ring she gave you—and presses a kiss to your palm. the warmth of her lips lingers as she trails kisses upward, along your wrist, the sensation leaving a soft buzz in its wake.

“and dessert,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your wrist before working their way up your arm. her kisses grow slower, more deliberate, each one sending shivers racing down your spine.

“i’ll get you anything you want,” she whispers as her mouth grazes the curve of your neck, her words melting into the skin there.

your resolve wavers, her lips trailing a path of heat along the sweet spot of your neck until she finally stops, pulling back just enough to hover inches from your face. her thumb rubs soothing circles along the back of your hand, her eyes wide and shimmering as they lock onto yours. “baby, just please help me fix this,” she pleads, her voice soft and breathless.

you sigh, your gaze trailing over her disheveled form. she’s on her knees, hair an absolute wreck, begging you to fix it with promises of whatever you want. the vulnerability in her voice tugs at you, her cute, flushed face making it nearly impossible to say no.

“fine,” you relent, passing her your phone. the tension in her shoulders melts as she exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. slipping your phone into her pocket, she stands, her fingers brushing against yours as you lead her to the salon chair.

“thank you so much,” she whispers, her voice soft as she peppers kisses over your knuckles. her lips are warm, reverent, each touch delicate and lingering, like a silent apology.

you grab the back of the sleek black chair, spinning it around so billie can face the large vanity mirror. the gold and white accent jibbitz on your black crocs catch the light as your foot pumps the chair’s pedal, raising it to your height.

the soft buzz of the hvac fills the quiet salon, mingling with the faint sounds of a reality tv show playing faintly in the background. you move toward the cabinet, the cool metal handle pressing against your fingers as you open it to retrieve what you need.

you gather the essentials—sectioning clips, brushes, bowls, dye bottles in various shades of blue, shampoo, and conditioner—all of it placed into a plastic tub. setting it on the counter in front of billie, you grab a cape and apron from the nearby rack, the fabric smooth and familiar against your fingers.

slipping the apron over your head, you tie it behind your back before draping the cape over billie’s shoulders. the velcro tabs fasten snugly around her neck, securing her for what you both know will be a long evening ahead.

billie digs into the pocket of her sweatpants, pulling out her phone with the lazy precision of someone buying time. her fingers swipe absently across the screen, scrolling through apps and notifications, but her focus drifts as you step behind her. instinctively, her head tilts back, her damp, tangled strands crumpling slightly against your stomach. the warmth of her resting there is an unspoken intimacy, one that almost softens your irritation—almost.

“did you at least put vaseline on your edges like i told you to?” you ask, already knowing the answer but holding onto a sliver of hope.

her scrolling halts. there’s a pregnant pause as she processes your question, her eyes darting to the side in the way they always do when she’s been caught. she sucks in a breath, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she stares anywhere but at you, as if the walls themselves might save her.

“billie,” you whine, dragging her name out as your eyes instinctively roll toward the ceiling.

reaching for your hand on her shoulder, she turns her head just enough to press a quick, placating kiss against your knuckles. “i’m sorry,” she murmurs, her lips curving into that small, crooked smile designed to melt you.

“now when you start turning colors, i don’t wanna hear it,” you shoot back, exasperated. “how many times do i have to tell you to put some kind of protectant on your skin?” your voice lilts into an exaggerated dramatization because, without it, she’d never listen.

“i know, baby,” she coos, her tone dripping with faux contrition, and you can’t decide if you want to kiss her or strangle her.

with a heavy sigh, you let your fingers trail through her hair, the strands coarse and uneven as you assess the damage. the texture of her missteps lies in your hands, and though it’s a disaster, it’s a familiar one.

you exhale slowly, grounding yourself for what’s ahead. “okay, let’s see what we’re working with.” gently, you sift through her hair, pulling at a patch near the crown.

“girl…” you say, drawing the word out, “…what the fuck is this?” holding the brassy streak up for her to see, you tilt her head toward the mirror.

“i think that’s where i started,” she admits, her grin a sheepish curve that wavers as her eyes meet yours in the glass.

you shake your head in disbelief, spinning her chair so she’s facing you now. “do you know what that means?”

her brow arches in a silent question, waiting for your inevitable proclamation.

grabbing her hand, you guide her toward the shampoo bowl. the porcelain is cool against her neck as you ease her into position, your touch firm but gentle. your fingers cradle the base of her neck, their warmth grounding her as you lift her hair into the bowl.

“it means deep conditioning. lots of it,” you declare, the finality in your tone leaving no room for debate. “you better make peace with the dryer cap at home because it’s about to be your best friend.”

she groans, the sound low and dramatic, but she doesn’t argue. her resignation is written in the soft slouch of her shoulders as you step away, the sound of your footsteps echoing lightly in the quiet salon.

at your station, you grab what you need—a clarifying shampoo, a paddle brush, and a bottle of conditioner that promises miracles. your fingers graze the cool metal of the sink knobs as you return, twisting them to find the right temperature.

you test the water first, letting it pool in your palm before flicking a few drops toward billie’s face.

“hey!” she yelps, her head jerking slightly as she blinks up at you, mock offense written all over her face.

“what was that for?” she blinks rapidly, her blue eyes wide with mock betrayal, mouth slightly agape as if the water had shocked her soul awake.

“that’s because some people think it’s okay to be hardheaded and ruin their hair,” you retort, your tone sharp yet laced with teasing sass, the kind she secretly adores.

you grin, a mischievous edge tugging at the corners of your lips as you lean over her. “alexa,” you call out to the speaker perched in the corner, “resume my music.”

the soft strains of r&b flow through the air, warm and rich, filling the space between you. the song’s melody wraps around you both, threading its way into the moment as your fingers move to her hair.

“you better thank me for this later,” you tease, a hint of fondness creeping into your voice despite yourself.

her lips curl into a small smile, her eyes fluttering shut as you begin to work, the rhythm of the music syncing with the gentle movements of your hands.

you reach for the sprayer, its chrome gleaming under the soft light, and begin to rinse her hair. warm water cascades over her scalp in soothing waves, like liquid velvet flowing through each strand. the gentle pressure massages away the chaos of the day, and you can feel her body melt a little further into the chair.

leaning over her, your movements are both skilled and tender, the natural grace of someone who has done this a hundred times before but still finds joy in the ritual. you grab the red paddle brush, its bristles catching the light like a promise of transformation, and begin working through her damp hair. the knots resist at first, but the brush glides through with practiced ease, pulling softly, releasing each tangle like it’s freeing her from some invisible weight.

casting the brush aside, you reach for the clarifying shampoo. “this’ll strip as much of the box dye out as possible,” you explain, your voice a gentle melody against the background hum of water. “after that, i’ll tone it to fix the brassiness.”

the bottle makes a soft squelch as you squeeze a pearlescent glob into your palm, its silky texture catching the light. the faint, floral scent rises, intertwining with something sweet and clean, filling the air between you. rubbing your hands together, the shampoo blooms into a rich lather, and you hum softly along to the music as you work it into her hair.

your hands move with precision, starting at her roots. the pads of your fingers glide over her scalp, your acrylic nails grazing just enough to send a shiver down her spine. then you press a little harder, your movements circular and deliberate, coaxing the stubborn dye out while soothing her with each motion. the faint jangle of your bracelets punctuates the rhythm of your work, the charms clinking softly as you rub small, methodical circles along her forehead, her baby hairs curling as water meets skin.

at the nape of her neck, your pinkies trace gentle arcs, ensuring no dye lingers where her hair meets her skin. the suds build, thick and creamy, clinging to her strands like clouds ready to drift away.

you’re lost in the focus of your task until you feel her gaze on you, steady and soft, like she’s committing every detail to memory. glancing down, you meet her blue eyes, their depth catching you off guard.

“you okay?” you whisper, your voice low and warm, the question carrying more than just concern—it holds affection, reassurance.

her tattooed hand slips out from under the cape, inked angels adorning her skin as her thumb brushes against your forearm. her touch is light but insistent, pulling you closer until your arms rest against the sink’s edge, caging her in. her head tilts slightly, her smile soft and content as she hums a quiet acknowledgment.

you feel the weight of her trust in that moment, her complete surrender as her body relaxes under your hands. each movement of your fingers, each stroke through her hair, feels like an unspoken promise: i’ve got you. let me take care of this.

“i’m sorry. for real,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it wraps around you like a warm embrace.

you pause, your fingers still tangled in her hair, your brows furrowing. “for what, baby?”

her lips press into a pout, their natural blush deepened by her vulnerability. “for messing up. i didn’t want to make you have to work again, but… i panicked.” her free hand finds your thigh, resting there gently as if to anchor herself in the moment.

“oh, do not apologize, my love,” you reassure her, resuming the slow, soothing massage of her scalp. “it’s my job to fix these kinds of things. besides, i like doing your hair. i was just fussing to fuss, okay? it’s okay to make mistakes—especially when you’ve got me to help you out.”

you lean in closer, your voice softening as your fingers thread through her hair, combing through the strands with care. “you know i’d do this for you any day, right? so don’t worry about it. just sit back, relax, and let me work my magic.”

a small hum of contentment escapes her lips as she nods, her pout still evident. you lean down, closing the space between you, and press a soft kiss to her lips. her lashes flutter against your cheeks, her lips parting slightly as she tastes the faint mix of her mint chapstick and your strawberry gloss mingling together.

her hands find your back, tugging gently as if she can’t quite get enough of your closeness. a quiet laugh escapes you, light and airy, as you pull back, planting one last peck before returning to your work.

turning the water back on, you tilt the sprayer toward the base of her scalp, the warm stream washing away the thick suds. swirling ribbons of old dye and shampoo trail down the bowl, the colors melding into a soft pastel kaleidoscope before vanishing down the drain. the water flows smoothly through your fingers, its warmth lingering as you work through her hair, strand by strand, washing away every trace of her mistake.

and in the quiet intimacy of the moment, the rhythm of your work and the softness of her gaze make everything else fade away.

her eyes flutter closed, a soft breath escaping her lips as she melts into the sensation of your hands moving with steady intent. you cradle her head gently, guiding the stream of water with care, ensuring no spot is left untouched. your free hand parts the damp strands, fingers slipping through them like silk as you coax out the stubborn dye that clings to the ends, reluctant to let go.

as the water runs, the colors begin to bleed away, the once cloudy liquid shifting to clear, signaling the start of something fresh, something new. your nails graze softly against her scalp, soothing and purposeful, like a gentle caress that lingers, making sure every trace of dye is gone. the motion becomes rhythmic, almost hypnotic, and you can’t help but smile at the way billie’s body relaxes, her posture softening under your touch.

“see? all clean,” you murmur, your voice a gentle whisper, comforting and warm as you turn off the sprayer. the water runs from your hands like the last traces of tension, and you brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek with the same tenderness.

once the water runs clear, you set the sprayer aside, your fingers still lingering in her hair, smoothing through the damp strands as they fall into place. with practiced grace, you gather the hair in your palms, squeezing gently to coax out the excess water. the droplets fall softly into the basin, their rhythm steady and soothing, like the quiet pulse of a heartbeat. your hands move with an almost reverent precision, mindful not to tug, only wringing out enough water to keep the hair from dripping too much.

you extend your arm toward the counter, reaching for a fresh, warm black towel that rests nearby. the heat still clings to it from the dryer, and as you drape it over billie’s head, you cup your hands around it, tucking the edges securely. you press the towel softly against her scalp, the warmth radiating through the fabric, soaking up the last of the moisture, comforting her like a quiet embrace.

“there,” you say, a smile pulling at your lips as you step back for a moment, surveying the work. “all rinsed and wrapped up. ready for the next step, love?”

with a gentle nod, she follows you back over to the chair, her presence still relaxed, her smile a soft echo of the comfort you’ve given. you walk over to the coffee table, grabbing the remote and handing it to her as you turn her away from the mirror. she flips through the categories, her fingers tracing the screen as you move to the black bar, retrieving your supplies from the black tub and setting them on the counter in their familiar, ordered arrangement.

the first bottle to emerge is the black dye, cool and smooth in your hand, its cap unscrewing with a satisfying twist. you squeeze a measured amount into a mixing bowl, the thick, inky substance pooling at the bottom with a weight that feels satisfying, as if it holds all the potential for the transformation ahead. next, the developer, creamy and faintly metallic, pours in a controlled stream, the contrast between the jet-black dye and the pale developer stark, almost artistic, like night meeting day.

grabbing your dye brush, you begin to stir with slow, deliberate movements, folding the two substances together. the black streaks through the white, at first marbled and uneven, then gradually blending into a glossy, midnight-colored cream. you lean in closer, making sure the mixture is smooth, scraping the sides of the bowl with the brush to gather every last drop of product.

next, you grab the smaller bowls for the blue dyes, each one its own vibrant hue. you pour the colors in, no need for developer, knowing these are semi-permanents, their vibrancy untouched by the need for mixing. the blues swirl together, each one vivid and intense, and you can feel the excitement building—ready to blend them with the deep, dark base.

the rhythm of the mixing is calming, a ritual you know by heart, each movement of your brush a practiced, soothing motion. the anticipation swells in your chest as you prepare to bring together the perfect blend for billie’s hair.

when the dyes are perfectly mixed, you turn back to billie, positioning yourself behind her once more. you shake the towel before gently unraveling it from her head, the fabric slipping off her hair with a soft rustle. her hair—now long and wavy—falls freely, cascading in fluid, graceful waves over her shoulders like liquid midnight. you take in the beauty of the moment, before reaching for your parting comb. you move with practiced ease, carefully dividing her hair into six sections, the comb gliding smoothly through each strand, as if the strands themselves are eager to fall into place.

you begin by clipping the top half of her hair, then sectioning the lower half into two parts, ensuring that the color will apply evenly, without hesitation. the clips snap into place with precision, each movement deliberate. slipping your gloves on, you start applying the dye to the roots, your hands steady and deliberate. the dye meets her scalp, each brushstroke a quiet promise, ensuring that every strand is perfectly coated. the comb moves through effortlessly with each section, your touch confident and fluid. billie can feel you behind her, though she can’t see what you’re doing. yet, there’s a trust that hangs between you, a deep and unspoken understanding that makes your heart swell with quiet affection.

“you’re so good at this,” billie murmurs, her voice low and admiring, watching as the color sinks in effortlessly.

“you can’t even see what i’m doing, babe,” you chuckle softly, setting the bowl of dye down. you lean over, placing your elbows on the chair as you spin it, bringing her face to the mirror so she can watch your every move.

“okay, but i know you, and i know you’re good at what you do. i swear, i’m never doing my own hair again.”

her compliment lingers in the air, a sweet echo, and you smile as you pick up the bowl once more, moving behind her with a sense of purpose. billie flinches slightly as the cold dye touches her scalp, but you smooth it out with gentle strokes, your acrylics gliding through her hair, the sensation soft and calming. you focus entirely on the application, taking your time to make sure each section is perfect. “it takes years to perfect,” you whisper, as the color settles into her strands, dark and even.

the tv show hums softly in the background, but you’re not really paying attention to it. billie’s eyes flicker between you and the mirror, her gaze never straying far from your hands, which move with precision and care.

“are you excited for the tour?” you ask, keeping the conversation flowing, your voice a steady current as your hands continue their work.

billie nods slowly, the slightest furrow of concern crossing her brow. “yeah, but… it’s also nerve-wracking. i mean, i haven’t toured in a while, so i’m a little anxious.”

you glance at her, surprised. “why are you nervous, baby?”

your hands pause, the brush hovering mid-stroke as you meet her gaze in the mirror. her eyes dart away, a subtle shrug rolling through her shoulders, hidden beneath the cape. “i don’t know,” she admits softly, her voice carrying a faint edge of vulnerability. “i guess… i’m worried people won’t connect with the new stuff, or that i’ll mess up. it’s been a while, you know?”

you set the brush down in the bowl, wiping your hands on a nearby towel, then moving to stand beside her. one hand rests gently on her shoulder, your fingers grazing the curve of her collarbone, your thumb moving in slow, reassuring circles against the fabric of her shirt. “billie, you’re amazing,” you say, your voice warm, but firm. “you’ve got nothing to prove to anyone. you’ve worked so hard on this, and i know it’s going to blow people away. plus,” you add with a playful smile, “if anyone’s got the nerve to doubt you, i’ll just have to handle it.”

she meets your gaze in the mirror, her eyes softening, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “thanks,” she whispers. “it helps hearing that from you.”

you kiss the top of her head lightly, mindful of the dye, before stepping back to your place behind her. “anytime, love,” you say, picking up the brush again. “now hold still—i’m almost done.”

as you finish applying the dye, billie’s expression softens, her earlier tension slowly giving way to a quiet sense of ease. the warmth of her trust fills the room, wrapping around both of you, and for a moment, the low murmur of the tv fades into the background, leaving only the sound of the brush smoothing through her hair, each stroke a quiet act of care.

“what’d you wanna eat?” she asks, breaking the silence, her voice light.

“um…” you pause briefly, considering. “it’s whatever you want.”

she rolls her eyes, a playful glint lighting her expression. “you always say that,” she teases, her tone affectionate but laced with knowing. “but then when i pick, you’ll complain about it.”

you chuckle softly, setting the brush down and giving her hair a final once-over to make sure the dye is even. “that’s not true,” you counter, your grin betraying your words. “okay, maybe sometimes. but i promise, i won’t complain this time.”

she tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror, a smirk tugging at her lips. “mmhmm. so if i say vegan sushi, you won’t pull that face you always do?”

“no…?” you trail off, narrowing your eyes playfully.

“if you say so,” she laughs, leaning back in the chair, her shoulders relaxing at last. she pulls out her phone, the light from the screen flickering against her face as she pulls up the website to order food.

you grab your comb once more, your hand settling gently on the back of her head, tilting it slightly so you can part the back. the metal end of the comb glides smoothly through the mid to low portions of her hair, creating an even part with ease. gathering the spare hair in your hand, you bend slightly, reaching for a clip and securing it with careful precision.

turning back to your station, you pick up the light blue dye, starting to apply it about three inches down from the roots. the color glides on with a vibrant pop against the black, a striking contrast that’s already beginning to take shape. you feather the dye carefully, blending it seamlessly into the black, creating a smooth, ombre transition. billie’s hair is thick, and you take your time, moving with quiet intention, combing through each section to ensure the colors blend perfectly. with gloved fingers, you work the dye into her hair, making sure it’s just right, the blues flowing into the black in perfect harmony. you repeat the process with the other two shades of blue, each one vibrant, intense, creating a masterpiece of color with every stroke.

the atmosphere is calm now, the warm glow of the lights spilling across the polished surfaces, casting soft reflections that shimmer like a quiet symphony. every little moment between you two seems to stretch longer, the air thick with the deepening connection, the space between your souls growing closer with each passing second. you finish the blue ombré, your hands steady as you apply the final touches, then grab a plastic cap, gently placing it over billie’s head to let the dyes process. the room is silent, save for the low hum of the tv and the rhythm of your breathing, until a knock on the door breaks the peace.

you remove your gloves with a practiced motion and make your way to the door, finding a delivery man holding a bag labeled “take out.” with a soft smile, you reach into your back pocket, pulling out ten dollars for his tip, exchanging it for the food as you offer a quiet thank you. the door closes behind you, the warmth of the room welcoming you back in.

you retreat back inside, removing the black cape from billie’s shoulders, followed by your apron, tossing them carelessly into a corner, the fabric settling like memories discarded in haste. crouching down, you sit cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, billie mirroring your movement beside you. you open the boxes of the chinese takeout, the aroma instantly filling the air—soy sauce, garlic, and something sweet and tangy all blending together, making your stomach rumble in eager anticipation.

the fluffy carpet beneath you contrasts against the cool, smooth hardwood of the salon, the softness of it grounding you in the moment. you open the boxes slowly, careful to not spill any of the steaming food. inside, the noodles glisten, their texture tender and inviting. the spring rolls are crispy, their golden brown crusts promising a satisfying crunch, and the stir-fried veggies glisten, coated in a savory sheen, the light catching each vibrant color like jewels in the dim room.

handing billie a pair of chopsticks, you take your own, your fingers easily finding their grip. you dive into the food, the two of you settling into a rhythm—eating, talking, and occasionally laughing at the little moments between bites.

“this is so much better than sushi,” you joke, nudging her lightly with your knee as you twirl some lo mein onto your chopsticks.

billie rolls her eyes, grinning. “you’re lucky i was in the mood for chinese. otherwise, you’d be starving right now.”

you laugh, taking another bite. the savory flavors burst across your tongue, comforting and satisfying, grounding you in the simplicity of the moment. “guess i owe you one, huh?”

billie raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting her eyes. “oh, you definitely do. next time, i’m picking. no arguments.”

“i told you to pick, but deal.” you say around a mouthful of food, earning a mock look of disapproval from her, but you both laugh, the sound of it rich and warm, like music in the quiet room.

the tv continues to play softly in the background, but neither of you are truly paying attention, too lost in your easy banter, too caught up in the gentle rhythm of being together. every so often, you catch her stealing a glance at you—her expression soft, her gaze full of unspoken things—and your heart swells with something quiet and content. you can’t help but smile back, the warmth in your chest blooming as if it’s something you’ve known all along.

as you twirl the noodles onto your chopsticks, the sharp bite of a voice from the tv slices through the air, pulling both of you from the comfortable rhythm you’d settled into.

“you know what? i don’t need this energy from fake ass bitch like you of all people!” a woman yells, her tone dripping with venom, and you both freeze mid-bite. the camera cuts to her, hurling a drink across the room, the liquid splashing like a violent cascade as gasps rise from the background.

“ohhh shit.” you gasp out, sounding like a toddler on the verge of telling on someone.

“wait, what the fuck jus’ happened?” billie asks, sitting up straighter, chopsticks suspended in the air like a moment frozen in time.

you squint at the screen, fingers reaching for the remote to turn the volume up, the faint hum of the tv now louder in your ears. “hold on—what’re we watching right now?”

billie shakes her head, a laugh bubbling out as she points to the screen. “i don’t know, but that was—did she just—was that a margarita?!”

“oh yea, most definitely,” you confirm, a grin tugging at your lips as you set your box of food down on the coffee table, the subtle thud of it breaking the silence. “who even does that?”

“apparently her,” billie says, gesturing to the woman storming off-screen, her heels clicking sharply against the floor like a declaration of finality.

you both watch, eyes wide, as the scene cuts to a confessional, the same woman ranting with a voice full of venom. “she thinks she can talk about me behind my back? please. i’m not the one with a cheating ass boyfriend.”

simultaneously, you and billie gasp, grabbing onto one another in shock at the confession, and then burst into laughter. the sound of it warm and effortless, a shared joy.

“oh my god,” billie says, leaning back onto her hands, her eyes dancing with amusement. “she’s so real. i kind of love it.”

you nod, picking up another spring roll, letting its crisp warmth settle in your hand as you sink deeper into the moment. “you’re so messy. like, look at you encouraging violence,” you tease, giving a light kiss of your teeth as you shake your head.

the two of you continue watching, caught in a tangled mix of laughter and genuine debate, the absurdity of the show now grounding the conversation. billie leans in closer, her chopsticks tapping absently against the edge of her box, the sound soft but rhythmic.

“okay, but listen,” she says, her voice animated, a new layer of thoughtfulness pulling at her tone, “i get why she’s mad, but did she have to throw the drink? i’m not gonna lie, that’s just embarrassing for her.”

“nah, i don’t know,” you counter, your voice playful but threaded with a hint of consideration. “if someone called me a fake ass bitch on camera, i’d probably snap too. but maybe i’d throw something less sticky.”

“like what?”

“water? a smoothie? i don’t know—something that doesn’t smell like tequila,” you answer with a smirk, the edge of your voice soft and teasing.

billie laughs, shaking her head with mock exasperation. “remind me never to cross you.”

you nudge her playfully with your knee, the motion light and easy. “just don’t talk shit, and we’ll be fine.”

by the time the episode ends, both of your food containers are empty, the remnants of your meal scattered across the coffee table like the final traces of a good time. you’re fully invested now, the show pulling you in deeper with every outrageous twist. you glance at billie, eyes flicking to the next episode’s preview, torn between indulging in another round or letting the dye process take center stage. billie grabs the remote, already clicking through, her focus sharpening as the screen changes, the night stretching on.

“one more,” she says, her eyes glinting with mischief, a sly smile curling at the corners of her lips. “just to see if they make up. we have time, right?”

“definitely,” you agree, but you get up from your place on the floor, your fingers lightly tapping her knee as you stand. “but we do need to get this dye out of your hair, so come on.” you move toward the corner, pulling her cape from the pile where you had tossed it earlier, and she follows you, reluctant but amused.

“fine,” billie grumbles, dragging her feet in mock protest as she moves toward the wash bowl. “but if i miss something, it’s your fault.”

you laugh, shaking your head, the sound light and free. “girl…you’ll survive. besides, you don’t want to leave the dye in too long. trust me, it’s not cute.”

billie settles into the chair with a long sigh, tilting her head back into the basin, the soft curve of her neck exposed in the dim light. “you’re the expert,” she says, teasing but soft, her trust in you woven into the words.

“damn right,” you reply, pulling the wet cap from her head, the colors leaving faint imprints on the plastic before you discard it, the faint hiss of it hitting the trash can like a small exhale. slipping on a fresh pair of gloves, you turn on the water, testing the temperature against your wrist before letting it cascade over her hair, the black and blue dyes swirling together in a quiet, colorful dance. the stream flows over her scalp, soft but persistent, coaxing a small hum of contentment from her, and you smile to yourself, pleased by the soothing rhythm.

“feel good?” you ask, your fingers gently massaging her scalp as you check to make sure all the dye is rinsed away, the soft friction of your touch making her relax even more.

“so good,” she murmurs, her eyes closed now, her body sinking further into the chair as the warmth of the water works its magic.

you can’t help but admire the way the rich black fades into the striking blue, the ombré already catching the light in delicate flashes, as if the colors themselves are in conversation. once the water runs clear, you turn it off and reach for a towel, gently squeezing out the excess water from her hair, your hands careful but purposeful.

“hold still,” you whisper, wrapping the warm towel snugly around her head. she lets out a soft sigh as the heat seeps into her scalp, the tension melting from her, her lips curling into a small, content smile.

“you really spoil me, you know that?” she says, her voice soft but sincere, the words a gentle confession.

“someone’s gotta keep you in line, besides if not me then who?” you tease, helping her rise from the chair, your fingers brushing lightly over her arm as you lead her back to the station. you turn around, your mind already shifting to the next step, reaching into your closet for the next set of tools—heat protectant, blow dryer, round brush, scissors, leave-in conditioner, straightener, parting comb, and clips, all free of dye.

you place your items on the countertop, moving with practiced ease as you quickly dispose of the dying supplies, along with your gloves, and dumping the bowls into the sink with a quiet clink! you grab the bottle of leave-in conditioner, squeezing a generous dollop into your palm. the creamy product is cool against your skin as you rub your hands together, warming it up before stepping behind billie. your fingers slip gently through the damp strands, working the conditioner in from roots to ends. her hair feels soft, pliable, and just slick enough as the product absorbs, and you take your time, your movements slow and deliberate, each touch soothing, grounding, and tender.

“gotta make sure this stays healthy after all that dye,” you murmur, the words soft, half to yourself, half to her, as your hands glide over her hair in slow, steady strokes. your nails graze her scalp occasionally, sending soft tingles down her spine, a delicate reminder of the connection between you.

once the conditioner is evenly applied, you plug in the blow dryer and straightener, the soft hum of the machines filling the space as they heat up. your hand rests lightly on her shoulder, a quiet comfort. “alright, let’s get this dried and looking perfect,” you say, your voice low as you grab the blow dryer and a large round brush.

the warm air begins to flow, a gentle wave of heat that seeps into her scalp, contrasting with the coolness of the conditioner. you work methodically, sectioning her hair, rolling it around the brush with a careful precision. each pull of the dryer tightens the strands, smoothing them, while the brush’s bristles tug gently, almost coaxing her hair into submission. the heat locks in the shine, giving it a soft, glossy finish, and your movements are rhythmic, like a quiet dance—the steady hum of the blow dryer blending with your occasional quiet remarks about the netflix show still playing on the screen.

for her, the process is a symphony of sensations—gentle tension from the brush, the comforting warmth of the dryer’s air, and the soothing, skilled touch of hands that know her hair better than anyone else. each stroke of the brush feels like a small act of love, a silent promise wrapped in care, leaving her hair light, fluffy, and full of life, as if it’s been reborn under your hands.

once the hair is dry, you set the dryer down with a soft click and pick up the flat iron, adjusting the temperature with a practiced flick of your wrist. “okay, babe, i need you to be absolutely still,” you say with a grin, wagging the iron lightly in the mirror so she can see that you’re serious. you section her hair once more, your hands steady, not wanting to risk burning her, knowing how delicate the process is.

you spray the heat protectant over her hair, the thick mist settling over the strands, a silent shield against the heat. then, with a steady hand, the flat iron glides through each section, releasing a soft, sizzling sound, like a whispered promise. the heat smooths the strands into sleek perfection, each pass making her hair feel even silkier, even smoother. she can feel the warmth of the iron passing through her hair, not too hot but just enough to make her scalp feel cozy, like a gentle caress. with every pass, her hair becomes more unreal to the touch, soft and straight, as though it belongs to someone else, someone who knows exactly how to treat it.

as you finish, you run your hands over the newly straightened hair, letting the strands slip between your fingers like liquid silk, smooth and soft. “there we go,” you murmur, stepping back to admire your work, the faint shimmer of the pretty blue peeking out from beneath the jet black hair, catching the light in the most subtle way.

your fiancé tilts her head slightly to get a better look at her sleek hair in the mirror, and you grab your shears and a fine-tooth comb, the tools gliding through your hands with ease. “let’s add a little shape, yeah? just some light layers to bring it all together,” you say, your voice warm and reassuring, a soft promise of perfection.

sectioning the hair again with clips, your movements are fluid, practiced—each step a dance of familiarity. picking up a strand, you comb it straight, the fine-tooth comb catching the light with every pass before snipping carefully. the soft snick of the scissors echoes in the space, each cut precise, deliberate. the loose pieces of hair fall away like delicate threads, spiraling softly to the floor, almost weightless in their descent. your touch is gentle, yet purposeful, your head tilting slightly as you examine the angle of each layer, making sure it’s exactly right.

the r&b music playing softly in the background shifts, slowing down to something older, smoother, soulful. without thinking, you start whisper-singing along, your voice low, raspy but sweet, a sound that carries the tune effortlessly as you work. “oh my gosh, this is my song,” you murmur with a small smile, not stopping your quiet singing even as you shift your position to trim the next section, your hands steady and sure.

billie watches you in the mirror, her gaze fixed on you, captivated by the way you hum and move in sync with the music. your lips form the words to a song that feels like comfort, like nostalgia, a piece of your soul woven into each note. it’s intimate—your voice barely audible over the sound of the scissors snipping, but the harmony of it all feels like a private concert just for her, the world outside fading away.

when the cutting is done, you set the scissors down with a soft click and reach for the flat iron again, the familiar weight of it in your hands grounding you. “now to finish it off,” you say softly, your voice still laced with the quiet energy of the song. as the flat iron glides through the freshly trimmed layers, you move slower, almost mesmerized by the way the hair falls perfectly into place, each strand a work of art under your touch. the song plays on, and you hum the last verse under your breath, your hand following the rhythm as you smooth out the ends with expert care, the warmth of the iron leaving the hair sleek, as smooth as your voice.

once the final section is done, you spray a fine mist of finishing spray, the light scent filling the air as it locks everything in place, giving her hair that glossy, healthy shine. stepping back with a soft smile, you run your comb through her silky layers, the strands gliding effortlessly, almost weightless. “there. perfectly layered, silky smooth, and bone straight,” you murmur, brushing a few stray strands away from her face, your fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “what do you think?”

billie turns her head slowly from side to side, inspecting the smooth jet-black color that bleeds into a bright, vibrant blue at the back, the contrast stunning against the sleek, rich darkness. she smiles, her eyes lighting up, a quiet satisfaction dancing in her gaze. “wow. you really pulled it off. i look… amazing.”

grinning, you wipe your hands on a towel, the soft fabric absorbing the last of the dampness. “i told you i could fix it.” pride blooms in your chest, warm and content. your fingers reach for the back of her neck, gently undoing the velcro tabs, removing the cape with a practiced motion, shaking off any excess hair that clings to the fabric. as you lean her body back in the chair, billie tilts her neck, her eyes locking with yours. a soft, playful smile forms on her lips as she puckers them, her gaze full of quiet affection. a small giggle escapes you, and you meet her in a tender kiss, your lips lingering, a momentary pause where everything else fades.

a sleepy smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she whispers between kisses, her voice soft and sincere, “thank you.”

“always. i’m not gonna let you walk around looking crazy, you know that.” you plant a soft kiss to her forehead, the warmth of your lips lingering for just a beat before you gently guide her to a chair, where she can relax while you finish up.

moving around the salon, you begin to clean up your station, tidying the space where you’ve spent the last several hours. the air hums with the low, steady sound of the television playing in the background, switching from the show you’d been watching earlier to a late-night talk show filled with random jokes and light chatter. billie sits in the corner, her eyes still sparkling as she admires her hair, now glowing softly under the warm, inviting lights of the salon. she pulls out her phone, capturing a few pictures of her new look, turning her head from side to side, caught in awe of the transformation.

as billie scrolls through her pictures, you wipe down the counter, returning your tools to their places with careful precision. but you can’t help but notice the subtle shift in her energy. her usual spark, that lively brightness, seems to dim as she leans back in the chair, her eyelids fluttering as exhaustion starts to settle in. the day has been long, and you can see it catching up with her.

with a soft, knowing smile, you hurry to finish the last of the cleaning—sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters, making everything neat. each motion is quick, purposeful. you want to get billie home, tucked in, where she can unwind after the whirlwind of the day. the thought of resting together, of the quiet comfort of home, fills you with a quiet urgency.

when you finish, you grab the remote, clicking off the tv with a soft sound, followed by the gentle hum of the alexa, music fading into silence. you gather your things from the rack behind the door, zipping up your jacket, slinging your purse over your shoulder. you walk over to where billie is softly dozing in the corner, and with careful fingers, you reach into her pocket, fishing out her car keys and your phone. her body stirs as she feels your light touch, but she remains blissfully unaware.

lifting her hand gently, you help her up. “come on, let’s get you home.” you turn off all the lights, the soft click of switches echoing in the quiet space, before locking the door behind you. the cool night air of LA greets you as you step outside. with a press of the key fob, the porsche unlocks, and you slide into the driver’s seat, feeling the weight of the day settle into your bones. billie slips into the passenger seat beside you, curling up in her spot, her head leaning against the window. the car roars to life with the press of the ignition, and you begin the drive home, the rhythm of the road steady and comforting as billie’s eyelids grow heavier with every passing moment.

the drive back is peaceful. the soft hum of the car engine creates a gentle lullaby, accompanied by the occasional sound of tires gliding over the smooth asphalt. the streetlights flicker in rhythmic succession, casting brief, golden glows that sweep over the streets in the night’s embrace.

your gaze drifts over to billie every now and then, catching glimpses of her peacefully dozing off, her features relaxed in the quiet of the car. the streetlights spill through the windows, bathing her face in a soft, warm glow that makes her look even more serene. it’s a perfect, tranquil moment, and your heart swells with a quiet affection. she looks so at peace, safe and calm, wrapped in the comfort of the night.

the car slows to a gentle stop as you approach a red light. the warm glow from the traffic light washes over billie’s face, painting her delicate features in a soft, crimson hue.

a smile tugs at your lips, tender and full of love, as you glance at her once more. billie’s lashes flutter softly, stirring ever so slightly, but she doesn’t wake. your hand moves away from the wheel, fingers grazing across her cheek before cupping her jaw. she leans into your touch instinctively, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. the connection feels like a fleeting, yet eternal, moment, a promise of care and warmth.

as the light turns green, you pull your hand back, placing it gently on the steering wheel. you continue the drive home, the rhythmic flicker of streetlights through the windows adding to the serenity of the moment. billie stays curled in her seat beside you, her soft breaths the only sound accompanying the steady hum of the car.

as the familiar sight of your shared home comes into view, you ease the car into the garage, the low rumble of the engine settling into stillness. putting the car in park, you turn it off, nudging billie softly as she stirs awake, her eyes blinking open slowly. you reach for your keys, her hand slipping into yours as you unlock the door to the house. the quiet of the night surrounds you as you lead her inside, slipping your shoes off before guiding her to your bedroom.

once inside, you cross into the adjoining bathroom. billie leans gently against the doorframe, watching as you crouch down, rummaging through the cabinets beneath the sink. you pull out two shower caps, the simple task feeling comforting in the stillness of the moment. you place hers on her head, tucking each strand of her black and blue hair under it with careful hands. then you repeat the process for your own hair, your movements slow and deliberate. once the caps are securely in place, you turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature to the perfect warmth.

turning back to her, you both begin shedding your clothes, each piece falling softly to the floor like whispered secrets. the air is thick with warmth and steam, and as you step into the shower together, the water cascades down in soothing rivulets, wrapping you both in its embrace. billie leans against the cool tiled wall, letting the steam unwind her body, and you quickly wash yourself, the soft sound of water splashing around you almost meditative.

“you okay over there?” you ask, your voice low, careful not to break the peaceful silence between you. you glance over at billie, her eyes barely open, her face softened in the steam.

without a word, she steps behind you, her warmth pressing against your back as she rests her head in the crook of your neck. the dewy droplets from the shower roll onto her skin, adding a shimmer to her closeness as she wraps her arms around your waist. her thumbs draw light, absentminded circles on your skin, the motion gentle and soothing.

the water flows steadily over both of you, its warmth sinking into your muscles, loosening any lingering tension. billie’s embrace is a gentle weight, her body leaning into yours as if trying to melt into you completely. you tilt your head slightly, allowing her to settle more comfortably in the curve of your neck. in that moment, everything else fades away—the world outside the shower, the thoughts swirling in your mind—all that’s left is the quiet intimacy between you, like a soft blanket wrapping you both in its warmth.

“you’re gonna fall asleep like this,” you whisper, though there’s no reprimand in your voice—only tender amusement, the rhythm of your breaths matching hers.

billie hums softly in response, her voice muffled against your damp skin, “can’t help it. you’re too comfy.”

your lips twitch into a smile, a soft sigh escaping you as you reach for her rag on the side. you grab the body wash next, squeezing it onto the cloth, and then rubbing it together, watching as the lather builds. the air fills with the fresh scent of citrus, mingling with the warmth of vanilla, a fragrance that blends perfectly with the steamy space around you.

“come here,” you murmur, your voice soft, as you gently turn her so her back faces you. your hands begin at her shoulders, moving in slow, deliberate motions, the soap spreading across her skin like silk, tracing the curves of her swirl tattoo as it slides down her back. each touch of your fingers against her skin sends a wave of relaxation through her muscles, the tension unwinding as you move down her arms, then back to her spine. the steady rhythm of your movements is mirrored by the soft patter of water on the tiled floor, the sound like a quiet lullaby that wraps around you both.

“you’re spoiling me,” billie murmurs, her voice soft, almost lost beneath the sound of the water.

“always,” you reply with a quiet laugh, your hands trailing down to her sides, making sure not to miss a single inch of her skin, your touch tender and precise.

turning her back to face you, her half-lidded eyes meet yours for a brief moment before fluttering closed, surrendering to the warmth and intimacy of the moment. you begin washing her front, your touch light, like a feather brushing against her collarbone, down her shoulders, and across her arms. she exhales softly as your hands dip lower, brushing against her stomach, her body swaying gently as the warmth of the water and your care lull her deeper into relaxation.

“all done,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the water, guiding her under the spray to rinse away the suds. your hands move with care, ensuring that every trace of soap is gone, leaving only the warmth and comfort of the moment lingering between you.

you place a hand on her back, your palm gently meeting the light droplets still clinging to her skin, the soft scratch of your acrylic nails trailing across her damp flesh as you lean in to turn off the tap. the water’s rhythmic trickle fades into the background, and with a fluid motion, you slide open the glass door, stepping out into the steamy air. reaching for the towels hanging nearby, you wrap one around each of you, the plush fabric absorbing the last of the warmth from your skin. you remove your shower caps, stepping onto the soft mat, her damp body leaning into you as you guide her back toward the bedroom.

once there, you grab two band tees, one for you and one for billie, slipping them on as you moisturize your skin, the cool scent of lavender and vanilla mingling with the steam still lingering in the air.

you help billie into her pajamas with slow, careful movements, making sure every action is deliberate, your touch gentle as you rub lotion into her arms and legs. the scent of the lotion fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a comforting embrace.

“i hope you know this is going into your girlfriend tax,” you say, your voice light and playful as you massage lotion into billie’s hand.

“don’t you mean wife?” a smirk dances across her lips, her hand pulling you lightly by the waist, her engagement ring catching the soft light from the bedroom as she tugs you closer. a small giggle escapes you, a sweet reminder of what’s to come. you reach behind you, taking her hand from your hip and guiding her over to the vanity.

you pull out the stool for her to sit, your fingers grazing her shoulder as you remove her shower cap, the remnants of water flinging away with the movement. grabbing a comb from the table, you part her hair carefully, your fingers soft and deliberate as you begin to weave two french braids. the light taps of rain against the windows add a soothing rhythm to the quiet room, the sound merging with the gentle flow of your touch, easing billie further into relaxation.

when you’re done, you reach into the drawer, pulling out a silky brown scarf. you open it with a delicate flick of your fingers, folding it into a neat triangle. aligning the longer side with her forehead, you tie it gently, making sure the knot is firm enough to stay in place, but soft enough to not cause discomfort. it rests just so, a quiet gesture of care before the night settles in around you both.

billie scrambles to your bed, her movements quick as she throws herself under the duvet with a soft sigh, sinking into the softness like she’s finally found her place. you shake your head softly, smiling to yourself as you grab a scarf, pulling it over your hair with the same practiced care. you make your way over to the bed, the quiet click of the lamp turning off filling the space before you slide in next to her. the weight of the day seems to lift in the darkened room, the only sound the gentle tap of rain against the windows.

reaching into your bedside drawer, you slip off your ring, placing it carefully in its box, the cool touch of the metal against your skin a reminder of the bond you share. you stretch your hand back toward billie, palm facing up, and she mirrors the gesture. the coolness of the .48-carat diamond meets your touch as she slides her ring into your hand. you place both rings in their box, closing the drawer softly, the faint sound of the wood settling a quiet punctuation to the moment.

billie drapes her arm over your torso, pulling you closer, her warmth seeping into your skin as your limbs tangle together, two bodies finding comfort in one another. your thumbs trace soft, lazy patterns on her arm, the motion slow and deliberate, a silent promise of peace. she buries her face in the crook of your neck, her breath warm against your skin.

outside, the rain continues its melodic tapping, the rhythm a lullaby as billie’s breathing slows. her body relaxes completely, her embrace a cocoon that shields you from the world.

as she drifts off to sleep, you press a soft kiss to her palm, the touch tender, a quiet act of love. your own eyes grow heavy as the night wraps itself around you both, cocooning you in its warmth. the sound of the rain serenades you into dreams, its rhythm guiding you to sleep, where you rest together, the world fading away.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x black girl #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x female reader

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whitexwolfxx310 · 8 months ago

Text

|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? || Part 2.

Pairing: Dom!Bucky x Sub!female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level. The reveal!

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v), don't forget no glove no love, edging, asphyxiation, fingering, mild dirty talk, language, praise kink, masked man kink, stalking, harassment, implied harm, breaking in.

Word Count: 5.4

A/Ns: Hi babes! Sorry this took an extra day than intended. Tumblr is being super finicky tonight, I’ve edited and re-edited this so many times. If there’s mistakes just ignore. I hope you like the conclusion!

In case you missed it, Part 1

You didn’t sleep much the next couple of nights, and decided to take some time off of work. Bucky finally reached out, and you updated him as to what was going on. He immediately offered to come home, which you refused and started to downplay the situation.

Hailee has been great with letting you borrow some clothes and little things, since you only grabbed a small bag in a rush before heading to her place to stay a few days ago. You’ve been dreading going back to the apartment, scared to find someone in there waiting for you. But it’s at the point where you need to grab some of your stuff.

Walking into the apartment, it was eerily quiet and uncomfortable. But nothing looked out of place, and was exactly how you left it. Deciding not to spend any longer there than you had to, you promptly tossed a large duffle bag onto your bed and started stuffing it with clothes and any other necessities.

Zipping the duffle closed, you felt a light gust of cool air. Scanning your bedroom window assuming it was the source, you realize it’s open. You never open this window. In fact, it’s always locked. All of the hair on the top layer of your skin stands up to the extent it almost feels like tiny pinpricks. Flight mode is instantly activated; before you can even think, you grab the bag and run, practically tripping over your own feet out of the room.

Grappling with the door knob, the pure panic starts to set in. Just as you’re twisting the knob open, you hear a distant bang coming from another room in the apartment. You freeze at the realization:

I’m not alone.

You know when you’re watching a scary movie and yell at the tv, wondering why the one of the characters was so fucking stupid to do something?

Well, you did exactly that. What possessed you in that moment, you haven’t the faintest idea. But, with your heartbeat pounding in your ears so loudly that you thought your eardrums might rupture, you started to turn around to look.

What primitively catches your attention isn’t what you expected, but quickly makes your chest tighten. The fruit bowl on the kitchen counter that is normally overflowing with lucious, red delicious apples, now just has all apple cores.

The flashback of one being on left on the countertop after Bucky had left blazes in your mind. It suddenly makes sense. Bucky would never leave a mess and it wasn't long after that you saw someone outside your window.

Attempting to swallow the growing dryness in your throat, you continue to turn around. And that's when you see him for the first time. About fifteen feet away, stood an obviously immensely tall man. He wore thick, black shiny leather boots that gleamed lightly in the natural daylight within the apartment. Fitted black jeans with a loose, black hooded sweatshirt that failed to hide how muscular and broad his chest and shoulders were with the hood pulled up.

But two things stuck out the most about his appearance. First, was the tight, black leather gloves he wore on his hands that were currently clenched into rigid fists. The second, was the fact that you couldn't make out his face. All you could see was an elongated paleness, caverned by the blackness of the hood, and it seemed... sinister. He didn't move or make a sound. It was as if you would blink and he would be gone, like a cloud of smoke.

But if anyone was going to disappear, it was going to be you. So taking a chance, you ran. And you didn't stop running. Even with the faint vibration in your pocket alerting you to the new text notification on your phone, you kept going.

It wasn't until you got back to Hailee's place and frantically, out of breath explained to her, that you even remembered about the text message.

"Here," You toss the phone in pure detestation onto her bed, "I don't even want to fucking know what it says." You lean against the opposite wall of her bedroom, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to control the body shakes as you come down from the adrenaline.

Hailee watches you for a brief moment, still not having said much aside from asking if you were okay. Her expression was soft and sympathetic and yet had an dissenting undertone. You couldn't blame her, this all sounded absolutely insane.

Letting out a small, exasperated breath, Hailee sits on her knees from her previous crossed legged position and grabs your cell. As the screen comes to life, her teeth clench down reading whatever is on the screen.

“What?” The concern is evident in your voice as you pry away from the wall, though still holding onto yourself.

Hailee inhales deeply through her nostrils, faking a tightlipped smile, “it’s nothing,” her tone is flat. She’s lying. Clicking the sleep button on the side of the phone to make the screen go black, she makes her way off the bed, “hey, how about we head down to the cellphone store and get you a new phone and number?” She asks, trying to sound like her usual carefree self as she grabbed her crossbody bag.

“Hailee,” you uncross your arms and step in front of her, forcing her to make eye contact, “what is it?”

Searching your eyes, you can see that she is torn. She wants so badly to do the right thing, but isn’t sure what exactly that is in this situation. On one hand, she could just keep it to herself. Let the unknown and curiosity eat you alive from the inside out like it inevitably will. But only because she wants to protect you, shield you from anything that brings you the opposite of joy. Or, she can show you what you’re actually dealing with, and the two of you can come up with a plan and handle it together. Hailee decides on the latter.

Hesitating, her hand shakes slightly as she holds out the phone to you. It appears that now both of you will take this predicament more critically now. Grabbing the phone a tad more aggressively then you meant to, you unlock it and open the messages. But it's not often Hailee gets rendered quiet. Scrolling through the back to back texts, you understand why.

Taking your best friends advice, you immediately went to the cell phone store. She tagged along as you got a completely new phone and number, not transferring anything over, not wanting to take the risk. You didn't download any social media, deciding to take a much needed mental break for a bit. The only thing you did do, was take a few phone numbers that you needed out of your old phone, and even then you wrote them down on a piece of paper to manually add them into your contacts later.

Walking out of the store, you felt as if a weight had been lifted. Hailee locked arms with you, leading you around the corner to the nearest cafe to get iced coffee. It was her answer for everything. Bad day? Iced coffee. Need a pick me up? Iced coffee. Need to clear your head and just ramble about random shit for a bit? Iced coffee. Your best friend has an apparent stalker and we're hoping that changing phone numbers is the end all solution?! Obviously, iced coffee.

Sitting at a small table outside the cafe, enjoying the slight crispness in the fall air, you let out a huge, relieving sigh that makes your shoulders sink. You take the opportunity to add Bucky to your contacts and text him your new number. Although, you decide not to go into detail about your most recent encounter while he's still away on a mission.

Putting the phone down on the table and not have it incessantly go off with calls and texts, let's you feel as though you can finally breathe. "Thank you for coming with me, Hales, I really appreciate you."

Hailee is sucking the remnants of her drink through the straw as she looks up at you. She gives you a small, genuine side smile, "you're welcome," before smirking, "so I'm supposed to have a date tonight, with that guy Noah I've been seeing..." she leaves it open ended. "But, I should totally cancel after everythi-"

"No, please. Go out and have fun. You've been dealing with my shit enough," trying to make your words sound affirming, even with the lingering dread that you still felt.

That's one thing about Hailee. You never quite really have to twist her arm to do anything.

After showering and changing into your comfy jeans and oversized cropped sweater, it was hard not to feel the slightest tinge of jealousy watching Hailee do her finishing touches for date night in the mirror. Jealousy in the sense of missing Bucky and going out and having a carefree night, not in comparing yourself physically.

She swipes yet another layer of clear lip gloss on before fluffing her beach wave blonde hair. Turning to face you, her thick heels clack on the wooden floor as she starts adjusting her boobs in her sleek, dusty rose colored dress.

"What do you think?" Her hands glide down over her curves, "Dress is okay?"

"That dress is fire," and it is, she looks amazing. By the smile she's wearing, she's feeling it too, "too bad it's going to end up on Noah's floor ten minutes into your date." Hailee dramatically gasps, as if that's not true. It totally is.

You're both laughing until she abruptly stops, "I have to go!" She gives you a quick hug and starts scurrying towards the door, a bit awkwardly in the heels, "Bye! Love you! Lock the door!" As she goes to close the door behind her she yells back in, "don't read too much smut on your kindle while I'm gone!" and the door slams.

Shaking your head with a small laugh, you lock the door. Hailee just gave you the perfect idea of how to spend your night.

About an hour had gone by, you comfortably laid in Hailee's spare bed, a few chapters deep into your latest book. It was quiet, so when your phone vibrated on the bed next to you- you jumped slightly. Assuming it was Bucky finally having the chance to text you back, you pick it up fairly quickly. But the message you received isn't what you expected at all.

Before even unlocking the phone, you had a text alert from Unknown. There was nothing written, but all the way to the right of the alert, you could see a picture was included.

Promptly, you sat up in the bed and stared at the notification. That familiar wave of unease dispersed throughout your body as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head.

This phone number is only a few hours old, how the fuck did he get it already?

The notification banner and you were in a staredown. You had to know what the message was, but you were absolutely terrified at the same time. Your thumbs hover, occasionally twitching over the screen, until you pull the trigger and swipe up.

Us. Hailee...

Driving to your apartment, you broke nearly every single traffic law that there is. The entire time you tried calling Hailee’s phone back to back, just repeating the same mantra; please pick up. Please, please pick up. She never did.

“Hailee!!” You run through your apartment door, not having to mess with it for long as it was already unlocked. You had a feeling it would be. “Answer me!” You yell, breathlessly. The apartment is eerily dark and quiet.

Coming to a halt in the main living space, you whipped your head around looking for clues and try to listen for any signs of distress. But it was so difficult to hear anything over your own breathing and pulse drumming in your ears.

You knew where you had to go, the last picture of your friends dress laid out on your bedspread was the roadmap. The bedroom door was just barely closed over, a creepy orange glow lining it and trying to escape from underneath. Each step closer that you took, felt as if a large spider made entirely of ice was crawling down your spine.

Pushing the door open slightly with just a fingernail, you peered into the room. You knew this is exactly where this person wanted you. For what? There’s only one way to find out.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room, so you took a few small steps in. The glow was more prominent now, giving the room an uncanny romantic ambiance with numerous amount of white candles lit all along the dressers, night tables, and bookshelves.

Taking a broad step forward, your attention is now focused on the bed. Hailee's dress is no longer laid out like it had been in the picture. Instead, there are flower petals sprinkled across your comforter. The intriguing curiosity drew you even more into the room without you even realizing. Picking up one of the petals, you rub it between your fingers, feeling it's supple and delicate smoothness as you examine it more closely. In that moment you recognize it- the familiarity of it's dark appeal. They're black dahlia petals.

Some of the petals congregated in one particular area on the bed, revealing an elegant, black gift box about the size of a large book. Your lips part slightly as you pick up the box, captivated by it's alluring magnetism. Taking off the lid, your brows furrow slightly in confusion. It's a chain. A long, thick slip chain that looks like a necklace but almost long enough to be a leash.

As your finger smoothes over the cold indentations of the chain, you hear a creak come from the floor behind you. In a startled jump, you drop the box- a slight ringing sound deafens the scene even more from the chain hitting the floor. But that's not your concern. Because as you turn around, you see him.

Within arms reach, you are confronted with the person that's been behind all of this. He's even taller up close, broader. Dressed in all black attire, this time swapping the black hoodie for a black t-shirt and black leather jacket. And without the hood, you're able to see the elongated white face from earlier.

It's a Ghostface mask.

He stands as still as a statue, watching you intently, waiting. Your eyes persist in looking him over as your chest rises and falls deeply. When your gaze meets his face once again, his head creepily tilts ever so slightly to one side.

"What's the matter?" He speaks, his voice deep and low, "you look like you've seen a ghost," the tone almost mocking.

Squinting your eyes, you look at him again. And this time you really look at him. His body frame, the clothes, the familiarity of his voice. Your eyes widen at the realization.

"Bucky?" you gape, completely stupefied. Taking the first fearless step in what feels like months, you wrap your arms around him. He returns the sentiment and you feel safe, for the first time in what feels like forever. It suddenly dawns on you that he's not actually on a mission. And probably never was.

"What- What is this?" You ask, looking up at him, slightly pushing the mask up to reveal his stubbled chin and promiscuous grin.

"There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it..." He repeats back the words you said to him a few months ago watching the Scream movie.

The memory of you how you told him about this kink of yours curls around your mind. That this entire time, you were never in any kind of serious danger, he just brought it to life. Weeks and months of preparation went into this, here, tonight. You should have known all along that Bucky would never have been so nonchalant about you in any type of significant situation. You're safe. You always were and always will be.

The tiny icy footprints that had trailed up your spine were long gone, now replaced with a burning and tantalizing desire. You've missed him, thinking he was away while you were dealing with this on your own. But now he's here, fulfilling your deepest desires.

Looking up, Bucky's Pacific blue eyes are already gazing down into yours, a built up and unsatisfied hunger prominent. Moving up onto your tiptoes and grabbing him behind the neck, you bring down his head and capture his lips.

Your mouth parted his, gliding and massaging his tongue with your own. A low growl reverberated from within his throat with approval, and promise to make everything up to you tenfold. Bucky's intoxicating cypress scent fills your nostrils as your inhaled deeply, pressing your breasts up into his chest. Taking off the leather gloves and shrugging his jacket onto the floor, his hands started to wildly wander around your body, giving light squeezes on your hips before settling and interlacing gingerly in your hair.

That didn't last long, though. There was a sudden and hard tug from where Bucky held your hair, enough to pull the two of you apart. The aggressiveness of the gesture was unexpected, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't fucking love it. His eyes linger on your already swollen lips, now wearing a pursed, provocative grin. His hand releases the tight grip he had on your loose curls, watching the relief from the sting flash across your eyes. Bucky has always been tender, gentle and using your body as a place of worship-but tonight is different.

Grabbing the hem of your sweater, he maneuvers it up and off to join his growing pile of discarded clothes. Dropping to his knees with a loud thud, he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down and weaving his tongue along the freshly exposed skin. Hissing through your teeth, your hips instinctively press forward. He lets out a dark laugh, before grabbing the chain you dropped before. Standing back up, he takes your hand, "Come," he says, leading you towards the cornered edge of the mattress.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his muscular body causes it to sink slightly. His free hand, still holding the chain, grips his own thigh before giving it a light pat, "Sit," he commanded, again keeping that firm edge in his voice that you weren't used to. You enthusiastically follow his orders, sitting delicately facing outward in just your matching ivory lace bra and panties. It's hard not to notice how you just fit. And how much you secretly love his significantly large frame pressed against your much more petite body in comparison to his.

The soft tip of his nose runs along the outside of your neck, his large hands coasting along your shoulders, down your arms, sides, before settling on your thighs. The calluses on his hands leaving a sensational trail of tingles and heat to disperse under your skin.

"Look," his head nods forward once to get your attention, and now you see the reason why he sat you here. In the corner of the bedroom, just a few feet away, is a full length standing mirror angled perfectly to reflect everything.

You see yourself, already flushed with arousal and breathing heavily as you make eye contact with Bucky in the mirror. His devious smile pins you in place as you watch his hands pry open your legs, entrancingly over his. They willingly spread open wide for him, your restless hips now squirming, aching for more. His fingertips trace small circles on your inner thigh.

"I want you to see your face as you fall apart, " he taunted, his voice sultry in your ear, still holding your gaze in the mirror. His middle finger skims across your already embarrassingly dampened panties, causing your back to press against his rigid chest.

There was a vague rattling sound, followed by Bucky placing the large opening of the looped chain over your head and around your neck, “Bucky, what are you doing-” you watch curiously in the mirror. Part of the chain dangles between your breasts, which he wraps around his hand once and slowly starts to pull, causing the loop around your neck to compress.

It’s a choker.

Your eyes go wide, nervousness rippling through you as you grasp his intentions, “Bucky, I don’t know-”

“Do you really think you have a choice?” he barked, pulling the Ghostface mask down back onto his face. Talking to you through the mirror, “I won’t hurt you. Trust me,” he whispers, breaking character for a moment to assure you’re safe.

You nod in response, your reflection visibly eases in the mirror as the necklace slackens around your throat. He lets the chain lax too, for now.

Large hands are back to kneading your thighs, a lone finger brushing between your legs when gravitating along the inside. It’s not long until the sensation has you starting to wriggle once again.

Cupping your sex, his hand gently moves up and down, keeping a firm, yet delicate and delicious pressure. Your greedy hips tilt forward, wanting more from his right hand, while the coolness of his left continues to lazily stroke over your skin. But when that icy touch quickly grabs and tears your underwear off in one jolt, you gasp at the tiny bite the ripping cloth left behind.

Now you’re left wide and exposed- to yourself, to Bucky, to the reflections of yourselves staring intensely, watching every movement. The warmth of his hand is back, leisurely gliding two fingers between your already achingly wet pussy. Swallowing hard, your breath hitches as you can not only feel, but see, yourself start to lose composure.

Bucky pulls the two fingers away, holding them up just to your mouth, "wet them for me," he instructs, his voice silk like satin. Taking the two fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirled rapidly around the digits, savoring the salty-sweetness of your arousal. Slowly pulling them back out, you see them shine with your saliva.

Something comes over you in that moment, call it gluttonous, but you pool some extra moisture into your mouth and spit onto the fingers. Just for good measure.

There's a murmured hum of approval in your ear as he spreads your folds, teasing your increasingly sensitive clit between his two fingers. And getting Bucky's praise will only enhance the entire night. Your legs quiver at the deliberate sluggish pace, letting out shaky breaths as the overwhelming throbbing demands more attention.

Finally, the pads of those fingers start to rub your bundle of nerves in unhurried circles. Gripping onto his thigh to steady yourself, your nails clutching his jeans, a whine escapes as your hips try to buck against his hand.

That dark laugh is in your ear again, "good girls don't come until I tell them too," Bucky breathes, overly indulging in how you respond to his touch. It feels like torture, in the best possible way. The combination of his words and caress... you have never felt this good. This wanted.

Your head falls back slightly against his shoulder in small disappointment, whimpering, knowing that he's going to make you beg. And you're getting desperate enough to do so.

The leisurely pace of his fingers picks up, causing your back to arch away from his chest as you start panting. Each swipe building pleasure, layer on top of agonizing layer. Finding yourself in the mirror again, you unapologetically watch as your body vigorously writhes against his hand, your moans spilling from your mouth more and more.

"How badly do you want to come, princess?" The Ghost breathed, his chest rising and falling heavily now, trying to fight off his own desire, evident from the hard protrusion you keep rolling your hips against.

"S-so bad... Please! Please," you pleaded, not caring how desperate it sounds. Adding some additional pressure, your hips stutter. Your breathing practically stops as your moans transform into one long, drawn out strangled whine as you come apart, "O-ooh...oh my god. Oh god!"

Not even fully coming down from the repeated waves, you hear, "God's not here," growled into your ear. In one sudden movement, Bucky stands up with you in his arms before tossing you onto the bed, "just me.” the low rumble emits from his chest. Ripping off the mask, he kneels on the bed and uses his left arm to support his weight. Using those same damned two fingers, he plunges them into your drenched pussy, siphoning a sound from your throat that’s unrecognizable.

“Again,” Bucky breathes, his eyes glazed over with a new kind of wickedness as they lock into yours, “Come for me again. I fucking love all the sounds you make,” With his palm face up, his fingers start pumping you from the inside, running over your g-spot in a come here motion.

Since there was no remission from your last orgasm, the tightness in your belly never fully went away. Watching Bucky, seeing him in the tight black t-shirt while his bicep flexes from working you, his slightly furrowed brow and his lips slightly parted in determination, you could feel it building up once again.

Feeling your walls contract around him, he grinned. He changes his hand motions to going in a frantic up and down movement, and if you know, you know. Your rasped whimpers became silent as you forgot how to breathe and your vision blurred. The build up came on so fast and so strong, the only sound in the room was your ever increasing wetness.

Your mouth dropped open into a silent O, not able to think not a single coherent thought, "Thaaat's it..." Bucky coaxed, "I want you to gush all over my fucking hand," and with his words, your body quivers as you completely shatter with a loud cry. "Goood girl. God, what a good fucking girl," he soothes. You winced slightly as he pulled out his fingers, collapsing back more into the bed as you try to rein in remembering how to breathe. Bucky sits back on his knees, and almost entirely up to his elbow is glistening with how hard you just came.

With a flat tongue, he presses it to his palm, and licks all the way up to the tip of his middle finger, "Perfect," Bucky hums in satisfaction to himself. Your throat goes dry at the sight, being the cherry on top of all the mouth breathing you've been doing. Am I fucking dreaming?

Pushing his jeans down to his knees, his thick, flushed cock rebounds out of his boxers. Bucky grabs you by the hips, pulling you down the bed before flipping you over onto all fours. Each of his hands grabs a fistfull of your ass, before slapping one side. You moan at the bite of the smack, feeling delusional from needing him inside you so badly. He rubs the reddened cheek before dropping a teeth grazed kiss on the sensitive skin.

There's a coolness between your legs, and you realize that it's your juices sliding down your thighs. Not needing any preparation, you feel the tip of Bucky's fat cock lining up to slide into your tight little slit. He rubs the head up and down, lubricating just enough to push himself in. As he started to sink into you, it took every bit of will you had not to collapse as you felt his slight struggle to get in.

"Fuck, you're tight," he sighs. But truth be told, he's just that big. As if he had a direct roadmap, he slides in effortlessly right to the hilt, poking the sweetest spot of all making you choke out a sob, "You can take it, can't you angel?" He breathes huskily, amusement draped around the words as he dragged his cock back maliciously slow, letting you feel the ridge of each vein, every delectable centimeter of his length.

You feel your eyes roll closed, enjoying the all consuming sensation. With one quick thrust all at once, Bucky simultaneously yanks on the chain of the forgotten choker forcing your eyes open with a loud cry to find him glaring at you in the mirror, "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he reprimanded, in a subdued yet stern voice.

He started to move in a merciless rhythm, keeping the chain taut in one of the hands that clenched your hips. Each thrust delivered not only a delectable deep nudge against your cervix, but a small slap of his balls to your achingly sensitive clit. The combination of internal and external stimulation has you singing your own personal explicit cry, almost on the verge of tears with the intensity.

It's almost cruel the way that he fucks you, like he's dismantling you piece by piece, mentally, physically, emotionally. Never have you been treated like such a prize possession and a cheap whore at the same time. Your walls flutter around his cock, swallowing him needing moremoremore. You're body's accepted that this pussy is Bucky's. It's meant for him. It was made for him.

In the reflection you can see Bucky wet his lips, his eyes darting between yours and your ass bouncing off of his snapping hips. He continues to murmur soft, filthy praises as he fucks another orgasm from you. The choker tensed as you came, making the edges of your vision blurry- your walls clenching so tightly, causing each stroke to become more intense than the next. After you completely shattered, the chain went slack once again.

Manhandling you one last time, Bucky lays back flat on the bed and positions you to straddle him. You shake your head in an almost delirious state, "I-I can't. Buck, I-" you whisper, thoroughly cock drunk, "I can't," you pleaded.

"Yes you can, angel," his hands glide over your sweat coated thighs, a lecherous expression on his face. You nod ever so slightly, because even as spent and exhausted as you feel, you want to see him come apart. You want to look down into his eyes as joins you in the fucked out bliss.

You grab the base of his cock, using it to align yourself before sliding back down on top of him. Bucky's eyes widen, watching intensely as your bodies joined one another. All the air releases out of his lungs at the sight of your greedy pussy sucking him all the way in- deeper, your thighs already trembling. His hands clench your hips as your they start to grind back and forth.

His ab muscles flex under your nail piercing grasp- that pressure once again starting to build. He's just so deep, you're still just so wet from coming 3 times in a row, and now his wide tip is nestled so perfectly against your cervix that each motion of your body feels like you're going to spontaneously combust and die. But there's no way that heaven could be better than this. Those painfully beautiful sapphire blue eyes filled with an rapacious hunger that only you can fulfill.

You're mouth opens in attempt to say his name like a prayer, or something as equally dirty, but all that comes out is a sputter of shuddered gasps. Bucky's unapologetically loud moans grow more frequent, turning into their own long, drawn out beautiful melody, "fuck," he whispers, "that's so good."

Leaning down, chest to chest, you capture his lips in yours- swallowing those gorgeous sounds. Bucky takes this opportunity to thrust his hips up, massaging your inner walls as you push back against him. The loud smacking of flesh borderline drown out the sounds of both your orgasms, but you could feel the vibration from deep within Bucky's throat through the kiss. Rope after rope, you could feel his warmth emptying inside of you.

The strokes became laguid as he maintained the kiss- Bucky's hands cupping your face gently, which was such a dichotomy compared to the way he fucked you tonight. You finally pull your lips apart, collapsing fully on top of his body. Laying in silence, all you can hear is each other's ragged breathing and the drumming of his heart in your ear against his chest.

"I am... never getting rid of that fucking mask," Bucky chuckles lightly.

"Just so you know," you prop your chin up on your palm, "there's 5 other movies in the franchise."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist.

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @wintrsoldrluvr

@marianastudiesart @chaosbarelycontained @wonderbreadbucky @amethystviolin @fluffysucker @buckybraneslover111 @crazyf0robx @thorns-fixations @brairslair @dumdumlolly @miss0giarra @nerdytif @am-3-thyst @blondierog @mrsstuckyboo

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sleepinthrumyalarms · 2 years ago

Text

— a study in demon

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, a/b/o dynamics in werewolves and demons, penetration, G!P!reader, it's demon girlcock OKAY, cockwarming, breeding kink, size kink, knotting, all characters are aged-up

summary: an unfortunate turn of events leaves wednesday with a very frustrated, very needy oni demon on her hands. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't take care of her beloved?

word count: 4.5k

a/n: jesus christ, look at those warnings. this fic is a whole declaration of war. i went feral. i have nothing to say for myself. hope you enjoy

The first thing you feel when the annoying buzzing of the alarm pulls you out of your peaceful slumber is the immense heat of your body and the ache somewhere in your lower belly. A groan leaves your throat before you can even blink your eyes fully open, and you blindly reach for your phone to turn the screaming noise off.

You sit up on your bed and squint at the sunlight that streams through the tiny slit in the tightly shut curtains, opening a small calendar app that’s designed specifically for the creatures of your kind – and with a huff you realize your rut is coming in two days.

Damn it. You’ve completely forgotten about it. That certainly explains the aggressiveness and mood swings you’ve been having for the past week.

You open a new text message, sent from your girlfriend at 5:30 AM – not exactly an early riser, but definitely the type to pull an all-nighter on a school night – wishing you the most dreadful morning. You smile to yourself, and the smallest thought of her seems to be enough to motivate you to get out of bed and start the day despite the uncomfortable feeling stirring in your belly.

Thank all the gods almighty – Larissa Weems, especially – that it is still a non-uniform week at the Academy. Sitting in class with that tie wrapped around your throat like a noose would’ve killed you.

You rummage through your wardrobe, pulling out a tee and a pair of jeans, changing hastily, before your gaze falls on a particular item of clothing that definitely doesn’t belong in your closet.

It’s a black baggy zip hoodie, the one Wednesday constantly wears when out of class. It’s a surprise she has forgotten it at your place – your best guess is she must’ve left in one of your sweatshirts instead.

The fabric feels smooth in your grasp. Warm fleece lining. A bit abrasive on the outside.

Just like her.

You lift the hoodie to your face, burying your nose in the softness and inhaling.

Smells just like her, too.

Without a second thought you put it over your frame – though a bit more of a tight fit, it’s still slightly baggy on your shoulders – and zip it up, pulling the hood over your head to take another small whiff of the familiar scent.

That should get you through the day, you think.

And it does. For the first half of it, at least.

You take an extra suppressant pill during lunch, but skip the meal, opting to spend the free time in the quad to ventilate your head.

It feels better. Much, much better. Even though you don’t get to see Wednesday at the canteen.

You’re back inside for your last period – maths, and your mind gets too busy with the complicated equations and formulas to worry about the hormones running wild in your body.

You’re half-way through a very fucked-up problem with roots and sines before a strong aroma suddenly fills up your lungs – an omega’s pheromones, you realize, wide-eyed.

An omega who is in heat.

You lift your head up, giving the students around you a quick once-over – and your gaze meets a pair of golden orbs, a pretty girl with pink plump lips and fiery-red hair tied into a pony tail watches you with interest, her chin propped on her palm. As soon as you make eye-contact, she gives you a smile, revealing a small, adorable gap in the front row of her teeth.

You shake your head and smile back politely before turning back to your paper, but the rest of the class feels like you’re trapped in a suffocating cage of hot arousal that smells of yellow fruit and washed laundry.

As soon as the bell dismisses the students, you hastily pack your bag and bolt out of the door, desperate to lock yourself in your dorm room and just take care of this stupid predicament you’ve found yourself in. You’ve never been more grateful for the lack of a roommate.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

You stop and turn at the sound of your name being called, although the voice is quite unfamiliar – too melodic and gentle to be anyone you know.

“Hey, uh...”

It’s the redhead from maths. She watches you expectantly for a few moments before her face falls slightly, “It’s Dina! I was with the Black Cats last year. We met at the after party? The one Yoko hosted?” She sounds almost offended at the fact that you don’t remember her.

“Oh. Oh, right. Dina. Sorry. I’m really bad with names.” You smile apologetically.

“It’s fine. I’d be surprised if you remembered me, actually. This academy holds way too many ginger werewolves,” Dina chuckles, and falls in step with you to continue walking down the hall. “So, you up to anything right now?”

“No, not really. Just hoping to get back to the dorms and sleep my awful headache off. Been bugging me all day.”

It’s only a half-lie – your temples are still throbbing like crazy, and the pheromones you’ve smelled in class did nothing to help your case.

The werewolf tilts her head, pursing her plump lips, “Hmm... That’s too bad, because, actually...”

The smaller girl suddenly grabs your hips and pushes you – unprepared, you stumble to the side and right through the door of some random classroom. Barely able to catch your balance at Dina’s abrupt movement, your hands grasp at her forearms, desperately trying to steady the rest of your body.

“I was thinking I could help you relieve that pain of yours.”

She looks up at you, tilts her chin up slightly. The smell of citron and fresh linen suddenly fills your nose.

The same one you’ve felt in class.

The omega in heat.

Fuck.

The werewolf in front of you settles with pumping her pheromones at you wildly, her palms flitting from your hips down to your thighs, slowly closing in on your center – you do nothing to stop her, your own hands reaching behind you to grip the edge of the desk. Her eyes are glinting red now, slitted pupils never breaking eye contact with yours.

She presses her nose against your scent gland, and you feel her grin against your neck.

“I don’t smell an omega on you...” Shit. Of course Wednesday’s hoodie doesn’t smell like anything but her usual dark resins and woods scent. As much as it is alluring and recognizable to you, it’s not pheromones. “You haven’t mated with one yet? That’s just criminal... An alpha like you should spend all her ruts with a pretty omega impaled on her cock.”

You take a sharp inhale through your nose, feeling yourself throb treacherously at her words. Dina giggles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw, her mouth now inches away from yours.

“You know…” she starts sultry, voice heavy with unadulterated lust in a way that only an omega’s can sound to the ears of a rutting alpha, “I’ve never taken an oni’s knot before…”

You feel the werewolf squeeze your thighs, bare her claws in a sharp movement, “I wonder what it feels like.”

Your head is heavy, cloudy – you’re practically unable to resist, tusked mouth hanging open with small puffs of vapors fluttering out. The urge to bend the small werewolf over the desk and pound her into the wood feels even harder to resist, too.

An unpleasant feeling rattles through your chest, unbearable and disgusting. An image of dark-brown eyes and soft lips painted burgundy flashes through your mind.

You feel like you’re going to puke.

“No,” you rasp, pushing the werewolf away. “Get off me.”

Before the startled girl can retort, you stumble out of the classroom and slam the door closed, turning the key that has been left in the keyhole by some clumsy substitute.

You stumble for a moment, lifting a clawed palm to grasp at your head that has suddenly turned cloudy and heavy, and make your way towards the ladies’ restroom.

She must’ve felt the rut closing on you, and her own heat triggered it prematurely.

With shaky hands you pull out your phone, opening the messages app and texting the first person that comes to your clouded mind.

enid

bro you gotta ditch

it’s an emergency

i just stumbled into a girl

uhh dina?

she’s from ophelia hall

anyways i think she needs… help

from a fellow omega wolf

i think she hasn’t been taking her suppressants

for some fucking reason

and yk it’s not like me to live a lady in distress

but i really had to dip

i was doing her a favor by dipping actually

i locked her up on the 2nd floor

202

i really had to leave

Pressing your back against one of the bathroom stalls, you wait anxiously as three gray dots dance on the screen.

The device dingles in your hands.

oooohh

its okay

i gotchu

u should totes find weds tho

im sure she can help u out ;))

You hide your phone in your pocket and open the tap to splash your face with cold water. It eases the flush of your face, but doesn’t calm the raging beast inside.

Your fingers grasp onto the edges of the sink tightly, almost making the marble crack.

As you walk through the corridors and up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, the only thought that occupies your mind is Wednesday. Wednesday and her dark eyes and her lips and her touch and the beautiful curve of her slender hips and everything that is your mate.

You don’t bother knocking, urgently swinging the door open.

And there it is. Your (f/c) sweater, no doubt one of her monochrome striped shirts under it.

Your palms are sweating. Claws digging into your pant legs, tusks into your lip.

The small ravenette turns in her seat to look at you, her fingers stilling over the keys of her typewriter.

Her braided hair looks pristine and untouched, her posture unmatched, the image perfect even when out of public sight.

“Ma bête,” she addresses softly, brows slightly raised in question. “You’re back. And you look… a trifle uncomfortable.”

Does she not know? There’s no way she doesn’t. Such details could never slip Wednesday’s unhealthily constantly alerted mind.

“Is something wrong?”

Fuck. Of course. There it is, that cruel glint in her eyes. You should’ve known.

She wants you to say it.

You shift on your feet. The temperature is becoming almost unbearable.

“I’m…”

Wednesday watches you, tilts her head just a tiny bit forward — dark, haunted eyes deadpan, staring you down, her jaw tightening slightly and relaxing in a way that is barely noticeable but has your gaze flicking down to the enticing slant of her neck.

“I’m… in a rut.” You admit, finally.

Wednesday’s eyes widen slightly — her posture straightens even more, the glint in her eyes turning dangerous, “Oh.” Yes, oh, as if she wasn’t aware. “Why are the suppressants not working?”

Should you admit that the small encounter with the horny omega has sent your hormones spiraling?

Wednesday is by no means a normal human, yet her nose lacks the capability of sensing alpha pheromones. Nevertheless, she can read you like a book, and she probably was aware of your coming rut long before you were. She simply likes abusing the knowledge.

“It must be bad then, if it has you reduced to such a pathetic state,” the goth tuts, drumming her fingers against her desk. “Pure torture, isn’t it, bête? I wish I could help you…”

Wednesday turns back to her paper, shrugging noncommittally, “Unfortunately, it is my writing hour, and you know how much I would detest an intervention in my schedule.”

You whine as the drumming of her keys resumes – like a kicked puppy, you turn to reach for the doorknob, prepared to return back to the restroom and take care of yourself to the thought of your ever-so beautiful and unyielding girlfriend.

Wednesday’s fingers still on the typewriter.

“But I suppose… We can reach a consensus.”

The legs of her chair scrape against the hardwood floor, and you turn to find Wednesday standing next to the desk, palm resting on the back of the seat invitingly.

“Come here.”

You’re beside Wednesday before the whole command can escape her mouth, and she gives a small, amused huff that almost has you howling and gnawing at furniture, then gestures at the chair, “Sit. Unbutton your pants, underwear off.”

You reach to do as told, pulling at a pant-leg to finally discard the constricting garment before the ravenette slaps your hand, “Just the button and the zipper, (Y/n). Do not make me repeat myself.”

You gulp and take a seat at her desk, tugging the elastic of your boxers down to free the hard shaft.

The dark, intense gaze Wednesday is watching you with makes you blush and throb, excitement and arousal mixing with the slightest of embarrassments only her presence can induce.

“Good girl,” she hums, circling the chair like a hunting lioness. “I will allow you to be inside me, just this once. I will not allow you to touch me in any other way. If I feel any movement, internal or external, you will be punished. And by no means are you allowed to cum. Not without my permission. Are the instructions clear, beast? Nod your empty little head if affirmative.”

You nod with a small whimper at the derogatory words, though they do nothing to soothe the aching hardness between your legs.

“Good, good. Well, since the terms are settled, I shall get started.”

Before you can respond, Wednesday steps closer to the desk, slightly flipping her skirt with a quick movement of her hand and letting you catch the smallest of glimpses of her pretty pussy – the show is over before you can marvel though, and the seer sits on your lap, your length pressing against her lower back.

Like this, with no distance left between you, her scent is encompassing your whole being. No pheromones can compare to the way Wednesday smells, the rich, woodsy notes of a forest soaked in rainwater luring you in as you take a small inhale.

You bite back a growl, but a small noise of frustration still manages to reach the ravenette’s sharp hearing.

“Quiet, beast.” She scolds, her tone of voice far from playful, and reaches to straighten her skirt carefully, flicking the non-existing dust off the garment in a graceful movement of her palm.

Then, before you can downright keen with impatience, the same hand moves behind to wrap around your hard member, giving it a squeeze so light it is almost torturous – Wednesday lifts her hips and presses the head against the warmth of her entrance.

That first contact feels like electricity and fire in your belly, worsened when you feel your cock split her lips open, stretching her taut around it, and the smallest worry that you might just not fit passes through your rut-clouded mind.

Then again, Wednesday might not even be merciful enough to sheathe you fully inside her, but the thought of being too big to be properly seated in her cunt is tantalizing and excruciating at the same time.

A small, relieved sigh escapes Wednesday’s lips – the sensation of being filled up with you is like no other, and she can’t help but relish in it despite her aggravation. She takes her time, feeling every inch push deeper inside her and stretch her out, the thick shaft splitting her open, then her thighs press into yours and she stills completely.

If she had to, the goth would put all the time and work in to stretch herself out with your girth, to take all of you inside her like she was molded just for that single purpose. It’s not like Wednesday has something to prove to anyone – or maybe she has, to you, that no one else at Nevermore could take you so well and make all your resolve, might and dominance provided to you by nature, or by gods, or by whatever entity has created such a delectable beast as you crumble under her and make it natural for you to submit to the seer.

And oh does submissiveness look good on you, too – or at least it sounds good, if your heavy breathing mixed with quiet whines hitting her ear is anything to go by.

Wednesday is reminded of her goal suddenly when she feels your hips buck instinctually into her, and the ravenette has to hold back a sound of pleasure at the movement, because she can’t fight how incredible the pressure feels, making her velvet walls flutter. She’s still holding the reins when she tightens her pussy around your throbbing dick purposefully, a trace of a small smirk on her plush burgundy lips at the needy and wanton groan that escapes your mouth.

That was a good enough treat, she thinks. Now to the sticks.

Wednesday kicks you in the shin with the side of her loafer, pulling you out of your pleasure-induced trance and making you flinch.

“Move closer to the desk, beast. I need to be able to reach the keys in order to type.”

You grunt, shuffling the chair closer with your weight, nudging Wednesday’s body forward, and the slightest shift makes you hiss — she slides a few inches up your shaft before she’s at the base again, seated nice and snug, her thighs resting on yours. Your hands fall to grapple at them, and you receive another painful kick.

“No. Hands off. If you are unable to control yourself, I will shun you out.” Wednesday scolds, though has to hide the effect the feeling of your claws curling around her have, and fails. Her voice sounds more breathless than she has intended.

She has a hard time admitting to herself how torturous this is for her, too. The seer sneaks a glance down to where the thick shaft splits her open, so tight she can practically feel it throbbing against her clit. A small bead of precum runs down, skirting one of the throbbing veins.

Wednesday’s restraint is laudable.

“Messy creature,” she murmurs, her tone surprisingly soft, before the paper in front of her takes over her attention again. Straightening her back, the ravenette goes back to her writing as if she’s not full of demon cock right now.

You try to focus on the rapid clatter of the keys, on the way Wednesday’s elegant fingers dance over the typewriter, maybe try and catch a glance of the words the girl is printing on the paper. Anything to pull your mind away from the tight warmth hugging your aching cock, from weight of the small body pressed against you.

The demon inside of you is raging, howling, salivating between huge tusks. The monster is not as prejudiced as the fellow oni of your clan are – it doesn’t care if it’s another demon or a human you’re nestled inside. It demands the frail body pressed against your own is filled up and bred, demands the goth takes all of you, stretching around your swollen knot before it's barely able to slip inside.

Not just any body. Or some omega. Wednesday. Wednesday who isn’t even a part of that animalistic system, but the beast begs for more, wants all of her more, more with each passing second.

A growl mixed with a whimper escapes your mouth – you have no idea what to do with your hands, so you press them into the edge of the table on either side of Wednesday’s typewriter, claws digging into the dark wood. The involuntarily display of strength has the small female tightening around you with a gentle hitch of her breath, making you groan.

“Wednesday,” you rasp through clenched teeth. “I can’t. Please. I’m losing control.”

“O-oh, are you?” The goth inquires mockingly, hoping you don’t take notice of her slight stutter.

“Mhm,” you nod dumbly. “Wanna take you so bad. Wanna fuck you full of me.”

Wednesday can’t fight the way her pussy constricts around you again, though the determination not to lose control remains, strong as ever. She abandons the keys to reach a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful of (h/c) locks to pull and make you meet her gaze, “Whose is it, (Y/n)?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, making Wednesday’s frown deepen – a hint for the right answer comes in the form of the seer’s hips lifting and rocking back down, the friction making you hiss.

“Answer me.”

“Yours.” You swallow. “Yours, Wednesday. Every- every inch is.”

“Good. Good girl.” She coos, easing her hold on you to rake her short nails down the back of your neck, making goosebumps litter your body. “Bed, beast. Now.”

A low growl rumbling in your chest and vibrating against her back is the only warning Wednesday gets before she’s lifted into the air sharply.

In a rough, barely controlled movement you stand up so fast you topple the chair over, flipping the girl with ease and walking a couple of steps to press her against the bed, the ravenette’s cunt still snug around your shaft. A clawed hand reaches for a pillow hastily to cushion Wednesday’s head, the last resemblance of caring gentleness in your actions before you pull out to the tip and buck back inside.

Wednesday’s head snaps back, mouth falling open in pleasure as you pin her down into the mattress, fucking hard into the welcoming, tight warmth of her pussy. Despite the dynamics of oni demons still being fairly alien to Wednesday – not as alien apparently, as she knows the frequency and signs of your rut better than you do and isn’t opposed to using it against you – she now seems to understand the appeal of being absolutely destroyed by an alpha that omegas in heat are so partial to.

As delectable as the thought is, it rekindles the spark of possessiveness that she thought has almost been extinguished. The goth wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling your bodies flush together.

Hers. No one else’s.

Not some other depraved omega girl’s so desperate to get a taste of you.

“You foolish brute.” She pants as if it’s your fault you seem to be irresistible to other women, voice trembling slightly, her breath completely pushed out of her lungs with each of your thrusts. “You better make good on your promise and breed me like a good alpha should.”

The monster inside you roars at the proposition that is so obviously supposed to be taunting. Your palms slide down the girl’s waist, thumbs brushing against the protruding hipbones to dip into the supple flesh sitting low under her navel, holding her tightly, almost hard enough to bruise and match the brutal pace of your hips rutting into Wednesday, your cock splitting her open deliciously in a toe-curling sensation that has Wednesday’s head falling back against the dark pillows.

The sight under you has you growling savagely – your tongue lolls out to lick a thick stripe up the exposed skin of the ravenette’s neck before you bite down, huge tusks clasping around her throat and keeping Wednesday in place completely, her pulse wild against the rough surface of your muscle. Her pussy constricts around your cock, clamping down hard in an attempt to keep the thick shaft buried to the hilt every time you pull out and quivering when you slam back inside and fill her up enough for the tip to kiss the entrance of her womb, never letting the small female catch her breath.

The lustful fog of ardent fervor clouding Wednesday’s brain doesn’t numb her to the sensation of a swelling at the base of your shaft nudging against her opening every time your hips meet hers. It threatens to push in, catches deliciously on Wednesday’s clit with each thrust and she can feel herself getting painfully close.

But she will not. For the sake of the one thing she wants more than anything else, the goth will deprive herself.

“Knot me.” She rasps into your ear, her feet pushing into your lower back to urge you deeper inside. “Mia bestia, mia alfa. Dentro. Ven dentro di mi.”

You’d have no clue what she has just said on a normal day, and you have zero idea right now, buried eight inches deep inside of her, but the breathless, desperate pants of Italian have you turning feral. In one last brutal thrust the knot slips past Wednesday’s tight lips and inside, stretching and filling her so thoroughly and impossibly delicious it has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. A spill of wetness from her own release rushing forth as she clamps down on your cock lubes her aching walls, helping the bulging slide in firmly.

Your lips gravitate to hers, pulled to her like a magnet, and you growl into her mouth as your cum spills hotly, taking up any remaining space inside the small female and her walls ripple, begging for more. Wednesday's arms tighten around your shoulders and legs squeeze around your hips to keep you close.

You throb with sated completion, press lazy kisses to the seer’s brow and flushed cheeks, and watch as her eyes flutter open to meet yours, her chest heavy with steamy breaths.

“Too hot, huh?” You ask, jaw slack slightly.

Wednesday gives a weak nod, and you reach to tug the sweater off her shoulders, then unzip her skirt to slip it down her pale legs, leaving the girl in just her striped shirt. The newly exposed skin provides better contact for you to revel in – you purr in satisfaction and move to join the seer on the bed, careful not to crush her, and maneuver her small body in your palms to pull her on top of you.

Wednesday huffs but doesn’t resist, nudging at your neck with her nose and pressing a soft kiss to your jugular in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

“How did you find out?” You murmur, lifting your hands to start undoing one of the ravenette’s loosened braids leisurely.

“I have my ways.”

You hum at the vague reply, now certain that the disembodied hand following you around the whole day wasn’t just your imagination playing tricks, “I hope you know I had no intention to lie to you or anything. You just- you didn’t exactly give me a chance to speak.”

“Your explanation wasn’t necessary. I’m well aware of what happened.” The movement of the seer’s plush lips tickles your skin pleasantly, her voice now void of its previous detachment.

You smile softly, finished with unbraiding her hair, your fingers threading through the silky raven locks, careful not to give an accidental tug. Wednesday closes her eyes at your touch, and the tranquility of the moment has you feeling like a cat basking in warm sunlight, despite the object of your passions being a complete opposite to it.

“I’ll have to consult Enid on the topic of which herbs are the deadliest to werewolves.”

“Wednesday.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x reader smut #wednesday addams smut #wednesday x reader #wednesday x reader smut #wednesday smut #wednesday imagine #wednesday x female reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #wlw smut

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teamchasezwrites · 1 month ago

Text

Breed You

Word Count: 8,504

Characters: Damian Priest/OC

Genre: Smut, Side of fluff

Tags: Breeding Kink, Smut, Dirty Talk, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Explicit Content

Summary: Thoughts about having sex with his wife were nothing new for Damian. Having thoughts of mounting her from behind and breeding her... well... those were new.

Author's Note: When it comes to writing smut, this post fits me to a T. I almost reported it under "I'm in this photo and I don't like it." This story is the first time I've attempting writing a kink and I do hate how it wasn't the main focal point. Go easy on me! Enjoy

Inspired by:

The door to the arena closed behind Damian as he stepped into the private parking lot. He nodded his head to a couple crew members standing along the building. A lingering acrid stench hung in the air indicating a cigarette break. He would never forget the smell as a former smoker himself. Ten years clean the smell now irritated his nose.

The building did little to hold in the cheers of the thousands of fans inside. The music was muffled but he couldn’t distinguished which wrestler was headed to the ring or who was victorious. If he were being honest with himself, he had no idea what was even on the card for the night beyond his own match – an eight man tag team match between Judgement Day and R-Truth, The Miz, and DIY. Judgement Day won of course. He was able to secure the pin on R-Truth.

Then his focus turned from the job to something better. Thankful Triple H was now in charge and he was a big champion of letting wrestlers have time off for family. His match needed to be in the first part of Raw or else it would throw off the scheduling for his traveling. Like the ripple a rock makes in the water as it plunges into its depth. The rings start off small and get bigger and bigger. He didn’t get out of the arena on time, he’ll miss his flight from LAX. If he missed his flight, it was a six hour drive.

Without traffic.

And six hours was way too long of a delay to be where he so desperately needed to be.

Damian hit the button on the key fob of his rental and tossed his black duffle bag into the passenger seat as he climbed into the nondescript sedan. He pushed the button on the dash and the engine started immediately. The radio started blasting Death Angel’s “Father of Lies”. He quickly reached out turning the volume down a couple notches from where he’d been rocking out earlier on his way to the Honda Center.

As he backed from the the parking spot, he sent a little prayer up for traffic to work with him. There was slim wiggle room and it was already a little after six local time. Los Angelas wasn’t exactly known for its commute.

Whatever Gods controlled the traffic were on his side because he was able to make it to the rental drop off at LAX in the time the GPS estimated. The drop off was quick and he was able to zip through security and make it to his gate with time to spare. Boarding hadn’t begun yet so he took the time he had to go to the bathroom and check his phone.

He sat in a chair surrounded by no one. The black hat on his head pulled low over his eyes with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over it. The long braided extensions he currently had his hair styled in was hidden by the hoodie helping give him a case of anonymity. Though he was still a six foot five man with bulking muscles. He definitely stood out against the rest of the passengers awaiting the same flight.

‘Made it to the airport.’

Roughly two hours – depending on how long it took to board and actually take off – before he would be at his destination. His leg bounced in anticipation.

While he waited, Damian scrolled through his social media. He liked posts from fellow Raw wrestlers and shared posts from WWE’s main account about him to his accounts. When boarding was announced he stood, shouldering his bag.

The attendant at the gate scanned the ticket on his phone with a smile. “Have a good flight.”

He responded with a smile and made his way onto the boarding bridge. He stepped into the plane, ducking his head where he smiled at the flight attendant welcoming him and quickly found his seat. Keeping his phone in his hand he stuffed his bag into the overhead compartment and took his assigned window seat.

The anticipation continued to build and he wished the passengers would move more quickly to their seats. The clock didn’t start ticking until the plane was in the air.

75 minutes until touchdown.

Damian’s phone chirped in his ear through the AirPods. He had yet to turn his playlist on. Glancing down at his lock screen he saw the notification. His lips spread into a smile.

Ali: You’re so close!!

He swiped his thumb across the notification to open the message thread.

‘Boarded now.’

‘If I could fly this plane, I’d already be on the way.’

A college-aged looking kid took the empty seat next to him before Damian could stand and try to do just that.

‘I’ll be your sexy flight attendant to mess around in your cock pit.’

Damian grinned at the sexual connotation of his wife’s text. ‘You do know your way around my cock…’

An image appeared next and he greedily tapped on it to enlarge it on his screen. The photo was dark, the only light source were the candles lining the edge of the bathtub and the windowsill above it. His wife’s feet peeked out of the water through the reflection of the candles. The feet glistened with water. Her skin tanned and perfect in the candlelight.

‘I’m gonna start right there and work my way up. I won’t be stopping until my lips have touched every piece of skin.’

He shifted in his seat. First to make sure his phone screen was hidden from prying eyes. Second, to alleviate the growing pressure against his zipper.

‘I hope you’ll be spending extra time in certain places on your quest.”

‘There’ll be quite a few layovers in all my favorite places.”

‘Fuck Dame… I need you to hurry up.’

Damian bit back the moan wanting to come out. He could almost feel her need coming through in the previous text. ‘Are you on edge Corazón? Do you need to cum?’

‘My fingers are nothing compared to yours.’

Damian shifted again at her words. There was no way to inauspiciously press the heel of his hand to his cock for some form of relief. ‘I’ll be there soon Baby.’

The plane finished boarding during his shameless conversation with his wife. The flight attendants were already closing the overhead compartments. ‘Getting ready to take off. I’ll see you soon. I love you.’

Ali’s answering ‘I love you’ text had him putting his phone in airplane mode and pressing the button on the side. The screen went dark. Tucking it in his hoodie pocket, he stared out the window as the plane taxied away from the terminal and down the runway.

The wait wasn’t long before pilot had them speeding down the runway past the other flights waiting their turn. The buildings on the ground flew by as the plane picked up speed. The nose lifted and soon the plane was off the ground and climbing high into the air.

The anticipation danced around in his belly like nerves. Damian couldn’t even explain the feeling. Ali was just in his arms yesterday when he kissed her goodbye at their front door before heading to the airport to fly to California for Monday Night Raw.

Maybe it had to do with the fact he was flying to Mammoth Mountain where he was spending the next six days nestled in a cozy room with his wife in the California ski town. Six days of uninterrupted time with just him and her. Celebrating five years of marriage. Celebrating their love.

Jesus did he love her.

They met in a club in New Jersey. The relationship was purely sexual on the onslaught. Then it turned into an on-again off-again before he finally wizened up to make it permanent in 2017. He didn’t know where wrestling was taking him at the time, but he knew Ali was it.

The plane leveled off and settled in for the quick jaunt west. The seatbelt sign clicked off but Damian paid it no attention. He retrieved his phone from his hoodie pocket and entered his passcode. He had a few games he could play to pass the time; an old pro at traveling now but he ended up in his photos. Skipping the raunchy and inappropriate memes he’d send Rhea and the rest of the Judgement Day in their group text, he narrowed in on the true photos on his camera.

The first one to pop up was a photo taken just last Wednesday on Valentine’s Day. A picture of him and Gabriela – his four year old daughter. She was perched on his back in a piggy back ride. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck in a pinching squeeze with his arms hooked around her already long legs securing her to him. Long legs and arms reminded him of a newborn horse. Her dark brown hair hung in a mass of wild waves hadn’t yet met a comb that morning. Her brown eyes sparkled in pure delight or mischief. The crooked little grin proudly displayed on her face.

Gabriela – an absolute surprise to them both finding out they were already many weeks along after their wedding. Completely spoiled rotten and one hundred percent Papi’s little girl.

Then there was a photo of two year old Ian taken that same morning, sitting at the kitchen table in his booster chair. His hand griping the small fork in a backwards grip with a look of pure determination on his face as he tried to stab the syrup covered pancake.

A smile formed on his lips as he could still hear his son chanting ‘Papi, Papi, Papi,’ as he dished up the special heart shaped pancakes to him and his sister along with cut up sausage patties and strawberries.

He swiped his thumb again and there was a tired looking Ali with her own heart shaped pancake. He liked to imagine she was tired because he wore her out the night before but he knew better. The culprit of her (and his) exhaustion was sitting in his wife’s lap, sporting an open mouth grin showing off her teeth. Sofia just turned one last month and had yet to sleep through the night. He was beginning to think she never would.

Damian could still smell the fresh baby scent when he nuzzled her sweet little face and kissed her goodbye yesterday.

He continued to scroll through the photos in his phone, getting further away from the current photos. His kids regressed quickly through the months and his heart twisted a little noticing how much Gabi changed in just this last year alone. Sofia became that tiny infant again; the one he was almost too afraid to hold after delivery. She’d been the smallest of his children. Not quite clocking six pounds. He felt like an overgrown oaf cradling her in his arms.

A couple more scrolls and there was Ali laying in the hospital bed, looking exhausted yet beautiful still in the midst of labor though not at the pushing stage. Her belly big and round with a stubborn Sofia not wanting to come out.

There was a stirring deep in his own belly he couldn’t place as he stared at a few more photos of Ali in the hospital before Sofia was born.

He kept swiping back through photos and his breath caught in his throat at the black and white photo. Taken at Christmas time because he received a tripod for his phone. Happy he could now take photos with his family without them having to be selfies all the time. This photo though…

Ali was lying in their bed on her back. The long flowing sheer negligee was deep red he remembered. The slit started at the center of the bra cups and down the entire length allowing it to fall open exposing her belly. Her back was slightly arched allowing her belly to be more prominent. Her head lifted a little, exposing her neck and the angle of her jaw.

He laid between her legs, shirtless with a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. His arms holding himself above her to keep his weight off her. The black and white photo drawing out the tattoos on his left arm more. His arms were slightly bent so he could dip and press his lips against Ali’s belly.

He’d forgotten all about the photo.

The next photo showed him on his knees in front of a standing Ali kissing her belly again. Then they were both standing. Him behind her with his arms wrapped around her, his hands on either side of her belly. Another photo of Ali by herself. Turned sideways to the camera, displaying her pregnant belly. One arm resting on top, the other cradling it from underneath.

Damian’s scrolls became faster almost frantic as he swiped through his photos searching for the ones with Ali pregnant. Anything with his wife’s belly on display. As he stared at the photos he couldn’t help but remember how it felt when they made love.

Her breasts enlarged, full of milk to nourish their babies. Her nipples tender and sensitive. The cries he could draw from just tracing his tongue around the areola. How her legs would jerk back and forth listlessly.

With her belly big and round, their frequent position would be him taking her from behind. He would help ease her onto her hands and knees as he situated himself behind her on his knees. He’d run his cock through her glistening folds before slowly sinking in. His hands would be gripping her hips as he moved in and out of her. Slowly his hands would move to her belly. He’d pull her up so her back was to his chest. She’d sink on him allowing him better access to her belly.

He loved the weight of her belly. The feel. The look… how it turned him on to see her pregnant with his child. It bolstered the possessiveness he felt when it came to it wife. He was the man who sent his seed deep inside her body, marking his claim.

Damian swallowed roughly on a dry mouth. The path his thoughts took were surprising. His cock was painfully hard in his jeans now as thoughts swirled in his head of impregnating his wife once more. Of releasing his unfettered sperm deep inside her.

Of mounting his wife from behind and breeding her.

Watching once more as her belly grew round with his child.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Please fasten your dealt belts as we make our descent into Mammoth Lakes. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

Damian’s thoughts were nearly feral as he exited the plane and walked into the small, private terminal of Mammoth Lakes Airport. His stride was purposeful as he exited the main doors. A few vehicles were lined up to fill with passengers to take them to various locations on the mountain.

He stepped up to the first one at the front of the line. “There’s a nice tip if you take me to The Lodge without waiting to fill the vehicle.”

The man grinned. “Yes Sir,” he gave him a mock salute. He started the vehicle as Damian climbed inside.

He fastened his seatbelt and pulled out his phone taking it off airplane mode. It chimed in his ear as the van pulled away from the curb.

A video from his mom waited. He tapped the video and was rewarded when his screen filled with Gabi. ‘Hi Papi! I love you!’ Her face zoomed in as she must have kissed the phone. He smiled watching as the phone shook and he was left staring at his daughter’s ear as she turned her head. Then she was off running, her giggles coming through his AirPods. ‘Say hi to Papi Ian.’ His son came into view as he pressed his face against his sister’s. Their faces squished together to fit both on the screen. ‘Hi Papi!’ Ian always over accented the ending sound in his name, holding onto the ‘e’ for a few beats. He loved it. ‘Say I love you!’ He chuckled at Gabi’s whisper. ‘Love you.’ Ian parroted as he learned toward the phone showing off his mouth full of teeth. The screen shook again and bounced as Gabi was on the move again. ‘Careful Sweetie.’ He heard his mother’s voice. Then Sofia was on the screen. Sitting in his mother’s lap. Her pink blanket in her lap. Her mouth sucking on her binkie. Even though the phone Damian could see the heaviness in her eyes as she held onto the last vestibules of wake, no doubt too intrigued by the movements of her siblings. ‘Feefa loves you too Papi.’ The nickname caused him to smile. Gabi had such a hard time saying Sofia. It came out as Feefa and even he called her that at times. His heart burst when Sofia pushed the binkie out of her mouth, a wide grin of her face as she saw her own reflection in the phone. ‘Wave to Papi, Feefa. Wave.’ A cheer nearly left his mouth at the same time as his mother’s when Sofia raised her hand out opening and shutting her fingers. ‘Bye Papi! I love you!’

The video ended and a small wave of sadness went through him. He missed them. He missed chasing Gabi through the house trying to corral her into the bath before bed. He missed snuggling with both Gabi and Ian on his lap as he read a bedtime story. He missed giving Sofia the final bottle before bed. Her brown eyes staring up at him holding him captive. Her small hand reaching up to touch his cheek, petting his beard. He would take her hand and press soft kisses to her fingers.

“We’re here Sir.”

Damian looked up from his phone. The Lodge loomed before him. He tucked his phone into his hoodie as he unfastened his seat belt. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took a couple bills out and handed them to the driver. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

Damian shouldered his bag as he tucked his wallet back in his pocket. He shut the door to the vehicle and started walking to the front doors as the van pulled away behind him.

The lobby was busy with the evening dinner hour. The lifts were closed. Skiing done for the night. Everyone was gathered, unwinding from a day on the slopes. The bar was standing room only. The roar of laughter and chatter echoing through the lobby. There was a line of patrons waiting to enter the restaurant. The large fire place was on the far wall. The flames danced in bright orange, red, and yellow hues. The seats around the fire were filled with friends and lovers alike.

Damian kept his head down and gaze averted as he ducked into a corner; phone already in hand. He had a waiting message from Ali.

An image.

He swallowed roughly and opened it. He released a breathy moan when the picture popped up. Ali lay on her stomach on the light colored comforter. The photo caught the side of her face; the mass of curls dipping in front of her shoulder and over her back. She wore no bra.

Her legs bent behind her, ankles crossed. Her back arched, sending her ass popping up. A pair of white lace panties sat on her waist and dipped between ass cheeks.

‘You’re killing me.’

He wanted her just like that. Wanted to slid up behind her and press his lips to the curve of an ass cheek before sinking his teeth in it. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and pull her back while his other hand set about unbuckling his pants.

‘Where are you?’

‘In the lobby trying not to be recognized while trying to get a room number out of this girl.’

‘Is she cute?’

‘Fucking hot.’

‘Yeah?’

‘What would you do if you got her room number?’

‘Corazon you’re playing with fire.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’d slip into her room while she’s laying on the bed. I’d press a kiss to her ankle while I climb between her legs. Pressing kisses to the back of her thighs up to her ass where I’d sink my teeth in to the soft flesh. I��d trace my tongue along the lace panties to where they dip down between her cheeks. I’d run my hand up her back to tangle into her hair and pull back causing her to arch more into me. I’d run my finger down between her cheeks to where her pretty pussy waits for me. Dripping wet. I’d press my finger deep inside her, pumping into her. Then I’d pull my hard cock out running it through her wet pussy lips as she begs for me to take her. She’d be so wet for me I can slid all the way into her on one hard thrust. There is no softness here. Just hard and fast until I have her screaming and coming apart all over my cock. When she does, I’ll give her what she so desperately wants. My hot cum painting deep inside her pussy walls.’

Fuck. Hard and fast is probably all he’s going to be good for the first time. He tugged at his hoodie in an effort to pull it down to cover his raging hard on.

‘Get here right the fuck now or it’s gonna be my fingers I’m riding hard and fast.’

The room number came through immediately after.

Armed with the information, Damian made his was through the lobby toward the elevator. Outside he appeared calm, on the inside he was wound so tight he threatened to explode. It wouldn’t take much. The simple squeeze of his cock to ward off an impending orgasm would send him in a tailspin.

Jesus he needed to get a hold of himself.

The elevator was thankfully empty when it arrived and no one followed him on. He hit the button to close the doors before anyone could slip through.

Moments later he was stalking down the hallway. Eyes catching door numbers as he passed. Then he was standing outside his room for the next six days. His wife just on the other side. Anticipation rolled through him. He raised his hand to tap softly on the door when it was pulled open and he was yanked through.

Hands palmed his cheeks pulling him down into a hot kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth. There was no finesse. Just desperate strokes.

The door clicked shut behind him. His bag falling off his shoulder to the floor. Her hands grabbed at the hem of his hoodie frantically trying to push it up his body needing to get him naked. To feel that warm skin beneath her fingers. Feel his hard muscles.

“Corazon, wait,” Damian murmured through the kisses.

“I can’t… I need you. Right now,” Ali’s hands hit skin and she moaned into his mouth. His skin was fever warm and she ran her hands up his chest, pushing both the hoodie and t-shirt up.

With strength he wasn’t sure he had, he broke the kiss with a groan and straightened. He caught sight of her for the first time. He moaned as his eyes raked over her naked body. “Ali, baby… you better not have been answering the door like that to anyone else.”

“And if I did?” Ali reversed her destination and her hands traveled south to Damian’s jeans.

Damian growled at her words. He pushed the hood from his head and ripped the hat off. With one hand gripping the hem of his hoodie, he yanked both it and his t-shirt over his head. His AirPods fell from his ears, bouncing to places unknown on the floor.

He didn’t care.

“No one gets to see this but me, Corazon,” he growled. He carded a hand through her hair to the back of her head where he yanked her forward. He swallowed her squeak as his lips captured hers. She fell against his body; her hands trapped between them. His tongue licked her lips and when she opened for him, he darted forward. He plundered her mouth chasing an acidic taste with a hint of bubbly… fruity… as if she’d been drinking a glass of wine. He had images of dribbling the wine on her body and licking it off.

His hands traced down her back; his palm rough against her soft skin. He cupped her ass and pressed her against his hard cock still confined in his jeans. Her arms broke free from between them to wrap around his neck, twisting in his hair. He felt her shift against him and he lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Damian,” she moaned against his lips. “Fuck me…” She nipped his bottom lip then ran her tongue over it to soothe the sting.

“I got something better for you…” Damian carried her further into the room and turned toward the right to enter the bedroom. He’d check out the room tomorrow. He laid her down on the comforter from the earlier photo. ‘Maybe not,’ he thought staring down at her.

Her hair spread against the blanket. Her pupils blown wide in desire. A red hue of arousal on her cheeks. Full breasts on display, a size larger after three pregnancies. Her nipples erect and enticing beckoning him to take one in his mouth. His eyes trailed down her stomach, softer now, to the small triangle patch of light brown curls. Her legs parted under his gaze revealing her glistening folds.

Like a starving man faced with a buffet he fell to his knees on the floor. He ran his hands up her legs. His fingers light over the skin drawing goosebumps. Up over her knees to her thighs. The skin so soft beneath his touch.

“Damian…” His name fell from her lips like a plea.

The cadence entered his body touching every dark recess before wrapping around his cock. The breathy moan from between her lips had him reaching down and frantically ripping down his zipper to free his cock from his briefs. He wrapped his hand around the hard flesh and squeezed. Hard. He groaned, tossing his head back. A bead of cum appeared on the tip and he breathed to ward off his orgasm.

With his orgasm staved off for now Damian opened his eyes catching sight of Ali leaning up on one elbow her face full of want and desire. The hunger in her eyes had him groaning. “The way you make me feel Corazon,” he whispered as he parted her legs. He hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to his mouth.

Damian placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh and Ali shivered as his beard scratched the delicate skin. “Oh Damian…” the words fell from her lips as her eyes drifted close.

“I haven’t even started yet.” Damian smirked. He took pity on his wife – and himself by lowering his head and licking a stripe straight up her center. Tanginess burst on his tongue and he moaned, pressing his face closer.

Short licks at her entrance before moving up to her clit. His tongue circled the bundle of nerves, flicking the button, drawing soft cries from Ali. Back down through her folds to her entrance his pressed his tongue deep inside.

“Damian…” Ali mewled, her hips undulating in the hold he still had on her thighs. Keeping her right where he wanted. Where she wanted. Her back arched as his tongue assaulted her clit again. His movements sure and knowing. He could always work her into a frenzy within minutes. Her hands fisted in the comforter beneath her, pulling the fabric.

A cry fell from her lips when he pressed two fingers deep inside her channel. They slid in without resistance. She been slick all evening since she watched him in the ring during his match on TV, his muscles rippling and glistening under the lights. Her thighs closed on his head.

“Let me at this pretty pussy Corazon,” Damian murmured as he pressed a hand on the inside of her thigh cocking her leg higher onto the bed, opening her up to him. “I can’t wait to sink my cock in you. You’re squeezing my fingers so well…you need me baby don’t you,” he pressed a kiss at the crease of her thigh.

“Yes,” Ali hissed. She reached down and grabbed his ponytail, the braided strands twisting in her hold. She wished his hair was free from the braids so she could tangle her fingers in it. “Please…”

“You beg so nicely.” He removed his fingers only to replace them with his tongue. He buried his face in her folds, his nose at her clit. He wiggled his tongue inside her. He licked between her folds to his clit. His tongue swirling around it, flicking over it. He pressed his fingers back inside her as her hand pressed his head closer. He knew she was close based on that hand.

Twisting his fingers he curled them up to the front wall, searching and finding the slightly rigid patch of skin. Ali’s breath hitched at the contact followed by a low moan. Pre-cum dribbled down his cock. He closed his lips around her clit and sucked. Ali’s hips came off the bed and he used his free hand to hold her in place.

It took another flick on his tongue and she came with a cry. Her hand had a stinging grip on his hair as she pressed his face into her pussy. Her hips jerked wildly as her body convulsed.

Damian slowed his fingers, moving them in and out of her in an almost lazy manner. He pressed soft kisses and gentle licks to her folds before letting his fingers slip from her opening. His cock so hard it was painful. A wet spot on his jeans where his cock leaked.

Raising up he pressed his face into her belly. He kissed the small pouch she carried. The extra ten pounds she always complained about in the mirror. The same pouch he loved so much.

Ali’s hand had relaxed her grip on his hair but her fingers started to move again. Soft little caresses against the short stubble of his faded haircut. He closed his eyes concentrating on those ministrations as they moved toward his cheek. When her other hand cupped the other side of his face and started lifting his head, he opened his eyes to meet hers. He grinned at the sated look on her face.

“Come up here,” Ali whispered.

Damian would follow her anywhere. He pushed to his feet, his knees protesting from the prolonged position.

Ali moaned seeing her husband’s cock jutting from his jeans. She reached out and wrapped a hand around the hard, hot flesh drawing a hiss from Damian. She glanced up through her eyelashes to see his head tossed back and his eyes shut. A look of pure bliss on his face.

She kept her strokes light and teasing. Her thumb took a swipe through the creamy liquid pooled on the tip. She brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking the digit in; tongue swirling over the pad. Her eyes drifted closed as the saltiness flavor burst on her tongue.

“Fuck,” Damian moaned watching Ali suck on her thumb where she collected a drop of his cum. He quickly kicked off his shoes and shucked his jeans and briefs down his legs. After removing his socks he stood tall with his cock in hand.

“Yes,” Ali breathed. Her mouth watered as she stared at her husband in all his naked glory. The broadness of his shoulders, into his powerfully toned chest. The tattoos covering sculpted arms from his wrists to his shoulders. The libra and skulls entwined piece on his right pec. The cross coming out of the flames on his left bleeding into a skull morphing into a lily flower. Her favorite piece on his body because it represented her and their children.

An exquisite piece with a lily (her favorite flower) coming out of the nose opening. Its petals going up and covering an entire eye socket. The only shown eye socket – just a black shadowed circle meshed so well it almost looked like a petal itself. The cheekbone defined so well it acted as another petal. Then it gave way to the teeth before the jawbone became petals once again. Their children’s names - in her loopy cursive – were written in each of the petals.

She drew her eyes away from his chest and downward; over the taunt abs with the hint of definition that came and went depending on his gym workout and dieting. The sexy v-line on either side of his hips that made her want to fall to her knees and do his bidding when they’d peek out of low slung jeans on his hips. She always thought it was a travesty his ring gear covered the sexy Adonis belt.

Her eyes followed the line her tongue has traced so many times before to his cock – hard and red still grasped in his hand. The area completely shaved. The skin perfectly smooth. His fingers languidly moving up and down. She drew her lip between her teeth when his thumb circled the tip collecting the drop of cum pooled at the slit before massaging it against his length with his movements. Her thighs closed as she rubbed them together looking for friction; her pussy clenched around emptiness.

His balls were drawn up tight beneath his shaft, telling her how close he was to coming. They were heavy and full and she felt a gush of fluid between her thighs at the thought of his virile cum filling her, coating her womb.

A white hot need shot through her. Her mind clouded as arousal built. Her fingers tingled and her body grew hot. Wetness slicked her thighs and saturated the blanket beneath her.

Her eyes hit his thighs – muscular and powerful. She wanted to spread her legs on either side of his thigh and press her pussy to the hard muscle and ride until she came.

Damian nearly came watching the different emotions flicker across Ali’s face as her eyes roamed his body. He preened under her perusal, tightening his muscles, making them more defined. His pecs rippled. The veins on his arms more pronounced.

“Damian… please,” her voice was rough and full of need. She scooted away from the edge and laid back on the bed. Her legs parted in invitation and her fingers ran through the soft brown curls framing her aching slit.

“Corazon… Baby girl…you have no idea how much I need you” Damian placed his hands on the bed as he bent over and kissed her delicate ankle. He didn’t linger as he moved his lips up her leg, placing a kiss to the inside of her knee. It drew a whimper from her and cum leaked from his cock at the sound painting the comforter.

He bypassed her cunt – slick and swollen from her first orgasm. The heady scent of her arousal invaded his nostrils and he breathed deeply causing a full body shiver to course through him. He nuzzled her belly. His tongue tracing the feint stretch marks spidering on the skin.

Continuing on his upward path, his nose lightly traced up her stomach. His mouth pressing ghosting kisses on the soft kiss, leaving behind a trace of wetness to dry in the air. Her nipples were drawn in stiff peaks and he took one in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the hardened pebble. She arched into his mouth as her hand twisted in the braided locks.

“You gotta… take these out,” she gasped as he sucked her nipple. His teeth nipped and then there was a long swipe with a flattened tongue over the flesh to soothe.

“Tomorrow,” Damian murmured against her skin as he drew her other nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Damian…” Ali’s hand clutched his bicep; her nails digging into the tattooed skin. She dug the nails of her other hand into his scalp pushing her breast further into his mouth even as her back arched up. Pleasure zinged through her, pooling deep in her belly. Her pussy clenched and released milking the emptiness, wishing he’d shove his cock deep into her.

Before Damian had a chance to latch onto the spot where her neck met shoulder and that place right behind her ear that always made her cry out, Ali’s hands were cupping either side of his face. She drug his lips to hers.

She moaned into his mouth when his weeping cock painted her thigh. His tongue wasted no time entering her mouth tangling with hers; each fighting for dominance. It slid against hers and she pressed her hips wantonly against him surrendering to his touch. The movement seductive as she sought pleasure from his body.

“Damian,” she whispered breathlessly. She felt lightheaded and dizzy. Drowning in need. “Please…”

Damian pushed up on his knees, a hand on his cock giving it a quick hard squeeze at the base. He stared down at her, breathing heavily. His got impossibly harder twitching in his hand. She was spread out before him like an offering. Her hair fanned out on the comforter. His fingers itched to bury in the soft silky tresses. Her eyes blown wide in arousal. The black nearly absorbing the green he loved so much. Her lips – swollen from his kisses – parted as her breaths came out heavy. He watched, transfixed, as her tongue came out to lick along the bottom lip, coating it in wetness. Her skin a red hue from her cheeks sweeping south over her chest.

He reached out and traced a finger down until he got to her stomach. Her belly twitch beneath his touch and he spread both his hands over her abdomen. In a blink his mind morphed the soft, pillowy pouch to full and round with child.

His child.

“Dios Corazon, te necesito,” Damian moaned. His hands ran down either of her thighs pushing them further apart as he moved closer.

“Take me Damian…” Ali begged. “Please. Now.” Tilting her hips up in offering.

Damian wrapped his hand around his cock and ran it through Ali’s wet folds before lining up and pressing forward. His eyes closed and he groaned as he entered her body, her pussy gripping him. He sank to the hilt, his hips pressed against hers.

Ali clenched around him drawing a low moan from deep in his throat. He tossed his head back, his eyes clenched tightly as he breathed through his teeth trying to keep from coming. She was tight and warm wrapped around him.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “Corazon I’m barely hanging on…”

“Good. I need you to fuck me… right now.”

Damian groaned at her words. He pulled from her body, his eyes watching his cock appear, slicked with her creamy juices. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he sunk back in.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day…”

Damian fell onto his elbows over her. “Corazon you have no idea what I’ve been thinking about all day.” He seized her lips in a hard kiss. His tongue entered her mouth, demanding.

Ali wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders pulling him closer. Her skin tingled and her core flooded as his tongue stroked hers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. She broke the kiss on a moan. His cock driving deep inside her. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Damian groaned and buried his face in Ali’s neck as his mind exploded with images of her pregnant belly. His arm muscles bulged as he kept his full weight from crushing her. His hips pistoned in and out sharply. His balls smacking against her skin. They were drawn tight to his body, ready to explode.

“Tell me,” Ali whispered nipping his ear, drawing the lobe between her lips. The movement caused his hips to move faster and she released a heady moan in his ear. Her nails raked down his back leaving red streaks in their place.

“I wanna breed you… I wanna fill you with my cum.” Damian sucked a bruising kiss on her neck. “Plant my seed deep in your womb. Watch you grow big with my baby.”

Ali felt the gush of liquid at his words, coating Damian’s cock. Her eyes darkened with lust. The thought of his cum coating her pussy, painting her womb ignited her insides. Her belly growing round and full with Damian’s child.

“I wanna roll you over and fuck you from behind. Keep fucking you all night long until I’ve fucked a baby into you…”

Ali tightened her legs around Damian, stopping his movements. He was trapped deep inside her. When he lifted his head to meet her eyes, she saw some trepidation like he’d overstepped a line. She fisted his hair and brought his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. “Do it,” she whispered, their eyes meeting once again. She saw his eyes flare with desire and she clenched around him. “Breed me, Damian. Put a baby in me…”

Damian moved like lightning. He pulled out with a moan and helped his wife roll over to her hands and knees. The moan he released was harsh and visceral staring at his wife. Her ass and pussy on display. Her pussy lips red and swollen from his thrusts. A slickness coating them and her thighs.

He moved behind her. His corse hairy thighs pressing against her soft skin. He didn’t waste a moment. He thrust back in sinking fully into her. Their moans were loud and long at the invasion. He hoped no one was on the other side of the wall but he was beyond caring.

He withdrew once again watching his cum coated cock pull from her body. The way her lips seem to clench around him as to stop him from leaving.

“Give me a baby Damian,” Ali moaned tossing her head back.

“Fuck yeah,” Damian breathed through his teeth. His pace was harsh and brutal; unrelenting. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room mixed the creaking of the bed. “I’m gonna fill you full of my cum. Then I’m gonna keep my cock buried deep inside of you so my cum has no choice but to fill your womb.”

She cried out in pleasure, rocking on her knees to meet his thrusts. Her thighs and arms quaked; her muscles quivering. Her pussy nearly purring with the assault. “Damian…” she chanted her husband’s name as if she was sending a prayer. Maybe she was. His fingers gripped her hips with bruising force. It sent another bolt of lightning through her flooding her core.

She spread her knees further apart and gasped as his balls slapped against her clit with each thrust. Tears built in the corner of her eyes. “Oh…I…Damian…” she whimpered against the tight coiling in her belly. The feeling so big and powerful it scared her. Her hands fisted in the comforter; nails digging into the fabric.

“I got you,” Damian’s voice blanketed her trembling body. Her safety net. Her protector. “Let go for me.”

“With… you…” Her voice desperate trying to hold her orgasm at bay.

“Always.”

It was like a spring breaking free. The tension inside her snapped and she came with a loud wail. Light burst behind her clenched eyelids. She trembled as lightning danced through her body, sending tingles up and down her arms and legs. Her pussy clenched around him as she gushed, coating his cock with her essence.

“Ah… ah…” Damian’s face contorted in pleasure as Ali’s pussy clenched around him as she withered and arched on his cock as her orgasm worked through her. He snapped his hips one final time sending his cock deep inside her. He came with a roar. Rope after rope of his hot thick white sperm shooting from his throbbing cock deep inside her pussy.

Ali moaned at the feel of her husband’s sperm releasing inside her, coating her walls. She lifted her head toward the ceiling. Her messy hair showering down her back, sticking to the sweat soaked skin. Her pussy spasmed with each twitch of Damian’s cock inside her.

Damian’s body trembled as the last of his cum released inside of wife. A full body shudder as his muscles turned to goo, weakened by the force of his orgasm. It took a considerable amount of effort to unlock his fingers from Ali’s hips. He pulled out of his wife with a groan, watching as his cum dribbled out after.

With two fingers he pressed his cum back inside drawing another moan. Her pussy clenched around his fingers in mini spasms as she recovered. Damian pressed a kiss to the small of Ali’s back before he collapsed on his back beside her.

His heart hammered against his rib cage. Every so often his muscles would twitch as electrons starting firing, trying to get his body back online. His breaths came out in gasps, his lungs heaving in exertion. His body shone with a sheen of sweat. Heat radiated off his body. He wondered if his legs would even be able to hold him up in the shower.

The shower was forgotten when the mattress shifted and Ali’s head hit his shoulder. Her own breath coming out in gasps hot and sticky across his skin. Her body pressed against his side and her leg entwining with his. He wrapped his arm around her back holding her more firmly to his side. His hand rested on her hip. His fingers lightly caressing the skin.

“Corazon, you’re gonna kill me before the week is out.”

Ali hummed and pressed her lips to his chest, right over that lily flower tattoo. She tilted her head up and Damian turned his head to meet hers. Their lips collided – softly this time. Slowly their lips moved together. His arm crossed his body and she felt his calloused hand cup her cheek gently. His fingertips just breaching her hair. Their mouths opened and their tongues mated. The stroke soft and smooth. Lazy. The furious desperation from moments ago satisfied for now.

Their lips parted and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Ali’s eyes blinked opened. Light filtered in from a crack in the curtains but she couldn’t distinguish the time. Her phone was plugged in on the nightstand but she would have to leave the warm cocoon she was currently enveloped in.

Damian lay behind her, his arms wrapped around her. His body pressed against hers. His face tucked into her neck. She could feel the soft tuffs of hair blowing gently on her skin with each breath he took.

She shifted. Both her body and Damian protested the movement. Her muscles deliciously used after last night’s lovemaking. From the desperate first time to the needy time in the shower after hands strayed and lingered to the slow and lazy way he slipped inside her as the first feint glow of sunrise hinted.

Damian’s hold tightened on her. A small nose of protest from the back of his throat as he pulled her more securely to him, snuggling against her body.

Speaking of delicious…

His hard cock pressed into her ass. Twitching over one globe leaving a string of wetness behind. She bit her lip and fought against the desire to press her ass into his crotch.

Wetness once again pooled at her center, slicking her lower lips. She pressed her thighs together, keeping the ministrations minute so not to disturb Damian and find some type of relief. His hand lay lax against her belly and she had designs about pushing it down until his fingers pressed between her folds; until those calloused fingers rubbed her clit.

She wondered if she kept the movements slow if he’d wake up or if he’d finger her in his sleep. She arched against his cock almost subconsciously. The hard flesh pulsed against the soft globe of her ass cheek. What was he thinking about to be hard right now?

‘I wanna breed you.’

His words from last night echoed in Ali’s mind. God they were so hot. Something she never thought she’d think. Did she have a breeding kink? Did she have this inane desire to be bred like an animal? Was it the thought of getting pregnant that caused her insides to turn to liquid?

Or was it the thought of actually being pregnant that made her burst with one of the most intensive orgasms she’s ever had?

Was it the want of having another baby with Damian leading the charge? Of her stomach growing full and around. Of feeling the little flutterings and kicks. Of nurturing a tiny human being with her body. Creating another little mixture of her and Damian?

A heavy dose of want coursed through her. One that had her pressing herself back on Damian’s cock. Her hips gyrating against him.

It didn’t take long before the hand on her stomach tensed as Damian’s body came to life as she pulled it from sleep. His body hardened behind her. His hips moving with hers. Lips ghosted over her neck as his fingers dipped dangerously close to her center.

“Someone woke up feeling a little frisky.” His voice was low and sleep filled in her ear. Goosebumps broke out over her arms.

Ali hummed in answer, cocking her head to allow him better access to her neck. His teeth nipped her ear and drew her lobe between his teeth and suckled. She moaned and settled her hand over his, pushing him toward her aching center. They ran through her slickness together, coating their fingers with her arousal.

A moan escaped as he pressed a finger inside her.

“You’re already so wet for me,” Damian breathed as he ran that slick finger through her folds to her clit.

“Damian,” she moaned. Her eyes falling shut. “Breed me…”

Damian’s fingers stilled at his words and he lifted his head to stare at his wife. Unsure if he heard correctly.

Ali could feel the embarrassment on her cheeks but she turned her head to meet Damian’s eyes. “If you’re serious about wanting another baby, I won’t take my pill today.”

“You’re serious?” Damian’s eyes searched hers looking for any small trace of doubt. He found nothing. He slowly began to smile.

“Breed me Damian. Fuck a baby into me.”

With a groan his lips met hers.

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bri-cheeses · 9 months ago

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Jerseys vs. Hoodies - Part 2

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 730 | Part 1 can be found here |

“I. Am. Famished,” Barty announces as soon as he catches sight of Evan and Regulus, who are still sitting in their little booth in the library. They haven’t talked much since the whole jersey-hoodie incident, instead choosing to work quietly.

At least, they had been working quietly until Barty showed up.

He brings his usual amount of life and energy with him as he flings himself onto the space next to Evan, then slumps down so that his legs reach out far underneath the table.

He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, Evan notices with a small amount of fondness, making him look softer than usual. It’s cute, and Evan wishes that he could tell Barty that just because he wanted to.

But, of course, he can’t say that, so he settles for a simple, “Dinner’s in half an hour, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“But Evie,” Barty whines, “a half an hour is a whole thirty minutes. Do you really want me to starve to death?”

He looks up at Evan with a pout on his face, and Evan’s lips twitch into a smile at the sight. Why does he have to be so… Barty? It just hurts sometimes, that’s all.

“You’ll manage,” Regulus chimes in from the opposite side of the table. His essay is almost done, perfect cursive taking up six and a half sheets of paper.

Evan looks down at his own, which is currently only at four pages, and sighs. It’s going to be a long night for him.

“Merlin, you two are so mean.” Barty slumps even further, this time leaning to his right so that he can rest his head against Evan’s shoulder. The unexpected gesture startles Evan, causing him to look down at Barty in surprise.

“What?” Barty asks, tilting his head up to make eye contact with Evan.

Those eyelashes should be illegal, Evan thinks.

“You just… surprised me,” he murmurs.

Barty smiles and nuzzles further into Evan’s shoulder.

It’s so domestic that Evan could cry—at least, until he could until he catches sight of Regulus’s unimpressed face from across the table.

“Bee,” Evan says, wanting to get Regulus back for ruining this one nice moment, “have you noticed Reg’s fashion statement for this evening?”

Evan regrets having said anything almost as soon as Barty lifts his head, severing that point of contact between them, but it’s worth it to see the way Barty’s eyes widen as he takes in Regulus’s outfit.

“Is that a Gryffindor jersey?” He asks incredulously. “You know that they’re the enemy, right?”

“Enemy is such a dramatic word,” Regulus mutters.

“It’s the right word,” Evan assures. Regulus cuts a glare towards him.

But Barty is not to be distracted, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Where did you even get a Gryffindor jersey in the first place?”

Evan starts to laugh—this is, after all, the best part.

“It’s Potter’s,” Evan tells him.

Barty turns toward Evan with wide eyes, looking back and forth between Regulus and Evan. His expression is so comical that if it were anyone else, Evan would assume they weren’t being genuine. But it’s Barty, and this is just how he is.

“Really?” he finally squeaks out.

Reg sighs. “Yeah. Surprise.”

“I—wow. Just… wow. When did that happen?”

“None of your business,” Reg snaps.

Barty narrows his eyes at him and Evan can sense this turning south, so he quickly supplies, “Reg’s very private, Bee. It’s not anything personal and you know it, so don’t get mad at him.”

Barty huffs. “Fine. But I’m still curious.”

“I know,” Evan soothes, “but we’ll find out soon enough.”

Regulus looks at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Evan just pantomimes zipping his mouth shut, and Barty cackles joyously.

“This is gonna be fun,” he laughs, leaning back into Evan. Evan catches Barty’s weight easily this time, glad to have his warmth back.

“I’m going to kill you both if you decide to get involved,” Reg threatens.

At that, Barty gasps dramatically and clutches onto Evan’s arm, sending a swooping sensation through Evan’s stomach.

“Save me, Evs,” he pleads. Evan pats him on the head with his free arm.

“Of course, Bee,” he sympathizes. Barty wrinkles his nose at the patronizing gesture but tightens his hold on to Evan’s arm regardless, contrasting with his facial expression.

“Merlin, you two are hopeless,” Regulus mutters under his breath.

(Part 3)

#rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #slytherin skittles #regulus black #jegulus #marauders era #marauders fandom #my microfics

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suzukiblu · 6 months ago

Note

mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees please!! the amount of identity shenanigans i can sense from that work is off the charts, not to mention the confusion! its so fun!!!

By the time he’s snatching the homeless guy out of the path of the truck, Kon’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt zipped up to his neck with the hood yanked down over his head, he’s restyled his hair with his TTK underneath it, and he’s yanked on a pair of sunglasses and a pair of track pants over his suit pants and button-down. It’s not exactly an ideal disguise, considering he’s also in dress socks and not wearing gloves, but it’s definitely an improvement over showing off an extremely expensive custom suit tailored for an arm candy boyfriend and a face that’s already been mistaken for two different locals who are both apparently alive and active in this reality.

Especially since even showing up presumably significantly younger than those locals doesn’t rule out being them, given the whole . . . multiverse-ness of the multiverse.

Yeah, definitely especially since that.

#anonymous #wip: mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees

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put-me-through-the-wall · 9 months ago

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Okay how about Kidnapper!Konig who ends up crossing paths with you. A case file was dropped onto his desk one day. The manilla file consists of a couple of personal documents of yours and a glossy copy of your passport photo. Your hair brushed out of your face with wide eyes and beautiful lips pouting back at him. He knew from that moment you were more than just a mark.

In no time he is in your city, memorizing your schedule. It wasn't hard to do. You are very predictable. He doesn't even need to trail far behind as you walk through parking lots and sidewalks. He once followed you all the way back to your front door, caught up in the scent of your fading perfume. You never even looked behind you. You really shouldn't wear headphones all the time. You're far too pretty to be this oblivious to your surroundings.

You have a shitty live-in boyfriend who has gotten you into this whole mess. Konig hates watching you through your window when you get home. Seeing the loser guy lounging on your couch. Eating all your food and complaining about anything he can pick on. He watches as you pace room to room picking up after that pig. Thankfully, you were only targeted due to your connection to him. He's not sure how a sweet girl like you got involved with such a dangerous man.

After almost a week of tracking you he determines the time to act. You like to take a scenic side street when you walk home from work. The cobblestone path between two blocks of old historic buildings. The ivy and overgrown trees taking over the space creeping through the iron rod fencing line either side of the walkway. It's late in the evening, the lampposts lighting your path with a yellow tint while you walk down the cobblestone. You're heels click along the stone and once again you have those damn headphones on. Konig is thankful he able to be here instead of some creep. You step along your way so comfortable in your routine now.

You don't even notice when Konig's wide stride catches up to you. You don't see his large shadow looming over you while you mindlessly scroll through your social media feed. He can't help the smile that pulls at his lips underneath his hood when he sees you liking a silly cat video. Then he wraps his massive arms around you. Before you can make a sound he covers your mouth with a rag soaked with a certain special sedative. He shushes you gently as you scream against the dense fabric. You don't struggle for long. Nails scratching at his forearm don't cause real damage through his thick sweatshirt. You kick and thrash but he holds you tight to his chest. He feels your heart thumping against your rib cage like a scared baby bird until finally, you relax. Your head lulls to the side and falling into the crevice of his arm. He stare down at your closed lids, you look so peaceful now. The scent of your hair product penetrates the material of his mask.

There is plenty of time to adore your sleeping form, not here though. He hoists you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style back to his van. Carefully slipping you into the back but not before zip tying your hands and feet. You shouldn't be awake anytime soon but he's not one to take chances.

━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━

I'm just writing down some things I've been thinking about lately. Please let me know if you want more of things like this or if you want me to do a part two. Any comments or tags I see make me smile <3

ﾒ𝟶

#konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig cod #cod x reader #call of duty #konig fic

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tumble-tv · 23 days ago

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There’s word (very strong and big word) that Donald Trump is going to start mass deportations on Tuesday, January 21, 2025.

He wants any immigrants, no matter how long they have been a citizen of the USA, to be deported either out of the country as a whole or into what are basically concentration camps. They’re starting in Chicago, Illinois. The US Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has started raiding homes and families in California. Here’s some information.

When it comes to spotting an ICE agent, look for these:

Weirdly neat/well kept hair (shaved heads, side parts, military burs for men; low buns, high ponytails, close cropped bobs for women)

Oversized jacket (long and bulky outerwear makes it easier to hide tools/equipment without being suspicious)

Both hands in pockets

Many undercover agents/cops buy cheap plain clothes off the racks so they aren’t seen in their own clothes. This can make their outfit seem awkward

Sweatshirts with the hood up

Sports apparel (warm up jacket, sweats, etc) with non-sports clothes (jeans, cargo shorts)

Cargo pants/shorts (usually full of items like their badge, flashlight, taser, pepper spray, backup handcuffs, zip ties)

Military or hiking style boots, sometimes chunky sneakers (extra points if none of it matches anything in their outfit)

Outline of a gun in their pants/shirt (easy to see when bending, leaning, or raising arms) (NO NOT SAY ANYTHING)

Overly friendly

Overly inquisitive

“How old are you” and “what do you know about this happening” are both red flags, along with generally odd and personal questions

Don’t fit in

Mismatched pairs in public spaces (usually cops do these things in pairs. They don’t talk to each other or acknowledge each other much, if at all)

DO NOT SAY ANYTHING UNTIL YOU ARE 100% SURE

YOUR BEST BET IS NOT TO SAY ANYTHING UNTIL THE SUSPECT STARTS ACTING OFF AND GETTING PUSHY

COPS ARE NOT OBLIGATED TO TELL YOU THAT THEY ARE UNDERCOVER

COPS CAN AND WILL LIE TO YOU

SCREAM “LA MIGRA” AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS

For protesting:

N95 masks

Respirator/gas mask if you have access to one

Water water water water water (I hate to say it, but disposable one use bottles are best here. If it comes to it, you need to be able to drop and run.)

Snacks

Eyedrops (teargas is a bitch)

Goggles (I bring my old snowboarding goggles)

If you are wearing a t-shirt or have exposed skin, put on fake tattoos. If you are brought into something and they say you were there, showing a picture of you with the tattoos, show them where that tattoo would be and how there’s nothing there. How would you get rid of a giant flower on your forearm in 2 days anyways?

Hide your hair. I tuck my hair into my beanie since it’s short. If you have longer hair, try to do the same or tuck it into your shirt.

Power bank

Chargers

Helmet. Any is fine, my personal choice is a skating helmet since they’re rounder and can take more damage

Hand sanitizer

Gloves (either to keep your hands warm or simple nitrile exam gloves, both work)

Bandanas. Somebody might need one for their face or hair, maybe you need to get dirt off somebody’s face, maybe somebody got injured. They’re great for anything and everything

Cash (try to stick to cash, your card can be tracked)

Medications if you take them. If you get arrested or happen to somehow be away for longer than expected after the protest, it’s always good to have emergency meds

FIRST AID ALL THE FIRST AID (Tourniquet, Quikclot, chest seal, trauma shears, gauze, bandages, duct tape, and all the usual stuff you’d have in there)

Good shoes

Spare socks. Trust me.

As much covering clothing as you can handle. Plain jeans, plain hoodie, plain t-shirt, keep yourself as anonymous as possible

Photocopy of your ID

Sunscreen

Make sure your clothes have pockets

Do not wear contact lenses. If tear gas is used, that will make everything so much worse. Wear your glasses or go blind.

If you use mobility aids, cover defining features. Logos, brand names, colors, stickers, all of it. Take some old plain t-shirt and tie it around your wheelchair’s backrest. Wrap your wheelchair frame in cling wrap, then duct tape, or plain black self adhering medical tape. Cover stickers on your cane or crutches the same way. Electric chair? You have a little more work, but you can do it. Same idea. Walker? Same thing. Cover. It. All.

If you are bringing a bag, make sure that bag is as plain as possible. No pins. No patches. No keychains.

Scarf if you have one

Write a reliable phone number (of someone who is not at the protest with you) on your body. On the off chance you get arrested, that is your emergency contact.

Pocket knife.

Pepper spray/mace

Anything you can throw. Soup for my family.

IF YOU CAN, LEAVE YOUR PHONE AT HOME

IF YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT WITH YOU FOR WHATEVER REASON, TURN OFF LOCATION SERVICES ON ALL APPS AND TURN OFF BIOMETRICS (FACE ID AND FINGERPRINT) SO YOU CAN ONLY UNLOCK YOUR PHONE WITH YOUR PASSWORD

MAKE SURE SOMEBODY KNOWS GENERALLY WHERE YOU ARE

I do not want to scare anybody, but this is what life is right now. That man does not care how long you have been a citizen of this country. If you are not white, cisgender, heterosexual, Christian, and male, you are seen as less than by men in power. You are not less than. You are a threat to them, and they are scared. Keep it that way.

Here's the link to my post on what to bring in terms of first aid.

If you cannot attend protests, that’s fine. Do what’s best for you. Simply reposting information helps.

#us politics #american politics #us news #project 2025 #trump #fuck trump #donald trump #president trump #trump administration #immigrants #immigration #protest #protests #civil rights #class consciousness #informative #information #long post

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msmoony7 · 1 year ago

Note

hey!! can you please do a fic with calum hood, maybe enemies to lovers and reader is the bands photographer or something like that (it’s okay if you don’t want to🫶🏼🫶🏼)

Love your work!!

note: hope u like it! I haven't written for 5sos yet AND i’ve never written enemies to lovers so i hope it’s good and enemy-y angsty enough. also pretend the first stop was LA and that the tour was six weeks idk how long it actually was this is just what i imagined for my little fanon fic LMAO. I kinda left this on a cliffhanger. Maybe part 2 soon??

calum hood x reader

word count: 1.84k

You wake up to the sun peeking through the cracks in your bedroom curtains. Although the weather on this day is perfect, your mood was anything but, and you wake up feeling sour. Today, you are presented with the difficult task of joining the band 5 Seconds of Summer as their tour photographer. You’ve been photographing artists for years now and it has truly become your passion. Whether it’s following an artist on your, or taking album art, you are living your dream with every picture you take.

That’s not where the difficulty lies. You know that you’re capable of doing your job and doing it well. The difficulty lies within the band. The name of that difficulty being the band’s bassist, Calum Hood. By now, you have a long history with the band. They first invited you to join them on the Take My Hand tour last year. You quickly became good friends with Luke, Ashton, and Michael. But for some reason, Calum just could not stand to be near you. Many days and nights were spent bickering between the two of you. Arguments would come up, about your creative direction and other bullshit he brought up, leaving you no choice to fight back, creating a lasting vendetta between the pair of you.

Of course, he made your job difficult as well. When photographing him onstage, he would mess with you and your work. Sometimes getting up in front of the camera and in your face, sometimes not letting you take any photos of him at all. And once offstage, he wouldn’t even look in your direction. Wouldn’t even address you. Despite this, your work speaks for itself and you received a message from Luke inviting you to join them again on this year's tour, The 5sos Show.

It’s been weeks since you got the tour invitation, and months since you’ve last seen the band. All the time in the world couldn’t prepare you for six weeks on the road with Calum Hood. What he had against you, you may never know. What you do know is that as long as he presents this dislike towards you, you will be doing the same right back at him.

Was putting yourself through all this stress worth it? You ponder for a moment when you wake up, but ultimately decide you made the right choice. You are set to meet up with the band and crew this evening before you set out on the road together, marking the start of the long six weeks ahead. You put on some music and start packing your suitcase.

After a while, you’re happy with everything in your suitcase and zip it up. Living out of a suitcase was difficult, but you’ve had prior experience so you know the do’s and don'ts of packing. You pack your backpack, carry on, and your camera supplies and before you know it, the day is behind you and it’s time to converge with the band. You call an uber to take you to the address Luke gave you and you’re on your way.

Traffic isn’t too bad, so you make it to the address quicker than you would have liked. The crew is already there, but the band is nowhere to be seen. You help yourself onto the bus and begin putting your things in your designated area. You feel the bus shift as someone steps on. Before you can turn around, you can already tell who is walking up behind you.

“Well, what do we have here?” you hear a sarcastic voice say behind you. You turn around and lock eyes with the bassist. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a green 5sos sweatshirt. He looks adorable and cozy, and you hate him for being so gorgeous and so annoying all at the same time.

“Not even the first day of the tour and we’re already fighting, are we?” you spit back at him.

“Seems that way,” he replies before scurrying off to whatever hole he’s gonna bury himself in until he needs to be found again.

The rest of the boys slowly scatter onto the bus, and your meetings with them go better than yours with Calum. Everyone picks out their bunks and once everyone is settled onto the bus, the driver begins driving to the first stop on the road and you allow yourself to fall asleep for the night.

You wake up to the sound of fighting. It takes you a few seconds to shake off your grogginess before you hear two voices shouting back and forth at each other from the other end of the bus.

“You can’t keep acting like this!” you can hear Luke yell.

“Sure I can! I can't stand her being here and I’m not going to pretend I do.”

“Whatever, man. Do what you want, I give up. Just don’t come complaining when it comes to bite you in the ass.”

You can hear them shuffling around the bus as you stay hidden behind your curtain. Although your hatred for Calum was mutual, you couldn’t help but let a tear fall down your cheek as you lay in your bunk, thinking about everything you’ve had to endure from him in the past and will have to in the future on this tour. You are tired of feeling like this. Feeling beat down by him and his words, his actions. Now, you’re determined to get to the bottom of his hatred for you. You wipe away your tears, jump out of bed, and get ready for the day.

Tonight is the first night of the tour at The Kia Forum in Los Angeles. You’re excited. After all, you do love your job. You decide that the best way to get through the tour is to ignore Calum and his antics.

The day goes by quickly. The opening band is onstage and you’ve successfully avoided Calum the entire day. You grab all your camera equipment so you have it ready to go when the boys go onstage.

Calum sneaks up behind you, bass in hand. “Where’ve you been, y/n? Haven’t seen you all day, it’s almost like you’re ignoring me. You wouldn’t do that though, would you?”

“For the love of god, fuck off. Get away from me.” You huff at him while grabbing your camera and walking towards the side stage. The lights go off and he shoots you a wink before walking onstage. You push all this out of your head and get in front of the stage and start taking photos of the boys.

The night goes as well as you could have expected given your circumstances. You get some good photos of the boys. Calum was his usual self. This time around, he decided that whenever you got too close to him, he would turn around, making sure that you don’t get photos of his face or his instrument. Despite this, you do get some good photos of him. In all honesty, you think this is some of your best work. Calum looks really good. Even if you can’t see his face.

The boys all run offstage after the encore, high off of the energy from the gig. You shoot them a congratulations and you can see Calum heading in the opposite direction of you. Typical, you think.

The next stop of the tour wasn’t for another two days, so the boys are having a party to celebrate the tour kicking off. You follow Luke, Ashton, and Michael and see that the party is already in motion. Calum’s already at the bar grabbing a drink and your body moves before you can think and all of the sudden, you’re sitting next to him.

“What do you want,” he mutters sharply, not even looking up from his drink.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Vodka cran,” he says to the bartender and nods at you. “I swear, whenever you get within ten feet of me I can feel my blood pressure rising,” he says in defeat as he gets up from his seat.

“Where’re you going? I thought we were finally getting along.”

“Back to the bus before I say something I’ll regret.”

And with that, he disappears out the door, leaving you confused as the bartender hands you your drink.

“I don’t know what his issue is,” you confess to Luke once you find him later that night. An hour or two has passed since you last saw Calum and you’re feeling tipsy from the alcohol.

“I wish I could tell you, y/n. I really wish I could. But we have no idea why he’s like this. We all love you and we love your work, I don’t know why he has it out for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. If I’m honest, I’m getting to my breaking point. I don’t think I can handle it anymore.”

“Want us to talk to him?” Luke says with concern written on his face. You can tell him and the other boys genuinely do care about you. It makes you feel good knowing that you have people to fall back on in this drama.

“Thanks, but I think I’m actually gonna go speak to him now. I’m just tired of it and I need answers now.”

“Well, good luck. Let us know how it goes.”

You say bye to everyone at the party and you leave to find Calum and get some long awaited answers for yourself. The walk to the bus is not far and as you’re approaching, you see Calum sitting on a bench outside, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the sky. He hears your footsteps on the ground and groans when he realizes it’s you.

“Following me now, are you?”

“Oh shut up, will you?” you say as you steal the cigarette from his hand, taking a drag before handing it back to him. “You’re an ass, you do know that, right?”

“What do you think, y/n.”

“I wanna know why.”

“Why what?”

“What do you think, Calum? You’ve never liked me. I’ve done nothing wrong. I literally can’t do this anymore, I don’t know what to do!”

He sits and thinks for a minute, leaving the two of you in silence. You stare at him as he stares at the ground ahead of him, waiting for a response. A minute goes by, then two. No response.

“Are you gonna answer me?” you yell. Still, no response. “Whatever, I’m done. Bye.” You say as you get up. You start walking in the direction of the tour bus when you feel him grab your arm and turn you around. Before you realize what’s going on, his lips crash into yours. At first, you don’t know what to do and you stand there frozen. He pulls away and just stares at you, and you stare right back.

“That an answer enough for you?” he says to you.

“Oh will you just shut up?” you say as you cusp his cheeks, pulling him towards you once more.

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tarefaantf · 1 year ago

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#hoodies for women #oversized hoodie #black hoodie womens #womens oversized sweatshirt #women's hooded sweatshirts #ladies hoodies #womens zip up hoodies #printed hoodies for women

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years ago

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Midnight | Chapter 8 | S.R

Not my gif. Gif does not depict appearance of reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - you find yourself in a compromising position and have to convince Spencer you’re on his side.

A/N - fun fact this was the second chapter I wrote when I started this fic as I knew exactly how I wanted their first time to play out. Enjoy the filth!

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - restraints, swearing, blood kink, bruises, mild strangulation, mentions of rapists and murder, making out, fingering, handjob, oral (fem receiving), slight edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

WC - 5.8k

Chapter 8 - Dancing With the Devil

You roused from sleep slowly, feeling yourself ebbing into consciousness as your brain languidly woke itself up. For a brief and blissful few seconds you forgot where you were and the situation you were in.

As you started to fade back into the living realm, the first thing that alerted you to the fact you weren’t at home in your own bed was when you tried to move your arms to rub your eyes. At first when they didn’t budge you thought maybe you were still asleep, not yet conscious enough to have control over your limbs.

But when you tried again, you managed to move them an inch or so before you met resistance and something felt like it was tugging against your wrists.

You blinked several times, trying to focus on your surroundings. But before you could take the room in, your eyes landed another set, sitting next to you on the bed and smiling softly at you.

“You’re awake.” Spencer mumbled softly, looking at you like you were the most important thing in the world to him.

You swallowed thickly as the memories came flooding back to you and you realised where you were. But that didn’t explain why you couldn’t move your arms. They weren’t at your sides, they were above your head. As if reading your thoughts Spencer spoke again.

“I’m sorry about the restraints, I wasn’t sure if I could trust you.” He nodded over your head and that’s when you realised something silky was wrapped around your wrists, one of his ties maybe?

You tried to pull against them but met resistance again. You whimpered a little pathetically.

“I’m sorry.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to stab you.”

“I don’t care about that.” He rolled his eyes. “You disobeyed me.”

You frowned a little, head still full of sleep as you tried to work out what he was talking about. The last few days had been a complete blur.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You croaked.

Spencer chuckled with a shake of his head, a slight amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Oh please, I know everything.” He scoffed. “You called Luke. On a pay phone which he could easily have Garcia track if he wanted to. What did you say to him?”

Oh fuck, yes you had done that hadn’t you? It seemed like so long ago now, so much had happened since then it had slipped your mind. You swallowed thickly.

“Nothing. I was just checking in. Do you really think I’d be so stupid as to tell him what’s going on? I’m complicit in all of this Spencer, if you go down I’m going down with you.”

“I can’t be too careful, Y/N.” He clucked with an amused glint in his eyes. “I will not get caught.”

“Just untie me, we can talk.” You pleaded with him but he was shaking his head.

“No, not yet.” He chuckled a little which you found to be an oddly haunting noise.

He wore a pair of dark denim jeans paired with a zip up hooded sweatshirt with a white t-shirt peeking out over the top. You’d started to grow used to seeing him in this much more casual state but only when he went out to take care of business.

“You know I don’t like to get my good suits covered in blood.” He remarked as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say.

As though you didn’t understand what he meant, he raised his arms, proffering his hands towards you. His large palms were caked in claret, his fingers too, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was under his nails as well. The blood had started to dry into the creases and wrinkles in his hands but in other places you could see it was still wet and sticky. The underside of that gold band he wore was reddened too.

The sight should have disgusted you, caused you to gasp or try to squirm away from him. But you didn’t move, barely so much as blinked. Spencer was surprised by your calmness and decided to test the waters.

He shuffled a little closer to you and raised his right hand towards your throat. He saw you swallow deeply as his hand ghosted across the thin flesh of your neck which bore bruises from the last time he’d wrapped his hand around your throat.

You kept your eyes locked on his as he pressed his palm against your windpipe. You felt the tacky blood on your skin as he wrapped his fingers around your throat. But you showed no signs of intimidation. He didn’t apply pressure, he held you limply, all the while keeping the eye contact strong. He tried to read your expression, to ascertain whether or not you were just putting on a brave face.

“Are you scared of me?” He decided to ask, keeping his hand in place on your neck.

“No,” you were quick to answer. “Should I be?”

“I have you tied to a bed and my hand around your throat while I’m covered in another man’s blood. You tell me.” He grinned wildly down at you.

“I’m not scared of you. I don’t think that you’d hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t.” His smile was hurriedly replaced by a frown. “I would never hurt you.”

“Then I have no reason to be scared. Untie me, Spence. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No.” He shook his head, removing his hand from your neck, you could feel the blood he’d left behind on your skin. “I can’t be sure you won’t run away and turn me in.”

“Spencer, you’re an excellent profiler. Look at me, you’ll see I’m not lying to you.”

You scrutinised you again, profiling you. But he quickly shook his head.

“I can’t trust my own mind anymore.”

“Yes, you can.” You tried to insist. “I gave up a lot to help you, how can I prove to you that I’m not going to betray you?”

His eyes wandered from your face for the first time, hungry eyes raking up and down your body that lay open to him on the bed. You wore a thin oversized t-shirt which made it painfully obvious to him that you didn’t wear a bra underneath. On the bottom you had on a small pair of bike shorts which allowed him a perfect view of your thighs.

You felt a little hot under his gaze, swallowing hard as he regarded you with dark eyes. His pupils were blown out wide and you felt a heat spread between your legs.

He raised his hand again, this time hovering it over your thigh. You found his gaze, trying to tell him with your eyes that you weren’t scared of him touching you. At that moment it was all you wanted. When he saw no signs of you wanting him to stop, he slowly lowered his hand until his palm was pressing against your thigh. He didn’t miss the way you seemed to relax at his touch.

Once again you felt the sticky substance transfer from Spencer’s hand to your skin and there was something so unbelievably sensual about it. He spread his fingers across your flesh, kneading his fingers into your thigh muscle and an involuntary gasp left your lips.

Spencer’s eyes darkened and his lip tugged up into a smirk. Your lips were parted and you were breathing heavily. He dared move his hand higher, leaving a trail of blood behind in his wake, until his fingers skimmed the hem of your shorts.

He’d wanted you for so long, it had been all he’d thought of as of late. And now it was possible he might actually get his wish.

You gasped again, unable to stop from pressing your thighs together as a wave of pleasure wracked your body. Spencer didn’t miss it, and his smirk only grew. It was hard to fake those little, unconditioned responses.

When he removed his hand from your leg you whimpered slightly, making Spencer chuckle. His fingertips came to toy with the bottom of your shirt, fingering the fabric and turning it red. He waited for you to tell him to stop but you didn’t. You stayed quiet and kept eye contact with him, hoping your expression told him what your words couldn’t.

When you didn’t offer up any resistance, he moved his hand beneath your shirt and brushed his palm over the planes of your stomach, across your ribcage and finally he moved to cup one of your breasts. Your nipple hardened almost instantly under his hand and he flicked it a few times with his finger, watching intently the way his hand moved beneath your shirt.

You pressed your thighs together again and whined at the way in which it seemed to be so easy for him to turn you on. You let your eyes flick down to his crotch, wondering if you had the same effect on him. You felt heady when your eyes landed on the obvious tenting in his jeans.

When he removed his hand from under your t-shirt you whined again, and Spencer chuckled darkly, adjusting himself a little on the bed.

“Who knew you were such a little deviant, Y/N.”

“We all have a dark side, Spencer.” You rolled your lip between your teeth.

“You like that I killed those men.” He laughed, reaching behind himself and unsheathing the blade tucked in the back of his jeans.

He held it up to the light, blood staining the otherwise shiny metal. He surveyed you again, trying to detect any little hint of fear but saw none.

“Tell me about him.” You nodded at the blade.

“He was a serial rapist.” Spencer spat. “He raped at least nine women but the cops couldn’t prove it. I would have been almost less annoyed had he killed them after, but he left them alive and they have to look in the mirror everyday and remember what he did to them.”

“But he’s not going to be able to do it again.” You shrugged. “You made sure of that.”

“I did.” He nodded, almost proudly. “He begged me not to do it. He cried as I took my blade to his throat. But I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else.”

“One less evil in the world.” You agreed with him.

A part of you wished you were just acting, playing along with Spencer so as to ensure your own freedom. But in a weird way, you understood why he’d done what he had. He’d taken things into his own hands, he’d rid the world of a sick and twisted individual. A part of you even admired him for doing so.

“Do you trust me?” He suddenly asked you.

“I do.” You nodded. “Completely.”

Spencer leant closer to you, moving the knife until it was on your throat where his hand had been not so long ago. He pressed the tip of the blade against your skin, just enough for you to feel a little pressure but not so much that he would pierce the skin. And you didn’t even flinch because you weren’t lying, you did trust him. He could have gotten his own back on you for stabbing him but somehow you knew he wouldn’t.

“I could so easily slice your throat right now.” He frowned a little. “But you really aren’t scared, are you?”

“No, not even a little bit. You have no reason not to trust me, Spencer. Let me help you.” You begged him as he sat back and moved the blade away from your neck.

He ran it down the centre of your torso gently, coming to a stop somewhere around your belly button. With his free hand he bunched your t-shirt up before piercing the fabric with the knife. He dragged it upwards, creating a hole in the shirt of a few inches. Then he suddenly dropped the blade on the floor and brought his now free hand up to your shirt and using the hole he’d created, ripped the offending piece of material in half in one swift move.

You gasped at the sound of the fabric tearing and the cool air hitting your bare skin. He pulled it apart completely, tugging the two pieces of your t-shirt to your biceps. He hissed at your exposed chest, a trail of blood from your stomach and his bloody handprint across your breast.

“I marked you.” He smiled, staring at your chest wildly.

“And I’d let you do it again.” You told him and he believed you.

He chuckled as he got to his feet, making you whine which made him laugh more. Now he was standing, his erection was even more noticeable, straining at the front of his jeans.

He kept his eyes on you as he dragged the zipper of his hoody down and pulled it apart, revealing the bloodstained white tee he wore underneath.

You gasped loudly, but it wasn’t in fear. He watched you squeeze your thighs together as he rid himself of the hoody.

“Who knew you’d been this tantalised by blood?” He cocked an eyebrow at you. “I’ll be right back, princess.”

“What? Where are you going?” You simpered, wriggling on the bed.

“I need to get myself cleaned up. I can’t very well put these hands between those delicious legs covered in someone else’s blood. That would just be foolish.”

A moan erupted from your lungs and you saw the sound made Spencer stumble on his feet. You tugged at your restraints, desperate to be able to touch him.

“Let me help you?” You begged him. “Please, please let me help.”

Spencer rolled his bottom lip between his teeth in contemplation. You didn’t think there was any way he would bow to your wishes, he was clearly enjoying this exertion of power. So you were surprised to say the least when he sighed and stepped closer to the bed.

He leant over you, and for a moment you thought he might kiss you. His breath fanned over your face and he chuckled at the way in which it made you tremble. His hands came to rest on your biceps but didn’t stay there long before they were gliding up your forearms towards the tie knotted at your wrists. He toyed with the restraint, looking you dead in the eyes.

“If you double cross me again, I will have to kill you, you understand that right? I don’t want to, it’s the last thing I ever want to do. But it’s a dog eat dog world and if I have to, I will.”

“I understand.” You nodded and he smiled at you. You were only mildly self-conscious at the fact your chest was still exposed.

You felt his deft fingers make quick work of the tie and soon it was loose enough for you to slip your hands out. Your arms were dead weight and fell heavily to the bed, how long you’d been tied up like that was anybody's guess. How you hadn’t woken up when he’d done it was a mystery too.

Spencer left the other end of the makeshift restraint tied to the head board, just in case. He took hold of one of your hands, more claret transferring between the two of you, and helped you into a sitting position on the bed.

Your hands tingled with pins and needles as you allowed Spencer to guide you to your feet. He kept hold of your hand and led you wordlessly towards the motel bathroom. He nudged the door open with his hip and tugged you inside.

When he let go of your hand, you let the torn pieces of your shirt fall off of your arms and onto the floor. Spencer eyed you up and down, at the blood he’d marked your flesh with and smiled to himself. He took a step closer and took hold of your hands again, placing them at the hem of his t-shirt, his eyes telling you all you needed to know.

Your hands were trembling a little as you slowly started peeling the fabric upwards, your knuckles brushing lightly against his ribcage. He hissed slightly at your featherlight touch and lifted his arms to enable you to pull the t-shirt over his head.

You quickly dropped it to the floor and looked at him, his alabaster skin stained with the blood that had seeped through his shirt. The wound you’d inflicted upon him was still dressed but was now smeared with blood, you could only assume it wasn’t his own. At least you hoped it wasn’t. He smiled at you and stepped dangerously closer.

“We match.” He teased, one hand snaking around you and gripping the back of your neck tightly. “How about my pants, princess?”

As quickly as he was touching you, he removed his hand again and stepped back, motioning towards the button of his jeans he was still straining against.

You swallowed and with your hands still shaking, you reached for the button. Your hand ghosted over his erection and he gasped deeply, bucking his hips a little. You fumbled with the button a little due to your nerves but once you popped it open, you helped him shimmy the jeans down his legs.

He kicked them off, leaving him in the most sinfully tight pair of black boxers that barely contained his throbbing length. You subconsciously pressed your thighs together again but he must have noticed it because he smirked at you.

While you were busy staring at him, wondering what he would feel like inside of you, he reached behind himself and you were a little startled when the shower started spitting out water. He chuckled as you jumped slightly at the sound and took a few steps away from you, towards the shower. He put his hands on his hips, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?” He winked at you and you were sure you almost collapsed.

It only occurred to you then that this was not the Doctor Spencer Reid you’d come to know in your time at the BAU. The Doctor Reid you’d known had been shy, socially awkward and a little nerdy. This man in front of you sure looked like him, but the confidence he exuded was so new to you. But god if it wasn’t the sexiest thing in the whole world.

You found yourself nodding dumbly, mirroring his stance and hooking your own fingers in the waistband of your shorts. You made eye contact and simultaneously you both started lowering your final items of clothing.

For some reason you felt too embarrassed to look down, like it was an invasion of his privacy so you kept your eyes on his face. Out of politeness he did the same.

It wasn’t as though you hadn’t already seen enough, the night in the Chapmanville Inn still fresh in your mind and the silhouette of Spencer’s body through the shower curtain carved into your memory. But this was different.

He reached for your hand once more and tugged you closer, stepping back into the shower cubicle and pulling you inside with him. He moved under the shower head and took hold of your other hand, bringing them both up to his chest. You opened them and placed your palms flush on his blood stained skin. You watched as the water started to cleanse him, the blood beginning to be washed away.

The blood mixed with the water and rolled down his body, pooling in the drain. You noticed your hands starting to shed the claret too. Spencer brought his still stained hands up to tentatively cup your breasts. Noticing the way you whimpered at his touch, he dared to start massaging them beneath deft hands, cleaning the blood from your skin.

“It’ll be a shame to wash this away.” He smirked dangerously at you, continuing to clean you of the blood he’d bestowed upon you.

You desperately wanted to move your hands down his body, feel every inch of him but you were too afraid. Clearly he was the one in control here and you didn’t want to push your luck in case this ended in a cloud of smoke.

Suddenly he tore his hands away from you and you couldn’t help but whine at the lack of contact. Spencer chuckled to himself, reaching for the wall mounted shower gel dispenser and depositing some into one hand.

He lathered the soap between his hands, ridding himself of the blood that had once stained him before using the remnants to return to your chest and clean you properly.

Following his lead you reached past him for the dispenser, all the while he was rubbing your breasts and you thought you might explode. You rubbed the soap in your hands before returning the favour and starting to clean his chest.

He closed his eyes as the water fell around him, lost in the way your hands felt against his skin. It had been a long time since he’d been touched in such a way and it was making him harder than imaginable. As much as he enjoyed this, it wasn’t enough.

He started moving you backwards, still rubbing your breasts as he did so, until your back was against the glass shower partition. His hands wandered for the first time from your breasts down to your hips and you wanted to feel his body against you but he kept his distance.

He clutched your hips desperately in his hands, fingers digging into your flesh and would probably leave yet more bruises. He edged his face closer to you, leaving space between your bodies and his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear.

“Do you want this?” He breathed, for the first time sounding so unsure.

“How can you even ask me that?” You replied, snaking your arms around his neck.

“If we do this…” he pressed his lips against your ear, breathing into your skin. “There’s no going back for me. If we do this, you belong to me.”

A whine left your lips and your body trembled at his words. It was the only thing you wanted.

“Spencer,” you whispered back, running your nails along the base of his neck in his wet hair. “I already belong to you.”

He hissed and suddenly his body jerked forward, his hips slamming against you and finally allowing you to feel his hard cock pressing against you.

One hand moved from your hip to your jaw and held it firmly in his hand, drawing you in quickly and crushing your lips together.

You felt all the air leave your lungs when he kissed you, as though you’d been leading up to this moment your whole life. You melted into him, throwing caution to the wind and letting this man own you entirely.

He parted your lips and plunged his tongue inside your mouth, letting go of your jaw and taking purchase on your hip again. He grinded roughly against you, making you moan. You could tell he was big, and all you wanted was to feel him inside of you.

He kissed you fiercely, holding you steady between his body and the partition. Your body felt simultaneously like it was on fire and like you were floating. He rendered you utterly dumb with one kiss.

Suddenly he tore his lips away from you but before you could question it he was turning you around and pushing your front up against the glass. His body caged you in from behind, cock pressing against your ass cheek.

His lips latched against your neck, sucking the wet skin and teasing it with his teeth. You felt his hand start to roam from your hip, across your stomach and steadily lower.

He forced your legs apart with his strong hand before one nimble digit pressed against your clit. You gasped, rolling your ass back against his cock. He smirked into your neck, continuing to suck on your flesh.

He started moving his finger, rubbing your bundle of nerves in the most perfect way you thought it should be illegal. Your legs trembled almost instantly and if he was to move you would surely fall over.

You pressed one hand against the glass to help keep you up right while your other snaked behind you, between your bodies. You found his shaft and wrapped around the base of it, causing him to buck against you and bite down on your neck.

You started to stroke him, panting heavily against the glass partition while he continued his work between your legs. He really knew what he was doing and you were positive you would reach your orgasm in no time.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin as you let your hand moved up and down around him. “It’s been so long since someone touched me like that.”

His confession startled you a little but the pleasure he was inflicting on you was clouding your brain and you couldn’t dwell on it too much. His free hand moved to your chest and he pinched your nipple hard between his fingers.

Your legs buckled and he steadied you with the weight of his body. He was moaning into your neck, rocking back and forth behind you.

When he pulled back again, leaving you feeling empty and immediately touch starved, you whined as your hand fell to your side. You heard him chuckle before the shower shut off and you slowly turned to face him.

You finally took all of him in, his wet hair hanging down almost to his shoulders, beads of water rolling over his pale skin. His dressing was barely hanging on, desperately trying to cling to his skin for dear life. His cock stood to attention against his belly and your knees wobbled at the sight. Clearly he noticed as he laughed again.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m not done with you yet.” He stepped out of the shower, curling his finger in a motion for you to follow him. Dumbly you did, scurrying after him back into the bedroom.

He grabbed you by your wrist and threw you to the bed, the sheets immediately clinging to your wet body. Your legs hung over the side of the mattress but before you could move them onto the bed, Spencer was dropping to his knees on the floor next to you.

He gripped your thighs roughly in his large hands and spread your legs, bowing his head between them. He kept eye contact with you as his tongue ran between your folds before settling on your clit.

You howled at the sensation, hands flying to his hair and tangling in the locks. He hadn’t shaved since the two of you had fled DC and his rough stubble was scratchy but the friction it created was out of this world.

He made the most delicious sounds as he ravenously ate you out. You were rocking your hips against his face, pulling his hair at the roots and moaning so loud the thin motel walls shook. When he suddenly plunged two fingers inside of you, your eyes rolled back in your head and you tugged his hair so hard it made him yelp.

He fingered you roughly, pounding his fingers inside your fluttering pussy while flicking your bud expertly with his tongue.

He was rutting against the side of the bed, trying to ease some tension in his throbbing cock. He wanted to give you all the pleasure in the world, his own way of thanking you for everything you’d done for him, but he was more than desperate to be inside of you.

Your walls were clenching around his fingers and he knew you were close but he wanted to feel your orgasm around his shaft. He buried his face between your legs, needing more.

“Are you close, princess?” He whispered into your core.

“Y-yes.” You stuttered. “S-so close.”

“Good.” He suddenly withdrew his fingers and sat back on his haunches.

You whined as your hands fell from his hair and looked at him in frustration.

“W-why’d you stop?” You sounded pathetic and you knew it.

Spencer smirked at you, his mouth and chin slick with your arousal. He got to his feet, looming over you.

“Because I want you to come on my cock, pretty girl.” With that he took you by the hips again and flipped you onto your front on the mattress.

He manoeuvred your legs onto the bed and you felt the weight shift beneath you as he knelt behind you. He tugged you onto your hands and knees and before you could even comprehend what was happening, he roughly thrust inside of you.

You yelped, his firm grip on your hips the only thing holding you up. He felt even bigger than he looked, filling you up in a way you’d never been before. He gasped loudly at the way in which he felt you stretch around him.

He was soon thrusting in and out of you, his hips slamming against your ass each time. You gripped the bed sheets in your hands, head falling to your chest while he fucked you without remorse.

He was moaning so deeply you felt it vibrate through you. His blunt fingernails dug into your hips and you swore you could already feel bruises forming. He was panting so heavily he sounded like he’d run a marathon but he didn’t slow down.

He continued to pound into you, bringing you closer to your orgasm every second. By the time it washed over you, your whole body convulsed, pussy clenching around his cock, causing him to hold you even tighter.

You moaned incoherently, possibly saying his name, you weren’t sure. Your head was a mess and your arms barely kept you upright anymore.

“Fuck, that’s it princess. Fuck, feels so good when you come for me.” His thrusts started to grow lazy and you knew he was close too.

Truthfully he’d been close since he’d first tasted you and he had no idea how he’d been able to last this long. But the feeling of you clenching around him as you came was too much and it finally pushed him over the edge.

With one last thrust he let himself fall over the edge, spilling his load inside of you, holding onto your hips for dear life. He rocked back and forth as he rode out his orgasm but was soon pulling out.

As soon as he let go of you, you crumbled to the bed, panting against the lumpy motel pillow. Spencer fell down next to you and gently wiped your hair back from your eyes.

You blinked sleepily, a dreamy smile on your lips as you looked at him. You’d always thought he was stunning, but in this post-coital bliss you didn’t think anyone had ever been so beautiful.

His puffy lips were parted as he tried to catch his breath, his intoxicating hazel eyes were hooded with sleep. His stubble still glistened a little from your arousal and his wet hair created a halo around his head.

Am I in love with him? You thought as you stared at him. Or am I in love with the way he made me feel?

Either way, you knew you shouldn’t have any feelings towards him. He was a murderer, pure and simple. Sure those men deserved it but it didn’t make what he’d done ok. But yet you still found yourself not just understanding it, but condoning it. And you knew as you laid there that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth, you’d be by his side until the bitter end.

Could it be Stockholm Syndrome, or did you really have feelings for Spencer? Away from this situation, under normal circumstances, would this have still happened?

All you knew for sure was that you were dancing with the devil and only he knew all the moves. But you were happy to let him lead.

Life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

You best sleep with a blanket and a shovel,

'Cause life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

Where am I? My hands are tied.

Turn on the lights, and I see you standing,

Over me, it's hard to breathe.

I can't believe that you'd do this to me.

Years of us building the trust up,

No love was ever enough.

I'm foolish to think we were friends,

It's funny how it ends.

You know, when times get tough you always give up,

I know your smoking gun's the tip of your tongue.

You take your aim to point the blame,

It's time we let it go, so save your lies.

Behind those eyes you're a devil in disguise.

Life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

You best sleep with a blanket and a shovel,

'Cause life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

Now it's time to pay the price,

No playing nice when you live so selfish.

Have a drink and make a scene,

Embarrass me 'cause you're lost and hopeless.

Years of us building the trust up,

No love was ever enough.

I'm foolish to think we were friends,

It's funny how it ends.

And you know, when times get tough you always give up,

I know your smoking gun's the tip of your tongue.

You take your aim to point the blame,

It's time you let it go, so save your lies.

Behind those eyes you're a devil in disguise.

Life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

You best sleep with a blanket and a shovel,

'Cause life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

You try to act as if you're saving me,

But you wouldn't cut the rope if it was hanging me.

I'm sick of people saying what you sow you reap,

'Cause I've been counting down the minutes of that, so to speak.

Think of all the hours and hours of grind,

That would it turned into sour findings.

As I wonder if our resigning is becoming the silver lining,

But I'm not a coward, I'm fighting.

'Cause if they're the meat, then I'm biting

Go ahead ignoring and smiling,

'Cause I'm climbing 'till I let you know.

When times get tough you always give up,

I know your smoking gun's the tip of your tongue.

You take your aim to point the blame,

It's time you let it go, so save your lies.

Behind those eyes, yeah.

You know, when times get tough you always give up,

I know your smoking gun's the tip of your tongue.

You take your aim to point the blame,

It's time you let it go, so save your lies.

Behind those eyes you're a devil in disguise.

Life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

You best sleep with a blanket and a shovel,

'Cause life's too short to be dancing with the devil.

@andiebeaword @dreatine @dirtytissuebox @thebloomingeagle @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #unsub! spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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