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cecilysass · 2 years ago

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Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1999

An epilogue to The Boy on the Beach. Read The Boy on the Beach on AO3 or on Tumblr. Read this epilogue on AO3. Tagging @today-in-fic

In the other multiverse.

Baltimore, Maryland February 23, 1983

“Sweetie.” Her mother’s face appeared in the crack of the door. “Do you think you’re almost ready? You’ve made Marcus sit down there with your father and Charlie for twenty minutes now. And our reservation is at seven, so we really can’t be too much longer.”

“Yes,” Dana said. “Almost finished.” In the mirror she peered into her own eyes, which were smudged with black. Her eyeliner was as heavy as she dared for dinner with her family, which truthfully wasn’t very heavy at all.

In Dana’s imagination her entire wardrobe was going to have been transformed in college. She would have been edgier, harder, swathed in black, jagged corners. A semester and a month in, and that hadn’t really happened. Her forays into rebellion had been modest and disappointing. A few band T-shirts, leather bracelets, scarcely noticeable.

Tonight she wore a new dress. Dark detailed lace, a dramatic ruffled neckline. She purchased it at a shop near campus because she thought it had a drastic, punk rock feel. She’d expected a few raised eyebrows when she arrived at her parents’ house tonight. Instead, her mother had smiled and told her she looked lovely. Looking at herself now in the mirror, pale face, dark dress, gold cross at her neck, she realized why. She looked like she could be taking holy vows.

“You know, you’re just sitting there,” her sister observed with amusement. She was lounging on Dana’s bed, already dressed. She had a torn denim jacket, feathery hair, makeup as dark as night. Missy’s forays into rebellion had always been fearless. “You’re not getting ready. You are ready.”

“I’m checking over my make-up.”

“No, you’re stalling. You’re making us late to your own birthday dinner on purpose.”

“What are you talking about?” Dana sighed wearily, examining the jawline of her uninteresting baby face again.

Missy sprung to her feet and leaned over Dana’s shoulder, looking at her reflection in the mirror, whispering playfully in her ear. “You’re waiting for something.”

“Oh yeah? What am I waiting for?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, with Marcus down there making conversation with Dad,” Missy said. “Boring little Marcus.”

“Marcus isn’t boring.”

“Oh, Dana,” Missy laughed. “You’re such a faker. I see right through you.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Dana said, rolling her eyes.

“You want to wait around here just in case you get your birthday phone call.”

Dana moved to blot her red lipstick without betraying any real expression.

“From your childhood soulmate,” Missy added knowingly. “Your personal Kennedy.”

“He’s not my childhood soulmate,” Dana said primly. “He’s not a Kennedy.”

“Your dark prince of Massachusetts.”

“He’s not in Massachusetts,” Dana said in a contrary tone. “He’s in college in England.”

Missy folded her arms. “I suppose you haven’t thought about his call at all today.”

Dana sighed again. “Fox does normally call on my birthday, but I’m not exactly sitting around waiting for that.”

“No?”

“Actually, I doubt he will call now—it’s late there. I’m honestly just trying to finish getting ready.”

“Okay.” Missy seemed to be biting back a smile.

Dana pursed her lips and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, but met her sister’s amused eyes in the mirror.

“You make everything so over dramatic, Missy.”

Missy just raised an eyebrow.

“Fox and I shared a strange childhood experience,” Dana said. “We’re friends. Pen pals. He’s an interesting person.”

“Very interesting,” nodded Missy.

“His sister writes to me, too, you know,” Dana pointed out. “And I haven’t seen them in ages. Not even since we moved back to the East Coast.”

Missy reached over Dana’s shoulder and over the vanity table, fishing out the snapshot of Fox on a beach that Dana had discreetly slid underneath her jewelry box. She held it up in front of Dana’s face like it was damning evidence.

Dana kept her expression disinterested. “What? He sent a photo from college.”

“Mmmm, I see that,” Missy said, looking it over. “You’re keeping it pretty close at hand.”

“What’s your point?”

“Look, Dana,” Missy said, sounding exasperated, “he saves you as a kid, he tells you you and he are bound together by fate, he writes you letters, he calls you every year. It’s romantic. You’d have to be made of stone not to see that. I don’t blame you. Nobody in the world would blame you. You don’t have to hide it.”

Dana didn’t say anything, her eyes on the photo in Missy’s fingers. He actually didn’t save her from anything, at least not according to him. According to him, the hero of the story was someone else.

Her. Her, but not her. An unrecognizable version of Dana Scully. Some superhuman, unattainable adult version.

Dana herself doesn’t remember what happened that week in 1973. She only remembers finding herself on a fairy tale beach with two fairy tale children who insisted she had a special destiny and gave her a letter from herself that seemed to confirm it.

The story has always been convoluted, and she’s always been partially sworn to secrecy.

“And holy fucking fuck.” Missy was looking hard at the photo, shaking her head. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed your little soulmate turned out smoking hot. That’s a nice favor for fate to do for you.”

Dana had noticed, actually. She still hated Missy’s characterization of her relationship with Fox, hated it for so many reasons.

“Enough, Missy.” She reached behind her and snatched the photo out of her sister’s fingers. “Let’s go downstairs now.”

“I could stall them downstairs for a few more minutes,” offered Missy, her tone softer. “I could say I feel sick?”

“Really,” Dana said. “You’re misreading the situation.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” Dana set her lips in a line.

“Okay,” Missy shrugged.

“Okay.”

“Then let’s go put our game faces on,” Missy said. “Prepare to eat large steaks and avoid talking politics with Bill.” She put her hands on Dana’s shoulders. “You look amazing, by the way. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” Dana said, her face warming into a small smile in the mirror. “I don’t look like a nun?”

“Maybe a little. Like a hot nun,” Melissa assured her. Dana slapped her hand in jest.

On the way downstairs, the phone didn’t ring. But that was okay. That was fine. She wasn’t waiting for it. Not really.

*** Later, after they arrived back from dinner, after Dana had opened her presents, after they had eaten angel food cake topped with chocolate whipped cream icing and nineteen candles, after she had kissed Marcus a sweet but surprisingly chaste good-bye outside at his car, promising to call him soon (once she was back in her dorm, maybe on the weekend), the phone did ring.

She was standing at the bathroom mirror brushing her teeth, wearing an oversized tee of Bill’s from high school. Everyone else had already gone to bed, although she suspected Charlie was still awake because she could hear the Clash playing faintly from his room.

The phone rang and she froze, her toothbrush in her mouth. Then she flung it down and raced down the stairs as fast as she could, trying to get there before it woke up her parents.

She made it in two and a half rings. “Hello,” she said breathlessly as she picked up the kitchen phone.

“Hello?” It’s funny how familiar his voice was, considering how relatively few times she had actually spoken to him. “Dana…?”

“Yeah,” she said, still breathing hard from her little sprint. “It’s me. Sorry. I just ran from upstairs.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” she smiled, biting her lip. “No, I’m awake.”

“I almost missed it. I’m too late.”

“You’re not late,” she assured him quickly. “It’s still my birthday. But isn’t it the middle of the night there? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He laughed a little, and she noticed for the first time he was keeping his voice down. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I probably should be.”

Dana pressed her back against the kitchen wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor. She brought her knees in towards her, hugging them, winding the phone cord around a finger.

“So,” he said. “Dana Scully. Nineteen years old. How does it feel?”

“Much the same.”

“How’s college?”

“It’s…” Dana selected her words carefully, always too aware of what he thought about her. “It’s amazing. I love it. The work is so much more interesting than high school. The conversation is at a higher level.”

“So you just study, all day and night, and that’s Dana Scully’s whole life at University of Maryland?”

“I do take my work seriously,” she said, stiffening. “I know it’s not Oxford, but I take challenging classes.”

“Of course you do,” he said, his tone gentle. “I just meant to ask what you did outside of class.”

“Right,” she said. She knew she was too sensitive. He had never given her any reason to feel so, but she felt self-conscious, her modest, budget-minded state university education versus his elite international schooling. “Well, I have a job working at the library. I, uh, play intramural volleyball.” She swallowed. “I was going to try for a job in a lab for next year.”

“You’re studying science?”

“Yes.” She pressed her eyes closed, anticipating the next line of questioning.

“Do you know your major yet? Is it… do you know what you want to do?”

She knew what he was thinking—because this is what he did, Fox. He asked her a question, and he seemed deeply and intensely interested in her, but he actually was thinking about someone else. This woman, this stranger he and Samantha called Scully: a woman she had never met.

“Not really,” she said.

There was a little pause. “It’s probably too soon to worry about your major. That’s what’s good about American universities—you can explore different fields of study.”

Dana decided to change the subject. “Your sister sent me something for my birthday.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Really. It was wrapped and everything.”

“I’m offended. She didn’t send me anything for my birthday.”

“It arrived in my school mailbox the day before yesterday.” Dana was smiling, wrapping the phone cord around her wrist.

“What was it?”

“A record,” Dana said coyly. “A single. No card or note—besides her name, obviously.”

“A record? You’re kidding me. What record?”

“Prince.”

“Prince?” He paused. “Why would she—” He stopped. “1999, right?”

“Bingo.”

She could hear him laughing on the other end, trying to keep his sound muffled. “Shit. She’s … such a weirdo,” he breathed. “But that’s funny. I wish I had thought of that.”

“As it happens, I like the song.”

“Sam has great taste and a subversive sense of humor, but she’s really baffling my parents,” Fox said. “I think it’s not all sunshine and roses in the Mulder household since I left. We can’t all be well-behaved first children. But only one more semester until she’s off to college, too.”

“Does she want to go to Oxford?”

“She wants to go to Berkeley,” Fox said. “In California.” He hesitated. “According to her, there was something 99 Me and 99 You said about a scientist there who studies neurology, which somehow mysteriously leads to time travel. I hadn’t quite heard all of the details of that before, but Samantha is adamant.”

Dana took that in.

Unlike Fox, Samantha had always been slower to talk about the events of that week in November 1973. Her story had always come out in fragments, little tantalizing mentions that emerge unexpectedly, sometimes years later.

In some ways this was frustrating, as Samantha had the most information. She was the person who met both 99 Dana and 99 Fox, who actually saw them interact with one another. She spent the night in a beach house with both of them. Fox had only met 99 Dana, and Dana met neither of them, unless you counted the letter.

“So what did you do for your birthday?” he asked.

“I went to dinner with my family,” Dana said. She hesitated a half second. “And with my boyfriend, Marcus.”

“This is the same boyfriend? From high school?”

“Yes,” Dana said. “He’s—yes.”

“He goes to your college?”

“No,” she said. “He goes to UVA, but he drove over for dinner.”

“Oh,” Fox said. “That’s nice of him.” He didn’t sound insincere, but he didn’t exactly sound warm either.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“It was nice. But I think I’m going to break up with him.”

He paused. “Why?”

“I don’t—“ She didn’t know why she was telling him this. “I don’t think about him when I’m not with him.”

“Ah,” he said.

“Does that make sense to you? As a reason to break up with someone?”

“It makes perfect sense to me.”

“It seems like you should think about someone you’re with. Even if you’re not with them at that precise moment. If the relationship is important.”

“I’m not exactly an expert, but I think that’s probably right,” he said.

There was a pause.

“Are you dating someone?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Not any more. I was, until fairly recently.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was amicable.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She was smart, funny. Her name was Aine. She was—she’s really involved in the anti-nuclear movement here, protesting against Margaret Thatcher.”

“Were you involved with that, too?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Especially while I was dating Aine. She’s very … persuasive. Dedicated.”

“What does she look like?”

There was a pause.

“She’s beautiful.”

Dana found herself fairly certain Aine had red hair.

It was overwhelming, really. She didn’t know what to make of him and his early-minted taste for heroic redheads. She wished Samantha had never mentioned it.

“It feels weird to talk about it with you, Dana,” he said softly. “Even though I know it shouldn’t.”

“Why would it feel weird?”

“You know why.”

Because sixteen years from now she would supposedly be the love of his life. Sixteen years from now she supposedly would love him so much that she would go to some dire lengths to save him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I always seem to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, you don’t,” she replied. “I just sometimes worry … “

“What?”

“That I’m not the person you want me to be.”

“I want you to be yourself.”

“I think you want me to be someone you met when you were a kid.”

“You are Scully,” he said. “You can’t help but be her.”

Another little pause. She cleared her throat.

“I’ve been doing a little research on the camera,” she said. “Do you want a report?”

“Of course I want a report.”

When they left, 99 Dana and 99 Fox had left behind an intriguing artifact from the future: some kind of headset that 99 Dana told Fox and Samantha was a camera, although it no longer seemed to work. Fox and Samantha had spent years tinkering with it, but had sent it to Dana last year at her request.

“I’ve been going to some local technology clubs. Personal computing. Like at Radio Shack.”

“Oh yeah?” He sounded amused. “What’s that like?”

“Well, I’ve had many offers of help,” she said diplomatically. She didn’t want to affect his view of her, but really it was amazing what you could manifest as a college girl walking into a Radio Shack with pigtails, Jordache jeans, and your younger brother’s too-small Atari T-shirt. Offers of help from every direction, really.

“And?”

“You can learn quite a bit there, and I’m getting pretty good at it. I’m thinking of taking a programming class next semester, actually.”

“Computer programming? Wow.” He sounded perplexed.

“The camera is a type of computer, or it has computers in it,” she explained. “It’s beyond what anyone has seen now though. I’ve had a lot of help—some experts willing to look at the camera with me, analyze it closely. Right now it’s probably not working because it’s out of batteries, but its power source is totally different than what we have.”

“Huh,” Fox said. “What if you could get it to work again?”

“I think it’s possible,” she said. “Someone helping me—this man Melvin—he says he knows people in California, in Silicon Valley, who would know more. I was wondering if somehow I could take it out to show them this spring or summer, on one of my breaks.”

“That would be great!” Fox exclaimed. “If it worked, we could take pictures of our own. Messages, maybe.”

“Not right away. Maybe eventually.”

“I wonder where the pictures would go.”

“Back to 99 Dana and 99 Fox’s universe, I suppose,” Dana said. “That’s where her pictures were going, right?”

“Yeah. But it’s been ten years,” Fox said. “It must be 2009 there now, if time moves forward in the same way. I wonder if they even have a way to receive the pictures any more.”

“It could be more time until I can make the camera work,” Dana reminded him. “There’s still a lot to figure out. The power source on this camera, it’s tiny. And the part of the camera that is actually a computer? Fox, it is so impossibly small, like a whole Apple computer shrunk down. It’s fascinating.”

“Do you enjoy it?” he asked. “Trying to figure it out? Solve the puzzle? It sounds like you do.”

The question surprised her, in part because she hadn’t thought of it quite like that. She enjoyed trying to help Fox and Samantha, and she found the computers part much more interesting than she thought she would. But the answer to his question was unexpectedly clear to her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do. I really like the challenge of it.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “That’s really good.” There was something in his tone that made her worry, like he was comparing her to Scully again, but the conversation took a different turn.

“Dana,” he began, sounding hesitant. “I, uh, got a call. From someone from the F.B.I., asking me if I would be willing to talk to someone in their recruitment office about a possible career in profiling after I graduate, or while I do graduate work in psychology.”

“Oh.” She breathed in. “That’s—“

“It seems like that’s the beginning of … how it’s supposed to happen.”

Dana let that sink in. “Profiling. As in dangerous criminals? Is that what we did in 1999?”

“I never heard the exact area of the F.B.I. we worked in. I know you were a doctor. For me, profiling does make sense, based on what I have been working on in school.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. She had weighed the idea of medical school eventually, but it wasn’t the only thing she considered. Lately, she had thought more seriously about computer science. “Do you think all of this happens no matter what we do? That it’s fated, somehow? That our choices don’t matter?”

“Do you think you wouldn’t choose the F.B.I.?”

“I don’t know,” she said sincerely. “I just think I would like to be able to make the choice.”

A pause on the line. “I guess that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“About which part?”

“About whether it has to be set in stone.”

She was faintly surprised. She assumed Fox always wanted to chase after a future that he thought got him as close to what Scully described as he could.

“The call from the F.B.I. isn’t the only call I got,” he explained. She heard him rustling around, like he was shifting position. “I got another offer. Something badly paid and probably not very smart. My friend Miles is an old classmate who’s already graduated and has been working as a counselor in a clinic. He’s in San Francisco, doing grief work and end-of-life counseling with men dying from this new disease, this epidemic. You probably know about it.”

“AIDS,” supplied Dana. “Probably viral. No one knows for sure.”

“Yeah. Whatever it is, it’s a lot of young people dying too fast, often alone, and there’s a huge need for counselors and therapists to help them. Miles says he works sometimes 20 hours a day, but the work is really worthwhile. I was thinking that might be something I could be good at. I’m sometimes good at helping people think through bigger questions.”

“So you’re wondering if you should do that instead.”

“I guess I am,” he said. “I could do it for a while and think about whether I wanted to continue graduate studies in psychology, or go straight into the F.B.I. … or something else. Plus, if Sam is at Berkeley, it’s right there in the Bay Area. I could keep an eye on her.”

Dana was silent for a moment. “It sounds like you already know what choice you want to make.”

He made a stifled half laugh. “Of course I don’t.”

“You sound more excited about the counseling in San Francisco than about the F.B.I.,” she commented.

“That’s true,” he said really softly, like this was a realization. “I am, I guess.”

“But you’re still…?”

“Scared,” he said. “Because if I choose something different, I worry that I…” He stopped. “Well, I worry.”

She didn’t speak either.

“The relationship 99 Dana had with 99 Me—that wasn’t the kind of possibility you could see in your future … and just ignore,” he said. “I can’t see just tossing that away, Dana.”

“Can you explain to me why?” she asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know if I can, except that … here I was, this lonely kid, and the way she talked about us being partners...” He laughed quietly. “I’ll never, ever stop thinking about being her partner.”

“Yeah,” Dana whispered, feeling tears spring in her eyes.

“But I get it,” he said. “I know it might not ever work here, the way it did there. Too many variables have changed.”

“It doesn’t mean you couldn’t be happy in other futures,” Dana pointed out. She twirled the phone cord around her finger idly. “With other people.”

“I guess,” he said. He seemed to let out a long sigh. “You know, right before the holidays, I was in London with Aine.” Dana slumped against the wall a little, closing her eyes, trying to picture what he was saying. “We went out to this club with her friends. They got me all dressed up—that whole New Wave look, you know? Eyeliner and ruffly shirt and all the shit in your hair to make it poufy. It’s not my normal thing, but it was fun. People seemed to like it.”

Dana thought about the photo on her dressing table and imagined it. She thought she could guess why people might have liked it.

“So we’re in this place, and it’s crowded, and there are all these colored lights, strobes, and they’re playing that Duran Duran song, the really popular one. Hungry Like the Wolf. And Aine was talking to me about her Christmas plans, and my eyes just sort of drifted away from her, losing focus into the crowd. All these bodies, dancing. Trying to just connect with one another. Scent and a sound. Juices like wine. Hungry like the wolf. And I thought… why am I here? Why am I doing all of this? Why am I pretending to be looking for someone else, trying to make these futile, fleeting connections, when I already know my perfect other exists?”

There was a pause on the line.

“But…” Dana blinked, stunned. “I’m not your perfect other, Fox.” Her body was rigid; she gripped the phone with white knuckles. “I’m not your perfect anything. I’m just some … girl from Maryland. Some girl who likes to spend most of her time studying and has never even been to a club like you’re talking about.”

“That’s not all you are,” he replied.

“I don’t even know if I really am Scully.”

“You are. I told you. It’s not something you can—”

“No.” She was surprised at how fiercely she spoke. “No, please hear me on this. I need it to be okay with you … if I’m not. I need to be free not to be.”

A tense beat.

“Oh,” he said. “Right, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No,” he answered, his voice subdued. “I’m sorry.”

In the hollow silence that followed, Dana’s mind raced. She could practically feel the weight of his disappointment through the phone.

Would this be the end of his interest in her? Would the calls end? What possible appeal could she hold without the promise of a secret agent future? Maybe it would be better to say goodbye, she considered. Maybe this childhood fantasy had gone on long enough. Didn’t it only ever make her feel like she was a lesser Dana? Why did she need that? She could live her own life and never feel that way again.

If it weren’t for Scully’s letter, she might have heeded that impulse.

Instead, she reconsidered. And found herself taking hold of a wild idea, something she could hardly believe she was going to propose.

“Fox,” she said, “maybe you should go to San Francisco and see the clinic for yourself. Before you decide what you want to do.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding glum.

“Maybe you should come with me when I take the camera to the Bay Area. We could go together.”

It took a moment to sink in. “Together?”

“We must have some overlapping school breaks at some point. We could fly out, investigate the camera together, visit your clinic. You could ask all the questions you need to.”

She again could hear the rustling sounds indicating his squirming. “That’s… an interesting idea.”

“I think it would be a good opportunity for you… to gather information for yourself. Firsthand.”

“Firsthand,” he repeated. “Yeah.”

“You’d probably think of other questions to ask about the camera, too. Things I wouldn’t think of.”

“I’ve never been to San Francisco,” he said. “Maybe we could … walk across the Golden Gate Bridge while we’re there.”

“Okay,” she said. “If there’s time.”

“Or go see a giant redwood.”

“The to-do list grows longer,” she said wryly.

“Or ride a streetcar. Or eat seafood. Or go see that one really crooked street. I always wanted to do that.”

Dana smiled, stretching her legs out in front of her. She couldn’t tell if he was responding entirely seriously or not, but she felt a little giddy that she had summoned enough courage to invite him, to shift the conversation in this direction.

“You know,” he said suddenly and earnestly, “it’d be fun to drive, not fly. I’ve always wanted to drive across the continent. I have this amazing old station wagon that could probably make it. I could pick you up in Maryland.”

“That’s a much longer trip,” she commented, but her face was warming with pleasure. He seemed very serious. “It would be fun though.” She imagined Bill and Maggie’s expressions, watching their daughter climb into a car for a cross country road trip all alone with the strange boy they had met ten years ago on Martha’s Vineyard.

“If we could make it work, matching up the school breaks, would you really consider it? Going with me, I mean? You’re not just saying that?”

And she was struck by the vulnerability in his voice.

“Yes,” she said crisply. “Of course.”

“I’m not as strange as I come across in these phone calls,” he promised. “If we went, you could get to know me better.” A little intake of breath. “Just me. Nothing else. No expectations of anyone being anyone else, like you said.”

She was so used to thinking of him as her mysterious fairy tale boy, someone who dropped into her life simply to check to see if she had grown into someone she was not. It surprised her to realize he was anxious for her approval, too. That he was worried about how she viewed him.

“Sure,” she managed. “And you know, I’ve always wanted to tour Stanford, too.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Let’s make it happen.”

“Do you have a calendar of your school schedule?”

“I’ll go get one,” he said.

She listened as the phone dropped and he made thumping noises to run off, presumably to his room. He sounded so… eager. Dana smiled to herself, wondering what it would be like to drive in a car with him across the country. If he would drive her crazy with his peculiar energy. If he would insist on driving off the interstate on little side trips. If he would make them camp or stay at cheap motels. She found herself insatiably curious.

*** They stayed up too late hammering out a rough plan before finally saying good-bye, and Dana padded speedily back up the stairs to her bedroom, her heart still thumping, her mind still buzzing.

She flew straight into her closet and yanked the drawstring to turn on the overhead bulb. Her eyes ran over the shelves, looking for what she wanted, until she spotted it: the old cracked leather box. She lifted it from the shelf and took it to her bed to examine.

Inside the leather box were letters, filed carefully in reverse date order starting from 1982, last year, going back to 1973. Fox and Samantha’s handwriting alternated, the penmanship getting increasingly rounder and younger as she flipped farther back in time.

She found what she was looking for. The very first letter, which wasn’t from Fox or Samantha. It was preserved in its original envelope.

Dana. said the lettering on the front.

The handwriting was adult and female. She now could see what was not apparent to her as a nine-year old—that it was, in fact, her own handwriting. Or at least that it looked enough like her handwriting at age nineteen to be recognizable.

Dana sat cross-legged on her bed and read the letter for the thousandth time: the letter that had changed her life, the letter that continued to change it.

Dear Dana,

I have never been in a situation like yours, but I imagine you’re very scared. As strange as this may sound, the person writing this is you, Dana Scully, age 35. I traveled from the year 1999 back to your year. When I arrived, you vanished. Now that I have left again, you’ve returned, and you are ready to begin to live your life again. I’m truly sorry that I had to disrupt your life in this way.

I will try to limit this letter only to what is most important. First, it’s not a good idea to believe anything a stranger tells you, so I’ll try to give you some proof we are the same person, and tell you something only you know: In Mass sometimes, you daydream that Father Joplin will one day leave the priesthood and marry you instead. I hope that is enough to convince you. I’ve never told that to anyone. He never will, I’m afraid.

Second, your family has missed you very much, and they have been very worried. Be kind to them once you see them again. Especially Melissa. Always be close to Melissa.

Third, the two children you are with—Fox and Samantha—will act like they know you because they know me, but you won’t know them. Listen to them. They can explain the full story of what happened to you. They will be able to give you most of the answers you want. I imagine they may seem like strange children. But you can trust them, always, especially the boy.

Finally, about the boy, Fox Mulder. I know him as a man very well, but I don’t know what it would be like to know him as young or for as long as you will. If I had to predict, he will be persistent in keeping in touch with you.

His friendship can be difficult at times, but it’s also been something powerful and hard to explain, something big and overwhelming and wonderful. I suppose my advice about Fox Mulder comes down to this: when it comes to him, don’t ever lose sight of yourself. But in the end, he is worth it. He is always worth it.

Yours, Dana Scully

#x files fanfic #the x files #xfiles fanfic #boy on the beach #my fic #tonight we're gonna party like it's 1999

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cocobeanncteez · 4 years ago

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Ateez Seonghwa Imagine: when you're sexually frustrated.

Genre: angst, smut, arranged marriage au, mafia au (but there's no violence or anything, just mentions of being from a mafia background)

Pairing: Seonghwa x reader (fem)

Word count: 2166

As a mafia princess, you knew your father was going to marry you off to some mafia boss. He had it planned ever since he found out your mother would be having a girl. He made sure you studied and trained properly in all aspects of the mafia world, so that you could marry someone as powerful as him.

However, you weren't expecting your father to marry you off to a man who was so cold, and emotionless. Sure, Park Seonghwa was definitely the most handsome man you've ever seen, and yes, his mafia was powerful and he was extremely rich, but you just didn't want to be with a man like that: a man who doesn't even smile at you, let alone look at you.

You did try to talk to Seonghwa and bond a little, but he just never cared; he only bothered to talk to you whenever you had to accompany him to mafia business events.

After being married to Park Seonghwa for nearly three months, you were starting to have enough of your husband's cold, ignorant attitude towards you; you just had to decide what to do about it.

You sat in the living room, blankly staring ahead of you until you heard movement in the kitchen. You saw Seonghwa, clad in only his sweatpants, getting a glass of cranberry juice. He leaned against the kitchen counter, facing your direction while he drank his juice. Your eyes roamed all over his bare chest and abdomen. You noticed how low his sweatpants were hanging on his hips. You couldn't stop your mind from creating all sorts of dirty scenarios. It didn't help that you were feeling extremely sexually frustrated these days; your vibrator and fingers just weren't enough.

You watched Seonghwa walk away to his room, gently closing the door behind him. You took a deep breath before getting off the couch, making your way to his room.

You entered without knocking, much to his surprise. You climbed onto his bed, immediately straddling his lap. You didn't know where you got that much confidence from, but you didn't really care about that at the moment. Seonghwa looked up at you with an eyebrow raised.

"Park Seonghwa, if you don't do something to me now, I fucking swear I'll go to another man."

Seonghwa smirked, making your heart race. "Then go to another man." You stared at him, wondering if he's serious or not. "Aren't you gonna go?" he asked.

You got off of him, annoyed by your own husband being so unbothered even though you literally offered your body to him. You went to your room, stripping yourself out of your pajamas, changing into a tight black dress that fell mid-thigh and showed off your curves and your cleavage. You washed your face and combed your hair into a high ponytail and just applied some eyeliner and lipstick. You sprayed your favorite perfume on yourself, put on a pair of black heels, and grabbed a bag to match your outfit.

"Where are you going?" Seonghwa asked when he heard you open the front door.

You rolled your eyes. "To get dicked down by another man, obviously," you said before closing the door, leaving Seonghwa stunned. He was only teasing you that time and didn't expect you to actually go to another man. Once he got over the shock, he ran outside, only to find your car leaving the premises of the mansion.

"Fuck!" he said, running inside to call you. When you didn't pick up, he called Yeosang and put his phone on speaker while he changed his clothes.

"What do you want? It's ten in the night," Yeosang answered.

"Track Y/N's location fast," Seonghwa replied, zipping his pants.

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later. Hurry up," he said, grabbing his leather jacket.

There was silence on Yeosang's end for a minute. "Hyung, she's moving towards Gangnam."

"Okay, text me her location as soon as she stops," Seonghwa said before hanging up. He quickly wore his shoes before running to his car.

Seonghwa drove a little over the usual speed limit, cursing every red signal light. He tried to call you multiple times, but you didn't answer. He kept checking his phone, waiting for Yeosang's message.

After what felt like hours, he finally got Yeosang's message. "She's at Yunho and Mingi's club."

Seonghwa was a little relieved by that, since Yunho and Mingi were his close friends; he wouldn't run into any enemies there. Plus, Mingi and Yunho were usually always at their club, so it would be easy to get help to find you in that crowded place.

When Seonghwa got there, he immediately ran up to the VIP area where Yunho and Mingi were. He looked down through the glass walls, trying to find you in the crowd.

"Woah, bro, what's up with you?" Mingi asked.

"Who are you searching for?" Yunho questioned.

"Y/N," Seonghwa answered, eyes searching for you, stunning Yunho and Mingi; they all knew how your relationship was.

"Y/N? How come you—"

"Found her!" Seonghwa yelled before running back down to get to you, leaving Yunho and Mingi dumbfounded.

You were dancing all by yourself on the crowded dance floor before you moved to the bar to get yourself another drink. "Two shots of vodka, please."

"I'll pay for her drink," you heard someone say from behind you. You turned to see a tall man with a lean build, looking down at you with a smirk. He was certainly very handsome; you only hoped he wasn't some idiot.

"Thank you," you said sweetly. He sat beside you, ordering himself a drink as well. "So beautiful, what's your name?" he asked while you took a shot of vodka. You were about to grab the next shot and answer him, but you felt someone grab your wrist.

Seonghwa took the shot glass from you and placed it on the table. "We're going home," he stated in a stern tone. You were about to protest, but he was already dragging you outside to his car. You were quite surprised that Seonghwa was here, taking you back home; you really thought he didn't give a shit about you... looks like you're wrong.

"But my car is here!" you said, getting into the passenger seat of Seonghwa's car.

"Mingi will drop it off," he stated, getting into the driver's seat and starting his car.

You sighed in frustration while Seonghwa drove fast. "You're so annoying," you murmured, but he heard you.

"I didn't do shit."

"You ruined my chance of finally getting fucked!" you said while you removed your heels, massaging your aching feet.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, mentally praising all the signal lights for being green; he wanted to get home fast. "You don't need another man for that."

You snorted. "Yeah, cause my husband is sure as hell making me feel good," you muttered sarcastically, looking out the window, realizing you were almost home. Seonghwa didn't say anything for the rest of the drive.

As soon as you got home, you ran to your room. You went to the bathroom, taking your makeup and clothes off, leaving yourself only in your lacy red thong. You brushed your teeth and washed your face, dabbing it dry with a towel. When you moved the towel away, you found Seonghwa leaning against the bathroom door, dressed in only his sweatpants again, staring at you through the mirror.

Seonghwa's eyes roamed all over your body. You held your towel to your naked chest, covering yourself. "What are you doing here?" you asked, cheeks turning pink at the fact that Seonghwa saw you with just your thong on.

He moved to stand right in front of you, trapping you in between the sink and his body. "Seonghwa, what are you doing?" you murmured, trying not to glance at his bare chest.

He smirked, moving his face closer to yours. "Giving my sexually frustrated wife what she wants," he said, brushing his lips against yours. "Only if she still wants it." He pulled away, giving you a small smile that made your heart race. You wanted to ask him what suddenly came over him, but you wrapped your arms around his neck instead, pulling him down to kiss you; like he said, you were sexually frustrated and you really just needed a good release.

Seonghwa kissed you back eagerly, hands moving to your bare waist before moving down to your hips. He broke the kiss, picking you up and placing you on the bathroom counter before continuing his previous actions. You gently bit his lip, pulling it little, making Seonghwa smile against your lips. He slid his tongue into your mouth, while he pulled your body closer to his. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you off the counter and moved towards your bed. He gently placed you on your back, hovering above you. His lips moved to your neck, kissing around the area before sucking on a particular spot, marking you, making you moan.

Once Seonghwa was satisfied with the mark he left on you, he moved his hand to your thong. "Can I?" he asked for permission.

"Yes, please." He pulled the material down, sliding it off your legs.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he murmured. His fingers ran along your slit, collecting the wetness there. "So wet for me," he said in a low tone, rubbing your wetness over your clit. His fingers applied pressure to your clit while moving circularly. He played with your clit for a while before moving his fingers down to your hole. He pushed two fingers in at once, making you arch your back. He moved his fingers at a fast pace, loving the way you clenched around them. You moaned out, eyes closing at how good it felt. But you wanted more.

"Seonghwa, please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"I want you now. I want your cock inside of me, please. Fuck, please." Seonghwa felt himself grow even harder at the way you begged for him. He pulled his fingers out, sucking them clean, humming in delight due to your sweet taste.

Seonghwa took his sweatpants and briefs off before he sat against the cushioned headboard of your bed, pumping his cock a few times. "Come here," he ordered, making you straddle his lap. "Are you on the pill?" You shook your head. "Okay. I don't have condoms on me. Are you fine with me pulling out?" You nodded and he ran his thumb along your bottom lip. "Use your words, baby."

"Yes, I'm okay with it."

Seonghwa smiled, pulling you into a quick kiss before he helped you sink down completely on his length. "Fuck, so tight," he groaned. You whimpered at the stretch, waiting for a moment to get used to his large size. He slightly propped his knees up so that the position was more comfortable for you. Seonghwa kissed your forehead. "Take your time, babe."

After a moment, you placed your hands on his shoulder, moving yourself on his length. Seonghwa gripped your ass, helping you move on him slowly at first, before increasing the pace. You threw your head back, leaning against his propped knees, moaning his name while he slammed you onto his cock. Seonghwa lowered his face to your boobs, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, gently sucking on it while he rolled the other one.

Seonghwa kissed around your collarbones before making you get off his length to change positions: you were in the same position, expect now you were facing away from him. Your back was pressed against his chest and he entered you again. Seonghwa pushed your hair to one side before he began to kiss your neck while you moved on him. One of his hands squeezed your boob while the other played with your clit, rubbing it up and down and circularly, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm c-close," you moaned out, feeling the knot tighten in your lower abdomen, and he moved his fingers faster on your clit. Your legs began to shake, and you yelled out Seonghwa's name when you reached your blissful high. You quickly got off Seonghwa and pumped his length with your hand. You were about to take his length in your mouth, but he came, shooting his load onto his inner thighs.

Seonghwa closed his eyes, trying to calm his heavy breathing. You collapsed next to him, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, placing a kiss onto your forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Amazing," you answered honestly. "Thank you so much."

He chuckled. "I'm your husband, Y/N, you don't have to thank me."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You were the one who told me to go to another man."

"I was kidding, I didn't expect you to actually leave," he said. "I ran after you, but you had already left." Seonghwa pulled you into a soft and slow kiss. "You're mine, Y/N. You have no idea how angry I was to see you with another man."

"Maybe I should piss you off often," you mumbled, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Try, baby, I dare you," Seonghwa challenged, cupping your cheek with one hand, staring into your eyes. "Next time, I won't be as nice as I was today."

You smirked. "I'm looking forward to that."

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frenchtipacrylics · 4 years ago

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An In-depth Guide to My Personal Style

the idea to document my entire clothing style was inspired by the @dreamgrlarchive post detailing her personal style here, and the @angeldiscovery post about building confidence that mentions a few journaling prompts here!

minimalistic & edgy

my version of a capsule wardrobe, a style based around essentials and basics but with an edgier twist

key colors: black, white, burgundy, rust orange, various shades of brown, earth tones, olive green

key prints: snake, leopard, croc

key textures: vinyl, leather, silk/satin, mesh, rips/tears, lace, denim

key silhouettes: high neck/turtlenecks, tight pencil miniskirts, flare pants, corsets and bustiers, cowl necks, bodycon, combat boots, lingerie as outerwear, baggy pants

soft glam makeup. all matte, 90’s inspired, only shades of brown. sultry eye looks, smokey eyes, maybe some tightlining. contour, defined cupid’s bow, brown lipstick and (optional) gloss, brow pomade, very bright under eye highlight, cat eye falsies, everything applied to make my face look more angular

minimalist jewelry. stud earrings or small hoops, a few rings, and a necklace

inspo: sofia richie, rihanna’s “edgy” style, zoe kravitz, bella hadid, kelly stamps, 90’s victoria beckham, the typical “model off duty” style, fka twigs, lori harvey

key stores & brands: fashionnova, h&m, prettylittlething, zara, yesstyle, missguided, revolve, misspap, peppermayo, honeybum, topshop, aritzia, asos, sorella

my go-to day to day look

girly & romantic

very girly and cute, fairy-esque, my ideal way to express my femininity. easy to dress up or down

key colors: sage green, true red, mustard yellow, orange, warm toned cream white

key prints: floral, plaid, small polka dots, gingham

key textures: ruching, silk/satin, fuzz, pearls, rhinestones, ruffled detailing, lace

key silhouettes: wrap dresses and skirts, slip dresses, puff sleeves, bardot necklines, slits, tie-front crop tops, high waisted bottoms, dresses that are cinched in at the waist, cute socks with heels, chunky sweaters, bow detailing, cardigans as tops, silk hair accessories, matching sets

full glam makeup. more shades of pink, peach, and coral. brow pencils, wispy/fluffy false lashes, nose highlight, overlined glossy lips, pink lip gloss, shimmery or glittery eye makeup, bronzer instead of contour, draped blush, bright inner corner highlight, feathery brows that are a shade or two lighter than my hair color, rounded lip shape

a lot more jewelry. hoops and a stud, sometimes double hoops and a stud (my ears are pierced three times), bracelets, layered necklaces, and multiple rings

inspo: cottagecore, gershona annor, alissa janay, francesca omorogbe, ange josé, destiny joseph, _cinnamonro11_

key stores & brands: princesspolly, prettylittlething, & other stories, for love and lemons, nastygal, shein, reformation, forever21, peppermayo, brandy melville, misslola, h&m

i wear this style to picnics, art museums, botanical gardens, and other more laidback dates

laidback & casual

dressing down, cute but still comfortable and effortless

key colors: burgundy, black, white, true green, various shades of pink, olive green

key textures: knits, silk/satin, velour, wearable towel

key silhouettes: chunky matching tracksuits, baggy jeans, cami tops, long cardigans, midi dresses, athleisure, tennis shoes, sweater/sweatshirt dresses, jumpsuits, slides, crossbody bags, matching silk pajamas, chic sandals, oversized hoodies

faux “natural” makeup. no eyeshadow, just winged eyeliner, bronzer, brown lip liner and clear gloss, much more focus on the base makeup, inner corner highlight, nose highlight, brow gel, half lashes or individuals, drawing in my beauty marks, cream blush

not too much jewelry. hoops, rings, a necklace, my apple watch, and a bracelet

inspo: karrueche, rihanna, gigi hadid, princess diana, zendaya, kehlani, the classic celebrity airport/streetwear outfit

key stores & brands: nike, adidas, puma, honeybum, fashionnova, ugg australia, meshki, pink, depop, urban outfitters, aerie, missguided

how i dress when going to campus, running errands, taking the train, when i just don’t feel like putting an outfit together, or when comfort matters more than appearance

#fashion #makeup #style guide #my posts

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bubmyg · 5 years ago

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idcilh (4) - jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre/warnings: youtuber!au, sickening fluff, ft guk’s glasses

word count: 1,560

summary: “these have been done before but I don’t care I love her” - a series on gcguk in which jeongguk tackles old, cheesy YouTube couple challenges. episode four: boyfriend does makeup challenge or please stop laughing you’re creasing my masterpiece.

a/n: s/o to the angel that is @gukniverse that inspired me to write this one uwu

“I’m not sitting in your lap.”

“It would be easier.”

“No, it would not.”

“...what if I—”

“Do not touch my legs.”

“Baby!”

“Jeongguk!”

He pouted, ring light reflecting in the wide frame of his glasses and masking a bit of the stars in his irises that normally would render you useless in denying his wagers. It didn’t help that he pressed his cheek into his shoulder, palm on the space between your thighs to lean closer to you.

After a moment, Jeongguk asked gently, “Can you at least come closer?”

A devastating smile overtook his features when you shifted, leaving enough space to turn completely toward him to fold your legs at the ankle. You sighed, do your worst, and you couldn’t keep up the faux annoyance when he excitedly wiggled a bit on the couch cushion before diving for the array of products you’d laid out on the coffee table.

You watched Jeongguk fiddle quietly through the products, making offhanded comments here and there for the blinking camera stationed in front of you. You heard him but you didn’t comprehend him, instead convinced that if someone were to see you, they’d mistaken your features for one giant beam of sunshine, overly endeared with the way he was muttering to himself in between camera friendly comments until he finally settled on a container and a brush.

He blinked, eyes round and lips fished into a little button, demanding, “What? What—” and when you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, he broke into tiny giggles as well, ones that started with his cheeks bunching up underneath his glasses, eyes wrinkling, lips spreading outward last.

“Nothing,” You grit your teeth to keep your grin in place, “Tell everyone why you’ve got your glasses on.”

Jeongguk flushed a bit into dabbing the tip of your widest brush into the pan of powder, narrowing his eyes underneath his fringe, “Because I need to be able to see for this video. Obviously.”

“Noo,” You sang, drawing out syllables and nudging his leg with your foot, “Because I told you that you look cute—”

He silenced you with one sharp jab of the brush against your cheek. The dust went everywhere, falling into your lips and you spluttered while he continued to laugh.

“Oops,” Jeongguk shrugged, teeth capturing his bottom lip when you glared at him. Gentle knuckles brushed across your skin, moving to set his pinky underneath your jaw to tilt your face up for careful brushstrokes, a far cry from the first, “Sit still.”

You waited until he was two taps into your powder foundation to murmur, “You’re starting with this?”

“Is this wrong? Is there something—” He looked over his shoulder at the other products he’d shuffled around before settling into set shoulders, “—you know what, no. Silence from the peanut gallery and let the master work.”

You let your eyes roll up when he rolled the soft black brush underneath your right eyelid. “The beauty community is terrified, truly.”

There was an utter gentleness in the way he went about it, cradling the balance of your face on the feathered end of his fingertips, barely brushing the fibers of the brush to the surface of your skin, using the edge of his thumb to make minor touch ups. Moments of concentration had him zoning out, circled eyes inspecting your features with parted lips to complete the three shapes dominating the majority of his face, only an outline to the round shape of his nose.

Periodically, Jeongguk would make a noise in his throat, varying in tone and volume, only enough to catch your attention before his lips were on the space just off the side of your nose. You sighed each time, letting him have his fun because, again, you were overly fond of your lovesick fool of a boyfriend. That is, until the one time he caught you off guard, hand engulfed on your opposite cheek while his lips caught the corner of your mouth again. And again.

And again…

...until you were laughing enough to shove at his shoulder.

He’d gotten his initial wish. You’d all but ended up in his lap the closer he shifted to you in between trying to figure out blending eye shadow and contour and the thing he’d heard you refer to as baking. Your leg was thrown over his thigh, latter knee bent and resting against his. If you stretched a bit more and scooted forward, you could trap his waist with the lock of your legs. Neither of you were complaining of the predicament.

“Stop laughing!” Jeongguk chided, immediately leaning to you after the end of your fingers finished shoving. “You’re creasing it…”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” You rolled your lips over your teeth to suppress some of it, cocking an eyebrow when his crooked index finger rested underneath your chin, “Are you almost done?”

Jeongguk hummed, lifting up on his finger to tilt your face toward him. “Yes…” He let his thumb unfurl from his fist, pad tugging on the forced sanction of your bottom lip in your mouth, “I need these though.”

You let your lips loose, half into asking why when his mouth was on yours, lingering for longer than the previous, fleeting pecks had. He hummed happily into the seam of your lips before pulling away, only enough to nudge his nose against your cheek before returning in your line of sight with a shy smile.

“Lipstick,” Jeongguk provided to your previously cut short question, raising the small tube of red up.

The delicacy in which he dabbed the color onto your lips made your heart swim laps in the flutter of butterflies that had gathered in the pit of your stomach, a few breaking loose to lift your most vital organ back to its proper position where it then proceeded to grow in size, spilling over into the spaces between your ribs. He’d finished by the time your fond had, for the time being, ceased to grow in the warmth that harbored the very feeling to the very tips of your toes.

Thoughtfully, you rolled your lips together, smacking them together a few times before you pursed them comically, like a red tulip blooming through the frost into spring. “Good?”

There was a handheld mirror under your nose before you could blink, Jeongguk’s shifting next to you outlined by his giddy stream of statements, “I think I did a pretty good job. Did I do a good job?”

Truthfully, the blending of the eye shadow was a bit questionable, but he’d managed to draw two mostly decent eyeliner wings. There was way too much highlight, by design of him insisting he wanted you to glow, but he hadn’t grown sloppy in sliding the lipstick to your mouth. It, honestly, wasn’t that bad.

You told Jeongguk so to a proud smile that burst into his cheeks, jostling his glasses on his nose to which he shoved up with the heel of his palm. Some more formalities, mostly those that marked the end of all his videos, a small and slightly sarcastic shout out to the beauty community, and he was about to let the footage roll out a few seconds before shutting off the camera when you were stopping him with a loud wait!

“You forgot something,” You nodded solemnly when his gaze whipped down to you still seated in front of him.

“What—”

There was a minor struggle, mostly one out of surprise when you squished his cheeks in your palms, leaning forward to plant a lipstick stain to the center of his cheek. A noise of protest mewled out of his lips and his cheeks quickly flushed around the mark you’d left, quick to wave off the camera for his editing self later before you were happily clambering astride his lap, planting more kisses to match the first mark while he giggled underneath you yet made no motion to stop you with his fists gripped to the front of your shirt.

He wiped those first with the makeup wipe he retrieved, only after you took a selfie to have for promotion purposes whenever the video would eventually come out. And a few selfies, just for safekeeping.

Jeongguk worked at removing the makeup he’d just applied to your skin with a tender patience, parked between your thighs where you sat on the bathroom counter. A gentle tune that he murmured under his breath filled the silence but otherwise, you were content with the happiness of your heart in your ears while his tongue poked between his lips to get a particularly hard speck of black from the crease of your eyelid.

He only hesitated when he reached your lips, ones that pursed playfully at him to catch his attention. “What’s wrong?” You continued to make soft noises at him, “Don’t want to part with your creation just yet?”

“Something like that.”

Quietly, he let you pinch the frame of his glasses in the center, dragging them off his nose to set them next to your thigh on the counter, instead fitting your hands on either side of his neck to drag fingertips upward into the fluffy hair at his nape.

Jeongguk dropped the makeup wipe when you locked your legs around his waist, fitting the artificial cherry between the natural strawberry of his.

#bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #fic: ytber jk #i've missed them :'-)

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knittingdreams · 4 years ago

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Fireheart - Chapter 4

Hey there! Hope you’re having an amazing day! To make it a little better, here’s an update on my ToG fanfic! If you haven’t read the previous chapters, you can find them here:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

I promise I'll make a Masterlist one of this days so it’s easier to find n_n

CHAPTER 4

Implementing phase one

Once lunchtime came around, Celaena walked eagerly towards the school’s cafeteria, her stomach rumbling loudly. She was still not used to the new schedule and having to get up so early, she hadn’t managed to grab anything for breakfast before riding to school. She had had enough time to carefully sort out her uniform for the day though, adding her own little twist with a red bandana tied around her right wrist. She had also taken twenty minutes in front of the mirror putting on her contacts and making sure her makeup was spotless.

She had accentuated her cheekbones, making her face look a bit rounder than what it was, had thinned her nose, and added a few fake freckles across it. She had decided on black eyeliner and simple grey eyeshadow, with a little bit of gold in the inner corners of her eyes. That day's lipstick choice was bright red, as it matched her rider's vibe.

Celaena got in the queue at the buffet, eyeing everything in front of her and having a hard time choosing only one item from the vast range of options. In the end, she settled for the fried chicken, a portion of fries, and two servings of pudding.

Finding an empty table close enough to her main interests but a little secluded at the same time was a challenge; but once she found the spot, she sat down with her tray.

She watched as the cafeteria filled up, and spotted Sam on a crowded table only a few meters away. They were one to each side of Aedion’s table, and she knew this was no coincidence; Sam was playing his cards too. Annoyed, Celaena glared at him, but Sam’s eyes were too focused on the couple making a scene in between them, and he didn’t see her.

“Hi, there!” Someone said, popping a tray of food next to her own, and grabbing a seat.

Celaena turned towards the intruder, surprised to find a dark-skinned girl with long raven dreadlocks falling to her waist and curious eyes that were looking at her.

“Hi,” She said dubiously.

She had enjoyed the peace and quiet of eating on her own the previous day, but she knew it wasn’t going to last. Celaena would have to find her place in the status quo soon, or else she’d end up as an outcast, and that wouldn’t be good for her plans.

“Nice to meet you,” the girl sitting next to her said. “I’m Nehemia, I’m the only other exchange student in this stuck-up school, so I thought we might as well kick start this inevitable friendship of ours,” she finished with a tight smile.

Celaena looked at her a little perplexed, and a little stunned. Nehemia looked somehow shy yet she also had a kind of hidden sass that Celaena found appealing. But she had to remind herself that she wasn’t there to make friends, she had no time for it.

“If you say so,” she replied, nonchalant.

“I’ve been here for a whole year, and I can tell you, this is a hard crowd to please.” Nehemia looked her up and down as if analyzing her. “I would have expected you to be sitting on the table with the jocks already,” she added pointing at them with her head. “A few of them are taken, as the team captain over there. His name is Aedion,” she explained, talking eagerly as Celaena listened carefully while pretending to be more interested in her food. “His father owns one of the biggest businesses in town, and they have investments all over the place, he is loaded! Even more than most of us. It's a bit of a sad story if you ask me, his mother died when he was young, and it’s just him and his father; I believe he lost his aunt and other family members to a tragic accident too. You wouldn’t be able to tell from looking at him though, he’s always so full of himself… And he's got that damned gorgeous smile!”

Nahemia sighed and stopped talking for a moment as she ate a few spoonfuls of her lunch. Next to her, Celaena looked at Aedion through her lashes as she picked on the fries.

“Who’s the chick with him?” She asked, knowing that any other girl would have asked the same question.

“Lysandra? She’s the queen bee. Captain of the cheerleaders, she’s probably the most gorgeous girl in this whole town,” she said, and then looked at Celaena, analyzing her again. “Well, maybe she was, she might have competition now.”

Celaena huffed, trying not to grin at the remark. Of course, she was better looking than that girl. At least now she knew who that Lysandra girl was, and she could keep an eye on her.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said instead.

“Please, I’m not blind, you are absolutely gorgeous. And blond seems to be trending at the moment, I’ve heard every single boy in school talk about your entrance today,” Nehemia added as she lifted her thin brows.

Celaena smiled to herself and disregarded the comment with a wave of her hand.

“So, how long have those two been together for?” She asked next, knowing that she might as well just use this free source of information while it lasted; there wasn’t much time left on the clock before they’ll have to head over to their next class.

“A long while, they've been together since the start of junior year,” Nehemia said. “So sorry to be the one to break it up to you, but you have no chances with Aedion, many have tried to break them apart, but no one has succeeded,” Nehemia finished.

Celaena smiled while she laughed to herself once more. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested, he’s not really my type,” she replied.

“I guess you’re right, you two would look a bit creepy as a couple anyway, he looks like he could be your brother,” Nehemia stated, playing with a gold band from one of her dreads.

Celaena composed her expression into something neutral, trying not to worry about that remark. No one would ever suspect they were related, she was safe, she reminded herself. But this girl had her eyes on the details, and Celaena knew straight away that she’d have to be careful around her. Maybe having her close would be the smarter option.

“What’s your type then? I can picture a hot dark-haired boy…” Nehemia said dreamily as she played with another one of her dreads, her dark eyes darting around the crowd and looking for someone to match Celaena with.

“Oh, how come I didn’t notice it before?” Nehemia said in a hushed tone as she leaned closer to talk into Celaena’s ear. “Dorian is checking you out,” she said, a smile spreading wide on her lips. “You two would look so good together, but he’s not the dating type,” Nehemia replied.

That was a cue Celaena didn’t know she was waiting for, and as the words left Nehemia’s lips, she found herself popping another fry in her mouth and looking up. She met Dorian’s bright blue eyes, and she held his gaze, chewing slowly, playing with a strand of hair between her fingers.

“How come?” She asked Nehemia, her eyes still on Dorian’s.

Dorian took the bait and elbowed the guy sitting next to him. Celaena watched as Chaol lifted his head, and watched her shamelessly staring at them.

“I mean, he’s never had a girlfriend in school, rumor has it he’s been with half the girls from Adarlan Elite though,” Nehemia said. “Almost every girl claims to have been in bed with him, but the stories don’t quite… match,” she finished.

Dorian murmured something in Chaol’s ear and then contained a laugh as Chaol shook his head from one side to the other. Dorian shrugged, and stood up, leaving his tray behind on the table and sliding his backpack over a shoulder.

“Is that right?” Celaena replied, her eyes unblinking.

Dorian walked towards their table slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Oh my God,” Nehemia whispered. “He’s coming over here, what should we do? What should I do? Do you want me to go?” She was moving in her seat, and Celaena put a hand over her tight under the table, as if telling her to stay calm. Nehemia got the wordless message and went still all of a sudden. She kept her head down, but she gazed up between her long lashes.

Nehemia looked shy all of a sudden, her shoulders slightly drawn as if trying to make her tall frame look small, but Celaena thought it was a facade; she reckoned underneath it all the girl seemed composed, careful, attentive. The girl knew how to lie, and how to make people see her the way she desired. Celaena noticed because she was so used to doing the exact same thing.

“Dorian,” Celaena said sweetly as the guy finally made his way to them and stood over the other side of the table. “What brings you here?” She asked, motioning at the table and the empty seats in front of her.

“Wondering if I could join you for a moment?” He asked.

“Well,” Celaena said slowly. “I’m pretty certain the bell is about to ring any minute now, and there’s a class I need to attend. I’m sure there’s one you need to head to as well.”

She finished eating the last of her fries, and grabbed a spoon, taking a bite of her chocolate pudding and licking her lips slowly as she swallowed.

“There’s still a few minutes on the clock,” Dorian quipped. “And I’m sure you can’t finish all that on your own,” he continued. “Maybe I could help you.”

“Would you like to bet on that?” Celaena said with a smirk and then shoved another big spoonful in her mouth.

She could see Dorian staring at her lips, and she ran her tongue between them again.

“You’d be surprised at my odds in gambling,” Dorian said, composing his expression into something like a smug smile. “I’ve never lost, not once,” he said.

Celaena let her eyes drift past Dorian quickly, and saw that she had the attention of most of the cafeteria by then. She saw Aedion looking at her and then looking away when she met his eyes, and then she collided into Sam’s golden-brown irises. It was as if he was trying to burn a hole into Dorian’s back, trying to see through his very soul.

“And will you?” Celaena asked. “I mean, bet against me?” she said as she finished the first portion of pudding, and moved onto the second one.

“No, I would never,” he replied. “I would never dare bet against you, Celaena, I will be sure to always bet on you,” he said, and then he sat down in front of her, leaning over the table to look at her closely.

“Uhm, interesting,” she said. With that, she pushed the dessert over to Dorian and stood up quickly, grabbing her bag in one hand and hooking the other around Nehemia’s elbow. “Lost my appetite, you can have it,” she said as she pulled on Nehemia’s arm and turned around to walk away.

“You can’t run away, I know where you live, Celaena,” Dorian’s mellow voice trailed after them as they headed out of the cafeteria without looking back.

“What was that about? You just stood up the king of the school! In front of everybody! Do you have any idea how popular that guy is?” Nehemia asked as the double doors closed behind them.

“You have to keep them on their toes,” Celaena replied as she abruptly let go of Nehemia’s arm. The dark-skinned girl looked shocked and motioned to follow along, but Celaena lifted a hand. “I’m on my own from here on, but thanks for the company,” she said nonchalantly as she walked away with quick steps.

She had never had a girlfriend in her life, and this was the wrong time to go looking for one. Nehemia was smart, and she would keep an eye on her, but she didn’t need friends, no; she needed to infiltrate the hive.

The first step of her plan had already proved to be a success. She had got the whole school thinking she was a possible match for Dorian. And most importantly, she had caught the attention of the jocks' table.

Time to move to the second stage, time to become one of the popular kids.

Here’s the Queen Bee herself, Lysandra Caraverre :D [Made with picrew]

#tog #tog fandom #tog fanfic #fireheart #chapter four #aelin galythinius #celaena sardothien #lysandra #caraverre

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marvels-writings · 5 years ago

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Rumor Has It (5)

Series Masterlist

Carol Danvers Masterlist

A/N: I’m really trying to keep track of all my series. I'm really sorry if I abandon one for some time before coming back to it.

“I think we should go back, the meeting is in a few hours.” Carol commented, exhausted after seeing almost all of the touristy attractions in London with you, even taking a few selfies with you on your phone for the fun of it.

“You’re right.” You answered, shrugging and leading Carol back to the hotel.

After a 15 minute walk in comfortable silence, you reached back to the hotel, you scoured for more chips ahoy, which they had thankfully refilled.

“You know Fury is gonna notice that on the room service bill.” Carol commented, struggling a bit with picking out an outfit for the dealing.

“He had to pay for like 10 chocolate bars last time.” You answered, a cookie in your mouth as you easily picked out a dress and matching jewelry and shoes. “I’m sure he won’t mind keeping one of his favorite agents happy.” “You take advantage of his goodwill?” Carol asked, half jokingly half seriously, watching you shrug as you put another cookie into your mouth.

“Through chocolate, yes,” You considered, tossing the packet into the trash. “Otherwise I wouldn’t even think of it.”

Carol shrugged, satisfied with your response and tried to pair a dress with jewelry and shoes, but failing miserably and made some country’s flag instead, on accident.

“Need help?” You asked, a smirk on your face as you watched Carol make the italian flag with her clothes.

“Probably.” Carol muttered, stepping aside as you walked over, frowning at the mess she had made on the bed.

“Well, I’m wearing a blue dress so you have to compliment that.” You thought aloud, picking out the first red dress you saw.

You took control of the situation instantly, muttering to yourself from time to time as you picked out an outfit for her. Carol looked at the outfits you were picking with confusion before her gaze slipped to you, watching you bite your lip as you selected jewelry and makeup for her to wear.

“Done.” You declared, stepping away from a perfectly paired outfit with satisfaction.

“Impressive.” Carol commented, staring at the blue and gold outfit you’d picked out for her, matched with Black patent louboutins she’d bought a while back.

“I’m gonna change.” You said, going into the bathroom to change quickly, this night was going to be ‘fun’.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

After about an hour, both of you had your dresses and the jewelry on correctly and you were doing your makeup easily, laughing a little at Carol struggling to get the eyeliner, it seemed like she was going to use all of it.

“Let me.” You groaned, stopping your own makeup halfway to help her.

Carol blinked but nodded, leaning her head forward slightly and closing her eyes, a bit wary still but she trusted you not to poke her eyes out. You got the perfect winged eyeliner in one try, hours of practice from before finally paid off.

“There, now don’t waste any of my makeup.” You joked, your breath on her face before you pulled away, putting the eyeliner away and continuing to get your eye makeup done.

“How did you do it perfectly?” Carol asked, admiring it in the mirror.

“I’ve had to do a lot of makeup.” You answered, finally finishing your eye makeup and debating between two shades of red before deciding on the Carmine red, you put it on easily, then lined it on the outside with the same shade so it complimented your dress perfectly.

“Thoughts?” You asked, turning to face Carol with the lipstick in your hand, a small smudge on the corner of your lips where your hand had trembled slightly after noticing Carol staring at you.

“I thought you were experienced.” Carol quipped, lifting one hand to wipe the remaining lipstick away from the corner of your lip, you flinched back slightly but let her wipe it away, trying not to be hyper aware of her finger grazing over your lip.

“I meant the shade.” You explained, starting to put your makeup away before noticing Carol wasn’t using any.

“The shade looks good.” Carol muttered, trying to look away from your lips but finding it harder to do so.

“You’re not using any?” You asked, gesturing to the makeup, Carol blinked and nodded no.

“Well too bad, you are now.” You said, smirking and pulling Carol back down when she tried to get up, Carol groaned but let you do it anyway.

You gave her a simple look with blue eyeshadow to compliment the dress and her skin tone, with a heavy blush and a baby pink lipstick to compliment that, internally panicking the entire time when you could practically feel her breathing when you put on makeup.

“I’m done.” You stated, putting everything away into a makeup bag and putting that bag into your suitcase quickly and taking out a small red purse with a gold chain to hang over your shoulder.

“Then let’s go.” Carol said after admiring the makeup in the mirror, taking a small navy blue clutch even though she didn’t need it, you needed it to store certain weapons that could pass through metal detectors, courtesy of T’challa.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

“You know we need to act like a couple right?” You said, getting out of the black car you’d called as a taxi, it had taken about a half an hour drive just to get here, it was about 20 minutes drive away from anything, it looked like a beat up factory on the outskirts of the city.

“I know, you sure this is the place?” Carol asked, paying the driver and walking to your side, offering you her arm which you hesitantly took, putting your free hand on her forearm, remarking silently on how warm she was.

“That’s the address Fury gave me.” You answered, walking forward and Carol followed you, trying to pretend she was the one leading you even though she had little to no idea where she was heading.

Inside it seemed abandoned, there was no equipment, no new paint, it seemed like an abandoned room, the only light coming from the old tube lights on the roof of the building and through the door Carol had just opened, the only sign of human activity was a steel table in the middle of the room with black leather chairs on both sides, 2 on one side and 1 on the other side.

You looked up at Carol who looked back at you in confusion before nodding slightly, leading you over to the table, perching at the top of the chairs nervously, arms still linked together.

“Come, sit.” A soothing voice said, walking out of the shadows and sitting in the chair in front of you.

He was a man of average build, a bit taller than most actually with slicked back dark brown hair, whitening from the roots. He had a steel colored 3 piece suit on, it looked like Tom Ford to you but you couldn’t be too sure.

You sat down hesitantly, not taking your gaze off of the man as did Carol.

“Why here?” Carol asked, visibly uncomfortable with the factory.

“Safer than the city,” The man answered leaning forward on the desk with his hands clasped together. “You want the arms I assume?”

“You want the money I assume?” You asked in return, the man leaned back and laughed, amused by your response.

“I like you,” He said, smirking as his gaze shifted between you and Carol. “Tell you what, both of you seem serious, meet me at this address tomorrow and we’ll talk business.”

“Why call us here then?” Carol demanded, in a scarily serious tone.

“You’re full of questions.” He remarked, then shrugged before answering the question.

“To filter out who is serious and who’s not, you’ll meet a man outside who will give you an envelope with an address, take it and meet me tomorrow.” He stated, getting up and walking somewhere where neither you or Carol could see.

“This was pointless.” Carol muttered, following you out the door, there was a man outside waiting with an envelope and a gun, which you noted instantly.

You took the envelope and walked to where the car was waiting, knowing the meeting tomorrow would be different, and more dangerous to say the least.

A/N: The next part will be interesting ;)

Tag list: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @5aftermidnight, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

| Part 6 |

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bethhxrmon · 4 years ago

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do flowers exist at night? -chapter two

Chapter Two: She Will (not) Do The Same For You

Pairing: Steve Harrington x OC

Chapter Summary: After the events of the party, Annie hopes for things to simply go back to normal. However, she is not so lucky. It doesn’t help that everything she has seen at home has yet to clear up either.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, sexual harassment, slut shaming, general angst, Billy being the literal worst, Annie doesn’t have a great time

A/N: Howdy, I hope everyone reading this is enjoying this as much as I am! Things are getting a bit more serious. If you like the story or would like to say something, I would love to here your feedback since it helps me stay motivated! And if this is the first part that you’ve seen, you can get caught up here!

~*~*~*~

There were two things Annie expected upon going to school the next day. Either showing off her ability to dance would leave her with several friends or she’d revert back to her state of obsolescence.

However, when people were clearly whispering around her, Annie couldn't help thinking something was off. It wasn't until some guy flipped up her skirt and grabbed her butt that she knew something was wrong.

In the moment she couldn't bring herself to say anything. The rush of pure adrenaline and anxiety made her want to collapse in on herself. By the time she plucked up the rage to turn around and say something, the guy was already too far down the hall for her to say anything.

Maybe it was just some jerk who thought it would be funny. Why that would be funny was beyond her. It left her wishing she were as invisible as she used to think she was.

The first half of the day ended up continuing with the same trend. No one talked to her and she had to actively ignore how people were staring at her. It was like when she first moved in and everyone acted like she didn't belong. She kind of wished everyone would go back to how things were yesterday. When no one looked at her or paid her any mind.

When her skirt got flipped up for the third time she went to her trigonometry teacher before sitting down.

"Hey um... I don't know what's going on but there're these guys who keep harassing me," she said, looking at the ground.

The teacher sighed, "Well, maybe if you wore a longer skirt or toned down that makeup this wouldn’t be an issue... you're lucky I don't give you detention for that."

Annie looked up at the teacher, seeing he had a rather bored, serious look on his face. Her mouth opened to try and get something in. The bell rang and cut off anything she could think to say.

It left her sitting in her seat, wishing she could shrink into nothing. At the very least she now just wanted to wash every bit of eyeliner and red lipstick off of her face. If she could have, she would have taken a chance to switch into sweats instead of her skirt and sweatshirt. Sure, she was wearing tights, but that didn’t seem to stop anyone.

As she walked to lunch, she was suddenly met with Billy walking up beside her, “Hey, you kinda ran off last night.”

“Um… yeah, I erm… I had to, well, you know-”

“Fuck around with Harrington? Figured as much,” he said.

Annie’s eyes widened, “What?! No I-”

“It’s okay, just try to not act like such a slut the next day, it’s embarrassing,” he murmured, reaching under her skirt and squeezing her butt before he walked off.

She stopped walking and leaned against the lockers, unable to breathe. There had to be something she could say, but no words came. A part of her wanted to scream for someone to do something.

Except she knew how that would end if she asked for help again.

When she got to her locker, she pulled out her coat and pulled it on. Never mind that it wasn’t longer than her skirt or how it was already warm in the school.

For once, she wished that she could get a chance to sit at her table alone. To just continue reading her book in peace. She sat her lunch tray down and threw on her headphones from her Walkman despite not playing anything. It made her look like she was in her own little world.

Maybe if she pretended like no one was watching, they would just leave her alone.

That was wishful thinking as Carol showed up, sitting right next to her. Annie wanted to crawl into her jacket and hide. Was it too much to ask to be left alone?

“Hey, Hardwick, how was it last night? And don’t play dumb,” Carol said, taking off Annie’s headphones.

Annie stared up at her, “I um… I don’t know what you’re wanting me to say here.”

“Do you fuck every sad sap that crosses your path? Or is it just the popular ones?” she asked, pulling Annie’s book from her hand.

She reached in vain, “Hey! I really don’t know what you’re talking about, can you just give that back?”

“Come on, everyone knows you left the party last night with Steve Harrington and made him feel a bit better about his problems,” she replied, handing the book over to Tommy.

Annie’s face scrunched up a bit, “That’s not… that didn’t happen! Hey, careful with that!”

“Then maybe you should try telling everyone here the truth,” he said, starting to rip the paperback in half.

Annie shook her head, “What the hell?!”

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Steve asked, coming up from behind Tommy and Carol, yanking the partially torn book from Tommy’s hands, “The show’s over, you got it?”

Annie just watched as the pair seemed to get the message and walk away. Then, Steve sat next to her, handing the book back to her.

He let out a sigh, “Sorry I got here a bit late. I guess it could be worse though.”

“Yeah… I guess,” she said, looking up at him, “Oh, um… how did things go with Nancy?”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, “Where to start… she didn’t remember any of it and she couldn’t even say she loved me. She couldn’t even lie about it, it’s all bullshit.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at her book, “Maybe you guys just need a bit of space? I don’t know, it’s not over, though, is it?”

He shook his head, “No, I just… I couldn’t deal with her right then. I still can’t.”

There was a long pause before he nodded at her book, “The Exorcist, huh? Isn’t that a movie?”

“Um yeah, it was a book first. It’s kinda scarier than the movie, but I don’t know, my imagination just kinda goes a bit crazy,” she said, still not quite looking at Steve.

He frowned a bit, “Hey, don’t worry about those assholes, okay? They know damn well nothing happened.” “That’s lovely,” she scoffed, finally glancing up at him, “Everyone else seems to think I’m some kind of slut that’ll do anything with anyone. People won’t stop talking about me and the guys? They keep smacking my ass like it’s some kind of game. It’s fucked up.”

Steve’s brow furrowed, “Well… well why don’t you tell someone?”

“You think I didn’t try?!” she exclaimed, her voice getting a bit higher, “All I got was being told that I was lucky to not get detention for dressing like a slut. And… I guess he might have a point.”

“Hey, that’s not true. You don’t deserve that, okay?”

“That’s a nice sentiment, but I’ve still gotta walk home and I still have to show up tomorrow and the day after that and… ugh just forget it,” she said, resting her forehead on the table.

He shook his head, “You don’t have to walk anywhere unless you really want that. Look, I’m not taking Nance anywhere at the moment. What if I drive you home today?”

“You’d do that?”

“It’s the least I could do, Annie. I might have some tape in my car too. It won’t fix your book great, but you’ll be able to finish it.”

“You’re sure you wanna do that? You don’t think it’ll ruin your chances with Nancy?”

Steve scoffed, “Come on, if there’s anyone who knows Tommy and Carol are full of it, it’s her. Now take the damn offer before I shove you into my car after school.”

Unable to come up with another excuse to decline the offer, the bell rang and she didn’t have much of a choice other than to accept. Which, she still wasn’t sure that Steve actually wanted to drive her home again. Wouldn’t that just make the rumors worse? Things already sounded pretty rough for him and Nancy without her getting involved.

Still, she got through the rest of the school day somehow. Her coat didn’t help all that much and she really just wished she could shrink back even more somehow. That was impossible, though.

Her mind couldn’t get onto the classes put in front of her. When she heard the bell ring to signal the end of the day, she wasn’t even sure Steve remembered. Not wanting to bother him on accident, she started to head out of the school on her own.

After shutting her locker, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Annie was quick to jump and reach into her coat pocket. Though, when she saw it was just Steve, she relaxed the slightest bit.

“Woah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, “Are you ready to go?”

Annie looked at Steve blankly for a moment before nodding, "Yeah, um... totally."

"Cool."

They walked towards his car in an awkward silence. Annie could feel the eyes of other students boring into her. Still, she just continued to walk like she normally would. If she could just act like nothing was happening, then maybe everyone would stop staring. Though, she had her eyes trained on her black vans more than anything else.

Steve couldn't get his BMW unlocked fast enough, and she got right into the passenger seat. Her backpack was on the floor just in front of her feet. Really, she was paying attention to everything except for the boy in the driver's side.

"Do you only talk when you're drunk?" he asked, turning the key to start the car.

She shook her head, "I was tipsy."

"Ah, a really big difference," he remarked as he pulled out of the parking lot, "So how do you do it?"

Annie arched a brow, "Do what?"

"Not notice everything happening around you. It's kinda impressive."

She laughed a bit, "It's called acting. I know everyone's talking shit and staring. Obviously it bothers me, but... I don't even know how I'd react to all of it if I... well, you know..."

"Acknowledged it?"

"Yeah, that," she nodded, "I mean, you're in pretty good shape for a guy who kinda got fucked over by his girlfriend."

Steve looked over at her for a second before shrugging nonchalantly, "It's called acting."

"Oh, whatever," she rolled her eyes though she was smiling a bit.

He laughed, "So, were you just gonna walk everywhere for the whole school year?"

"Probably."

"Even when it's snowing?"

She shrugged, "I guess? I've never really dealt with snow, actually."

"Okay, then you're not walking. You're close enough to my place, I can pick you up and all that," he insisted.

"What about Nancy?" she asked, though she wasn't sure things would continue for much longer with the pair.

He shrugged, "You're my friend. I'll drive you until you find someone else to do it for you."

"Oh, alright. You don't have to, you know."

"Just take the offer, okay?" he responded as he pulled up to her driveway.

She smiled a bit, "Okay, fine."

"I'll be over here at seven thirty. If you're not out here, you're walking," he said, grinning.

Annie shook her head, "Whatever, see you tomorrow."

With that, she grabbed her things and got out of the car. In minutes, she was back in her house. The only other living thing in the house was Erik. Looking around the living room, she saw her cat resting on the couch.

She pulled her partially-ripped book from her backpack and sighed. There had to be tape around somewhere so she wouldn't make it worse as she read it. The moment still played in her head over and over. In fact, the whole day was on a loop.

There was some duct tape in a drawer. When her book was taped up, she went to the bathroom to wash off her makeup. Maybe it wasn't helping her. Maybe she did put on too much eyeliner. The lipstick could afford to be toned down, and she just wouldn't wear that skirt again.

It took a few minutes of scrubbing to get all the makeup off, but even then she couldn't justify everything in her mind. What made any of that okay? She couldn't really go to anyone. Sure, what Steve did was great, but was it too much to wish she could have stood up for herself? If she could be half as witty as the people she read about or pretended to be in drama class would be a dream come true.

The sun was going down earlier and earlier as the fall slowly became winter. She was beginning to hate having to rely on the lights more and more every day. Ever since her mom left for her business trip, power outages happened. Whatever it was she was seeing when they happened was something she chose to ignore. Who was she going to tell? To the best of people, she would just be lying. At worst, she'd be considered insane. And maybe she was, she couldn't figure that out herself.

As she continued to get through her book, it seemed more and more apparent that reading a horror novel was a horrible idea. Even with some music in the background, that didn't change the odd environment in the house. Her cat even seemed a bit stressed, running up and down the hall.

Still, nothing was going to make her chicken out of finishing the book. Except for the flickering lamp she was using to see what she was reading. She swore under her breath as the power shut off again.

"Just relax... it's nothing, everything you see is totally meaningless. Your eyes are playing tricks on you. It's fine," she told herself.

This time, there were dark vines all over the living room. She got up and walked to the kitchen, hoping to find a knife. Sure enough, she was able to get one. There wasn't anything there, though. Nothing except for the vines and herself. She couldn't even hear her own cat.

Then, the lights came on just as suddenly as they shut off and the phone was ringing. Annie rushed over to pick it up, the knife still in her hand. For a moment, she couldn't help wondering if someone was doing this to her.

"Um... hello?" she answered, clenching the knife.

A breath of relief left her when the voice of her mom came on the other end, "Annie, I'm just calling to make sure everything's alright."

"Yeah, totally. I've been going to school, feeding the cat, all that good stuff," she said.

"Good, nothing too crazy going on over there?"

"Nah, it's um... pretty boring, actually."

They talked like that for a few more minutes. Annie didn't want to worry her mom with a bunch of stuff that probably wasn't actually happening. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Surely all this would blow over. Rumors and delusions and anything in between. It had to solve itself because she didn't know what that would mean otherwise.

Tag List (please tell me if you would like to be on it): @dungeons-and-demodogs @jxnehxpper @ilovebucketbarnes

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x original character #stranger things x oc #stranger things angst #stranger things fanfic #dfean?

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hazzasgayvodka · 6 years ago

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have your way with me

He smirks, “Then do it baby, have your way with me.”

It’s just five words, five simple words that throw every atom of your body into a frenzy.

in which you’re horny and Harry’s little black lace ensemble for the Met Gala isn’t doing you any favors

“So?” You hear Harry’s voice ask from behind you, “What do you think?”

You turn around with a start, trying not to trip over the giant skirt of your dress as your eyes land on him, dressed head to toe in black. You nearly let out an audible gasp as your eyes rake over him from the pearl earring dangling from his newly pierced ear to his broad tattooed shoulders hardly concealed beneath the sheer fabric of his blouse. Every swirl of ink across his chest and arms is visible, deviously teasing in their contrast to the pale complexion of his skin. Your throat is suddenly dangerously dry as you take in the rings covering each of his fingers and his two-tone fingernails.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, snapping your attention back to him and his now furrowed eyebrows, “Too much?”

“No,” You say quickly, shaking your head to clear your mind of the many unholy thoughts flooding through it the longer you stare at him, “No Harry, god, I love it, you look, exquisite.”

“Exquisite, huh?” He smirks, crossing the room to get a better look at you.

“Absolutely breathtaking darling.” You mock, straightening the bow on his shirt and pressing your lips to his.

He grins against your mouth, pulling away all too quickly and letting his own eyes rake over you from head to toe. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he does so, his smile widening by the second as his eyes flutter from the strapless bustier top to the matching black skirt. It’s nearly large enough to hide the both of you underneath and despite your worries about tripping in your heels or falling out of your carefully secured bustier, Harry has assured you that all will be just fine.

“You’re ready to go?” He asks, threading his fingers through yours and you try not to laugh when you hear the clink of both of your rings smacking together.

“I think so.” You nod, taking in a breath and trying to steady the nerves erupting in your stomach.

“Hey,” He says seriously, letting go of your hands and cupping your cheeks instead, “Don’t be nervous, you look fucking amazing baby, going to steal the whole show.”

“As much as I wish I could believe you, Lady Gaga is going to be there H.” You laugh, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before heading for the door.

He rolls his eyes as he follows you out and you catch yourself checking your makeup for the hundredth time in the mirror. The giant wing of eyeliner you could absolutely never do yourself elongates your eyes in the perfect way but the gorgeous gold glitter across your lids makes them pop in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I promise I didn’t mess up your lipstick sweetheart.” Harry teases, coaxing you out the door.

“Harry, I’m just trying to make sure I’m-“

��You’re perfect, absolutely gorgeous, a goddess Y/N,” He muses, “But you’re going to be a late goddess if we don’t get out the door right now.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you allow him to pull you out the door. It’s when you’re walking behind him to the elevators that your eyes scan over the rather visible rippling muscles of his back. He presses the button and tugs you into the elevator behind him. Suddenly his moving lips are all you can focus on other than the delicious swirls of ink across his skin.

“Y/N? Did you hear what I-“

He can’t even finish his question before you’re pushing him up against the back wall of the elevator and pressing your lips to his. He’s a stuttering mess, trying to gasp out words and reminders to not touch his hair or Anthony will kill you but god you couldn’t care less. You want to rip him right out of this pretty little lace number and beg him to fuck you on any conceivable surface he’ll agree to.

The elevator dings, snapping you out of your thoughts and forcing you to pull away from him. His eyes are wild when you do, looking at you in pure shock as you grab his hand and tug him out of the elevator.

“What was that for?” He chuckles, threading his fingers through yours and leading you out to the car waiting for the both of you.

“Not sure,” You shrug teasingly as he opens the car door for you, “Guess that shirt is just, doing it for me.”

He follows closely behind into the back of the car, helping you situate the giant skirt of your ensemble before closing the partition and turning back to you with that award-winning smirk on his face.

“So, what exactly is it, doing for you?” He grins deviously, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you onto his lap.

“Harry, oh my god, we are on our way to the fucking Met Gala-“

“Exactly,” He laughs, “How long do you reckon we have before we get there?”

“I am not sucking you off in the back of a cab no matter how big of a rockstar you think you are-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” He laughs, leaning back and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Who said anything about sucking me off?”

“I think that bulge in your slacks had something to say about it.” You smirk, leaning back into him and pecking the corner of his mouth.

He grins, rolling his eyes as he leans back into you, cupping your face with one hand and sneaking back under your dress with the other. You gasp into his mouth as his finger presses against the center of your panties and you can feel the reverberation of his chest as he chuckles, adding more pressure.

“Harry-“

“Yes my love?” He grins cheekily, cutting you off before you can say much else.

You narrow your eyes at him, and he quirks up his eyebrow with that signature smirk plastered on his face, a silent request for you to let him finish what he started. You sigh in frustration, grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him back to you. Your lips meet with a smack just as his fingers slip under the fabric of your panties and he hisses into your mouth.

“God you’re soaking princess.” He whispers, his fingers circling your clit before removing themselves from the front of your underwear.

Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact and you see him holding his dripping fingers in front of his mouth, admiring your excitement covering them before pushing them past his lips and hollowing his cheeks, sucking them clean. His eyes roll back in his head before he releases his fingers, puckering his lips back into that smirk you know all too well.

“So sweet, babygirl.” He hums and it takes every ounce of self-control you have left to not jump his bones right here right now.

“Harry, please-“

He shushes you with his mouth, his lips swollen and his tongue tasting like you, equal parts tangy and sweet. There’s an urgency this time, both of you grabbing at each other with an overwhelming desire to consume each other in any way you can. Suddenly his fingers are slipping back past the confines of your panties and in a matter of seconds you’re full to the hilt with his finger pushed into you right up to his ring.

“F-Fuck,” You stutter, gasping against his lips, “Harry-“

“Gotta be quiet for me sweetheart, can you do that?” He whispers, yanking your panties down and making you whine into his shoulder.

You’re biting your lip so hard you’re sure you can taste blood as he curls his fingers and you nearly shriek, your body writhing. You’re squirming against the leather seat as his fingers fuck into you relentlessly, curling against your front wall, his thumb rubbing against your clit in perfect rhythm. Your stomach is coiling in a matter of seconds, your toes trying to curl against the confines of your gold pumps.

“H, I’m gonna-“

Suddenly the car stops and Harry’s head snaps up to look out the window. He withdraws his fingers from you without a word, quickly pushing them past his lips to suck them clean once again before running a hand through his hair to sort it out. He grabs your panties from around your ankles and slides them back over your hips, tugging your dress back down and leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“Keep that pretty mess between your legs, princess.” He whispers with that cheeky smirk on his face, just barely grazing his teeth over your ear as he sits back up and grabs your hand, tugging you out of the car behind him.

You don’t even bother hiding the obvious shock on your face as the words fall past his lips. Your jaw is still nearly on the ground as you follow him down the sidewalk and you’re suddenly swarmed by photographers. It’s time, the part of the Met Gala you’ve been absolutely dreading, the red-well actually pink this year-carpet.

“Just smile and stay close,” Harry nods, squeezing your hand in reassurance, “You look amazing.”

You nod your head more for yourself than him and suck in a deep breath as you take your first steps onto the pink carpet. A switch flips in Harry at the first shutter of a camera and suddenly that gorgeous megawatt smile you know all too well is plastered onto his face as he turns to each group of cameras, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Harry! Tell us about your next album! Can we be expecting something soon?”

He’s shouted at by countless photographers all trying to get the perfect inside scoop to go with their glamour shot. They’re screaming his name in choruses, asking about his album and how he came to be the youngest co-chair of the Met Gala his first year here. He waves them off, continuing his smiling and posing as he leads you down the carpet until you reach the steps.

“Go on sweetheart,” He grins, gesturing to the stairs, “I got your dress.”

You don’t trust your voice as you take another deep breath trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart in your chest as you take the first step up. Once you’ve ascended the first set of stairs you turn around to meet eyes with Harry who’s already staring, holding up the train of your dress as he follows you up.

“Doing great, baby.” He chuckles, cracking a genuine smile as you laugh to yourself and turn back around to finish climbing up.

He comes up the last few steps behind you and carefully drops your train, perfectly arranging it to flow behind you. He offers you his arm as he comes to stand back beside you and you roll your eyes as you cheesily hook your arm through his allowing him to lead you inside.

The actual event of the grand Met Gala is a blur thanks to the presence of tequila and champagne. You can briefly remember the dinner before things went sideways and Harry was on Alessandro Michele’s shoulders screaming along to Cher and tipsily introducing people on stage as part of his co-chair responsibilities.

However, no matter how tipsy you seem to get, one thing is clear as ever in your mind, your panties are soaking. Every time you steal a glance of him in that little lacy number you catch yourself squeezing your thighs together in defiance of the tingling ever present in your core. If you were anywhere but the fucking Met Gala you’d grab him by the earring and tug him into the nearest bathroom stall in a heartbeat.

Perhaps if he wasn’t being so coy about the whole situation you wouldn’t be as painfully wound up as you are, but the countless cocky smirks and grazing hands coming just close enough to your inner thigh to make you shiver under the table have made the never ending night nearly unbearable. He knows exactly what he’s doing, making you frenzied and hypersensitive, driving you all the way to the edge before tugging you right back in.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel his hand on your shoulder. You turn around with a start to see his glossy eyes as he walks around to steal the seat across from you.

“Jesus, scared me half to death, H.” You scold, heaving out a sigh of relief.

“What are you so jumpy for?” He laughs, running a hand through his now sweaty hair to get it off his forehead.

“Nothing, I’m just,” You stutter, trying to come up with a formidable excuse, “Tired.”

“Tired are you?” He smirks deviously, standing back up from his chair, “That’s too bad, I was gonna ask if you wanted to get out of here.”

“We’re at the Met Gala and you want to get out of here?” You scoff, allowing him to take your hand and pull you to your feet.

“Eh, why not, getting a bit stuffy in here now don’t you think?” He shrugs.

“You are unbelievable.” You laugh, shaking your head as he chuckles and leads the two of you back to the front.

He’s a grinning giggly mess as he leads you both out to the car, opening the door for you and following you inside the backseat. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol clearly coursing through his veins or just the high from the event as a whole but whatever it is that’s making him smile like that, you hope it doesn’t wear off for a while.

You’re hardly in the car for two minutes before he’s rolling up the partition and grabbing your right thigh to pull you on top of him, straddling his lap.

“Harry!” You squeal, laughing as your dress swallows the two of you and he struggles to sort it out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to kiss you for fuck’s sake.” He huffs, giving up on your dress and grabbing your face with both hands instead.

You’re both laughing as he presses his lips to yours, nearly sighing in relief as his right hand releases its grip on your cheek and moves to cup your chest instead. You gasp into his mouth at the immediate contact after lusting after him all night and he cracks a smile, meeting your eyes.

“Thirsty?” He teases, “I think there’s some champagne in the-“

“Oh, shut up Styles.” You laugh, cutting him off and pressing your mouth to his.

He chuckles, pulling you impossibly closer with his right hand that has somehow snaked its way under your dress and is gripping your ass with pure disparity. You would give just about anything for this car to arrive at his apartment in the next two seconds so he could slam you against the bed and have his way with you. You can tell his hands are itching to roam your bare skin just as yours are nearly spastic in their restraint to take his pants off.

The last five minutes of the car ride are almost excruciating. Your lips might as well be superglued together as he helps you hoist up the skirt of your dress in order to properly straddle his thigh, nothing between the two of you but his ridiculously high waisted pants and your nearly drenched pair of panties. He’s a grunting, moaning mess as you roll your hips against him, your hands tangled in his hair and your tits nearly on full display in your dangerously lowcut bustier.

It’s when the car finally rolls to a stop that you both pull away from each other, a single string of saliva connecting the two of you as your eyes meet. You wipe the spit away as you slide off of him, throwing the door open before the driver even as a chance to get out of the car.

“Thank you so much for the ride.” Harry puffs out, trying to catch his breath as he hands the driver two hundred dollar bills and closes the door behind the two of you.

He turns back to you as soon as the driver starts to pull away, his hands immediately cupping your cheeks and you have to fight off the smile threatening to make your cheeks hurt as you pull away from him, threading your fingers through his.

“Come on, H. Let’s get upstairs first.” You giggle, tugging him behind you but he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, nearly tripping on the train of your dress as he kisses up the back of your neck.

“Don’t know if I can wait that long.” He breathes, his voice just the right amount of raspy to make your knees go weak.

As soon as the two of you cross the threshold, you’re a flurry of limbs and stupidly expensive clothing. He unzips the skirt of your dress and you quickly step out of it, reconnecting your lips as quick as possible as you push him back towards his bedroom. You nearly trip on a pair of his shoes in the doorway as you shuffle around blindly before he pushes you onto the bed and his hands find the zipper of his pants.

You can’t even describe the noise that squeaks out of your mouth as his pants fall in a heap at his ankles and he’s left standing in front of you in nothing but that black lace body suit? You can see the blush creeping on his cheeks as he tries to cover himself, but you’re completely enamored by the sight of him, all of him, completely nude, only concealed by a thin veil of lace. Some switch inside you flips as you continue gnawing on your bottom lip, your eyes raking over him from head to toe.

He kneels on the edge of the bed, crawling on all fours to get to you but you find yourself sitting up and pushing him against the mattress instead. Your lips find his instantly as your hands grab each of his forearms and pin him against the bed. He gasps in surprise, a startled whimper escaping his mouth as you sit yourself on top of him, already painfully hard and hypersensitive.

You pull away from him and nearly moan over the sight of him sprawled out underneath you, his irises blown out and his lips so pretty pink and perfectly swollen from your rough kissing. His chest is heaving underneath you, his eyes wild and his hair already fully wrecked.

“Ties,” You pant out, letting your hands roam his body over the thin layer of lace separating you from his skin, “Where do you keep them?”

“Um, in the closet, I’ll get them-“

“Don’t you move a muscle.” You instruct, carefully climbing off him and retreating to his closet.

You come back with the necessary supplies to make the image in your head a reality and he’s nervously sitting up on his elbows, his hands resting perfectly on his slender waist. Just the sight of him is making your mouth water as you cross the room to him and he gulps, meeting your eyes.

“What are you-“

“Do you trust me?” You ask seriously, cupping his left cheek with your hand.

“Of course.” He says nervously, his eyes searching yours for any indication of what you’re planning.

“Good,” You smile, climbing back onto the bed and straddling him once again, “If you want me to stop, just say so.”

“Y/N-“ He warns.

“Shhhh,” You laugh, assuring him with a kiss, “Remember when we talked about, spicing it up?”

His eyes go wide before settling back down, his hips twitching underneath you as he recounts the conversation the two of you had earlier this week. You know that although he’d never admit it, he’s just as excited and wound up as you are.

“If that’s what you want,” He smirks, “Then do it baby, have your way with me.”

It’s just five words, five simple words that throw every atom of your body into a frenzy. Suddenly you’re reaching for his discarded ties at the foot of the bed and climbing back on top of him with all of them laid out on his chest. His eyes are wide with anticipation as you grab the three silk ties and get to work on roping his hands to the headboard. However, you change courses at the last second, instead deciding to tie his hands together over his head with one tie, leaving the other two. His eyes are trained on you as you knot the fabric around his hands, wincing slightly as you pull it taut.

“Easy babe, easy,” He laughs, “I never pull it that tight on you.”

“You really do talk too much, you know that?” You smirk, deciding quickly what to do with the second silk tie.

He opens his mouth to speak again and you surprise even yourself as you pull the silk tie taut between your hands and shove it in his mouth, silencing him. He nearly chokes in surprise as you tie it off, effectively gagging him.

“I thought you liked to hear me,” He mumbles against the fabric, “Always telling me to-“

“Not tonight,” You grin, cutting him off, “Tonight, I want to hear you whimper.”

He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and his hips instinctively bucking up into nothing, straining for any kind of contact he can get. He shuts his eyes with a grimace, puffing out a few breaths before they peel back open and you’re nearly taken with just how fucked out he looks already.

“Just one more thing.” You smile, grabbing the last silk tie and covering his eyes, knotting it loosely.

His breathing is quickening by the second the longer he’s deprived of his senses. His hands are twitching, repeatedly balling into fists and flattening back out in some effort to feel in control. You lean down to him, sponging your lips against his neck and he shudders, his breath getting caught in his throat. You rut your hips against him just once to test the waters and the strangled noise that erupts from his throat makes your stomach flip in the best way.

“Y/N, please-“He begs.

“Shhhh,” You scold once again, “Whimpers only please.”

You can’t see his eyes but you’re sure he’s rolling them just as you climb off of him and cup him in your hand right over the thin lace of his ensemble. He sucks in a sharp breath, a small whine escaping his lips as his hips buck up into your hand, craving more contact. The fabric stretched dangerously thin over his hardening cock is soaked in precum, nearly plastered to him. The sight of him writhing in his pretty little lace ensemble is enough to get off to alone. The body suit might as well be a piece of finely handcrafted lingerie the way it exposes his now hard nipples and hardly fits around his throbbing cock.

“You want me to take this off?” You ask as innocently as you can in the sweetest voice you can muster, twirling one of the ends of the bow around his collar around your finger.

“Mhm, mhm,” He hums desperately, “Please.”

You bite your lip to stifle your quickened breath as the begging words slip from his gagged mouth and climb down the bed to unbutton his body suit. You undo the three black buttons that match the ones down his back perfectly and he nearly whimpers in relief as you tug the sweaty, sticking fabric away from him and after unbuttoning the back and untying his collar, over his head. He sighs out in relief as his cock smacks against his stomach, his head nearly purple and leaking precum down his shaft.

“Better handsome?” You ask sweetly, stripping out of your bustier and swinging your leg back over his waist.

He nods aggressively, making sure you can see, his hands still twitching in their confines above his head. You almost laugh at just how wound up he is, nearly shaking from anticipation of you finally sinking down onto him but surely he’s going to have to wait a bit longer for that.

You lower yourself onto him but definitely not in the way he’s begging you to. You tease your entrance with him, making him gasp for air and writhe beneath your touch before you’re sliding yourself up and down his shaft. He’s immediately quivering, his hands thrashing against their confines and the sweetest strangled noises erupting from his throat.

“Y/N! Please! Enough, enough, please!” He begs, choking around the gag still situated in his mouth, his hips bucking up into you craving more friction.

You lean forward and slide the blindfold off his eyes, relishing in his blown-out irises and the wild look in his gaze. His eyes squeeze shut as you drag yourself along him again and he bites down on the gag in his mouth, whining in the back of his throat. You cup his cheek in your hand, running your thumb over his flushed skin making his eyes flutter open. He looks so pretty like this, his wide doe eyes and swollen pink lips fighting against the black silk in his mouth, his chest heaving and his body squirming trying to lean into your touch. You lock eyes with him as you grind down onto him and nearly moan out when his eyes roll back in his head in the most delicious way.

“Fuck!” He whimpers against his gag, squeezing his eyes closed once again, “Cum, I’m gonna cum!”

You cease your movements immediately wanting to drag this out as long as you can muster and he cries out, single tears spilling over as he desperately tries to rut himself against you. You wipe the droplets away and lean down to sponge kisses all over his face and down his neck. You lick stripes up his chest, running over his nipples and making him shiver when you blow cool air over them. He’s restless, his legs curling up and straightening back out again, his thighs flexing, chest heaving, small nearly inaudible whimpers pouring from his mouth as he sits teetering on the edge of his orgasm.

“Is my handsome man doing alright?” You ask carefully, knowing full well that his ego would never let him tap out this easily.

“Mhm.” He nods, clenching his teeth over the gag in his mouth.

You hardly give him a second to regain his composure before you reach behind yourself and grab him in your hand, making him lurch. He’s drenched and throbbing, soaked in precum and the wetness from between your thighs. You stroke him gently, not wanting to push him over the edge too quickly. He jolts as soon as your thumb traces over his head, his back arching off the bed and his eyes rolling back once again as he nearly chokes on the throaty moan that escapes his lips.

“Doing so good,” You coo, continuing your painfully slow assault, “Listening to me.”

He nods, shaking his head vigorously and you decide to take to the knot on the side of the silk tie gagging him. You unknot the fabric and toss it behind you, immediately leaning forward to seal your lips to his. He moans against your lips as you take him in your hand once again, but this time you’ve done just about as much teasing as even you can take.

You sink down onto him and the garbled mess of strangled noises that erupt from both of your mouths is enough to push you over the edge right here and now. He jolts with every movement you make, his hands thrashing against his restraints and his hips trying desperately to fuck up into you.

“Bleeding hell, I can’t,” He wheezes out, his chest heaving, “God I’m gonna cum, please let me, let me cum.”

You nearly cave in on yourself as his words make a shudder wrack through your body all the way to your toes. You’re desperately holding yourself up with your hands planted on his chest, whines and whimpers falling past your lips just as much as his own. He’s so thick and warm and the way he’s looking at you already supremely fucked out before he’s even orgasmed is more than plenty to rush you over the precipice to your own ecstasy.

“Please,” He says and you assume he’s begging to cum until your eyes flutter back open and he says it again, holding his tied hands out to you, “Wanna touch you.”

You untie him with haste, your skin suddenly aflame waiting for his hands to roam every inch of you. His hands are nearly shaking as he separates them, balling them in fists and straightening them back out again a few times before grabbing you by the hips and lifting you off of him. You’re stunned to the max, expecting anything but this as he lays you back against the mattress roughly, his fingers immediately tweaking your nipples before his head ducks down to take them in his mouth. You gasp in surprise, your back arching off the bed underneath you as his lips move further south by the second and suddenly he’s eye level with your entrance, his hands still cupping your chest.

“You think that was cute, huh?” He smirks, the soft fucked out little boy you were staring at moments ago nowhere to be found, “You think it’s cute making daddy beg, huh?”

Your stomach does a flip in the most delightful way and you feel your thighs clenching together just from the darkening shift in his tone of voice. He picks up on it immediately, his hands grabbing your thighs crudely and spreading them apart, pinning you wide open to the bed. You whimper at the cold air flooding your warmth and he grins deviously as he finally leans down and takes your sensitive bud into his mouth.

You gasp in pleasure, your hands immediately gripping the sheets beneath you, your thighs threatening to clamp closed around his head, but you know he has you right where he wants you. He licks a stripe right up your center, his eyes rolling back in his head as he groans in appreciation, lapping up the arousal spilling down your inner thighs.

“Harry!” You squeak, trying to shove him away, “Harry, stop, I’m gonna cum!”

“Good,” He smirks, licking his glistening swollen lips, “How about I make you cum three times for every time you denied me? That sound fair, sweetheart?”

You can hardly whimper in response, your entire body locking up and threatening to push over the edge at just the suggestion of him making you cum six times.

“Ahem,” He says, clearing his throat, “I said, does that sound fair, sweetheart?”

You nod your head, your hands shaking in their iron tight grip on the sheets, “Yes, yes that sounds fair.”

He leans back over you, roughly grabbing your jaw in his hand and making your breath catch in your throat. His eyes are locked onto yours, a dangerously dark shade of emerald as he furrows his eyebrows and squeezes your cheeks harder.

“Yes, what?” He asks sternly, his words calculated and making your thighs clench.

“Yes, daddy.” You correct yourself, jolting in surprise when he holds your mouth open after you’re done talking and opens his own mouth letting one single drop of spit drip off his tongue and onto yours.

“Atta girl,” He grins deviously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Now get on your knees.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #met gala #harry styles met gala #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry #harry styles au #harry smut

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cecilspeaks · 5 years ago

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163 - “Bravo”

Our moral compass has been demagnetized. Welcome to Night Vale.

Night Vale, Carlos and I went to see a new play the other night. It’s been ages since we went to the theater. I think the last show we saw was “Hamilton”, which is a Tony and Pulitzer winning hip hop musical about figure skater Scott Hamilton, who died in a duel to fellow Olympian Katarina Witt. “Hamilton” was wonderful, but live theater is so expensive. It’s a rare treat for us to get out of the house, what with the cost of tickets plus dinner, parking, a babysitter, tuxedo rentals and all that time spent watching YouTube makeup tutorials for jamming facial recognition cameras.

But my friend Charles Raynor invited us as his special guests to watch the premiere of a new play at the Night Vale Asylum, where Charles is the warden. The play was called “The Disappearance and Cover-up of Flight 18713 as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale under the Direction of Undercover Agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau.” Or, “18713/NTSB” for short. I’m used to seeing plays at the New Old Opera House or in the high school auditorium. There’s also the Black Box Theatre, which presents some of Night Vale’s most experimental drama from young performance artists. No one has seen any of these shows, or if they have, they’ve never emerged from that doorless black box, its walls perfectly smooth and faintly warm.

But this particular play was at the asylum itself. The Night Vale Asylum perches atop a craggy peak in the Sand Wastes. It’s brutalist concrete walls intermittently slashed with slivers of windows. I do not personally know anyone inside this intimidating institute, other than warden Raynor himself. And I’ll admit to being a bit nervous venturing out at night to a heavily guarded home for the criminally insane. But Carlos put me at ease by rolling his eyes. He said it was neurotypical ableism that makes us think this way. That movies and TV shows often play up harmful tropes about psychopaths and lunatics, planning daring escapes so they can return to a life of criminal misdeeds. Carlos explained that asylums are merely places where we hide away the people who most remind us of the inexplicable fragility of the human brain.

Driving out past the Scrublands under an indigo sky, the full moon low over the horizon backlighting the Night Vale Asylum atop its jagged rocky ridge, my nerves returned. I thought I heard coyotes howling in the distance, but it was the car stereo. Carlos had put on his favorite new Frank Ocean album called “Various Animals Screaming”. When we arrived, warden Raynor greeted us at the gates. Two guards wearing army style green dress uniforms flanked him. Their right breasts were laden with medals, chevrons and stripes. They each were armed with billy clubs, tasers and slingshots, and one of them was wearing an eye patch, but it was positioned in the middle of his forehead.

The warden escorted Carlos and me to our seats, which were simple wood chairs. There were only ten seats total, all in a single row along the rear wall. There was no standard stage to speak of, no curtain. The actors were all in costume in the center of the room, already in character. The other seats were already filled. Warden Raynor, Sheriff Sam, three of Sam’s secret police officers, two of Sam’s overt police officers, and an angel I had never met before, but who introduced themself to me as Erika. With a K, they added. “Nice to meet you, Erika,” I said. “You got ten bucks?” Erika asked. “Uh, sure,” I said. “What for?” “Not everyone gets to know everything,” they said. “You either got it or you don’t, man.” So I handed them ten bucks and minutes later my lower back pain, which has plagued me for the last six months, was gone. I looked back at Erika and I saw the wink at me, or I think they winked? They have ten eyes, so it could have just been an asynchronous blink. It’s hard to even tell what they’re ever looking at.

The play began with an introduction by warden Raynor, who welcomed us all to this unusual night. The first ever performance of an original play by inmates in his asylum. He introduced the writers/directors of the piece. There were three of them, each dressed in an electrical blue jumpsuit. One of them had a blister on his upper lip, another a swollen red lump along the cuticle of his right index finger. One of them had an unceasing nose bleed. I recognized them as the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau in Washington, who had come to Night Vale two months ago to investigate the disappearance of Delta flight 18713. Sheriff Sam had placed these agents undercover in the asylum to try to meet with an inmate named Doug Biondi, who claimed to have pertinent information about the missing aircraft. Upon remembering this, I flipped quickly through my playbill to find the ensemble members’ names. And there on the title page was the name Doug Biondi, who was cast as airplane pilot. As the warden returned to his seat and before the house lights dimmed, I leaned over to Sheriff Sam and asked, “How is the undercover operation going, Sheriff?” Sam glared at me and said, “I’ve no idea what you mean.” “You know, with the NTSP officers here in the asylum trying to interview Doug Biondi?” I asked perhaps a little loudly for a theater. “The NTSP officers are criminally insane, Sessil,” the Sheriff said unironically and with more than a touch of scold in their tone. “That is why they are here. They are a danger to themselves and others.” I had many more questions, but before I could say anything, the lights faded to black, and I heard the first voice of the play.

“Find us,” called the voice in the dark. “Find us,” it echoed again. A faint glow coated like frost the wild-eyed faces of the inmates on stage. The frantic visages made all the more panic by deep eyeliner, rouge and lipstick. Most were dressed in common street clothes: slacks, jeans, buttoned-down shirts, mid-length pattern skirts. Two were dressed as flight attendants and one as the pilot. I could only presume a small budget, as the uniforms worn by the latter groups were largely suggested by navy blue hats and little plastic wings on their lapels. The pilot wore anachronistic aviation goggles and so it was difficult for me to see and remember the face of this actor, this inmate, Doug Biondi. But I could see his mouth, which was unusually white. The corners of his lips extending well past the width of his eyes. He had an unusual number of teeth in his harsh smile, a smile which never abated, even in his most somber of scenes.

“Weeee surviive,” said Biondi’s pilot character. “Weeeee livve. Weee cannot dieee. Noot here, noot in No..Where.” He said it not like the vague concept of “in no place”, but “No Where”, two words capitalized, like the name of a specific place. Each actor was seated in short tight rows of four, a narrow aisle in between, mimicking the floor plan of a common fuselage. At the front of the troup sat Doug Biondi, as airline pilot. “How did we get here, in No Where?” said one of the passengers. “And how shall we return?” said another. “Only,” they said in unison, “when you find ussss.” This last line they said with a quick twist of their necks towards the audience. Then the scene shifted, the chairs cleared and all of the actors stood in the profile of a Greek chorus. They explained the flight from Detroit, the view of lake Erie, they told stories of different passengers. One who had a job interview, one who was looking for an apartment, another who went to Palm Springs on vacation. They told the story of a bright light and a loud pop, and suddenly the engines were silent. The plane felt still, unmoving, and then the chorus all pantomimed the leaning, concerned gaze out airplane windows. Instead of tops of clouds or distant shapes of great lakes, though, they looked out and saw – children in a gymnasium. They heard the squeak of sneakers and the joyful cries of playful exercise. It felt like minutes, maybe a whole hour. They could not understand what they were seeing. They could not comprehend an elementary school gym six miles above southern Canada. But they were not six miles above southern Canada. They were only a few feet above the American Southwest, inside an airplane, inside an elementary school gymnasium, in a town called Night Vale. And as quickly as they had appeared there, they disappeared. Off the radar, gone from the skies, out of known existence. Throughout this chorus, the speakers filled our ears with the joyful shouts of children, the hollow metallic thumps of red rubber balls, and the collective panicked inhale of a 143 passengers and crew of a displaced plane, and then it was silent. And then it was dark.

A single green light appeared on the far wall, a dot, a blip. A radar blinking on, then off. And the voice of Doug Biondi said: “Weeeeeee are not passengers on a plane. Weeeee are actors. Weeee are inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale, but weeeee do not belong here. Weeee are people who know truths. People who know more than is allowed, and for that, weeeeeeeee are kept in cages. Weeeeeeee are fed poisoned pills and circular logic.” And at this point in the play, I felt movement in our small audience. The warden had stood up and was shouting: “This is not in the script, Doug!” But Doug spoke louder, faster. “Iiiii am not insane, I say! Only the insane would say such a thing they say. Then I am insane, I say. Yes you are, they say. I am trapped, I am framed, I spit out your poisoned pills! I reject your propagandist blather. I know what I know I say. Hold him down they say.” Warden Raynor had gone to the tech board and turned on all the lights. He shouted “code blue” into a radio receiver, and we saw half a dozen security officers in their green medal laden uniforms lurch from the corners of the room, penning the ensemble of inmates into a tight circle in the center. “Return them to their rooms,” the warden called.

But as the guards encroached, the three men from the NTSP stepped to the perimeter of the mass of inmates. They were holding little plastic wings just like those on the costumes of the actors playing flight attendants. One of the NTSP agents, the one with an unceasing nose bleed, opened the back of the wings, revealing a long sharp pin, and thrust it into the neck of a guard. Simultaneously, the other NTSP agents and several other actors did the same, and the guards fell to the ground. One of the NTSP agents, the one with a blister on his upper lip, grabbed the keys and weapons from an unconscious officer. “Dearest audience,” he said in verse. “We mean them no harm. ‘tis but a sleep, a little pharmaceutical rest for a uniformed guard who kept us confined, made life hard for us low level agents doing our jobs, trapped ‘neath the lies of a warden who robs our freedom and murders our spirit. At last we can go, approach the wall and clear it, but heed my warning: as we this coup fly, every man for himself, better run – or die.” And upon this last line, the alarm bells of the asylum rattled my ears and my nerves, shaking Carlos and me from our seats. The inmates scattered in every direction as Sheriff Sam and their officers gave chase. Carlos was nearly stepped on by one of the escapees, and as I bent to help him up, I was knocked over by two officers in full sprint.

When the commotion died down, I looked up and saw Erika still sitting calmly in their chair, and I asked: “Erika, what is happening?” Erika looked down at their playbill, and then back at me, and said: “I think it’s intermission.”

And now the weather.

[“One One Thousand” by Raina Rose rainarose.com]

After 15 minutes, Carlos and I returned to our seats hoping, but not truly believing it really was an intermission. We’ve seen immersive theater before, like “Sleep No More”, an interactive show in New York City where audience members are placed inside a huge warehouse of actors dancing out the plot to “Macbeth”, and at the end everyone is granted the ability to live out the rest of their lives without sleep. It’s expensive and not for everyone, but totally worth it if immersive theater is your thing. But this show was not that. No. “18713/NTSP” had gone wrong. Or, perhaps it had gone right. Under the strict critique of plot structure, character development, and production value, the play failed terribly. But as a piece of political or (agit prop) theater, it was a rousing success. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have placed roadblocks around the entire city, hoping to keep these supposedly dangerous inmates from leaving the area. It is bad optics, to say the least, for the entire population of the town’s asylum to escape custody.

But as Carlos and I left the theater space, we walked down the long corridors, cells and rooms open, no security detail in sight. In one of the cells, below a cot, was a journal. It was the journal of Doug Biondi. Page after page was filled with monologues, narratives and conversations from various people. People who were on a plane, people in transit between checkpoints of life, between relationships, between homes, between jobs, between vacation and work. These stories were written as verbatim dialogue, as if Doug Biandi had transcribed them himself. As if he could hear the voices of those very people. Like former air traffic controller Amelia Anna Alfaro. I wonder if Doug heard the same voices. The same passengers of the missing plane. I had my intern Seamus go down to the library and look up public records on Doug Biondi, hoping to find some connection between Doug and Amelia, but Seamus still has yet to return with that information . I even double checked my playbill looking for Amelia’s name in the cast or crew, but she was not listened here. She was likely never in the asylum.

One thing I did find, though, was a note in the back of Doug’s journal. This note seemed to be in Doug’s own voice. “They tell us we are kept here for our safety, but they keep us here for their safety. They fear what will happen when the people on that plane are found. But I think they have already been found. They should be afraid of what happens when the people on the plane find us.”

Night Vale is on lockdown, so stay home and stay safe, listeners. I do not believe any of us to be in danger from those who escaped the asylum, but I do believe us to be in danger of most everything else. Stay tuned next for a serious of audio clicks, which is definitely not federal agents tapping your radio. Don’t worry about it.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transcripts #episode 163 #bravo

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parkeraul · 5 years ago

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maybe a investigator!shawn oneshot where he's involved with criminal!reader and like.. unable to resist her??

trapped up on a tightrope | s.m (oneshot)

a/n: sorry this took so long. i was out of inspiration to this one but luckily something popped up into my mind today. by the way, not that anyone cares, my requests are closed and i’m writing the ones i already have. a special thanks to my babey @mbappekylians for giving me a little feedback about this. volim te.

warnings: kinky stuff, dirty talk, kinda smutty, kinda angsty, use of guns, mentions of crimes and swearing. words: 3,297k.

masterlist | previous work

“Why have you dragged me all the way to this place again?” She asks him, her long dress swaying shyly as he comes straight to where she is after closing the door to his hotel room. Shawn must’ve lost count of how many times he failed on gathering proofs against Y/N to finally trap her somewhere else rather than his bed. And this time wasn’t different since he was already cornering her, pinning her to the beige wall of his enormous bedroom on a building that she’s been in before. It sucks so much to get defeated by her silhouette wandering around the hall so delightfully embraced by an expensive red dress that clung to her body so tightly — and sure that cloth wasn’t properly purchased. Neither were the jewelries. As per usual.

“Thought it would bring you some sweet memories,” He says almost whispering, stretching his tattooed arm to limit her space even more. Her makeup is breathtakingly perfect, with sharp and well-defined eyeliner under her long and curved lashes. The unforgettable tone of red colouring her lips matching with the dress — this one disappearing at the middle of her chest where the cleavage showed him all the beginning of his insanity. God, and she wasn’t even trying. “Am I right?” “What a stupid way to remind me about the Carlson case,” She rolls her eyes, letting out a breathy chuckle. “See, Mendes, for an investigator — that’s sure a fool for me, by the way — you should act smoother,” Her sarcastic expression lightens in him the most extreme feelings: the love and the hate. As much as he loves her cocky attitude, it sparkles his nerves with anger. Who the hell does she think she is? “A girl hates when the guy comes off too strong, you know? Pay her a drink before; think before you speak; choose the right words—““I’m not kiddin’, honey,” He softly takes her chin in his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up a little bit more to look her deep in the eyes. “Let’s not waste our time. I hate this as much as you do,” Shawn can barely see her in the darkness of the room, depending on the moonlight breaking through the balcony’s window to watch her features. It’s poorly, but it’s enough to see the details he admires the most. “But you owe me an explanation, if I’m not mistaken.” “You believed me? When I said I’d give away an information if you helped me sneak out from Edward’s office without making a scene?” At this point, his jaw is clenching and his eyebrows are frowning gradually. “Come on! By now you should know my mind like the back of your hand.”

His mouth threatens to fall open in surprise but he doesn’t let it happen. Instead, he presses his lips together forming a thin line while she smiles devilishly, taking the desire out of him for a moment. Shawn’s hand travels from her chin to her neck and he adds a light pressure, making her close her eyes and bite on her lower lip. Fuckin’ bitch. Nothing seems to ever scare her, she manages to turn it all into a joke and this might be the thing that pisses him off the most.

“You promised me,” Shawn groans lowly, ignoring the sensation of his dress pants getting tighter and the tie around his throat going uncomfortably taut. “And you’re not leaving this building until you spill the tea. Heard me?” “Mm, I like that,” Y/N makes sure to say this as sexy as possible and she knows it worked because he’s now breathing harder, chest moving heavily as he inhales and exhales. “What’s the downside, again?” “You think this is a fuckery, don’t you?” “Is there anything else but that between us?”

Yes, he thinks. An incomprehensible passion for a woman that can pull up the most beautiful lies and make a fool out of anyone she wants effortlessly. He feels handcuffed, ironically. In a prison where he’s locked by mistake, by his mistake of letting Y/N take over his mind like he’s a puppet. Fuckery it is.

“Could you start already and save me some hours?” “Without a kiss first?” She fakes puppy eyes, jutting out her lower lip dramatically in a childish pout. Her hands are coming up his chest, grabbing the collar of his white dress shirt and eventually sliding to play with his tie. “You know how long has it been since I last saw you in a black tie?” Y/N tries to distract him.Shawn stays silent, shoving a punch on the wall with the hand that was giving him support before. “Oh, I see,” Y/N says, jumping lightly in revelation and faking a comprehensive expression exaggeratedly. “You’re mad at me because I wasn’t a good girl. Am I right?” She pulls him closer by the tie, brushing her lips along his jawline as she smells the unforgettable scent of his cologne. Marking him with soft red lines from her lipstick, she watches it nearly mix with the rosy tone adorning his cheeks. “Thinkin’ I don’t deserve a reward for dressing up this good for you today and waste it all by being a brat,” Smirking, she tilts her head to bite at the lobe of his ear and fan her breath against it purposely, earning goosebumps from him in return. “I love it when you get rough but you know how much I hate when you’re quiet for me.” She shifts her leg up his side in order to bring him nearer, forcing his hip towards her with her shin pressed to his ass.In a swift motion, he lifts his thumb from her throat and puts it under her chinbone, still holding her neck by the nape. Inching her head back quickly, he hears it banging weakly against the wall and it makes her hair fall partly in front of her eye. She gasps, out of breath but not defeated enough to stop running her hands down his frame, feeling the muscles of his abs under her palms through his shirt. Shawn steps closer, trapping her hands between their bodies and interrupting her teasing. He knows better and hates that he has to stop her so his mind is clear to think straight. “What do you want to tell me how and why have you killed Carlson Reagan?” He asks with no ceremony. It’s an amusement to look at her being dominated by him, face tilted up at his mercy and her intimidating glance only getting more and more intense. It’s always a fight of who rules over whom. She whines like a baby, squinting her eyes and he knows what it is. Pity. “Aw! Still hurt because I didn’t keep my promise?” Y/N pitches her voice, acting like a regretful teenager who couldn’t fulfill her partner’s expectation. “Or hurt because he took me to bed that night?”

The pain on his face is more than noticeable. Shawn can’t control his impatience and moves his hand to her hair, tugging at the locks and pulling her to his own face.

“Go to the point.” He growls and he’s not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to believe she fucked with someone else, or because he thinks she’s lying. “Funny of you to interrogate me like that when you could be putting my mouth to a better use,” Lifting one eyebrow cockily, she drags her hand up her own thigh where the fabric of her dress opens to reveal her leg. “You wanna save hours that you could be enjoying instead, right in front of me. Exactly how you are. I’d just, you know… Need some space to knee down and bring you clothes with me, investigator,” Shawn doesn’t notice her hand disappearing inside the flat skirt of her dress and uses his fingers that aren’t tangled in her hair to play with the strap of her cloth. “I’ve been thinking about that gagging thing you’re head over heels for. Reagan wasn’t really into raw sex like you are, kinda boring,” She makes a sad face as she finally feels the material of lace belt around her thigh, sliding her fingers to the outer side of her leg where her gun is at, tucked in and held by the drapery. He’s twirling the strap with his finger, bringing it down her arm and letting it rest there. Eyeing her round breast showing up more, he takes his hand off her to place it on top of his belt. “We could try that. ‘M pretty sure you’re crazy to punish your babygirl tonight, aren’t you? Mm?” Their lips are brushing together now that he’s dropped his face next to hers, his irresistible smile pearling in the soft darkness for his jaw to close no longer after, making her wonder if his teeth might even shatter.

Rapidly, she grabs the gun in a handful while Shawn moves his hand to his pocket, finding his gun. He lets go of her hair and, at the same time, they put the guns out as he takes a step back, pointing the object to her just like she points hers to him.

“Very good, investigator,” Her back leaves the wall and she stands on her heels properly, spine perfectly aligned and straight, ready to react. If they weren’t in a moment of tenseness, he would melt in a puddle for her laugh right now. “Brilliant! Someone’s getting better, eh?”

Y/N loads a bullet, making Shawn do the same and the clicking of the guns sound deafening as it echoes throughout the room. She’s smiling and giggling like this is a moment of joy, walking slowly to him as he keeps on walking backwards. The barrel of her silver gun shines through the nightfall and so do her eyes, standing behind the pipe attentive on him.

“What, Mendes? Cat got your tongue?” Questioning, the noise of her high-heels hitting the wooden floor reverberate as she steps carefully. “You wanted me to talk but I’ve been such a big mouth for most part of the night already,” Shawn’s left arm is supporting his right hand — that’s holding the weapon — and he’s more than observant, fearing any impulsive actions that he knows she’s capable of. He’s seen her fight with guns, without guns and all of these moments made him learn that she’ll definitely not falter. More than pretty, she’s smart. She’s clever. She’s fast. No wonder why she’s been escaping for so long, making his career look like a trash can. “If you were good at investigating, as good as you are at shooting or in bed, you’d find out by yourself that Reagan wasn’t murdered by these hands.” Y/N shakes her hands playfully and his heart miss a beat. Shit, she’s not here to fuck around. “If you’re so innocent, then why do you keep on running from my questions?” With that, Shawn makes her smile fade away gradually and she wears a frightening face, trying to be the winner of this endless battle again. This time, he’s the one who smiles as his back reaches the power switch on the wall behind him, lightening up the room and seeing her face concentrated, brain working hard to build up a way to beat him on arguments. “Not so talkative now, are we?” “What makes you think you can put me down with your pitiable pressure?” “Can see your legs shaking from here.” “Don’t lie to yourself—“ “From all of the times I felt them shivering around my head, let’s say I’m a pro by now. Been making them tremble to me for so many nights, very bold of you to assume I wouldn’t notice so easily.”

Y/N drops her head back and laughs loudly, putting her guard down but totally okay with this, because she knows he won’t do a single thing, too fucked for her to even think about pushing a bullet towards her body. His words surely made her heat wet in anticipation and it’s getting harder for Shawn not to give up and finish what he started, her dress falling more and more as she moves her silhouette next to his between chuckles. As he wants, she’s in front of him and he shifts his gun down below a little bit, hand resting on his own front as he holds the object still. The arm that gave him support before is now going up so he can run his fingers through his brown curls, soon falling to his pocket. Y/N surprisingly fixes her weapon back to its previous state, completely locked and saving the bullets from coming through the metal tube and she tosses it on top of the bed.

“You were right,” She says, getting rid of the remaining strap of her dress and Shawn is more than confused, never putting his weapon down though. “This place brings me sweet memories.” He knows she’s not talking about the crime that’s happened in here. She’s talking about the first night they’ve met right on this same building. She was planning smaller things, like stealing a wonderful diamond necklace she’s been dying for and get some money out of unknown rich people’s wallets. Discreet and charming as only Y/N is, she obviously did it perfectly and as a bonus, she made out with the hottest man of the party in her eyes: Shawn Mendes himself. Since then and since he found out who she really is, it’s been a running back and forth like they’re stuck together by chains. She would never admit, but a few crimes here and there are just to catch his attention and make him come crawling back to her. The only thing he regrets about all of this is falling in love with her before knowing that she carries thousands of accusations, giving his work team a big headache. “What are you doing, Y/N?” Shawn asks, frowning as he watches her unzip her dress and pull it down her frame. She’s wearing a black strapless bra, matching with the belt hugging her right thigh and the lace underwear that he loves so much. Stepping out of her cloth pooled around her feet, she easily removes her heels with her feet and kicks them aside right after. “I’m doing what you really want me to do,” She calls him out unconsciously, looking him in the eyes seriously. “Or do you want to carry on with this little game?” “I told you I’m not kidding,” He prompts, forcing himself to ignore how stunning she looks in that lace set that gets him drooling. Gulping, he loosens the tie around his neck a little as he feels himself hardening to the sight of her. “Stop dissuading.” “You stop dissuading,” Y/N responds faking indignation, closing the space between them but being stopped by the cold metal of his gun. “Making me wait way too much, I’m getting impatient.” “Shut up and tell me what the fuck happened to Reagan.” “I can’t do both, love. I can either have you shutting me up or—“ “I swear to God I’ll—““You’ll what?” There’s a moment of silence after her question, making Shawn decide to put his career and rationality in front of his feelings. They’re glancing at each other, expressions falling flat and Shawn is huffing, puffing his chest and it makes the dress shirt get more constricted to his muscular middle. The anger is clear by the way they’re furrowing their brows, and Y/N makes the first move. Unbuckling his belt and keeping eye-contact, she releases the leather and pulls it away nonchalantly. The material goes behind her head and she lets it rest on her neck, sure that he’s wondering how hot she would look under him with that belt around her throat while her mouth opens for her to moan his name. She tucks the strap into the belt loop and, instead of inserting the pin into the hole, she takes his hand out of his pocket and makes him hold the belt. “You know why I’m not afraid of you, Shawn?” Y/N asks indifferently, undoing the buttons of his shirt and watching his skin being uncovered. Noticing more chest hair than he had last time they were together, she licks her lips and finishes the last buttons calmly. He’s holding the belt without a single dose of strength, too compelled by her body and skilled hand undressing him. “Because I’ve been giving you lots of chances to make your move and you’re letting them pass, as always,” She’s right, though. She let her guard down when she relaxed her body to laugh, as when she threw her gun away and kept on coming closer without a proper weapon to defend herself and, as if it isn’t enough, he’s got his belt decently arranged and ready to choke her at any second. Poor Shawn, too weak and too fucked. “But if you wanna do your thing like you say you want to…” Y/N starts, taking his wrist and closing the space between her and the gun — this one glued to her chest and he feels her heartbeat vibrate through the object, sending motions to his shaking hand. “Then go ahead. You know I’ve got nothing to lose.” “Y/N, what the f—““Go,” She assures, gulping and her eyes are starting to burn but she’s not planning on welcoming any tears. “Pull. The. Trigger.” Shawn squints his nose and his lips part, eyes widening while his fist shivers. She’s never played this far and although his reputation is slowly getting ruined, he’s thinking twice. Her look cuts his heart in half, making his chest ache and blood boil through his veins. “You can’t? Need help?” Her thumb descends and touches the trigger. She tilts her head to the side, making her hair cascade to her shoulder as she waits for his answer. Analysing his face tenderly, she notices the tears pooling in his eyes and they both ask quietly to themselves what the fuck are they doing to their lives? “I—““Again: You know why I don’t fear you?” Imperturbably, Y/N says in a sweet tone as her hands release the grip on his and go to cup his face, digits rubbing lovingly along his cheeks. “Because I know you’d never hurt me. You’re way too much in love with me to rip me apart with your bullets, investigator.” That burning sensation takes over his face and he’s sure he’s blushing, still shocked by this entire situation. As if nothing happened, she walks back and finds her dress long gone on the floor. Before, she catches her gun and puckers it back under the lace adorning her leg and tucks her feet inside the golden shoes. Soon, Y/N throws the dress above her head and covers her body while Shawn is frozen in his place, facepalming and massaging his temples. Why is she so hard to let go? Why can’t she prove him wrong and make him feel less guilty about loving her so much? He’s nothing but a joke when it comes to stalk and inspect her because the end is predictable: he’ll be on top of her, tangled into her legs surrounding his hips as he pounds forcefully inside of her core, making her scream as she praises him and begs for more. That’s all he wanted for tonight, if he’s honest. Shawn hears Y/N zipping up her cloth again and the footsteps back to his direction. She places a hand on his cheek and the other one on the doorknob beside him. “Promise me next time will be funnier than this and I’ll drop the name you’re dying to know,” She finishes and opens the door. “After an orgasm or two, of course.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes oneshots #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes masterlist #mine #ficsofmine #requested

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luminousinthedark · 5 years ago

Text

A Christmas Miracle

Hello @maddymo123!! I was your secret santa this year! :D Enjoy your gift my friend! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

AO3 ..... @mlsecretsanta Thank you for putting this event together!

Another year has gone by for Marinette since she had last seen Chat Noir. Christmas is supposed to be a time of joy and celebration, but all she can think about is her missing partner.

There are stories of Christmas miracles happening all the time. Will she get to experience something like that and have her one wish come true?

(4,285 words of angst, fluff, and romance)

***

A light snowfall graced its presence onto the quiet, deserted streets of Paris, with only one soul brave enough to be out in its freezing temperatures this late at night.

Marinette gazed up at the statue in front of her featuring Ladybug and Chat Noir in their youth as superheroes. Letting out a soft breath, she stepped forward and set an ivory candle onto the marble surface near her partner’s hand. Pulling out a lighter from the pocket of her coal black jacket, she lit the candle and watched in silence as it glowed brightly.

Upon looking at Chat’s smirk and Ladybug’s exuberant smile, Marinette began to reminisce about all the adventures they had growing up for the few years they both had their miraculous. But those memories quickly took a sad turn when she remembered the last battle with Papillion.

She shuddered.

That was four years ago, the last time she ever saw Chat Noir.

Tugging her pink scarf tighter around her neck and blinking her eyes heavily, she let the thoughts and feelings wash over her. If only she were faster in getting over her shock of Gabriel Agreste being revealed to her, she could have tried to stop her partner from leaving for reasons unknown. Just remembering the quick glance she got of Chat, the furrowed eyebrows and lips tugged downwards, was enough to send a confused pang through her heart. But the worst of all were his eyes; all of the agony swimming in those green cat irises. He had swiftly turned around and left without a word. She stood there shouting his name, gripping her yoyo tightly around an unconscious Gabriel waiting for the police to arrive.

For weeks afterwards she searched and called for Chat, wanting, needing, to know if he was alright to no avail. While her mind repeated she should have known better. She should have revealed their identities beforehand, even if she thought it was a huge risk at the time.

And of course, a month after Chat disappeared, she realizes she’s in love with him.

Just her luck.

No one could tell her Chat Noir’s identity except the superhero himself. Master Fu was the only one who knew, but with his memories gone and Marinette as the new Guardian, that knowledge was lost. Tikki and Wayzz knew, yet couldn’t say with the magic blocking the truth.

So it was easier for her to safely put the Miracle box away, sans the black cat miraculous, and try to move on with her life. To try and pretend she didn’t miss her partner dearly.

Even on the low days when she would curse that black cat along with her misery.

To be left behind without so much as a goodbye after all they’ve been through still stung.

A tear snuck its way out of her eye and she slowly wiped it away. The depressing thoughts faded as the crunching footfalls of someone approaching behind her echoed throughout the stillness of the winter night. A warm hand descended onto her shoulder before her best friend spoke.

“Do you think our heroes are celebrating the holidays together?” Alya whispered, careful not to shatter the peaceful atmosphere.

No, Marinette thought miserably.

She shrugged in response instead. “You never know. Maybe after they somehow heard you say that, they’ll make a surprise visit and give you an exclusive interview for the Ladyblog.”

Alya laughed wholeheartedly. “One could dream girl.” With a tender pat on her shoulder, Alya turned around towards the bakery. Her orange coat stood out like a fiery beacon in the white surrounding them. “Now come on inside, you’ve been out here long enough. Your nose and cheeks are already matching your scarf.”

Rolling her eyes affectionately, Marinette obliged and followed her back to the warmth of her home. But not without pausing and stealing one last glance back at the statue.

I wish I could see my silly kitty again.

As she walked inside, a gust of wind blew out the candle she left.

After taking off their coats, Alya plopped down onto the light pink couch in the living room. She was then quick to snatch a Christmas decorated sablés off of the plate on the coffee table and lounged back in contentment. Curiosity piqued, she studied Marinette standing there.

“So…I’ve always wanted to know but never asked,” Alya began then took a bite out of her butter cookie chewing thoughtfully. “Why do you set a candle on the superheroes’ statue on Christmas Eve every year?”

Marinette sighed as she sat down next to her friend. Focusing on the silver and white stripes on Alya’s sweater, she contemplated her answer. “To pay my respects since we never really knew what happened to them after,” she half-lied. “And well…maybe if I got to see them one more time, I would thank them for all that they’ve done for us and make sure they’re doing okay.”

Alya paused, then shoved the rest of the cookie into her mouth and wrapped her friend in a side hug. “I’m sure they know and appreciate that Marinette,” she spoke softly, making Marinette smile.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she replied wistfully.

They both sat in comfortable silence until a muffled buzzing noise interrupted them. Alya perked up as she dug her phone out of her pocket and looked at the caller.

“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all night!” Alya answered with exasperation into the phone. “Has the package been acquired?”

What sounded like confirmation, along with something else, replied back.

Suddenly shooting up off the couch, Alya pumped a fist into the air as Marinette watched her in inquisitive silence.

“Yes! We have been successful! I owe you all the kisses once you get up here babe,” Alya babbled on eagerly. “Love you too Nino! Now hurry up!” She ended the call and immediately looked at Marinette with a mischievous grin on her face.

Marinette blinked. “I’m not sure if I should be excited or terrified.”

“You’ll be both!” Alya laughed, springing onto Marinette to give her a bear hug full of joy.

“Okay Alya,” Marinette wheezed playfully, “can’t…breathe…”

After a moment she let go, then began to straighten out the baggy, green sweater Marinette wore that had ‘Meowry Catmas’ printed across the front in big white letters. Once she was satisfied with how it looked, Alya pulled out from her pocket two red ribbons with little bells attached to the bands and moved to sit behind Marinette to fix her long hair, parting it into pigtails. Little tinkling sounds from the bells filled the room while Marinette merely quirked an eyebrow.

“Alya,” Marinette pointed to the tree in the corner, directly in both of their line of sight, “are you sprucing me up?”

The jingling paused as she heard Alya inhale a deep breath. “Why must I be subjected to this torture,” Alya groaned causing Marinette to chuckle.

“No really though,” she genuinely questioned this time. “What are you doing?”

Finished with her friend's hair, Alya moved back to sit in front of Marinette. “Nothing,” she said nonchalantly as she grabbed her purse beside the couch and fished around in it. Soon a tube of red lipstick emerged along with eyeliner.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” grumbled Marinette while Alya applied the makeup to her face.

“There!” Alya beamed, examining her handiwork. “We are ready.”

“For what?” Marinette asked.

A knock soon sounded at the door, catching both girls attention.

“Right on time!” squealed Alya in giddy excitement as she pulled Marinette off the couch towards the door.

Marinette laughed joyfully as she was tugged along. “Alya!” she chastised, finally freeing herself and straightening the now slightly stretched out sleeve. With her attention focused on her clothing, she didn’t notice the door opening.

“I’ll get you for-,” Marinette looked up then gasped, shock freezing her in place.

Adrien stood before her, soft green eyes tenderly gazing down into her own while a sincere smile spread across his face.

“Bonjour, Marinette,” his deep, rich voice greeted her.

For Marinette, it seemed as though the world had gone still. She stared at him in disbelief, blue eyes wide and mouth parted, not quite able to comprehend who she was seeing.

Just like Chat Noir, Adrien had disappeared without a trace four years ago, and she hasn’t seen or heard from him since.

Until now that is.

The moment was broken when Nino cleared his throat. “I think you broke her, dude.”

Adrien huffed at his friend. “All I said was hi!”

Meanwhile, Marinette’s emotions were all over the place. From extreme happiness and relief in finally see him after all this time to immediately feeling the anger and hurt of having a close friend leave without knowing what happened to them.

It didn’t help that she had two boys in her life she loved who had done such a thing.

So now one of them has to pay.

“You!” she growled, finally finding her voice.

Her three friends stilled in the doorway, instantly sensing the rage radiating off of her.

“Uh oh,” Alya whispered, shooting panicked eyes to Nino.

“Shit, Adrien run!” Nino shoved his friend out of the way as Marinette lunged at him.

Bolting down the stairs, Adrien was quick to escape her.

Or so he thought.

As he reached the landing, he heard a sudden jingling noise then yelped when he was tackled to the hardwood floor. He flipped onto his back and looked up to see the burning eyes of Marinette with her right hand now fisted in his red pea coat and her legs straddling his hips. Throwing his hands up in surrender, he gulped and pleaded with his eyes for her not to hurt him.

“Adrien.” Marinette’s tone was tense.

He flinched and clenched his eyes shut expecting a slap or something, but was surprised to hear sniffling instead. His eyes shot open as he gazed in befuddlement at Marinette who had twin tear marks streaking down her face. She practically fell on top of him, giving him one of the tightest hugs he has ever received in his life.

“Don’t you ever leave like that again, do you hear me?” Marinette’s voice wobbled, burying her head in his chest.

Quickly getting over his shock, he smiled wide and hugged her back firmly.

“I’m sorry Marinette,” he apologized sincerely, “I promise I won’t.”

They both laid there holding each other until Alya was the one to clear her throat this time.

“Well, I can say with full confidence that this reaction was completely unexpected. My bad,” she grinned from the bottom step, looking down on the two of them.

Nino turned to her, raising a skeptical brow. “Babe, you don’t feel bad at all.”

“Not really, no.”

Shaking his head and chuckling at his girlfriend, Nino wandered over to Marinette and Adrien and leant them a hand to help them off the floor.

Adrien wiped the dirt off his coat while Marinette did the same for her shirt next to him. He let out a relieved sigh. “Whew, for a moment there I thought I was a dead man.”

“You’re not off the hook yet Agreste,” Marinette shot him a playful glare with narrowed eyes, to which he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Alright kids,” Alya clapped her hands together and rubbed them eagerly. “It’s time for us to go upstairs, pop open some wine, and share stories of how our lives have been going since we graduated.”

Marinette tsked as she turned to make her way up. “You just want to hear all the juicy details in regards to what Adrien has been up to.”

“Well yeah,” Alya said. “It’s my job as a friend and full-time journalist to hear about these things. Plus, I know you’re dying to hear about it too.”

Following behind the bickering friends, Adrien and Nino shared a smirk. Then Nino wrapped his arm around Adrien’s shoulder and punched him lightly with the other. “It really is nice to finally see you again dude.”

Adrien’s smile was blinding. “It feels good to be back.”

When they made it upstairs, Marinette retrieved several blankets and pillows from her bedroom and brought them down to the living room as Nino and Adrien were taking off their jackets. After Nino moved the coffee table out of the way, she plopped all her belongings onto the floor and followed suit soon after. While Alya went to get the wine from the kitchen, Adrien sat next to her and Nino lay stretched out across from the two of them.

There was a moment of silence, save for the tinkling sounds of Alya grabbing the bottles and glasses, but otherwise it was peaceful while they waited. Adrien plucked at some fuzz on his soft, scarlet sweater. Then Nino let out a content sigh, and rolled onto his stomach to face Marinette, his chin on top of his folded hands.

“Sooo…when will your parents get home ‘Nette?”

Marinette looked over at the clock on the wall. “Well, they said if it was too late to drive back from dropping off the delivery, they would find a hotel to stay the night and come back tomorrow morning.” She grimaced, reading the time on the clock nearing almost midnight. “Which is probably what’s going to happen.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as Alya set the bottles and glasses down on the middle of the floor, then took a seat next to Nino. She filled up the glasses and passed them around.

Adrien took one then turned to Marinette. “On Christmas though?” he asked surprised.

She shrugged. “The customer was desperate. Then when they asked me how I felt, I told them I should be alright.” After taking a small sip of her white wine, she continued, “Especially since Alya was going to be alone too.”

Raising a questioning brow, he glanced to Alya. Before he spoke, she waved her hands and replied, “My excuse to Marinette was that my family went on vacation while I had to stay back to finish my internship when really,” she wiggled her eyebrows towards her pouting best friend, “it was actually so I could be here to surprise her with you.”

A small blush made its way onto Adrien’s face. “Oh.”

“Which we succeeded in doing thanks to me,” Nino pointed his thumb in the middle of his golden t-shirt. He puffed his chest out proudly.

“Yeah, after how many hours and days of convincing?” Alya gave him a look then poked him in the stomach, causing him to squirm.

Adrien sent her a sheepish smile. Nino recovered and was quick to shoot him a sympathetic one. “He had his reasons.”

There was a brief lapse in conversation as the four friends took a drink out of their respective glasses, different thoughts running through each of their minds.

“Mmh!” Alya suddenly perked up in excitement. “So before I interrogate Agreste about his life, remember the replica masks from the Clara Nightingale’s video we did all those years ago?” Yanking her purse over to her and rummaging around in it for a bit, she made a small noise of triumph and pulled out a ladybug and chat noir mask from within. “I found these while I was going through my old stuff the other day. I can’t believe I still had them!”

While Alya expected everyone to be as thrilled as her, all she got from Marinette and Adrien were bittersweet smiles. At least Nino showed some positive interest as he leaned over her and took the Chat Noir one.

“Wow, that’s awesome babe!” He put it on and gave her his best Chat Noir impression. “You’re the purrfect woman for me, my Lady.” Taking Alya’s hand, he gave her a light kiss on her knuckles.

While watching the interaction, Marinette tried really hard not to break down or snap in anger at the display. They were only having fun, but this particular sentiment struck her deeply. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one feeling this way as Adrien cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably next to her.

“Okay guys, I think that’s enough,” he spoke quietly.

Nino didn’t get the message as he was too busy having a good time feeling caught up in the mood of the playful banter. He turned to him with a challenge reflecting in his eyes. “You think you can do better Agreste?”

Adrien frowned in displeasure, but was instantly ready to prove him wrong. Of course I can, he growled internally, I was the Chat Noir once.

“Give me that.” With a quick swipe, he had the mask in his hands and peered down at it.

What if this blows what used to be my biggest secret? Adrien thought for a moment. Ah hell, what does it matter anyway?

He put on the mask and glanced up.

The two shocked faces of Alya and Nino stared back at him, unmoving, until Alya let out a startled laugh and leaned towards him. “Wow…if I didn’t know any better,” she said, inspecting his face in curiosity, “I’d say you look almost like Chat Noir.”

Gulping, Adrien put on an uneasy grin.

“Yeah,” Nino added, sounding almost as if it were a crazy notion, “wouldn’t that be something if you were?”

Nervously laughing, Adrien ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair, messing it up further, and looked over to see Marinette’s reaction.

Blue eyes blown wide and mouth open, she appeared to be totally gobsmacked. Her face had gone pale and tears had begun to gather in her eyes while her hand reached up to cover her mouth, smothering a whimper.

“Marinette? Are you okay?” he asked, immediately scooting closer to her.

She flinched away. This caused a slight ache mixed with discomfort to shoot through his chest at the action.

“Please,” she pleaded, as if she were in pain, “impersonate Chat in a way only Ladybug could confirm.”

Swallowing hard, he gathered his wits as Alya leaned over to grab her best friend’s knee in a comforting matter. “How would he know that?” she said in a gentle voice. “‘Nette, what’s wrong?”

Marinette stared him down, not paying attention to anyone else. Not being able to notice, think, or feel anything, only focusing on peering into his eyes.

Those very familiar green eyes, surrounded by black.

Adrien arose onto his feet, extending a hand out to her and pulling her up after she hesitantly took it. Bowing towards her and bringing their faces close together, he never took his eyes off of hers as he carefully took one of her hands into his. Cradling it in his own, he raised it to his lips to place a warm, tender kiss on her knuckles. Both of them stared deeply into the others eyes.

“It’s you and me against the world Buginette,” he roughly purred.

The sentence sat heavily in the air for a few seconds.

Until a huge smile instantly broke out on Marinette’s face as she let out a choking, wet laugh, with fat tears beginning to fall down her cheeks.

I knew it! It’s him, IT’S CHAT! Her mind screamed in joy, I found my kitty!

Marinette didn’t waste any time. Firmly wrapping her arms around his waist, she began sobbing happily into his chest. Clutching him like her life depended on it, she felt the empty feeling in her chest go away, only to be filled whole again.

Her partner is back!

She is never letting him go again.

Adrien stood there, bewildered, holding Marinette as she cried. He helplessly looked over at Alya and Nino who seemed utterly lost on what to do with the situation.

“Another thing I didn’t see coming,” muttered Alya as she observed the scene. Nino nodded his head in agreement.

After a few minutes, Marinette finally calmed down and looked up at her kitty’s perplexed face. Taking a moment to wipe the tears and makeup away, she was sure she looked like a mess. “Sorry,” she mumbled, only a little embarrassed.

Her happiness pretty much won over every other emotion currently.

“That’s okay,” Adrien replied. He watched her, hoping for an explanation.

Did she figure out my identity..? he wondered.

Suddenly, a giggle filled with glee escaped Marinette’s lips as a brilliant idea popped into her head. Swiftly, she snatched the Ladybug mask up off the floor near Alya’s feet. Lifting herself onto her tiptoes with barely an inch between them, she once again gazed into his eyes, this time emitting pure delight.

“Now I get to show you my impression,” she whispered excitedly.

Adrien tilted his head in question.

Donning the mask, she gradually lifted up her head with a smirk in place. She watched as he blinked a few times in disbelief then stopped breathing. Flicking her fingers where his bell would usually be, she tsked. “Didn’t I say to stop calling me Buginette..” she scolded sweetly, grabbing his slack hands and squeezing them gently, “…mon Chaton?”

His mouth popped open.

From hearing Ladybug’s term of endearment coming out of Marinette’s mouth, while wearing Ladybug’s mask with her hair in pigtails, and doing a very Ladybug-like thing, Adrien felt his heart flat out stop. Only to resume seconds later with a more painful, rapid beat as he could feel the years of buried emotions within him rise up to the surface.

Slipping his slightly shaking hands out of her grip, he embraced them gently around her face. “…Ladybug..?” he was barely able to whisper, searching her eyes for confirmation.

Hoping that this wasn’t all just another passing dream he had.

“Hey Chat,” she sniffed, wrapping her small hands around his bigger ones. “I’ve missed you,” she laughed breathlessly, “and I never got to tell you how much I loved you before you disappeared and I always wondered how you were doing and I understand now why you left-,”

Marinette’s babbling was interrupted with a fierce, yet passionate kiss. She barely got to enjoy it when Adrien pulled back to gaze at her with adoration shining in his eyes, tears streaming down his face, as he smiled.

“I love you too ma Princesse,” he replied tenderly. “I always have.”

Next thing she knew, Marinette found herself in a crushing hug as her partner trembled in her arms. “I’m so sorry I left,” he choked out, “I’ve missed you so, so much my Lady.”

She smiled wide and gripped him tight.

“It’s a Christmas miracle!!” Alya shouted, effectively startling the two once lost, now found souls, out of their own world and bringing them crashing back to earth. With her one fist pumped into the air in victory, and the other hand holding out her phone to record, Alya grinned maniacally. “My two ships have finally come together, what a time to be alive!” As an afterthought, she pointed at Marinette and added, “And you totally owe me that exclusive interview girl! Among other things!”

Burying her head in his neck out of embarrassment this time, Marinette could feel a hot, prickly blush spreading across her cheeks. Adrien chuckled as he held her close, kissing the top of her head affectionately.

“Wait Adri-Chat….Chadrien,” Nino hastily corrected, snapping his fingers, “tell me a joke, quick.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows but didn’t question it. Nuzzling his nose into Marinette’s soft, strawberry scented hair, he inhaled and hummed. “A weasel walks into a bar..”

“Yeah?” Nino listened in anticipation.

“The bartender asks, ‘What would you like to drink?’”

He smirked.

“‘Pop,’ goes the weasel.”

Letting loose a loud guffaw, Nino shook his head. “Yep. That’s my superhero bro alright.”

Adrien snickered until he heard a groan coming from Marinette. He pulled away enough to glance down and see her roll her eyes at him while her face showed fond exasperation.

“Silly kitty.”

Bonus:

“Don’t think I didn’t notice your sweater, Buginette,” Adrien whispered in Marinette’s ear as they both laid there on the floor. He lovingly caressed his fingers along her back.

She hummed in contentment, letting her head rest heavily on his chest and listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. “Yeah?” she answered on the brink of sleep. The snores of their friends echoed throughout the dark, quiet apartment.

“I think it’s the cat’s meow.”

“...you’re the cat’s meow,” she retaliated halfheartedly.

“I know I am.”

“Full of yourself are you?”

Adrien grinned then remembered the miraculous he always kept in his pocket. The grin faded slowly as he sighed. “Speaking of cats, I should give Plagg back.” He shifted and dug around, then produced the little black box to show Marinette.

She wearily opened her eyes to look at it. “Oh that’s what was in your pocket.” Stroking the top of the box, she looked at him with blue eyes that were tired, yet full of warmth. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

Pursing his lips, Adrien stared at the box, sadness and guilt in his green eyes. “Since the day I fought my fa-,” he stopped, then cleared his throat, “...Papillion.”

“Oh kitty,” Marinette rested her hand on his. “Here, let’s open it together. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you again.”

Adrien glanced at her, doubtful, but soon he inhaled a deep breath and nodded his head.

They lifted the lid open and a ball of green light emerged.

Plagg floated in the air above them with his stubby arms crossed, tail flicking back and forth. His whiskers twitched as he narrowed his eyes at the both of them. Soon, a toothy smirk appeared.

“Well...we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, kid.”

#mlsecretsanta #fic #as I wrote this gift it kept getting longer...#I also haven't written in a while so I hope this turned out alright #Merry Christmas #miraculous ladybug

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ladywinchester1967 · 6 years ago

Text

Welcome Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Character

Warnings: SMUT, all of the smut, this is just porn. No plot.

A/N: I literally can’t get this guy off my mind!! So, I hope you guys enjoy this!! I read through this but if some mistakes fell through the cracks, they’re mine. Pics are not though, I got them from Pinterest **If you don’t want to be tagged, just let me know!**

Bucky had been gone far too long; two weeks on a mission was a lot longer than either of them had anticipated. She’d decided that if she was going to surprise him, now would be the best time. She’s spent the day pampering herself and shaving damn near everything in anticipation of his arrival. After a ton of shopping and tutorials, she felt like she looked good, like a girl Bucky would’ve had back in the day. She curled her red hair at the top of her head and let her natural waves come through at the ends. She’d done her makeup with winged eyeliner, black mascara and scarlet red lipstick, she even painted her nails red to match her lipstick.

She’d decided to punch up the lingerie to welcome home her Solider properly. Instead of one of his t-shirts that she normally favored, she switched it out for a black bralett with a black and pink garter belt and black, thigh high stockings.

Standing in the mirror looking at her reflection, she barely recognized herself. She let out a nervous sigh, hoping Bucky would like it.

“Oh god, what if he hates it?” She asked herself out loud. What if this was too old fashioned for him?

“Shit, fuck, shit, mother fucker.” She swore under her breath as she heard the bedroom door knob turn. She quickly ducked into the bathroom, closing the door and waited until she heard Bucky shut the door and call out

“Doll? You in here? Wanda said she hasn’t seen you all day.”

“I’m in here!” She called back to him.

“C’mon baby, open the door, I haven’t seen you in two weeks, I missed you.” He practically purred against the door.

She let out a shaky breath and decided it was now or never. He was either going to see her as a nervous wreck or as the 1940’s babe she was shooting for. She opened the door and found him standing with his metal arm against the wall. He gave her a quick and then slow once over with a smirk on his face. His hair was longer than she remembered and he’d grown a beard, which he knew she loved.

“Okay, just say it, I look ridiculous.” She said and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Doll,” he breathed “ridiculous isn’t the word I’d use to describe this.” He tugged at her garter belt and pulled her close “Unless you mean ridiculously hot.”

“You don’t hate it?” She asked, surprised.

“Baby, have you SEEN what you look like? Dressed like this?” He asked and dragged her toward the full length mirror she’d been looking into not two minutes before his arrival. “You look fucking perfect.” He said as he pulled her in front of him “All this for me?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” she told him, their eyes meeting in the reflection “is this really how women dressed back in the day?”

He shook his head, meaning no as his metal hand trailed up and down her back.

“This,” He said tugging at her bra strap with his flesh hand “looked different back in my day, though I have to say, I like the improvements.”

“You do?” She asked, her tone coy. He nodded as he pushed her bra straps down, the fabric pooling around her shoulders.

“Much better looking now than they used to be.” He said and wound his arms around her, his hands resting on her hips as he kissed her bare shoulder.

“H-ha-Hair,” She stammered as goosebumps flared on her skin “hair and makeup?”

She felt him grin, his beard scratching her flesh.

“Exactly how I remember.” He mused ad he kissed his way up her neck and to her ear. He flattened his hands and slid them around to her front and pressed himself up against her backside, his excitement obvious. “Perfect,” He said and kissed her skin again “red lipstick looks good on you doll.”

“I tried to get it right.” She breathed as he undid her bralett and then slid it down and off of her.

“You succeeded,” he told her “exactly how the girls wore it, but there’s one difference.” He said as he turned her face to his. He was grinning and his blue eyes were shining.

“What’s that?” She asked, her heart racing.

“You’re all mine.” He told her and pressed a kiss on to her lips. Her body filled with warmth as they kissed, her hands sliding through the silky strands of his hair. She pulled back and grinned at him.

“Welcome home Sergeant Barnes.” She told him. He smiled, his lips stained with her lipstick and gripped her hips, kissing her again.

He turned her around to face him and then picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her over to the bed, laying her down gently as if she were made of glass. He let one metal finger slide down her cheek and then cupped her face in his hand, tilting it up so that her gaze was on him.

“Remind me to leave you alone more often,” he said “because if this is what I come home to, it’d be a damn shame to waste it.”

“So, you like this look on me?” She asked and he nodded.

“I like you just the way you are,” he told her “but all dolled up like this? Just for me? More than I could wish for.”

He seared another kiss on to her lips and quickly removed his tactical vest, boots, socks and pants, leaving him in his undershirt and boxers as he climbed back on top of her. He pushed the stray hairs out of her face and pressed another kiss on to her lips as he started grinding his hips into hers. She pressed her nails into his firm shoulders and raked them down his back as they started to move together.

“Fuck,” he moaned against her mouth “gotta have you right now doll.”

“You want me?” She asked and pulled back from him. He nodded and she slipped her panties off. “Come get me handsome.”

He grinned as he pulled his boxers off and plunged inside her, both of them moaning as he struck true, hitting her g-spot. He braced his hands on the bed as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Do it,” She told him as she kissed him “and don’t be gentle.”

“Yes ma’am.” He said and slammed his hips into her as she cried out. He repeated this motion as her back arched and the sound of their skin slapping together ripped through the room.

“Fuck!” She cried as she dug her nails into his shoulders and clenched around him, holding on for dear life as he slammed into her. She threw her head back and then screamed into his chest, the fabric of his undershirt scratching her cheek as she did this.

“Bucky, oh Bucky!” She cried out as he thrust harder into her and she kissed his neck and chest, whichever bare parts she could get to.

“FUCK!” He cried as they moved together and he latched his mouth to hers. She mewled against his lips as he clenched the mattress above her head. “Turn over for me.” He begged. She untangled her limbs from his and did as he asked, getting on all fours and arching her back so he could get a good view of her backside. He playfully smacked her behind before pushing back inside her as she cried out.

“Fuck! Oh fuck, Bucky!”

He tugged on her hair, pulling her back up to his front and then he quickly rid himself of his undershirt. With his bare chest against her back, he tightly held her hips and railed into her.

“You like this?” He asked “Getting me all riled up so I’ll fuck you like this?”

“Yes!” She cried as she gripped his long locks in her hand.

“Tell me.” He commanded “Tell me you like it.”

“I love it when you fuck me Sergeant Barnes!” She cried and his bit the juncture between her neck and shoulder making her cry out.

“That’s it,” he grunted “yell and scream like a good girl, let everyone in this compound know who you come for.”

“Oh Bucky!” She yelled as she clenched him deep inside her, feeling her peak coming “Yes, oh fuck!”

“You getting close baby?” He rasped in her ear “You want me to fuck you some more?”

“Yes!” She cried back to him “Yes, oh fuck me harder!”

Bucky gritted his teeth and snapped his hips harder into her back side as she gripped him, crying out with every stroke of his cock. He splayed his flesh hand across her breast and his metal hand across her pelvis, two of his fingers landing squarely on her clit. She moaned as he worked the swollen nub into slow, languid circles, deeply contrasting with his trusts. She kissed him and held on as he fucked deeply into her, crying out against her mouth as he felt his own release coming.

“Doll, oh fuck,” he moaned against her mouth “that’s it, oh fuck come for me, come!”

She cried out and let go, the sensations too much for her to hold on to. She let out a scream against his mouth as she finished, gushing onto him as she tugged his hair and he let go deep inside her. They both collapsed on the bed side by side, breathing heavily.

»»————-　★　————-««

After a while, Bucky pulled out of her and she moaned as the loss. He tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled.

“Gotta say,” he told her “I love this look on you.”

“Remind you of the good, old times?” She asked as she leaned into his touch. He nodded and kissed her forehead.

“The good times are better with you in them.” He told her and pulled her close, holding her tightly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thanks for reading guy, I hope you enjoyed that! Your kind feedback is always deeply appreciated, all my boxes and lists are open so if you want on (or off) any of these crazy trains or if you just want to say “hi”, let me know!

Interested Parties:

@loudherobanditgarden @hellrose45 @hyunjoonieeuniverse @booboo-icu@mogaruke @mogarukes @lets-love-little-me @clo-heda@marvelousbarnesss@marvelousbarnes @roonyxx @algud @your-average-wallflower@emoryhemsworth @gabcats5

#lady winchester writes #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes smut

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theparanormalperiodical · 5 years ago

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Scary Halloween Costumes: Your Guide To Realistic and Really Spooky Costumes (On A Budget)

“In the real world, Halloween is when kids dress up in costumes and beg for candy.

In Girl World, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it”

Set your stop watches people - we’ve got 11 days to prepare for the most wonderful time of the year: Halloween.

And despite the cultural traditions echoing across the world, there is one phenomenon that dominates the rest.

Halloween costumes.

It’s the personalised touch Christmas loses out on, and it's the one day of the year we can awaken our inner child.

And no, I don’t mean the therapeutic kind where you get in touch with your real, raw self. I mean the inner child that wants to pull on a Pennywise cosplay and eat an unrealistic amount of processed crap.

Working out your halloween costume requires thought and consideration. And then giving up on creating a latex prosthetic and slapping on a pair of cat ears.

But at the Paranormal Periodical, we like to do things a bit different.

If you like things spooky and you’re a bit skint, pull up a chair - welcome to your complete guide to realistic halloween costume ideas!

Every year we see the classic costumes: a witch in a black hat; a vampire sporting a single drop of fake blood on the lip; and a zombie with a scrape of blood down one arm.

I’ve decided to shake shit up.

I’ve taken the most common costumes, and gone back to the roots of the creatures. Yep, I’m rewriting halloween, and putting scary back on the menu!

So, if you’re considering being a witch, vampire, zombie, or mermaid, here is your guide to the realistic costumes.

Let’s get spooky!

The Witch

It’s a classic.

It’s the go-to option for women, merely requiring a pointy hat you can grab from Claire’s, and the clothes from your goth phase when you were 14.

Add a smudge of black eyeshadow, practice a cackle, and boom.

You just got halloweened.

But actual witches from way-back-when weren’t so Instagram.

In fact, they were considered the worst kind of women: hag-like, old, ugly, disgusting women. If you can think up a trope for a stereotypically ugly woman - which isn’t necessarily true, I mean, people rock unibrows every damn day - then put it in your costume.

Back in the 1640s, witches were considered poor, crone-like women. That’s a moustache, wrinkles, hairy brows, squinted eyes, and crooked teeth.

Also, they had teats! No, that’s nothing to do with their actual nipples, you won’t have to do anything to your own.

Basically, a point of ID for a witch was a devil’s mark - that’s scars, pimples, birthmarks - anything which symbolised their pact with the devil. Or, they had extra nipples which their animal sidekicks would suckle from.

Speaking of scars, if a witch pricked her finger, and it didn't bleed, the subject was a witch fo sho. And if they placed their hands on a dead body that they had killed, the body would start to bleed.

The final trademark fashion statement comes from one of the witch tests: dunking.

Aside from being stripped to her scanties, the witch’s thumb was tied to her big toe and a rope was cinched around her waist. She was chucked into a body of water - if she floated, she was a witch! If she sunk, she would die!

Yeah, it’s not a good test.

So, how does all that shizz translate to a costume?

Here’s how:

For the signature makeup, go with a heavy brow, and dark, eyelined eyes to perfect the squint.

Then, fake scar it up. I’m talking dots of red on your hands, maybe draw a pink circle on your face for a nipple, and slash a lipstick scratch up your arm.

Or, ditch the red dots on your hands for literal red hands - just like the blood pouring out of your victim’s body. It could be fake blood, it could be red nails, it could even be patches of dark reddy-brown!

Whatever it is, finish the look with the iconic style of a witch:

Follow up with the fashion twist on a black pointy hat, tie a rope around your waist to give shape to the look, and tie some wool or string around your fingers.

That’s right; accessorise your way to authenticity.

The Vampire

This is the unisex approach to halloween.

Couple of drips of fake blood, maybe an Edward Cullen inspired quiff - anything can be a costume if its teamed up with the im-100-years-old-but-look-17-so-its-not-creepy smoulder.

But there’s a lot more to the vampire phenomenon that didn’t make it into Nosferatu, nor Twilight.

Vampires were popularised in the 19th century, so most of their style inspo was based on Victorian vibes. But in terms of their bodies and faces, there are some striking features you need to know about:

Vampires were often regarded as have bloated faces and bodies, and ruddy looking skin; these are the supposed effects of blood drinking.

And this blood was also believed to seep out of the mouth - and the nose. But fangs? They were rarely reported.

These features from past vampire sightings have been typically debunked via two explanations: the disease, Poryphoria, a group of diseases which cause blistering and itching in sunlight, and the past’s lack of knowledge regarding decomposition.

So, fancy reworking your Edward Cullen into something a little less up-to-date?

Here’s what you need to do:

Take your fangs and fake blood stash from last year, and do the classic drip from the lip look.

But this time, smear a little under your nose, too.

Speaking of facial features, it’s time to get ruddy - that means giving yourself a flushed look. So, grab some blush - reddy, pink tones, only - and go to town. I’d suggest a patchy look for the deathy vibes.

And make sure you leave your contouring kit in your make-up bag - aim for a bloated, round-faced look. Or, opt for loose clothes or something baby bump-esque to bloat out your half-dead body.

To finish the look, dab on some liquid latex and pull apart to give wrinkly, blistery skin in patches. You can even check out my tips for being a zombie to ensure you achieve the death you aim for!

The Zombie

In more recent years, this has become to go-to for quick costumes, thanks to show like The Walking Dead.

But it’s not the easy part of the look that I love, it’s this: a zombie is an inclusive halloween costume.

Anyone can do it.

You can pull out your FX make-up stash to show your skull’s skin peeling off and limb rotting, or simply pull a face and make a groaning noise.

You don’t even have to buy new clothes! Put on your usual get up, and stick your arms out like a Mummy.

#nailedit

But - if you’re asking me - achieving the realistic death look isn’t an expensive or difficult feat.

Zombies are supposed to be the undead; they’re infected and they’re decaying.

So, let’s go through some of the features of slowly rotting corpses:

A few minutes into death - aside from going cold, and going pale - cells begin to die and leak as they breakdown. Couple hours after the beginning of that process, things start to get shitty...

Yep, piss and poop just start leaking out ya body.

Then, your skin starts to sag, leaving it pale with red patches. Then, that skin shrinks, making your hair and nails appear as if they are growing.

Following this, your skin turns green as you begin to digest your organs. Then bugs, like maggots, take part in consuming your body.

It’s not long before you turn purple, lose hair, and slowly become a skeleton.

And there you have it.

#decayed

Question is, how can achieve this look?

Settle in folks, and let’s get dead.

(Oh, and I can assume you don’t want to be a skeleton with purple skin draping on your bones; so let’s cut to the early effects!)

To get your undead chic on, here��s what’s on your to-do list:

For ya face, make things red and patchy with a dab of red lipstick smudged around your visage. Oh, and don’t forget to moisturise and highlight - think less leaking cells, more dewy finish.

A few patches of grotesque green will further the final look. You could even put gel on the ends of your hair to make it seem wet, or longer, and define your fingernails with brown eyeshadows.

Yep, start contouring your nails - let’s start a #trend.

Ready to take things to the next level? Cut some gummy worms up, and latex ‘em to your face.

Et voila, ya ded.

The Mermaid

Our final option is the current Insta-fave.

Joining the ranks of the pastel-aesthetic is the glittery, highlighted-on-fleek mermaid.

But why be pretty, when you can be pretty damn realistic?

Fact is, nothing is more realistic - and scary - than climate change. So, it follows that any mermaid will probably be struggling in the plastic-filled hot tub that is the ocean.

It’s time to swap the dewy, contoured fish finish for an actual mermaid. Or, well, a dead one.

Typically, a dead human who had been left in the ocean would have several zombie-like characteristics that would be exacerbated by the sea water.

Your body breaks down much more slowly in water, and salt water - like sea water - would slow the decaying process even more so. A body left in the ocean for 2 weeks will look the same as one left in open air for a week!

So, that’s the red, patchy, dewy finish we already discussed with zombies.

And instead of the pruning you get in a bubble bath, imagine blistering, black skin. Plus, that skin also becomes swollen, and bleached, giving you the bloated, patchy glow that you don’t see in The Little Mermaid.

Oh, and don’t forget your body!

Thanks to accumulating gases, the abdomen swells from bloating.

Fun fact: this is what makes corpses turn upside down and rise with the torso and head at the water’s surface!

So, are you ready to get your mermaid on?

Swap your Ariel wig and beachy waves for patchy, red and green skin, and use latex to create blistered, wrinkled skin in patches.

Simply follow my tips for a go-to zombie look, and like, make it wetter.

Don’t forget to stuff a jumper down your shirt to puff out your abdomen - bonus points for farting out those gases filling out your torso.

Now, go get your fish on!

So: which supernatural being are you vibing with this All Hallows’ Eve?

And which of your past halloween costumes have you been most proud of?

(Mine was my Man-Spider costume from last year...)

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remingt0nleith · 6 years ago

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painted kisses • remington leith imagine • smut.

REQUESTED. Remington Leith smut • 2.2K • Imagine form -- the reader is a female as requested -- Reader accidentally calls Remington daddy while hanging with the boys, which causes him to get dominant & possessive. This leads to smut, smut, and more smut. daddy kink af, basically. Took me a little while to do this so I made it longer <3. Mature content warning!

The outfit & look for Remington... (dare I say this is the only inspo I needed for this). Story below cut as always.

The boys were hollering and cheering as they made their way into the dressing room. They just finished the meet and greet which took place before the concert. The brothers carried armfuls of gifts from their amazing fans. All three had huge grins on their faces as they set their treasures on a table and began to sift through them. Emerson excitedly pointing out new drawing pads and pens while Sebastian wondered how fans managed to sneak in bottles of gin for him. Remington arranged his pile of Nutella, happily commenting on a Harley Quinn shirt he was given. It warmed your heart to see the boys so loved and appreciated because they damn well deserved it for the hard work they put into their craft.

After getting dressed in their outfits for the show, everyone had time to kill and decided to watch a movie and relax. The movie turned more into everyone being on their phones but you didn’t care as you were snuggled against Remington. Head resting on his shoulder, fingers threaded through his as you enjoyed his company and close proximity.

Rem nudged your head with his nose not wanting to move from his comfortable position.

“Baby, can you hand me my drink?”

You nodded, turning slightly to grab his soda from the table, passing it to him with a grin.

“Here, daddy” you mumbled.

Remington’s eyes darkened as he grabbed the drink from you, a chill enveloping you in response to your mistake. The boys didn’t seem to notice what happened but you knew Remington wouldn’t let you forget it.

Your boyfriend spent the next few minutes chatting with his brothers and Luis while simultaneously ignoring you, his body now rigid against yours letting you know the depths of your slip up.

“Fuck,” he grumbled. “I left my phone on the bus and I was supposed to check my emails before the show.”

“Just go to the bus and take care of it” Sebastian replied, eyes glued to his own phone.

“We have a bit of time before the show, anyway.”

“Good idea.”

Remi stood, holding his hand out to you, his gaze dark with a warning. You swallowed, taking his hand in your own as he led you to the tour bus.

Once inside he locked the door and turned to look at you his dark eyes swimming with a mix of lust and anger. Your skin felt hot with a combination of excitement and trepidation.

Remington’s fingers worked to undo the paisley tie which was fitted loosely around his neck. His white buttoned-down shirt half undone revealing his toned chest covered in tattoos. A red bandana was tied around his arm, black leather pants clung expertly to his hips. Copper-colored eyes lined messily with black eyeliner, lipstick smudged over his plump lips, messily running down his chin.

You bit down on your lower lip as he stalked closer, red lipstick calling out to you -- begging to be smudged against your own. The heat from your skin spreading to your core.

You reached out to him, fingers barely grasping the thin material of his shirt before he pulled away, instead grabbing you by the waist and turning you so your back was to him.

“Remi” you whined, feeling his breath on the back of your neck.

Suddenly, his tie was against your eyes obstructing your vision, causing you to whimper in protest.

His lips pressed gentle kisses along the side of your neck, leaving behind streaks of red.

His sultry voice filling the small space of the bus as he led you to his bunk.

“What did I tell you about calling me daddy in front of other people?” He scolded, your knees hitting the side of the bunk before Remington helped you inside -- you laying flat on your back.

You reached out to touch your boyfriend, hands grasping for his built frame, pulling him close against you -- desperate for his touch even if it came from a place of faux anger.

“I’m waiting.” Remington practically growled, long fingers undoing your jeans, the cold metal of his rings brushing against your newly exposed skin.

Your reply drifted away against Remington’s lips as you kissed him feverishly, his hands worked to undress you, your own gripping the thin fabric of his shirt, fingers quickly working to shed him from his clothing -- leaving you both in your underwear.

Suddenly, Remington pulled away, instructing you to get onto your hands and knees, you quickly obliged, skin prickling with anticipation while you were left to guess his next movements.

The bus’ bunk was small not leaving much room between the two of you, it was often like a game of twister when you were trying to do anything in the confined space. Yet, when it came to anything sexual you enjoyed the closeness.

Remington’s warm mouth trailed wet kisses down your spine, slowly making his way downwards. The wetness from your core soaking the thin fabric of your panties as his fingers slowly made circles over your throbbing clit, your hips moving against his fingers, desperate for more while Remington gently bit down on your hip, sucking a purple mark over the flesh.

“More” you whined out, head dropping to the pillow.

Remington pulled away from marking the exposed skin of your hips and moved to your thigh, tongue lapping at the flesh -- too close to your heat but not close enough.

Your face stayed buried in the pillow as you fought back curses knowing well enough that his teasing was a form of payback for using that nickname earlier.

The singer loved seeing you so wet and desperate for his attention, his cock hard and straining against the tightness of his boxers. Peeling down your panties, Remington was met with your dripping cunt.

“So fucking wet for me.” He grumbled.

Leaning down he slid his tongue against your folds, lapping at your wetness causing you to moan out loudly against the pillow, hips bucking back desperately against his movements.

Your skin was streaked with the red lipstick Remington wore but by now it was completely smeared and faded, his mouth occupied with sucking gently at your clit.

The sensation caused your stomach to clench in anticipation as the bundle of nerves throbbed against your boyfriend’s wet tongue.

Your hair was matted and sweaty against both the pillow and the tie around your eyes, you moaned out loudly, gladly your cries of pleasure were being mumbled.

Just as your orgasm was about to peak, Remington pulled away leaving you on the edge but without release.

You turned your head to whine out in protest.

“Remington, fuck, please. Please, daddy.”

You were practically trembling with the need for release as your boyfriend watched you. He loved seeing you like this -- so wet and spent for him. His thick cock twitching against the fabric of his boxers at the sight of you laid out like this.

He wrapped his hand around your long hair and gently pulled on it, knowing it was a turn on for you. His raspy voice filling the small bunk space,

“Think you deserve to come, baby girl?”

You whimpered out a response, barely audible.

Remington tsked again before leaving the small bunk to double check that the door was locked. He returned a moment later and snatched the tie away from your eyes, instructing you to get on your knees in the small hallway.

Your limbs felt like jelly but you obliged, Remington, helping you as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

He took place in front of you -- your eyes greedily taking in his toned body covered in dark ink, eventually looking at the outline of his cock straining against his underwear.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and choke on daddy’s cock?”

He grumbled, fingers finding your hair again, painted nails tangling in the strands as you licked your lips and looked up innocently at him.

“Yes, daddy. Want you to fuck my mouth.”

You whimpered whilst he pulled the material down with his free hand, his hard length now visible.

You leaned forward and took the tip in your mouth, sucking gently on the sensitive skin. Remington moaned in pleasure, head against the wall while you took your turn teasing him. Just as much as you loved being pleased by him, you loved satisfying your boyfriend.

You looked up at him to take in his smudged stage makeup, lips between his teeth as he desperately awaited your next move.

You opened your mouth to him, tongue moving against the underside of his cock before you took him in -- starting to bob your head in a steady rhythm. Remington groaned out in pleasure, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Fuck. Just like that, baby.”

You lived for his praise in moments like this, enjoying the sound of the lead singer’s moans as you took him farther in your mouth until you were basically choking on him.

Dark eyes opened to watch you, fingers gently brushing your hair from your face as you bobbed your head along his length.

Remington’s hand moved to the back of your head as he started to gently buck his hips, his hard cock hitting the back of your throat as you let him take control. Your warm mouth driving him closer to the edge as he fucked your mouth.

“Fuck... ‘m gonna cum.” He breathed out, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

In response, you picked up the pace until the taste of his release flooded your mouth. You moaned in pleasure pulling away to swallow his load, looking up at him through your lashes as you licked your lips.

Remington’s toned chest rose and fell as he recovered from his orgasm, untangling his fingers from your hair he pulled you up to kiss your lips.

Both of you moaning in pleasure, the taste of his release fresh on your tongue.

Remington pulled away, nose brushing against yours as his hands found your hips.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You whimpered, still needing release from earlier.

The sound of you so desperate for his touch caused Remington to get hard again, finally ready to let you give in to your orgasm.

In one swift motion, he had you pressed against the narrow wall -- wasting no time in sliding his hard length inside of your opening.

You immediately let out a cry of pleasured relief as he filled you to the brim.

He picked you up, you wrapping your legs around him as he began to steadily thrust causing you to become a writhing mess from the sensation.

Your lips crashing against his in a sloppy kiss that kept getting cut short by your moans of pleasure.

Your body began to tense, head dropping to Remington’s shoulder as you cried his name while he quickened his pace.

“Come for me, baby.” He grunted, voice rough with pleasure.

You bit down on his shoulder as your orgasm began to build up, stomach clenching as you chased your high, letting out a loud moan as you came -- body shuddering in pleasure. Remington moved one hand away from holding you up to gently rub your clit as you rode out your orgasm.

“Such a good girl for daddy.” He praised, loving the sight of you coming undone around him.

Once your orgasm was over, you rocked your hips against Remington’s to help him come -- his own release inside of you, causing him to mutter a string of curses.

The two of you stayed put for a few minutes, catching your breath, skin sticky from sweat.

Remi’s makeup messily smeared across his face, his lipstick now all over you instead of on him.

Setting you down gently after pulling out, he moved a hand through his now damp blonde hair, letting out a raspy laugh.

“God damn, baby.”

He grinned, heading to the small tour bus’ bathroom to take a quick shower and get re-ready for the show.

You quickly dressed, checking your phone to realize he had 25 minutes before the show started. Emerson and Sebastian had probably caught on to your extended absence -- not daring to interrupt. An unspoken pact between them that as long as you made it to the show and didn’t leave the bus a mess, one could have privacy with their significant other if needed.

Remington emerged a few minutes later, hair back to it’s perfected spiky form and makeup reapplied including a fresh coat of red lipstick which covered his swollen lips.

You looked him over in appreciation, but before you could say anything he tugged you to the bus door.

As you two walked the short distance to the venue, you looked over at him with an innocent expression.

“I just wanted to say you looked good.”

You smiled wide, nudging him with a playful shove.

He just rolled his eyes and grinned at you, opening the venue door which led backstage.

“Mm, sure you did. But, I think I’ll look better with you sitting on my face tonight.”

He winked, leaving you in the doorway with a flustered expression.

xxx

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