#Audrey Hepburn Little Black Dress

[nothingwith-nt]

The Legacy of Halston: Defining American Glamour

When you think of the golden era of American fashion, one name consistently rises to the top: Halston. The iconic designer, born Roy Halston Frowick, transformed the landscape of fashion in the 1970s, shaping what would become synonymous with American glamour. Halston’s minimalist yet luxurious designs revolutionized not only how people dressed but also how they felt in his creations. His legacy…

[everythingisahoax]

[chicinsilk]

Audrey Hepburn in a little black dress by Hubert de Givanchy during the filming of Funny Face in the Tuileries Garden in Paris in 1956. Photo David Seymour.

For Funny Face, Givenchy made all of Audrey Hepburn's "Parisian" dresses. This ensured that the couturier received the same rating (and an Oscar® nomination) as costume designer Edith Head.

Audrey hepburn dans une petite robe noire signée Hubert de Givanchy pendant le tournage de Funny Face (Drôle de frimousse) dans le jardin des tuileries à Paris en 1956. Photo David Seymour.

Pour Funny Face (Drôle de frimousse), Givenchy a réalisé toutes les robes "parisiennes" d'Audrey Hepburn. Celle-ci s'est assurée que le couturier reçoive la même note (et une nomination aux Oscars®) que la costumière Edith Head.

[1conicbitch]

The Garment That Changed The Game

The iconic Little Black Dress

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Timeless, chic, and endlessly versatile, the Little Black Dress (LBD) is more than just clothing. It’s a cultural icon. First introduced by Coco Chanel in 1926, the LBD broke fashion conventions by redefining black as a color of sophistication rather than mourning. Chanel’s vision was simple yet radical: a dress that every woman, regardless of social status, could wear with confidence and ease.

The original design was sleek, unadorned, and knee-length—an antidote to the extravagance of the 1920s. Vogue aptly described it as a “sort of uniform for all women of taste,” and it wasn’t long before the LBD became a universal symbol of understated elegance.

Audrey Hepburn immortalized it in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, elevating the LBD from a wardrobe essential to a piece of cinematic history. Over the decades, designers like Givenchy, Versace, and Saint Laurent have reimagined it, yet its essence remains untouched: simplicity with an edge of allure.

“One is never over-dressed or underdressed with a Little Black Dress“, Karl Lagerfeld

The magic of the LBD lies in its adaptability to adapt through the decades. Paired with pearls, it exudes old Hollywood glamour. Styled with boots and a leather jacket, it becomes a symbol of modern rebellion. It transcends trends, offering every generation its own way to embrace the allure of black.

The Little Black Dress isn’t just a garment; it’s an emblem of confidence, empowerment, and timeless style. It’s proof that fashion doesn’t have to be complicated to make a statement.

What’s your LBD story? How do you style yours?

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Hellooo, i hope u liked this little post i made about the iconic little black dress!! if u like it, give it a like and share your ideas in the coments! If you want me to do a post about a runway, model, fashion piece, etc, just write me and I'll do it!

[girlintheafternoon]

When Audrey Hepburn died at the age of sixty-three, she left behind one final surprise—an empty closet. Where were the designer originals worth tens of thousands of dollars? The world-famous little black dress from Breakfast at Tiffany's? Why did Audrey Hepburn, of all people, have a nearly empty closet with nary a couture gown in sight?

The answer proved both simple and profound. During her last ten years, Audrey Hepburn ruthlessly pared away at her life until only the absolute essentials remained. Hollywood? Not interested. Fashion shows? Thank you, but no. There was simply no need for Givenchy gowns when trekking across Africa on behalf of the starving children of the world.

In truth, if anyone had been paying strict attention to the substance beneath her dazzling surface, they would have seen an indication of her ultimate direction as far back as 1959's The Nun's Story; speaking to her castmate Patricia Bosworth, she had explained: "I love fashion, you know. Really love it. But fashion has nothing to do with me." At which point, recalled Bosworth, Audrey touched her heart and emphasized: "The me in here. . . . the private me, the interior me —inside I'm not fashionable at all." - Audrey Hepburn: A Life of Beautiful Uncertainty

[honeytonedhottie]

incorporating chic-ness and elegance into ur lifetsyle⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍨

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE CHIC ;

what does it mean to be chic? the word chic is used a lot in conversation but it actually has two meanings. chic (adjective) means to be elegantly and stylishly fashionable. but the meaning of chic that we are going to focus on in todays post is the noun.

CHIC (noun) : stylishness and elegance, typically of a specified kind…💬🎀

when i think of chic people like audrey hepburn and coco chanel. who do you think of when u think of the word chic? once you've thought of people who pop up in ur mind when u think of chic, think about what makes them chic? is it their clothes? the way that they carry and present themselves? is it their influence etc.

THE LITTLE LUXURIES ADD UP TO A CHIC LIFE ;

everyday is a reason to celebrate. you opening ur eyes this morning is a reason to celebrate. which is why i dont understand why people like to "save the beautiful things for celebrations". celebrate urself everyday. use the expensive perfume that u like, use ur best candles, have cake. dont save the little luxuries of life for when theres something to celebrate. celebrate everyday.

additionally the little things that u do everyday can add up to a more chic lifestyle and are not that difficult to implement into ur life. some examples of this include

drinking herbal teas with honey

starting a collection of something that u love

starting a collection specifically is a great way to spark the feeling of luxury or abundance…💬🎀

practicing self care

upgrading ur vocabulary

reading books and novels that are enriching

doing what YOU wanna do

fresh flowers

when you romanticize and make ur life seem more chic and elegant even if its with little things that u do, those things will add up and ultimately you'll formulate the chic and elegant life that u want.

GET READY EVERYDAY ;

when u present urself in the best possible way you'll FEEL it. when u put time into ur appearance every single day and get ready everyday your confidence will sky rocket because as we know, when we look good we FEEL good.

for me, when i get ready everyday i'll get more done in the day because i feel put together and posh etc. allocate time for urself everyday to do your makeup and keep up with ur appearance because it'll make u feel more chic.

THINGS THAT I THINK ARE CHIC ;

hand held mirrors

fluffy lashes

a little black dress

french tips

little baguette bags (tiny little purses in general)

fluffy powder puffs

cursive

THE STYLISH ASPECT OF BEING CHIC ;

the chic style is all about not doing too much and letting the outfit speak for itself. not wearing too many colors at once and choosing colors that complement each other. the outfit is more in the details then in the outfit itself which is why the little black dress is such a timeless fashion staple. some details to focus on when being chic are using nudish colors on ur nails or just go for french tips.

[glowup-princess]

ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀᴜᴅʀᴇʏ ʜᴇᴘʙᴜʀɴ

Becoming like Audrey Hepburn is less about mimicking her outward style and more about embodying the qualities that made her a timeless icon of grace, kindness, and elegance.

1. Cultivate Inner Grace

Kindness: Audrey was known for her compassionate heart. She dedicated much of her life to humanitarian work, especially with UNICEF. Practice empathy and kindness in your daily life.

Confidence with Humility: She was confident yet humble. Focus on your strengths, but stay grounded and genuine.

2. Adopt Her Elegant Style

Simple, Timeless Fashion: Audrey’s style was minimal yet chic. Invest in classic wardrobe staples like little black dresses, tailored pants, and ballet flats.

Accessories: Embrace pearls, oversized sunglasses, and scarves to add a touch of elegance.

Natural Beauty: Her makeup emphasized simplicity—think bold brows, a subtle cat-eye liner, and a fresh, clean look. Keep your hair neat and polished.

3. Develop Poise

Good Posture: Audrey carried herself with poise. Practice standing tall and moving gracefully.

Soft-Spoken Charm: She spoke with warmth and sincerity. Cultivate a calm and confident tone.

4. Embrace Lifelong Learning

Audrey was multilingual and loved to learn. Pursue knowledge and interests with curiosity.

Appreciate arts, culture, and creativity. She was passionate about acting and dance.

5. Live with Purpose

Audrey’s life was centered on making a positive impact. Find a cause or passion that aligns with your values and dedicate time to it.

6. Exude Joy and Humor

Audrey had a playful and lighthearted spirit. Smile often, laugh freely, and don’t take yourself too seriously.

7. Stay True to Yourself

Despite fame, Audrey stayed authentic. Know who you are, and embrace your unique qualities.

If you want to dive deeper into her life for inspiration, watch her classic films like Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Roman Holiday and read her biographies (Audrey Hepburn: An Elegant Spirit by her son Sean Hepburn Ferrer is a great start).

Be gentle w yourself <3

Pt. 2??

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

[bejeweledblondie]

Nightingale

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Summary: Y/N is a aid worker with UNICEF, while helping treat innocent children from preventable viruses the encampment is taken over by terrorists, the video of her an American being held hostage goes viral & it’s up to Task Force 141 to rescue her & the others

Warnings: mentions of beatings, death, war crimes, murder, it’s kinda heavy

Ever since you saw Audrey Hepburn walking with the sick, & hungry children with UNICEF you knew exactly that’s what you wanted to do. Help the most innocent & vulnerable children on the planet. You had gone to nursing school already & graduated. Once you graduated you immediately had made it imperative to volunteer your skills to help UNICEF. So now here you sat in the hot African heat & sun. It was absolutely sweltering, but the line of mother’s seeking out proper care for the babies, was extremely long. Your colleagues were offering them water, food rations, anything they needed while you helped administer vaccines. There had been a huge polio outbreak in the region due to contaminated water, & your team decided to administer that vaccine first.

A small frail toddler sat on her mother’s lap while you prepared the vaccine. Her wide eyes looked around the blue tent that was overhead. She looked malnourished, & was clinging to her mother. You had been administering her vaccines for the past couple of weeks now, & started to create a friendship with her mother. It was incredibly important to you to build trust with the little ones mothers, & you wanted them to know how much you genuinely cared for them.

Once the vaccines were ready you went to go & administer the first vaccine into the young child’s thigh when screaming was heard in the distance. The deafening sound of machine gun fire was heard in the distance. The woman in front you immediately picked up her child & ran in the opposite direction. A colleague of yours sprinted in your direction alerting you that one of the terrorist groups in the country had captured the nearby city, & were now taking over the camp. You immediately dropped the syringe in your hand & started to sprint.

Two pick up trucks pulled in front of her. Machine guns were bolted down into the their beds & multiple heavily armed terrorists occupied them. They jumped out, shouting in a language you didn’t fill understand. Shaking now in fear you threw your hands up surrendering yourself. Immediately their hands where on your shoulders dragging you to the truck. They zipped tied your hands behind your back & threw you in the back of one.

“Please you don’t understand I’m not a soldier!” You sobbed out. “I’m a aid worker.” Over the past few hours that felt like an eternity they grabbed civilians, & colleagues of yours. Soon the trucks were driving into the nearby city, cheers & gun fire rang out into the air in celebration. The trucks came to a halt & you along with the other hostages were dragged into one of the many buildings in the city. You could see people holding camera phones trying to get into your face, documenting the kidnapping of western aid workers.

The inside of the building was fairly clean, but lacking in any furniture. All that lay there was a area rug & some cushions. They plopped each one of you on the rug. A man who was somewhat well dressed walked in, a rifle was slung across his chest.

“Which one of you is American?” He asked. Everyone says silent then he loaded a bullet into the chamber of his rifle.

“M-me.” You squeaked out not looking up. He chucked to himself & two of the guards immediately brought you to your feet.

“Don’t worry we won’t kill you.” The man said. “Yet.” He chucked. “Americans, especially American women go for a pretty penny on the black market but I think you’d be best suited for ransom.” He explained. The guards dragged you into a room off of to the side & there sat a chair with a video camera facing it. They forced you to sit down & tied you to the chair. A table was to your left, all laid out were different knives, hardware tools, & other tools that could be used to torture a human being. Then it all hit you, you were going to be tortured on camera. The video would probably broadcasted across every major news network, for all to see. The idea of your family & friends having to bear witness to your bloodshed on television started to cause you to wonder if death was a better fate.

A taller man came up to you & bent down to look at your face. His grimy hands pulled your hair back punched you square in the face. A blood curdling scream escaped your lips as you heard the crack of your nose. The metallic smell of blood filled the air.

“Shut up!” One of them yelled. Your head hung weakly in defeat & pain. One of the men started the camera, & the other stood next to you with a large machete in his hand.

“To the people of the west, we declare war on you. The bloodshed that had spilled on our soil will continue, & it’s time for us to take revenge.” He said in near perfect English. The bastard had a damn American accent. “We have captured one of your own, & it is up to you to make sure she stays alive.” You lifted your head & looked into the camera intently. You reminded yourself of the importance to make sure you could be identified for rescuing. “You have 72 hours to respond.” The man said menacingly as he put the machete close to your neck. Your breathing increased by the presence of the large blade. The camera was then stopped & he removed the machete from your neck. You were soon untied & brought back into the room where the other hostages are. A colleague of yours gasped at the sight of your blooded & bruised face. They threw you to the ground, & you started to sob even more. Your vision kept going in & out from the pain.

“All I wanted to do was help people.” You whispered as you gave into the darkness.

Simon along with the rest of Task Force 141 sat in a briefing room awaiting what their next mission was to be. Price had a bit of a hunch as his wife texted him a news article mentioning the aid workers taken hostage. Laswell came in looking absolutely stressed.

“Afternoon.” She mumbled & put her laptop down on the table. The air suddenly felt incredibly tense by her presence which wasn’t abnormal but something felt off. She flipped open her laptop & started to brief them. “As some of you may know a group of terrorists invaded a city that was once held by rebel fighters. A UNICEF camp was based on the outskirts, a bunch of foreign nationals were there administering medicine to the locals. They attacked, & took an American aid worker hostage along with nationals from other countries.” Kate sighed. “There’s a video they released.”

Everyone looked around the room at each other. “It’s dark.” She simply stated. “This poor woman.” She hit play & the video started. As soon as they all saw the young woman blooded with her head down they sat up. The more the video played Simon grew more angry. Then once the terrorist had pulled her head up Kate looked down. Her eyes where blood shot, nose was already broken, & her whole face was covered in blood. The man held a machete to her neck & they all watched her body tense up.

Simon was pumped full of adrenaline & wanted to snap the neck of the man who held the machete. He was furious.

“Holy Fuck.” Gaz said & shook his head.

“Yeah I know.” Kate said. “The United States has reached out to us, they want us to rescue her. Their Special Forces are conducting other operations. The woman in the video her name is Y/N L/N, & it’s believed her colleague Paul Kessler is also in the compound. Their lives are at extreme risk & we need to extract them immediately. So hop to it.”

They went over the rescue plan, & walked out to the airstrip where a C-130 aircraft awaited them. Their gear was put on board by the crew & they boarded the plane. Simon couldn’t help but wonder about the young woman in the video. She looked so defeated & was on deaths doorstep. It angered him. These were his least favorite type of missions, he hated the idea of innocent people who just wanted to help others be subjected to the worst kind of violence. He had seen so many innocent people throughout his childhood, & adulthood fall victim that he was fueled with anger for this mission.

The plane landed safely at a airbase in one of the neighboring countries. They got off & did a full gear lay out to assure everyone had the correct equipment. Simon took apart his rifle & cleaned it a few times before putting it back together. Everyone could tell from his demeanor that he was going to be ruthless. Both Soap & Price exchanged a glance of worry before looking at Simon again. When they knew he was doing a deep clean of his rifle he wasn’t going to hold back once they landed. Two Blackhawk Helicopters landed on the Tarmac at 02000 (8pm) ready for the Task Force to board.

Simon pulled his iconic skull faced mask over his head, transforming from a man into a force to be reckoned with. Ghost had now taken over, & it was time for him to board the helicopter. Ghost & Soap took one helicopter while Price & Gaz went to the other. Night had fallen & it was perfect for them to be stealthy enough to fly under enemy radar. They lifted off of the ground & headed off to their target.

“Gentlemen, we are now over the border.” One of the pilots said over the radio. “Wheels down in ten.” They were flying so incredibly low that they just barley touched the tips of the trees they flew over. Soon they had reach a now pitch black city & the helicopters started to approach the house were their target was.

“Eyes on target.” Price said into his radio, alerting the task force. A fighter on of the roofs started to fire as the approaching helicopters & was quickly taken out by Price. Soon they were hovering over the roof of the building & repelling down. Once his boots hit the roof of the building his combat mode was switched on. Looking through his night vision goggles he was able to eliminate all of the hostiles on the surrounding roofs. Soap located the door that lead down the stairs & immediately kicked it open. He eliminated one of the terrorists behind the doorway & motioned for them to follow him.

With ease they cleared the stairway & upper floor of the house. It certainly helped that the terrorists were completely unorganized & didn’t know how to properly fight. Soap grabbed one of them & dragged him to where they were holding the hostages.

You kept going in & out of consciousness due to the pain. Your captors had beaten you with every possible way they could. It was a direct attempt to break your spirits & make you ultimately give up hope for a rescue. Your eyes were so bloodshot & after a blow of a rifle butt to the head you couldn’t even fully see anymore. One of your colleagues had to explain what was happening around you. After you slipped out of consciousness again you felt someone’s knee trying to awake you. A overwhelming feeling of dread filled your body thinking it was one of your captors.

“Y/N! Y/N!” The voice screamed, it was one your colleagues Paul. “Wake up they’re here to rescue us.” He said attempting to wake you up. You opened your eyes only to see blurred figures. Hearing gun fire up the stairs you tried to sit up more. Stomping came down the stairs & more shots rang out. You felt a bright light shining on your face & then hands on you. Your bound hands were cut free & your body was lifted from the ground into a fireman’s carry.

“Captain I’ve acquired the target,” A deep British accent said. “Ready for extraction.”

“Affirmative.” A muffle voice said over the radio. Mentally you were thanking whatever higher power that sent them here to rescue you. You let our little squeaks & moans of pain as the two of you made it up the stairs. Your head was beyond pounding now.

“I know love, but I promise we’ll get you treatment as soon as possible.” The voice replied to your small noises. The two of you made it to the roof & the helicopter that was hovering turned around to extract the whole Task Force. You could hear Paul thanking whoever he was in front of at the moment for rescuing him.

“How’s she doing? A voice yelled over the sound of the helicopter approaching. “Okay, not great but we gotta get her immediate care.” The wind of the helicopter blades indicated that it was right above. You felt yourself being strapped to a gurney & lifted into the air. Once in the helicopter & moving you could feel them stabilize your head. A IV was started to replenish your body of it’s fluids. One of the men aboard with a thick Scottish accent kept asking you a series of different questions. You could only respond with hand signals. A bulky piece of fabric was placed in your arms. Your hands felt around the folded fabric only to realize it was an American flag. Small sob escaped your lips as you clutched onto the fabric tighter.

Ghost looked down at the poor woman who was strapped to the gurney. Soap had taken an American flag that was aboard the helicopter & placed it in her arms. They both watched as she sobbed clutching the fabric at the realization that she was actually safe.

“You’re safe love,” Soap assured her. Once they had landed back at the airbase the young woman was handed off to the team of advanced medics on the airbase to be stabilized for transport. Ghost watched from a distance as she was being boarded onto a airplane to be sent to Germany for proper care. He removed his mask revealing Simon. Price walked up to him & clapped him on the back.

“Job well done son,” Price said. “Cmon let’s get some sleep & then we’ll be headed back.”

A few weeks later you were somewhat healed. The doctors were able to place your nose back together properly & you regained your eyesight somewhat. The most difficult part was hearing your speech might be slurred due to the blow you took to your head. You were also told you’d have to relearn to write again. During your entire treatment you refused to let go of the American flag one of the rescuers put in your arms. The doctors had to pry your arms open to gain access to your abdomen.

It sat on the bed side table of your hospital room. You were sat up in bed holding a pencil tracing letters. Your doctor recommended you do so in order to regain the ability you once had. It hadn’t been this difficult since kindergarten. You were so focused on your writing that you hadn’t even noticed the handsome soldier at your door. A soft knock on the side of the door frame alerted you of his presence. You looked up, somewhat embarrassed at your appearance in front of the handsome stranger. The bruising under your eyes was yellowing now from the rhinoplasty.

“I’m sorry for startling you.” He said, & your mind immediately flashed back to that night. That voice. “You may not remember me but-“

“N-no I d-do.” You replied through slurred words. He gave you a soft smiled & walked into the room.

“May I sit?” He asked & you nodded. He pulled up a chair & sat down next to your bed. “I’m Simon.” He introduced himself.

“Y/N.” You managed to get out. He looked down at what you were doing. Embarrassed you tried to flip the paper over but he stopped you.

“What are you doing?” He asked & flipped the paper. “Ah I see. Let me help.” He said. His large hand eclipsed yours as he helped you hold the pencil correctly. He helped you trace one of the lowercase letters properly by guiding your hand.

“T-thank you.” You said & looked at him. He brushed your hair out of your face & then looked at the American flag on your bed side table. One of his large hands ran over it & then placed it in your lap. You reached out for his hand & give it a squeeze. His flesh was calloused but made you feel warm & safe. Those same hands that rescued you would be the ones to have & to hold you for your entire life.

[hotvintagepoll]

Just a thought for future polls, can we do hot vintage fits?

Like what’s the one fashion piece that makes everyone hotter? Glasses vs sweater vests. Beards vs mustaches. Fedoras vs trench coats. Endless possibilities and disproportionately strong opinions.

Hot vintage fits as a category seems too broad to me (so many different styles of glasses and trench and beard!), but I would be totally down for a Hot Vintage Iconic Costume tournament. Something like—

[nothingwith-nt]

How to Build a Capsule Wardrobe for Every Season

Creating a capsule wardrobe is a fantastic way to simplify your life and make getting dressed each day a breeze. By curating a collection of versatile, high-quality pieces that can be mixed and matched, you’ll not only save time and money but also reduce the clutter in your closet. Plus, with a well-thought-out capsule wardrobe, you can be stylish and prepared for any season. Here’s how to build…

[everythingisahoax]

[wildshona]

Out of the Wet and In to the Wet

Fuck the weather was awful yesterday. Not that it is much better today either. Anyway while Chris was working in the study on organising a meeting requested by a Trump supported think-tank, Amelia, Zoe and I got our stuff together, called an uber and went off to Toni’s for a swim. We got wet just going from our block of flats to the uber and from the uber to Toni’s front door bur never mind we were going to be in a pool soon anyway.

Mrs Lewis met us and took us through to the pool. No Toni. So we went through to the changing room and got changed. No protests from Amelia this time about the bikini. We had been in the pool a few minutes when Toni arrived.

Sorry sweeties, I had to go to see a patient. Give me a moment.

And she just stripped off by the poolside and dived in. Well, of course she did.

Hello Princess Toni, squealed Zoe, doggy paddling up to her and throwing her arms round Toni’s neck. Hello Princess Munchkin came the reply. Shit, Zoe got there first and I wanted to get my hands on those glorious tits.

Well, the fun started splashing, chasing, playing sharks, Toni diving under the water and putting her hands on my cunt, on and on until it was obvious that Zoe was finally getting tired and we all got out and hit the loungers and Mrs Lewis arrived in that strange “I know when I’m needed way” with a tray of ice cream and red wine. She had removed Toni’s clothes from the poolside while we were swimming.

Still shy, Amelia, asked Toni.

Amelia muttered something I didn’t here and took off her bikini top. Yay, progress. We lay there for a while until Zoe was falling asleep and then we went through to the lounge so that Zoe could crash on a sofa. We just drank wine and chatted about nothing very much. Amelia looked self conscious being topless now that we were sitting in a lounge rather than sitting by a pool but she was definitely trapped so, like a good and polite woman, she lived with it.

With Zoe asleep Toni let her hands wander a little. I was sitting next to her as usual and she put an arm round me and played with my nipple and at one time a hand even gently stroked my thigh all the way to the edge of my cunt. I very nearly came then.

After an hour or so Zoe began to wake up and Toni announced that it would be dinner soon so we should all go to our rooms and dress. Toni showed Amelia and Zoe to their rooms as a reminder from the week before and I slipped off to mine. I wasn’t surprised to see clothes laid out for me. Clothes I had never seen before. A dark purple dress that flared down to mid calf like something Audrey Hepburn might have worn in the mid fifties. (Yes, I am totally in to old films). Well not exactly because the bodice was transparent. Then there were stockings and a suspender belt in black, no knickers and some purple high heels.

I showered first to get the pool chemicals off me and lightly washed my hair – it dries quickly anyway but – I thought – it might look stylish with that dress to have wet slicked back hair.

I was first back to the lounge in any case. Toni arrived soon after wearing a dress of similar length and flair to mine except in black and the bodice was tight corset style that pushed her beautiful tits up to create a breath taking cleavage. Amelia and Zoe were last down. Zoe was wearing another outfit straight out of a wholesome Disney movie. Amelia – well – Amelia was wearing a dress very similar to mine except in a deep blue. Her nipples were obvious under the transparent bodice. The red of her blush really set off the blue of her dress. Naughty Toni.

And so we ate and chatted like civilized people with giggly chat from Zoe about her being a princess who was visiting a princess in her castle. It really felt like that. All very relaxed. Even Amelia relaxed in the end despite her nipples getting hard as they rubbed against the fabric of her dress.

Then Zoe was off to bed. She even let Mrs Lewis carry her up with pronises of bedtime stories. She liked Mrs Lewis, the supplier of ice craem to the princesses.

Brandies back in the lounge.

Shona sweetie, why don’t you slip out of your dress?

Well, I’m not one to argue with Toni am I?

So I slipped out of my dress and then snuggled up to Toni with my legs stretched along the sofa and my cunt probably pretty obvious. And pretty obviously wet.

Does nudity bother you, Amelia? Toni asked.

No, I’m used to Shona hanging around naked. She rarely wore clothes when we were growing up.

You did though?

Yes, daddy said that sluts didn’t mind showing themselves off but good ladylike women didn’t.

Oh, aren’t I a good lady like woman? Toni asked all innocence.

Of course you are.

Toni stood up and looked down at me. Unhook me sweetie.

Obviously her wish was my command so my trembling fingers un-hooked the bodice. The dress fell to the floor releasing her oh so gorgeous tits. She was wearing a thong though so she was still more dressed than me.

There now a ladylike person is nearly naked, Toni said. And it sounded like a challenge, coming from that confident woman.

Amelia had been drinking wine for a while and now had had a brandy and I doubt she drank much living with daddy. She accepted the challenge.

Unhook me Shona.

I moved pretty fast and in no time Amelia’s dress had joined mine on the floor.

Toni looked Amelia up and down and smiled. She crossed the few steps to wear we stood, Amelia trembling and breathing heavily.

Toni kissed her lightly on the lips.

Well done, Amelia.

Her hand gently stroked down Amelia’s arm to her fingertips. She kissed her lightly again and then took my hand and led me back to her sofa,

Sit down Amelia and let’s talk.

I stretched out against Toni again and she taled to Amelia whilst idly playing with my clit and cunt, ignoring my occasional trembling and groaning as I came.

They spoke for a long time and I was hardly able to pay attention, my mind totally focussed on her fingers and my cunt. How could she hold a conversation at the same time as doing this to me?

The gist of the conversation as I remember it was that Toni would teach Amelia to be more independent and to show her that there was more pleasure to be had in the world than she imagined. She asked her to imagine the pleasure that I must be feeling right then as I gave myself in to my sexual nature and feelings. I think I came at exactly the right moment then.

First off, said Toni, which was an odd thing to say as it was pretty much the last thing. We are going to get you a whole new wardrobe. Will you be guided by me? Will you allow me to help you.

I heard a quiet yes, I opened my eyes and I swear Amelis was struggling not to touch herself as she watched me being pleasured.

Then the hand was gone. Noooooooooo.

Good, now I think it is time you went to get Zoe. Don’t rush.

This was as she moved her position and pushed me down between her legs. Amelia sisn’t rushe we had a full half hour in which I took off Toni’s soaked thong and gave her my tongue. Licking her clit and her cunt, serving her as I had been taught to serve a woman by Glenys so long ago. I am good at it. Yeah, that is bragging.

We just had time on top of Toni filling my mouth with her oh so sweet juices for Mrs Lewis to bring my clothes from wherever they had been and a robe for Toni before Amelia and Zoe arrived wearing the clothes they had arrived in which Amelia had found waiting in Zoe’s room.

A car was waiting and home we went, Amelia very quietly held my hand all the way home.

[cranberrymoons]

wanna help my worlds collide?

prompt: threesome, double penetration in two holes (kinktober) tags: rated e (18+) hellcheer doubleteaming steve until he cries, that's the whole fic

—

Chrissy’s sweet.

That’s the impression Steve gets the first time he meets her, leaning against the wall at a party hosted by their shared boyfriend. 

She catches sight of him and makes a beeline for him right away, marching across the room on skyhigh heels without missing a step. There’s something predatory in her walk, a glint in her eye, and it lights Steve up like a fucking Christmas tree as she comes to a stop in front of him

It’s that kind of a party – people in lingerie and collars, a few on leashes. The Halloween theme carried out to its logical Eddie Munson conclusion of “vampire sex den”, or whatever it is he’s going for with the number of black and red pillar candles he’s got burning all over the place.

And she’s dressed to match: black dress and black heels with red soles, cherry red nails and lips, but even still. It’s not the kind of place you’d expect to meet someone like Chrissy, looking more like she’s wearing an Audrey Hepburn costume than anything you’d find in a place like this. 

She looks like half the girls he went out with back in high school: sweet and bubbly and warm. A nice girl. 

Well, that and the six-inch stilettos.

Her eyes light up when he tells her his name, and she leans closer and says,

“Oh my god.” Cheeks flushing pink, big toothy grin spreading across her face as she settles a hand on his arm. “Are you that Steve?”

And he smiles, tilting his head to the side. “Guess that means you’re that Chrissy.”

Her laugh is light like a bell, and he feels himself drawn in. He can tell exactly what it is that Eddie sees in her, feels a little like he’s staring at the female version of himself, and he makes a mental note to tease Eddie later about having such a distinct type.

[continue on ao3 || 4,702 words]

tag list of people who showed interest and/or outright begged me to tell them when this was posted lol: @withacapitalp @stargyles @imfinereallyy @spoookysix @wynnyfryd @starryeyedjanai @shares-a-vest @penny00dreadful @griefabyss69 @hornedqueenofhell @hbyrde36 @vegasol @salamandergoo sorry if i missed anyone??

and of course last but not least happiest of birthdays to @steventhusiast!!!!!!

[youremyheaven]

Kibbe Observations

Theatrical Romantics often have distinct husky voices. Morgan Fairchild, Jane Seymour, Salma Hayek, Mila Kunis (if you watch Black Swan you can listen to her speak at a lower pitch, people who have husky voices sound shrill when they speak at a higher pitch which is how Mila usually speaks)

I feel like every Kibbe type has a few celebs who intuitively always dress for their type and a bunch of others who absolutely never do lol.

Sofia Vergara, Kelly Brook, Ava Gardner, Christina Hendricks etc are Soft Dramatics who almost always wear their lines.

Salma Hayek, Joan Collins are TRs who pretty much embody TR glam most of the time.

3. Kibbe is based on vibes someone gives off, more than you would think. There are certain criteria that has to be met for each type but there are exceptions, always!!

Audrey Hepburn was 5'7 but she's a true Gamine. It's rare to see a tall Gamine but it's not impossible

Beyonce is also 5'7 but she's a Romantic even though most Romantics are short.

4. Kibbe is about image identity. That means the image you project. You can analyse the length & breadth of someone's shoulders & calves all you like but your image identity is MORE than that. I'll use an example. Mila Kunis & Sarah Hyland, pretty much look like sisters yet the vibes they give off are different.

Mila Kunis has a very sultry, sensuous "femme fatale" essence (she's verified TR) but Sarah Hyland has a more innocent but kind of mischievous, more youthful vibe. You can easily see that Mila has a more "dark feminine" energy whereas although Sarah has similar coloring and features, she still feels more light feminine.

Here she is in a very TR-esque outfit but something feels off

This outfit would look really weird on a lot of people (a tutu skirt for God's sake 😭) but she looks good in it

in this dress however, she looks like a kid who wore a grown up dress. her youthful vibe contrasts the heavy romantic vibes of this dress

However, here she looks like a complete doll. again, this look seems to suit her in a way it wouldn't suit most people.

This dress is a little too intense for her.

However she looks great here!!

I would say she's Soft Gamine

She has Gamine essence and it's the kind of styling that looks best on her

Let's compare her to Mila Kunis now

Mila, kinda looks like she's wearing a costume here. It looks very off.

Here she's in a very Romantic outfit with a dash of glamour and she looks greattt

Tea length dresses only look good on Gamines imo and here Mila looks very out of place

despite being very short, tea length dresses, even in a more Dramatic style, does not seem to suit Mila

Here she is, in a very TR look and it really harmonizes all her features and attributes.

this dress would be more flattering on a Natural type but Mila does not look like herself here

aside from the fact that this dress needed some ironing, this is probably the most TR look Mila has ever worn and it really makes her shine

5. In order to be SD, you need to have a T shaped silhouette. Broad shoulders, small waist and proportionately small hips. SDs are not "tall TRs".

6. Sofia Vergara & Joe Manganiello are my SD power couple

its sooo easy to tell that they both have similar essences and project a similar image

however, here she is with her former fiancee Nick Loeb. Sofia's overpowering Dramatic essence makes her stand out and she almost looks out of place next to Nick, who is FN. Their essences clash with each other and make them kind of awkward looking together.

There is a meme about how Brad Pitt imitates the women he's with. Let's see how he channels his different essences with different women.

Angelina Jolie & Brad Pitt are both Naturals (FN & SN) with Dramatic/Romantic essence

Together they project a very larger than life, powerful, strong and intense vibe

Here he is, with Jennifer Aniston. as a couple, they project a more grounded, couple-next door, warm vibe. they're like the cool couple on a college campus, two hot people who look good together but in a very earthy, grounded way. Jennifer Aniston is also a Natural (SN)

Brad has Dramatic essence however Jen is pure Natural. so while Brad can pull off a more intense styling, Jen would look kinda out of place in it.

The dress and leather in general is too overpowering on her

However, she really shines in outfits like these that let her true essence be reflected. everybody, especially in the last couple of years, has been imitating Rachel Green (and 90s style in general) but imo, its most flattering on Naturals because of the way clothes were designed in that decade.

Here he is with Gwyneth Paltrow. Gwyneth is yet another Natural (FN) but she has Classic essence. The thing about possessing Classic essence is that you have a perfect yin-yang balance, so nothing stands out individually since everything blends together perfectly. Brad & Gwyneth together sort of bleed into each other, their essences don't contrast each other in anyway, they almost look like siblings😭😭😭 , there is no visible polarity at play.

Brad was with 3 different Natural women yet they all projected a very distinct vibe because of their very different essences.

7. kibbe is about image and how other perceive you. its futile to obsess over width and breadth and circumference and what not. dont miss the forest for the trees. also, there is a lot of variety within each type, not all Soft Classics look the same and not every Gamine is going to look great in tea length dresses. every individual is unique.

Amy Adams is FN but she's only 5'2. imo, she has a blend of Natural+Classic essence.

IMO, she was horribly miscast in Enchantment. She does not possess the wide-eyed, gullible "ingenue" essence necessary to play a lost princess. i just wasn't convinced that she's this naive, innocent princess because Amy exhibits a more world-wise, mature and "no-nonsense" vibe.

be it in American Hustle, Arrival or Sharp Objects, she plays characters that seem to fit her like a glove. She's just very convincing in these type of roles because she seems like a grown up who knows what to do and how to get things done. She does not have the air of a ditzy, confused damsel in distress

here's Isla Fisher. i specifically chose Isla because her & Amy kind of look alike but their essences are vastly different from each other.

Isla is a verified Romantic and has Romantic + Ingenue essence and she's perfect in films like Confessions of a Shopaholic because she's convincing as a ditzy airhead who is slightly naive and very confused. (this being one manifestation of the ingenue essence) if you look at her career, she's by and large done a lot of romcoms. It's hard to imagine her in a show like Sharp Objects or a movie like Arrival because the image she projects is far more youthful and sweet.

8. there is a reason why kibbe has its roots in old hollywood. old hollywood studio system manufactured stars the way kpop companies manufacture idols today. the were assigned an image to project and each star managed by the company had their own unique appeal that set them apart from the rest. lauren bacall projects an aura thats entirely different from audrey hepburn or marilyn monroe. liz taylor is completely different from gene tierney. most big stars in those days possessed Dramatic essence, simply because Dramatic essence makes people stand out easily. its a very large, strong, intense essence and gives the individual an edge. but the market created space for all kind of stars, there were actors who had a more boy/girl next door aura, femme/homme fatale aura, a quirky,funny aura and more. these days, cinema in general lacks big stars. imo there hasn't been a truly big star in maybe the last 20 years or so of cinema because no one's projecting an image that appropriately fits them.

however, pop music has had many icons and a huge part of their success is their image. be it taylor swift or nicki minaj or even BTS. people connect to them because they have a stable image identity for others to connect to. they have lore, they switch things up and keep things interesting but there's a bedrock that is unchanging and thats what makes them "stars".

[bookvvitch]

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

Ch 8: If He's Rex Harrison, You're Audrey Hepburn

“A date?” You blink twice in succession, startled by the unexpected suggestion.

You were right in the middle of making yourself a cup of noodles when he had approached you, seemingly out of nowhere, after several minutes of playing Nintendo games in Spinner’s lap. It’s easy to tease Spinner. He hasn’t made a move on you outright, but you know you’ve got him close to his limit. 

Or so you thought. 

Apparently, all of the attention directed at another man pushed someone else to his limit instead.

Atsuhiro flushes. Perhaps he should have worn his mask for this discussion after all. But since watching you cuddle up into Spinner’s chest, manually wrapping his arms around you, he’s eager to speak with you as soon as humanly possible. Despite the stinging heat of his cheeks, he proceeds, “That’s right. I’d like to take you out tonight. Just the two of us,”

Normally, he would give you more time to not only consider his request, but to prepare for it should you have accepted it. This situation required a bit more haste than that, though. If he didn’t get this plan solidified and underway tonight, someone would, inevitably, try to delay it or have it cancelled entirely. Compress needs to strike while the iron is hot. It’s now or never.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, capture your lower lip betwixt your teeth. His asking you out was sudden, but not unwanted. That isn’t what’s delaying your response. There’s just something about Compress that makes you a little nervous. Twice did as well before you two had fooled around, but that feeling has since faded, having fallen to the wayside in place of a near-constant sexual tension. When it came to Compress specifically, though, there was something about his authority and confidence that made you feel the tiniest bit weak in the knees, bones gelatinous any time he approaches you. It wasn’t like the false bravado that Dabi tended to carry or that Spinner often attempted to hide behind. Atsuhiro knew what he wanted and then some. And that was intimidating.

Yes, Atsuhiro considered himself to be a confident man. He spoke with purpose. He stood tall. He had experience. 

But dammit, you make him so tense and sweaty!

Abandoning your noodles, you tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear with a meek, “Okay,” and a sweet smile.

He nods, reigning himself in so you don’t see how giddy this has made him. 

“Well then, Yumemi,” he straightens his back, “Get dressed and I’ll take you out for a real dinner,”

When you exit, he exhales deeply, smears his face with his hands. He pulled it off. You said yes, you’re going out with him. He has to make this night unforgettable for you.

He’s going to be the first one to take you on a date. 

You hand the steaming cup of noodles to Toga as the two of you enter into the den, a grin spreading across your face, and she takes it without question. 

“Mimi, you look so happy!” She chirps between sips of hot broth. 

“I, uh.. I have to get ready for a date toni—“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before she’s dragging you into her room. The door slams closed behind you. She looks manic.

“With who?!”

“Atsuhiro,”

“Oh my God, no way!” She downs the entire cup of noodles in one impossible gulp before she begins sifting through her clothes, “I can’t believe one of them actually nutted up and asked you out! Okay, lemme see. I have something here somewhere.. Ah-hah!” Toga retrieves a cocktail dress from her closet, the material a sleek, black taffeta.

You cock your head, “Jesus, Toga, this looks expensive,”

She shrugs, “It probably was. But I stole it in case someone grew enough hair on their chest to ask you out. Good thing, huh?”

You hold it up to yourself, admiring how the cut appears to be flattering for your figure. It shows just enough chest to be seductive, just enough leg to say you want him, while still being classy for a nice occasion. She really knows her shit for a teenager. 

“Wow, I mean.. Thank you,”

“If you wanna thank me, give me details when you get back,” she smiles until the points of her teeth show, golden eyes crinkling. 

You snicker, blushing as you nod your head. 

“And one more thing,” a drawer is opened on her nightstand, the quick grab of a bottle serving as proof that she’s had this preplanned for quite some time, “I also took some pheromone perfume!” Without so much as a warning, she dabs it onto your wrists, your neck, spreads it into the back of your hair, “Now he’ll definitely make a move,”

There isn’t much of a smell on your end, so you ask her, “You sure this stuff works?”

“If you can’t smell it, yeah, probably. This one is to attract men,”

You hum, somewhat skeptical, but step into the dress regardless. Worst case scenario is that now you smell like nothing. Not much of a loss considering that this is a stolen dress layered on top of some stolen perfume. Your phone buzzes from the bed.

Atsuhiro: I’m parked out front whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting for you, dearest.  

“Toga, he has his own car!” You tell her while slipping on a pair of black pumps that she’s procured from under her bed. 

“Why do we have to walk when Kurogiri’s busy, then?” She pouts. 

You stuff your phone and wallet into a little clutch that’s been handed to you, shrugging, mouth tilted as if to convey confusion. 

“Why are you so prepared for this?”

“I took it all in one haul. Now get out of here!”

The shove she gives you isn’t really needed. You’re impossibly excited to be taken on your first ever actual date. You’ve been in a couple relationships before, but nobody had ever taken you out like this, the majority of your relationships being ones of convenience more than anything else. A cold sweat sends ice to shoot down your spine when you traipse out the door, the reality hitting you in one sweeping lurch that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You inhale sharply as Atsuhiro, clad in his ‘in case she says yes’ suit, opens the door of his ivory Rolls-Royce. His hair is slicked back with pomade and he smells of leather and bergamot, his bare hands soft and well-manicured.

Fuck. 

This guy is old money.

The scent of you envelopes him, drowns his senses, and he finds himself longing to bite into the tender flesh at the nape of your neck. However, he’s a gentleman. He controls himself as you slide onto the tan, leather seat of his passenger side, lips curled into a playful grin when you look up at him. He closes the door, sits behind the wheel. The smell is stronger when the two of you are confined, a subtle, musky vanilla undertone with something more that hits his nose as primal and vulgar. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice travels to his ear like petals on the wind, gauzy moonlight pouring in through the tinted window to emphasize the arch of your lashes.

How is he supposed to get through a meal like this?

“La Vie Est Belle,” he answers cooly, “If you like bread, you’ll love this restaurant. Their baguettes are made in house,”

“Mhm. I love bread,” you thumb the hem of your dress anxiously as you speak. 

Your family is fairly well off, but you aren’t what you would consider to be rich. More like comfortably middle class. Mom and Dad have always spoiled the hell out of you, but it’s not like they would take you to some fancy French restaurant on a whim. Especially not anything this fancy. As soon as Atsuhiro ushers you from his vehicle, it’s whisked away by the valet, a suave young man in a white tuxedo and matching shoes. The valet doesn’t speak a word to either of you, simply takes the keys and parts, which has you feeling somewhat strained. It seems wrong not to exchange pleasantries. 

Compress indulges in another whiff of your hair as he guides you into the restaurant, his palm cupped on the small of your back. It tingles his toes. Leaves him with a heaviness in his core.

You, on the other hand, are gobsmacked at this place. The exterior resembles that which you would expect of something like an upscale wedding reception hall, the stone steps leading to a heavy, oak door that rests in between a set of pillars on either side of it, which hold up the scaffolded and overhanging roof. Once inside, you’re greeted with vaulted ceilings, walls painted in a deep, navy blue, and crystal chandeliers hanging gracefully above each round, golden-clothed table. A bouquet of irises, blue and white, sit in the center, lit candles circling them. You look around at all of the people here in their affluent attire, the men dressed in velour and fine suits, the women in organza gowns that touch the floor, peep-toe shoes hidden behind the curtains of fabric. One lady appears to have brought with her a tiny, white dog in a bag. 

You, the proletariat which you are, do not belong here. 

Atsuhiro takes notice of how you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Your smile is but a farce, voice feigning placidity. So when the waiter comes, he orders for the table, something safe that most people would enjoy—though you wouldn’t know this. Apparently, Atsuhiro speaks fucking French. You are so out of your depth it’s not even funny.

You mouth the words ‘thank you’ as the waiter scurries off, the tails of his coat fluttering when he turns. Another waiter has stopped in his tracks behind you, your back turned to him as his gaze flickers over your form, much too long for your date’s liking. Compress narrows his eyes at the young man who burns bright pink when he realizes he’s been caught. You’re absolutely stunning tonight. Streamlined and gloss-black as a raven’s feather, the twinkle in your eyes rivaling each and every gem in the room. He doesn’t need the gawking eyes of some college freshman to tell him that. But something roils beneath his skin when he thinks about how many young, spry suitors are taking note of how you’re gorgeous and how you smell like this. Had he really never noticed before?

“Well, I’m sure you’ve guessed this already, but I don’t speak French,” you giggle nervously, “Did you order dessert?”

Two glasses of red wine are sat at the table by a gloved hand, which he swirls to aerate as soon as he receives it. 

“I don’t think we should get dessert,” he says dryly.

Your brows tick up, “Why?”

Atsuhiro inhales slowly, deeply, before he takes a small sip of his wine. 1955 was a good year from what he can tell. One would assume such a minuscule drink of alcohol would leave him entirely grounded, however, the way you’re intoxicating him has left him unencumbered.

“Because you smell like sex and I can’t have people thinking such things about you. In fact, I won’t. So I'd like to take you back to my place instead,” the sedulity in his tone has your heart pounding, his sharp eyes and even sharper tongue cutting into your chest which heaves sluggardly beneath your dress. 

He wears his years too differently for you to tell his age, but with the way his eyes hang low and steady, fixed onto your own, you feel so young and small. You’re all doe eyes and exposed legs across from him, his decadently oppressive aura weighing atop you, smothering you in a relentless tide. The crossing of his legs is just barely captured in your peripheral, as is the twitch of his hand, the unsteady rhythm of his breaths. It appears as though you’re both struggling to maintain your composure.

With the slightest nudge of your lips, you lean in closer to him, ignoring the clinking of plates as they’re sat on the table when you say, “Maybe I’m not hungry for dinner,”

His stomach tightens, eyes bouncing open, and he’s forced to coax them back to his typical steely affect. 

“You really should try to eat something,” his voice takes on a low gravel, “I’ve heard that truffles are an aphrodisiac,”

You’re smiling outright at this point. He wants to finish dinner? That’s fine. You’ll make sure he gets dinner and a show. 

His breath hitches when you press your breasts into cleavage, cleverly guised as a reach for your wineglass. Your lips graze the rim, a wispy hum in approval, though your pallet isn’t particularly refined enough to enjoy the red to its full potential. You flick your eyes to him, setting down the glass and then smoothing the bodice of your dress to encourage his eyes to travel there. Totally shameless, you slack your jaw, staunch in your eye contact as he feeds you a forkful from his plate. You rub your foot along his thigh, and he grips the tablecloth. Something behind his eyes shifts, a threatening darkness that leaves every hair on your body standing on end. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t standing at attention himself. 

“My, Yumemi, it looks like you’re having a good time,” he murmurs. 

You slink back in your seat so to extend the length of your legs, to ruche the fabric of your dress further up your thigh as you cross one heeled foot over the other, “You could say that,”

Atsuhiro waves over the waiter, eyes shining when he hands the man a stack of bills, telling him to keep whatever was left over. He rises with a poised demeanor, warm hands guiding you up and out the door, heels clicking across the ornate tiles of the restaurant, heart thundering throughout your extremities. You find yourself unintentionally holding your breath as the two of you wait for the valet to return his car, wondering if perhaps you’d crossed a line by the way he avoids eye contact with you. He opens the door for you once more, silent as you sit, as he takes his place at the driver’s seat, your breaths the only things audible in the car.

Perhaps you made too much of a scene in there. 

He’s probably a regular at La Belle… whatever. God, even your internal dialogue sounds like you’re a mere pauper. Tonight was as though you’d been isekai’d into some My Fair Lady universe where you’re a transient nobody who’s graciously allowed into the prince’s quarters. You’re normally much more polite than this. Much more buttoned-up in public. Maybe this should’ve been treated as more of a business occasion rather than a sexually charged date. Maybe that’s just what extravagant dining was like. 

“Atsuhiro,” saying his name knocks something loose in him, and he pulls into an empty lot, parking calmly and cooly with his eyes still fixed straight ahead. 

You say his name again, and he draws in a sharp breath before lunging across the console, cupping your face in his hands as he plants a ferocious and hungry kiss to your lips. His initial plan was to bring you back home, to savor you, to sweep you off of your feet and carry you bridal style past the threshold of his room and onto his bed, to map out each and every beautiful inch of your body until he knows it by heart. He thought he could keep himself tethered to his sanity long enough to make it there. But he is able to withstand this burning, snapping, fizzing want that boils within him no longer. He melts into your touch as your fingers card through his hair, as you’re nibbling at his bottom lip, licking into his mouth, heat pooling between your thighs. He parts from you, gasping, the air electric and sparking wildly. 

“I want you,” his voice rakes over your skin, each rasping syllable zipping up your spine. 

You’re aching and hot, desire bubbling just beneath the surface, stomach bottoming out when he speaks these words to you. 

“I can’t get you out of my head,” his gaze travels your body, and he revels in the way you shiver at his touch, “Can’t stop thinking about the things you do to me,”

“What I do to you?” The phrase is more of a slurred sigh, “God, Atsuhiro, I fucking need you,”

He tosses his head back, jaw clenched, close to feral when he grits, “Be a good girl for me and I’ll give you what you need,"

He nips at your clavicle, and you moan, the sound so cloyingly heady that he finds himself dizzied at the release of your voice. He grunts at the sound, gentle squeezes into his shoulders prompting his own hands to fall at your thighs, your breath skating across his cheek. With another keening groan, he presses you up against the door, the glass cool against your back as he laves the plush of his tongue over the column of your throat, his strong hands palming the fleece of your inner thighs. The scent of you has become too much for him when he’s this close to you, the throbbing tent in his slacks grazing your thigh with each further push to the window. Your fingers grasp at his shirt, curl into the fine material, urging him closer. 

“Come on, now. Be a good girl and spread your legs for me,”

With heavy eyes, you nod, wholly subjugated when you tell him, “Yes, sir,”

All you can offer him is a weak little whine as he pulls your soaked panties to the side, his touch careful but firm, the pad of his index finger soon dragging to spread the slick up from your slit to your swollen clit. He smirks when you buck your hips, satisfied by your submission. He admires the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath him, how your breaths hasten when he rubs the apex of your sex in a tight circle. Another whimper falls from your lips as he delves two digits into the wet heat of your cunt, eliciting a shaky exhale from him, his cock pulsing, precum dotting the front of his pants. Lazy, unhurried circles of his fingertip over your clit tests your patience. This is torture, and he knows it.

But the way that you tilt your brow and dig your nails into the flesh of his chest have him wanting to spoil you.

Your eyes flutter closed when he finally presses his thumb to your clit, cheeks flushed and lips parted to release stuttered gasps from the back of your throat. He pats the side of your leg with his free hand. 

“Watch me,” he says, “I want you to see what I’m doing to you,”

He throws your legs over his shoulders, soft, fleeting kisses ghosted over your clit to once more tease you the way you’ve been teasing him all this time. You fix your gaze to him, eye contact unbroken when he flicks his tongue across the puffy little bud, and you tremble, near to falling apart at the sight. His tongue rolls over you, the stifling heat of his mouth sucking you in shortly thereafter. 

“Fuck, Atsu—oh, God,” slithers out of you, and a moan rackets up from his chest. 

The windows are fogging, condensation beading across the glass, much in the same way which your arousal drips down his palm. You’re so slippery and ready for him, tightening around his fingers with each lap and lave of his tongue. Your toes curl in your shoes, self-restraint now relinquished when you take a handful of his hair. His eyes roll back as you pull, tension tugging at your muscles, staring hazily down at him as he releases your clit with a lewd pop. He’s pretty like this, with his lips all red and swollen, eyes half-lidded and foggy with lust, hair mussed. It doesn’t take long before he’s running the flat of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re about to come undone, he can tell. Your breaths have become choppy, in ragged intervals, walls fluttering around his digits, until suddenly—fuck, so hot—you’re cumming all over his face. The throbbing of your clit is felt against his tongue, a gush of arousal slickening his hand. 

“Ah-aahhh-yes! Fuck, fuck, like that!” The phrase falls from your lips, lilting at the end in such a way that has him about to lose his mind, has him moaning into the pulsing betwixt your legs. 

He uses both hands to keep your legs spread, gripping at the meat of your thighs, drawing each and every delicious sound from you that he can manage, that sinfully skilled mouth of his leading to another string of curses to spill incoherently from your throat. When you’re a gasping mess beneath him, thoroughly finished off, he parts from you, something carnal and unbridled within him that longs to bite and cling and breed. But you’re too quick for him to get you into the back of the car, knocking him into his seat so that the breath leaves his lungs. Although somewhat unexpected after you’ve gotten off already, you appear just as feral as him. His icy demeanor falters when you sink into his lap, deft fingers undoing the button of his slacks. A rush of pink warms his cheeks when he sees you licking your lips, grinning up at him, eyes sultry and soft through your lashes.

“You don’t.. have to do that,” he whispers. 

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” you release the stiffened length from its confines, “But I really want to do it,”

His cock bobs in front of your face, long and curved and dripping little pearls from the slit. He’s already so hard that it’s painful, the tip of him rosy and flushed. 

“I-I don’t.. I’ve never…” 

Your brows lift in surprise, “Never?”

Compress shakes his head, “It’s always seemed rude to ask,”

“Good thing I’m offering, then,” you giggle, and it sends a bolt of electricity to skitter through his extremities, “Let me make you feel good,”

The relentless squeezing of your pretty hand around his shaft has him lost in the sensation already. It’s different, somehow, your hand around his cock in place of his own. Not as mind-blowing as he’d heard it is, but still really—

You lick from the base all the way to the tip of him, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft.

Oh.

Oh, shit. Okay. He gets it now. 

You open your mouth, show him your tongue in the same display he’s come to know many times before. It takes only a few seconds for him to realize what you want from him, tension twisting up in his center as he spits onto the surface of your tongue. You’ve barely touched him and you’ve already ruined him. The whimper that snakes from him is damn near shameful, bordering on pathetic, what little composure he was holding on to dead and gone as you pull him into your mouth. A shaky groan, unable to be stifled, huffs out when you hollow your cheeks to suck, his legs jerking each time you swivel your hand around his cock. He can’t help the urge to push further into the enveloping heat of your mouth, quivering underneath you, your tongue dragging across the ridge of his tip. 

“F-fuck,” he twitches in your mouth, voice climbing in a way you’ve never heard him before, “oh, fuck me, that feels so good. Nngh, you’re doing so good for me,” 

Eyes locked onto his, you hum over him, and he sucks in a sharp breath in response. A pang of brash noises from him accompany the way you reach to play with yourself with your free hand, and you swallow around the tip of his cock, prompting him to fist the leather interior with a tighter grasp. You’re still so sensitive from the previous orgasm that you can feel yourself getting close already, his needy little whines only spurring you on. Another sound chokes out of him, almost sobbing, when you moan around him, mouth nestled all the way to the hilt of him.

“Gonna cum with my cock in your mouth?” He asks with a hungry glint in his eye.

You give a delighted hum in answer, circling your clit with your index finger, taking his dick down your throat with another squeeze of your hand. Lewd, wet sounds, slick and vulgar, combine with your moans. The car smells like you have all night now. Like pheromones, and sex, and sin. It hits his nose like a punch. Your tongue grazes the span of his length, lapping him like you’re trying to devour him whole, greedy swipes of tongue and palm laving over him. Your rhythm has become hungrier, rapacious and wild, eyes slamming shut as you unravel for him once again. He curses to himself, runs a hand through the front of his hair as he watches you work him, feels you moaning against his cock.

“Show me,” he rasps, and you delve your fingers into your sopping pussy, remove them so he can see the release that glistens there. 

“Oh my fucking God,” a groan escapes him, and you mirror him with a whimper of your own, tensing your hand around him until he ruts his hips, “I'm about to cum. Such a good girl, taking my cock like this. Doing so good. Feels—nnn, feels—gonna-ah!”

His cock pulses in your mouth, a broken, wrecked cry slinking haphazardly up from his chest as he spills into you, thrusting, gasping, ruined. You swallow all of him, licking up and down his shaft. Parting, you look at him through wet lashes, glossy lips swollen and red. His chest heaves, the taut thread of tension having finally snapped. 

“Did you like it?” You ask him between precious chugs of air. 

Spent, he wipes the sweat from his brow, taking in your dewy skin and heavy eyes. The windows steam and streak, trapping in the desire which now sinks into the fine leather of his car. He hopes it never leaves. Wants the memory of this night with him as long as possible.

He pulls you into him, crushes you to his chest when he says, “It was amazing. You’re amazing, my dearest one,”

You smile to yourself, your very first date having been a success.

How many details of this does Toga really need?