#and the floor length skirts are described as not sexy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

milliedazzledust · 4 years ago

Text

Viens, Embrasse moi (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request by @husherstan: One Shot with Bucky Barnes in which he and the reader are spies. Idk if you watched The Man From Uncle - American and Russian spies together to get an intel. They hate each other and have all that sexual tension. Based on the song ,,Les Yeux Noirs" by Pomplamoose (I have no idea what the lyric says) where they dance to prove who is the best.

Words: 4.689 words

A/N: I spent the last couple of days listening to tango, Pomplamoose and the ost of tfatws, I guess I was inspired coz this is super long so be aware. Thank you for that request - I’m really self-conscious about my writing so I’ll hope you’ll it! (ps: the title mean “come and kiss me”)

The mission was simple. Get inside the mansion during a fancy party by some rich man, retrieve valuable informations about Hydra’s whereabouts and get the hell out of there. Steve had decided to pair Bucky and Y/N for this. Two spies with specific skillsets that he knew would get the job done. This is why they had landed in Paris earlier that day.

They had taken a hotel room inside the infamous Le Meurice, courtesy of Tony Stark. He thought it was hilarious to provoke them since he knew they didn’t particularly like each other. That was what everybody thought, except Natasha. She had told Y/N she could see right through their games. The frustration and the tension together were a ticking time bomb that would either lead to one of them dead or both of them in a bed.

They hadn’t talked to each other the whole flight, they were too busy studying the blueprints of the mansion they would infiltrate, rehearsing their role and getting into character to care about annoying one another. Bucky had ditched the uniform for a white shirt and a black tie. His suit jacket slung over a chair next to the luxurious bathroom where Y/N was getting ready.

“What is taking you so long ?” Bucky complained as he sat on the bed, putting on his cuffs.

He heard the bathroom door opening behind him.

“Gotta look the part if we want to blend in” The woman smirked.

The moment he saw her, he froze. If there was an undeniable truth he would never lie about, it was her haunting beauty. She was breathtaking. She had chosen to wear a provocative dress that night, a dark shade of green falling of her shoulders, putting the tattoo on her back on full display. It was made of silk, so soft Bucky swore he could feel his fingertips aching to run through the material. The high-length skirt sat perfectly on her curves and the Sergeant gulped when his eyes trailed down her leg. The dress was slit to the middle of her thigh. He could almost see the knife strapped around her muscles, hidden just under the satin gown. His gaze finally stopped on her high heels, admiring the whole outfit. She looked feminine yet deadly and had a confident glow, a radiance he could feel across the room. She was captivating.

She sniggered, pleased by his reaction. Like a wolf hunting his prey, she walked up to him without hurry. He was still sitting on the bed, his eyes glued to her body, following her every move. His mouth was dry, no word were enough to describe how mesmerizing he thought she looked. Without breaking their gaze, she started to undo his tie. Making it roll agonizingly slow around his neck, she tossed it on the bed. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat when she opened up the first two buttons of his shirt.

“That’s better” She whispered, adjusting his collar. He shivered when her fingers grazed his skin and tried to hide it with a cough, but she could see right through him.

“You look …”

“What ?” She coyly cut him, a hint of defiance in her voice. “Sexy ? Ravishing ? Yeah, I know”

She had a glint in her eyes he couldn’t miss. She was enjoying his bewilderment.

“Pick up your jaw off the floor, Barnes. We’ve got work to do”

And with one last cheeky smile, she was on her way out. He shook his head vigorously, swearing under his breath, before grabbing his jacket and following her to their rental car.

Nestled in the woodland, away from the noises of the city, was the mansion. It wall all concrete and tall glass windows. The architecture made it seem a few centuries old and Y/N stopped for a short moment to admire the gigantic house surrounded by trees.

“And here I thought nothing could impress you” Bucky joked as he noticed her interest.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, letting him lead her to the entrance. Before they could step inside the venue, a man in a grey suit stopped Bucky, putting a hand on his chest to prevent him from coming in. The Sergeant tensed, hoping he hadn’t been recognized. He had told Steve earlier that day that it might be a mistake to send him inside a place filled by Hydra agents. Even with the fresh haircut, somebody that knew the Winter Soldier could have easily recognized him.

“Votre invitation, Monsieur “ (your invite sir)

Bucky didn’t move an inch. He coldly starred back at the man, not understanding a single word of french.

“Il est avec moi” (he’s with me) Y/N quickly answered.

As soon as the man turned to look at her, his whole demeanor changed. With a smirk on his face, he eyes the woman up and down. By the way he licked his lips and he puffed his chest, she could easily guess he liked what he saw. She faintly heard Bucky grunt but ignored it. Seductively, she put a hand on the stranger’s shoulder and brought her face near to his.

“Pour être tout à fait honnête, il n’est pas de très bonne compagnie” (if i’m honest, he’s not very good company) She told him without a trace of an accent.

The man snickered.

“Puis-je demander le nom d’une si belle créature ?” (can I ask the name of such a beautiful creature?)

She smiled, pretending to be pleased to talk to him.

“Eléonore Charbonnier” She introduced herself with a name that wasn’t her own, faking shyness.

“Bienvenue, Madame Charbonnier. C’est un plaisir de vous avoir parmi nous ce soir” (Welcome, Miss Charbonnier. It’s a pleasure to have you tonight) He replied, bringing her hand to his lips before kissing it lightly.

She was playing with her hair, drawing his attention and Bucky didn’t like one bit to just stand there, silent, without a clue of what they were talking about.

“Tout le plaisir est pour moi” (The pleasure is all mine) She attractively responded with a lopsided grin.

She exchanged one last look with the french man and took a step inside. Bucky followed her closely, but not without one last threatening stare toward the stranger.

“That went smoothly” She congratulated herself.

“What ? You flirting with him or him eye-fucking you ?”

She laughed at his irritation.

“Such a potty mouth you have, Sergeant” She joked.

He responded with an unpleasing grunt before offering her his arm as they stepped into what seemed to be a ballroom. The place was enormous with a checkered floor contrasting with the golden walls. Crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the ceiling, illuminating the room while marble pillars surrounded it, carrying a large upstairs balcony. The place was already filled with wealthy people, all potentials investors for Hydra. Bucky glanced around the room, trying to spot the organization’s agents hiding among the guests.

“How are we going to get to the second floor ?” Y/N asked him discreetly.

“We mingle”

She raised an eyebrow.

“That’s your plan ?”

They were aware of the noises and the crowd but even more so of the curious stares in their direction.

“Alright” She shrugged. “Let’s dance”

“No” He quickly replied, which made her smile.

She turned to look at him and playfully tilted her head.

“No as in you can’t dance … or you don’t want to ?” She elatedly riposted.

“Both” He grunted, quickly glancing at anything but her.

He groaned when he saw how amused she was by the situation.

“My, my … and here I thought there was nothing Bucky Barnes couldn’t do”

He took a tentative step toward her, placing his metal hand on the small of her back. They were now inches apart and the attraction between them became a tangible thread in the air before any of them could speak a word.

“Now is not the time to play, doll” He muttered. She didn’t know if it was his tone, his proximity or his hand moving slightly lower, but she felt the premises of desire starting to form in the pit of her stomach.

“Steve should’ve paired me with Sam. At least he’s fun” She provocatively replied.

Her answer had an immediate response. He instantly stepped back, removing his hand from her body. She watched him closely, pleased when he pursed his lips with exasperation.

“You owe me a dance” She added and winked at him.

He gave her a dirty look and she chuckled before looking around the room, trying to think of something to get upstairs without being noticed.

“There’s literally one guard blocking the access” She stated seriously.

“Think you can distract him ?” Bucky asked.

“Consider it done.”

With one last glance, she moved to one of the waiter, grabbing a glass of champagne. Leaving Bucky behind, she took a sip of her beverage, seductively playing with her hair, swaying her hips until she was almost in front of her target. She knew he was already looking at her, she could feel his eyes on her body. Pretending to lose her balance right when he was next to her, she let him catch her in his arms.

“Oh my god ! I’m so sorry !” She apologized.

“Are you alright, Madame ?” He asked her with a thick accent.

“Yes, just a bit dizzy” She answered with an alluring chuckle.

She noticed his hands on her hips, she knew he didn’t let them there to keep her steady. When she looked up at him, she purposely bit her lips and placed a strategic hand on his arm. She saw the man gulp and smiled. It was working.

“You look …” He didn’t finish his sentence but instead put one of his hand way lower than it should have been. If it was anybody else, she would have break every fingers of that hand, but right now, it was exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

She glanced back at Bucky, who was fuming. The guard caught that and tried to turn his head to see what was distracting her, but before he could do that, she kissed him. Slowly, without an ounce of passion and with force she pressed her body against his. Her eyes stayed open, and she watched Bucky taking advantage of the situation by sneaking behind the french man and quickly getting upstairs. Once she was sure he was out of sight, she took a step back. She cleared her throat, smoothing her dress.

“I should go freshen up” She shyly told him, fluttering her lashes.

“There’s a bathroom upstairs” He offered.

She smirked. She knew her plan would work.

“Merci” (thank you) She told him with a fake accent.

She climbed the stairs, pretending to look for something, while the guard resume his position. Bucky was already waiting for her in the hallway, standing against a wall where no one could spot them.

“Did you have to kiss him ?” He inquired, infuriated, as she joined him.

“If I remember correctly, you told me to distract him”

“With your lips ?” He ironically continued.

She chuckled, her fingers fiddling with his jacket. She slowly leaned toward him, her red lips tentatively grazing his cheek.

“Careful, Barnes, one might think you’re jealous” She whispered against his ear.

He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t get jealous, doll”

She smirked, lowering her eyes on his lips.

“You keep telling yourself that”

“I’m just saying …” He kept talking as they walked to their destination. “Stop flirting with every man we come across”

“Is that an order, Sergeant ?” She knew she was on thin ice and she loved every minute of it.

He groaned. He was exasperated and she could see how much it drove him crazy. It had been that way for months now, they were always bickering, ready to bite each others head off.

Walking strategically through the corridor, they knew exactly where they were going. They had studied the place. Behind one of the doors was Hydra secret files on the super soldier serum and their experiment to create more Winter Soldier. The mission was to retrieve those informations to thwart their plan.

They had no trouble finding what they were looking for. From outside, what seemed to be an abandoned storage room was in fact a huge chamber with computer equipments and piles of files. For a second, Y/N thought it was unusual there was no one to guard the place before she silently followed Bucky inside. While he was looking through the papers, she took the flash drive she had hidden in her cleavage and plugged it into a computer. It was a malware designed by Stark to discreetly sneak inside their files, break every firewall and find their secret without leaving a trace.

“Anything interesting ?” She interrogated Bucky while Stark’s program was doing its magic.

He looked up from what he was reading and she visibly saw him gulp and shut the file he had in his hands.

“Nothing that I didn’t know of already”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“Why don’t I believe you ?” She accused him, backing up against a desk.

“Because you're a spy” He answered truthfully. “You don’t trust anyone but yourself”

She hummed.

“And that’s exactly why I know you’re hiding something” She continued, crossing her arms at his reluctancy.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. She could see his jaw tightening and his fists clenching. For some reason, he was getting angry at her. She tilted her head, curious at his reaction. Without a word, she raised an arm, opening her hand. It was a silent request to give her the file he was reading, which he eventually did.

She started to read and realized it wasn’t about the Winter Soldier initiative but about the Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and what had happened to him in details after he fell off a train in 1945. She didn’t go through the end of the first page and shut it before handling back to the man in front of her.

“You’re not reading it ?” He questioned.

“No. If you want to talk about it, you will.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t need to know the details of a procedure you’d rather forget”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her actions. He was expecting her to be more curious and try to prey informations out of him, but instead she just stood there and gave him an honest smile.

“Don’t look so flabbergasted, Barnes. I might be a spy but I’m not cruel”

“It’s just … I wasn’t expecting that”

“Expecting what ?” She asked, turning back to the computer.

“…To be given the choice not to talk about it”

She was shook by the force of his sincerity for a moment, but didn’t comment. It was rare for Bucky to share anything this personal with her. They had work quite a lot together, but it was always teasing and bickering. This was different. She could just guess it by the way he was looking back at her. He cared about her and valued her opinions and judging by his gaze, she had just given him a reason to trust her a little more. He suddenly cleared his throat, somehow embarrassed, and she grinned.

“All done” She declared, showing him the flash drive.

“Good. Let’s get out of here”

Just as he said it, an alarm started to ring inside the room. Both of them tensed, suddenly anxious.

“What is that ?” He groaned.

“They know we’re here”

“Shit”

She hid the flash drive in her cleavage before slowly backing against the wall next to their exit.

“So much for being invisible” She muttered under her breath.

Bucky half opened the door, picking outside to see what they would be up against. Armed men were already scattering the hallway, ready to launch the assault. He quickly closed it back, his expression now a mix between worry and annoyance.

“They’re at least six of them waiting for us” He informed her.

She secretly hoped they would avoid a situation like that but seeing as they had no other choice, she mentally prepared herself to give them hell. Bucky watched her with wide eyes when he saw her tearing her dress in half, making room to move freely.

“What the hell are you doing ?!”

“Mingling” She simply answered, repeating what he had told her earlier, before taking the knife attached to her thigh.

Bucky grabbed the handle and glanced back at Y/N one last time before the fight. They shared a knowing look, both of them reassuring the other with a silent nod. As soon as he opened the door, the gunshot started. The music and the people downstairs were a slight contrast to what was happening, the noises were loud enough to cover the sound of bullets shot across the room.

It wasn’t unfamiliar territory for Y/N or Bucky, they were used to fighting. Doing it together was different though. They had discovered they were a pretty good match on a battlefield. It almost felt like a quick pace tango, a choreography only they knew about. Bucky watched her smirk, and she saw him wink. They were about to give them a taste of their talent.

She let the Sergeant go first, knowing his brute force and especially his vibranium arm would most likely knock some of them out. One of them dodged her partner and went right to her. She blocked every of his punches and flipped the knife she had in her hand, stabbing the man in the gut. She rolled upside down, making him fall on the floor, unconscious. Another one tried to take advantage of the situation and decided to kick her. She twirled around, blocking him before hitting his chest with her heel, knocking him out of breath. From the corner of her eyes, she saw two of them going after Bucky. The agents would have had the time to attack, but all it took was a look between the Avengers and Y/N threw her blade at the Sergeant. He grabbed it mid-air and less than thirty seconds later, the men were on the ground, bleeding to death.

She started to make a movement toward her next target when she felt an arm wrapping around her waist. It all happened too fast. All she felt was the bullet touching her shoulder before her body was pushed against a wall and the men were out cold. Normally, she would have resisted but instinctively, she recognized the musky scent of Bucky’s colognes and the cold sensation of his metal hand against her hip. She realized he had shoved her out of the way when one of their opponents had fired, aiming directly at her.

“Are you alright ?” He whispered, making her shudder.

He was so close she could feel his heart beating. He was towering her, shielding her body with his own. The situation was quite ludicrous. They were surrounded by men they had just taken down but none of them seemed to care. She opened her mouth to demand that he release her, but the words never formed. His chest flushed against hers, he was slowly invading her senses. They were both exhausted by the effort, and his staggered breath was enough to send a fire coursing through her body. She risked a peek at his face and swallowed when she saw his blue eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t look at me like that” He spoke with such intensity she shivered.

She licked her dry lips before speaking.

“Like what ?” She teased.

Bending his head, he buried his nose in her neck. She struggled at the proximity, purely a reflex. He answered by pulling her even closer. He looked up at her again, his mouth hovering a few inches from hers. Every nerve ending inside her was screaming for his touch but she didn’t move, simply stared at him. She wasn’t going to kiss him, but there was still a strange satisfaction flowing around them, pleased that they were just as susceptible to the treacherous desire between them. She could see it in his dark crystal-blue eyes, in the thundering beat of his heart and his metal hand, possessively holding her, gently stroking her covered skin.

“You’re bleeding” He said after a while, his gaze falling on her wounded shoulder.

She didn’t even turn to assess the damage and kept her eyes focused on him.

“I’ve had worse” She told him, voice filled with need and desire.

“Y/N…” He warned her.

His human hand crept into her hair. He was inexplicably drawn to her, she was intoxicating. When he traced a path over her cheek with his thumb, she closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

“Fuck” He cursed under his breath.

He kissed her temple, the movement so gentle yet so significantly filled with unsaid feelings. They heard noises, more people coming their way, and just like that their frozen time was up. He took the piece of cloth she had torn apart and wrapped it around her bleeding shoulder quickly before grabbing her hand and leading her toward their escape route.

She followed him without protesting. He led her to a window and both of them jumped. The car wasn’t far and they sprinted to get to it. They could already hear the agents rushing, they had to hurry. Bucky glanced rapidly in Y/N’s direction, making sure she was alright. The blood had started to flow on her arm through her made up bandage of clothing. She simply nodded her head to reassure him. They drove in silence, checking every now and then that no one was following them. Apart from the altercation, the mission was a success. No one had recognized them and they had what they were looking for. Worn out and a bit dizzy from the loss of blood, Y/N let herself relax and yawned. Bucky felt himself breath a little better now that they were out of harm’s way and surprised himself when a smile spread across his face at the sleepy form of his partner.

Later that night, they safely got to their hotel room. Completely tired, Y/N let herself fall on the bed. She watched Bucky from the corner of her eyes heading to the bathroom. He came back with a few items and silently sat next to her. He unfastened the cloth around her arm without looking at her or asking her permission and opened a bottle of alcohol. When he poured it on her injury, she hissed. She tried to push back, a reflex to get away from the pain, but instantly stopped when she felt his cold hand keeping her in place. She glanced down at her shoulder and studied the wound.

“Doesn’t look too bad” She inspected.

“The bullet didn’t do any damage”

“Good” She sighed, falling back on the bed.

She watched him clean it then wrapped it up with gauze. He was methodic, every movements seemed rehearse, like he had done it many times before.

“Thank you, Bucky” She murmured.

She saw the corner of his mouth rising, forming a small grin he was trying to hide. Without a word, he stood up and started to walk around the room. Y/N observed him curiously, wondering what he was doing. She sat back against the headboard of the bed and followed his moves. He stopped next to the door and dimmed the light.

“What are you doing ?” She asked, half amused, half confused.

He held up a finger, silently telling her to wait. He took out his phone and suddenly music filled the room. He discarded his jacket, tossing it in a corner of the room, rolling up his sleeves. That simple action was enough to raise the temperature of her body. He was aware of her hungry gaze on his muscles, following his movement and didn’t miss the way she bit her lips. He slowly walked to the side of the bed, right next to her, raising his metal hand toward her.

“What is this ?” She interrogated him, her voice so small she wasn’t sure he heard.

“You said it yourself, I owe you a dance”

She starred back with doubtful eyes but took his hand nonetheless. He led her to the center of the room and began to slowly sway with her.

“La bohème” She recognized the song.

“You said you loved it”

“Didn’t think you’d remember”

“It might come as a shock, Agent Y/L/N, but I do pay attention” He flirtatiously sniggered.

Her breath caught in her throat when he pulled her closer and sneaked an arm around her waist. Spinning and circles and shuffling his feet to the rhythm, he made her laugh. He surprised himself thinking he wished he could carve that sound into his head and never forget it. They danced together, their body close, and she knew she must have been blushing. It only made his smile grew bigger. He stood looking down at her with a hint of danger in his eyes. There was so much more she saw in him than an experiment and a super soldier, but she would never admit that. For some reason, she wanted to find a flaw in him, something that would level the field between them. Until she realized that with him, all bets were off.

“I’m not sure I like that” She said, hating the note of anxiety in her voice.

“What ? Dancing ?”

“Us not being at each others throat” She sincerely answered. “But I’ll admit, you’re a pretty bad dancer”

She felt the rumble of his chuckle against her body.

“You can still fight me if you’re up for it” He replied, smirking down at her. She smacked his chest and he pretended to be hurt for a second. She rolled her eyes at his antics.

He made her twirl and she felt an adrenaline rush when he drew her close to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and made a movement to brush her hair away but his hand stopped hers. Instead he carefully laid it on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying about my dancing ?” He smirked as he made her spin once again.

“That you had no sense of rhythm” She joked.

He laughed and dropped his head, studying her.

“I like it” He confessed, an answer to what she had admitted earlier.

A surprising sense of comfort suddenly settled in her stomach at his admission.

“This stays between us, Barnes” She warned him.

“Is that a threat ?” He laughed.

“Exactly” She whispered, laying her head against his chest as they continued to move together, too lost in the music to halt. “One word to Steve and you’ll be on the wrong end of my knife”

She felt his smile when he lowered his head to kiss the naked skin on her uninjured shoulder.

“You have my word, Agent Y/L/N” He winked. “And just so you know, I’m a better dancer than you are”

“No you’re not”

“I guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong”

“Is that your way of asking me out ?” She smugly smiled with a hint of seductiveness in her tone.

“Maybe… is it working ?”

“I still haven’t decided if I want to fight you yet”

He grinned, he couldn’t help himself but felt at ease around the dangerous woman. After a while, they stopped moving. Bucky felt her body relaxing and her weight getting more heavy as she started to fall asleep against him. He buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes to enjoy their moment out of time. When he was certain the woman was asleep, he carried her to the bed. He made sure she was comfortable enough under the covers, taking extra precaution not to touch her wound. Then he sat next to her, already knowing the moment they would get back, he would go to Steve for advices. She would be mad, most likely with a newfound desire to kill him. They would probably fight, but strangely that perspective only made his smile. He was ready to wrestle if it meant they would both win in the end.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier imagines #the winter soldier imagine #falcon and the winter soldier #Winter Soldier #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier x you #bucky barns x you #bucky barnes x female oc

170 notes · View notes

gureishi · 4 years ago

Note

12 with Seven and a female MC, NSFW please ^^

Thank you for the wonderful request! And oh boy do I apologize if this wasn’t what you wanted. O_O My imagination was positively THRILLED by this prompt and this...is where it went.

I sincerely hope you DO enjoy this, because god knows I enjoyed writing about it. But seriously if you want a...tamer...NSFW Saeyoung story for this prompt, tell me and I’ll write that one too?? For real??

twelve: born to be together

Saeyoung X Reader; E (M/F sex, roleplaying, light dom/sub, assplay), words: 2941

If it wasn’t already abundantly clear (lol): smut warning, proceed with caution~ <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You stand in the walk-in closet, in a forest of brightly-colored and bedazzled fabrics. They’re not organized by any discernible method, but they’re all hung neatly, some in plastic dry-cleaning bags and others draped multiple times over their hangers so they don’t touch the floor. You run a hand down the line of costumes, feeling lace and fur and taffeta. There are some here that are familiar: a maid outfit you’ve seen numerous times and a fuzzy full-body cat suit you find particularly charming. There are others that you’re sure you’ve never seen before.

“Saeyoung?” you call, and he hums in response: he’s sprawled across the bed, playing a game on his phone. “Why haven’t I ever seen you wear most of these?”

He laughs. “There are literally hundreds of outfits in there, babe. You’ve lived here for what, three months? When was I gonna wear them all? You want me to do a fashion show for you?”

You perk up, lifting a sequined tutu to the light so you can see it shimmer. “Yes, please!”

“Just say the word, baaaby,” he sings, drawing out the syllables. He’s teasing, but you’re serious: there is not one thing in this huge, chaotic closet that wouldn’t suit him. You comb through the racks, pushing past a denim mini dress, a full-on space suit, and what looks like a…sexy penguin costume? Okay, maybe not that one.

Toward the back of the closet, in a corner (you’ve got to help him organize all this stuff, you think), there’s a floor-length zip-up bag garment bag. You squish it—there’s something very fluffy in there.

“Hey, what’s in the fancy bag?” you call over your shoulder. You hear a soft flop as he tosses his game aside and the ruffling of the covers as he leaps off the bed. He appears behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Ohhh, this one?” He sounds pleased; he nuzzles the back of your neck with his nose and you squirm, ticklish. “Unzip it and see,” he offers.

You do, and your mouth falls open: in the bag is what you can only describe as a literal princess gown. It’s ballet slipper pink, with layers and layers of chiffon trailing all the way to the ground. The bodice is fitted and embellished with thousands of tiny gemstones.

“What mission was this for?” you gasp, fingering the gauzy, frothy top layer of the skirt.

“Not a mission,” he murmurs into your neck. “Just wanted it.”

Saeyoung skims his hands down your sides, sliding them into both of the front pockets of your jeans.

“I don’t want to know what this cost, do I?” you ask. He cackles.

“You probably don’t.”

Hands in your pockets, he pulls you flush against his body. Maybe it’s the luxurious feeling of the skirt on your fingertips and maybe it’s the insistent way he’s pressing against you, but you have an idea—a revelation.

“I want you to wear it for me,” you say. You slip out of his grasp, spinning to face him—you watch his eyes widen and his cheeks flush as he takes in your serious expression.

“Ohhhh?” he lilts, cocking his head to the side. “So when you say you want me to wear it, you mean…?” He’s teasing you, his hands on your skin again, dancing over your hips, up your sides.

“I mean exactly what you think I mean,” you tell him, and you reach out and stroke his cheek with your fingertips, delighted to feel that, in spite of his posturing, his skin is so warm—he’s flustered, and he melts a little under your intense gaze, his eyes roaming over your body.

He pauses, and for a split second, in spite of his apparent eagerness, you think he might say no. But then he springs into action, grabbing the hanger off the rack, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, and sprinting out of the closet.

“Gimme twenty minutes—no, ten!” he calls to you, already disappearing around the corner, through the bedroom, into the en suite bathroom. You grin, patting your own flushed cheeks with both hands. This, you think, will be worth waiting for.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

In spite of his promises, it’s actually closer to thirty minutes before he emerges again. You lay on your stomach on the unmade bed, half-heartedly scrolling on your phone. The anticipation coils in your stomach. In spite of yourself, you keep glancing up at the closed bathroom door—picturing him there, half-dressed, penciling in his eyebrows with those nimble fingers of his. Knowing that he’s doing this for you—it makes you clench your thighs together, squirming against the bunched-up comforter. Come on, you think.

And just then, as if he’s heard your silent plea, he pushes the door open a crack—just enough for you to catch the tiniest glimpse of an ankle peeking out under perfectly-arranged layers of pink gauze.

“Baby,” he calls, his voice soft, and you sit up straight. “Are you ready for me?”

You’ve never been readier for anything.

“I’m waiting,” you tell him.

So he flings open the bathroom door, and for a moment even you—you, the one who looks at him all day and sleeps beside him every night—are floored. There is a stunningly, jaw-droopingly beautiful woman in your bedroom, long red hair trailing effortlessly over her bare shoulders, thin waist accented delightfully by the tight bodice, toned legs just barely visible through the layers and layers of translucent fabric. Her features are soft, her golden eyes gaze just slightly downward, and one hand rests on her chest, thin fingers hovering just above the dress’s glittering neckline.

“Hi,” Saeyoung murmurs coyly. You feel like your head is going to explode.

“Come here, princess,” you call, and it takes all your willpower to keep your voice level. He obliges you, stepping delicately over the rug, holding up his billowing skirt with one dainty hand. He perches on the edge of the bed, flips a lock of hair over his shoulder. The wig matches his natural hair color and cascades voluminously down his back. He’s perfectly in character: he keeps his eyes lowered and his cheeks are flushed a dusty pink.

“Like this?” he asks, and he leans back the tiniest bit, letting the light catch his semi-translucent skirt, highlighting the silhouette of his thighs through the glistening fabric.

“Just like that,” you whisper. It’s not the first time you’ve taken the lead, but it’s not the norm, either—being in charge feels frightening and exhilarating. “May I touch you, princess?”

He nods, and the flush on the tips of his ears is real, not makeup—and even through the countless layers of fabric that make up his skirt, it’s evident that he’s already starting to get excited.

You sit up on your knees behind him and run a hand over his bare shoulders, part the soft hair that covers his back, wrap them around the back of his neck. He shudders.

“Are you going to be good for me, baby?” you whisper in his ear, and you feel the way his shoulders quiver eagerly. You grip his neck just a little tighter.

“I’ll be good,” he murmurs sweetly, and it’s already almost too much for you. You squeeze your legs together, impatient to touch him, eager to see his perfect demeanor shattered.

One hand still on his neck, you snake your other arm around his waist, which is dramatically cinched by the tight bodice. You stroke up his torso, curious, and feel the curve of what are quiet obviously breasts straining against the ruched fabric, peeking out over the tauntingly low neckline.

“I like these,” you whisper, and he arches his back, leaning into your touch. He laughs a soft, bubbling laugh—and it’s an act, a character, but there is some of Saeyoung’s delightful giggle in it too. Your hand roams across his chest and you slip one finger into the impeccable cleavage he’s created (you’ll have to ask him how, later).

Then you slip your other hand from his throat and explore lower, lower, across his hip, his thigh. You dip your head and take the soft skin of his shoulder between your teeth, biting hard enough to leave a small, half-moon-shaped mark. He whimpers, and you move your hand down his thigh, pointedly avoiding the erection that you can now see very clearly through the layers of chiffon. You taunt him, nipping his neck again, sliding the skirt up so you can drag your fingernails across his leg. He’s trying so hard to stay still, but his hips give him away, rocking forward the tiniest bit, seeking relief against the silky fabric.

“Are you going to let me fuck you, princess?” you hiss against his skin—and it’s a tease, but it’s a genuine question, too.

A moan tears from his throat, quiet yet desperate. He keeps his hands neatly folded in his lap but his eyes flutter shut and his hips wriggle as you pinch the skin of his thigh.

“P-please,” he whines, and he leans his head back, eyelids fluttering shut. “Please, I want you to…”

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he obeys, sits perfectly still on the edge of the bed, his skirt splayed out artfully around him. He makes a perfect picture, you think—head reclined, yearning evident in every tense muscle of his body.

You go to the bedside cabinet and pull out the things you need: the little pink bottle of lube and a toy—a thin, smooth dildo, light-colored and fairly unobtrusive. You slip it out of its harness, deciding to use it in your hand today—and you return to him, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. He’s opened his eyes and he’s taking you in, standing over him, the toy in your hand—his beautiful eyes are huge and desperate.

“On your hands and knees, honey,” you purr, and he complies eagerly, climbing gracefully onto the bed and arching his back for you. “Don’t tease me,” you say, and he trembles. The skirt billows out around him and you set down the toy so you can slip a hand under his dress, over his silky-smooth thighs (did he shave his legs?). You’re delighted to find that he’s not wearing anything under the gown.

You run your hand up his thigh; he’s sticking his ass in the air, practically begging for you, and you slap it, face breaking into a smile as he whimpers.

“How bad do you want me right now, beautiful?” you ask him, and he moans softly, his legs shaking.

“I need you,” he hisses, and he sounds a little less like a princess and a little more like Saeyoung. You suck your index finger, wetting it, and then you slip it up and under his skirt and inside him. He reacts immediately, thighs shaking as he struggles to hold himself up, gasping for air. You slide your finger a little bit deeper inside him and you can’t help but grind your hips against the edge of the bed as you do, hopelessly turned on by the noises he’s making. He adjusts, widening his hips for you, and you curl your finger inside him, gently increasing the pressure and watching him come apart before your eyes.

“I’m r-ready,” he pants, “please,” and you pull your finger out of him, warming the toy with both hands as you liberally smear it with lube.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” you tell him, and you can barely keep your voice from shaking. “I don’t want you to make a sound till I say so, princess.”

He quivers in anticipation but doesn’t say a word. Almost without thinking, you unbutton and unzip your jeans, slip one hand down, down, over your underwear. The need you feel is overwhelming.

With one finger pressed against your clit, over your underwear, you take the dildo in your other hand and slide it over his ass, down, and finally inside him. His legs shake uncontrollably and for a moment you think he’ll fall—but he doesn’t, he stays on his hands and knees, back bent for you, and though his pleasure is evident in the way he throws his head back, hair falling everywhere, he’s quiet—just like you asked him to be.

You gasp, impossibly aroused by the sight of him like this, the delicate skirt falling every which way. You wish you could see his face, the ruined look in his eyes, but you settle for the sight of his ass and thighs shaking, framed seductively by layers of pink gauze. You slide the dildo deeper inside him and he twitches, gasping. At the same time, you move your finger over your swollen clit, moaning softly as you give yourself the stimulation you’ve been craving.

He’s so good, so obedient, so quiet, trembling as you fuck him with the toy and fuck yourself with your finger. He pushes back against you and his arms give out; he bends forward, face pressed into the bed. Your own legs are shaking like they don’t want to hold you up anymore but both your hands are occupied, so you lean harder against the bed, hissing as you move your finger in tight circles against yourself and angle the toy upward, questing for his p spot.

You’re going to come, you think—you’re going to come so fast, from your own hand, as you watch your boyfriend clad in this extravagant gown falling to pieces before you.

“I want you to come with me,” you hiss, moving your finger quicker and more frantically against yourself, “and I want to hear you.”

He moans immediately as if he’s been fighting to hold it back all this time, rocking his hips back into the toy. You can tell he’s close and you are too, driven half-mad by the sight of him. You rub your faster, faster, and you slide the toy in and up, penetrating him deeper. He groans, and there is still some of the pretty, modest princess in his voice, because god this boy knows how to stay in character, but the unbidden desperation is there too. He’s on the edge, you can tell, and you feel the telltale sensation of your toes curling, your thighs clenching…

And you throw your head back, continuing the pressure with your finger as the pleasure crests, thrusting into him more roughly, begging him to come with you…

And he does come, from the toy alone, his cock untouched—yelping as he rocks forward, his face buried deep in the pile of blankets on the bed and his whole body shaking…

And you feel tears in your eyes as you let yourself be taken over by the sensations, overwhelmed by the pleasure gripping you…

And he’s moaning, high-pitched and beautiful, crying for you to keep going…

And stars burst beneath your eyelids and you can’t see, thrusting into him one more time, knowing you’re hitting just the right spot as he sobs out your name.

And it slows, slows, and he’s panting, and you catch your breath and slip your hand out of your pants, pulling out of him with a trembling hand. He’s still shaking too, a quivering, beautiful mess gauze and tulle.

“You okay, babe?” you gasp, crawling up onto the bed beside him. He turns his head and you catch your first glimpse of his face—deliciously wrecked, mascara under his eyes and bright pink spots on his cheeks.

“I…I…wow,” he manages, finally sitting back on his heels. He’s in disarray, his hair in his eyes, his skirt sticking to his legs. “That was new,” he says quietly, his eyes shining as he tucks the long, fake hair behind his ears. “I never came like that before, just from…”

“I know.”

“The dress…” He laughs, pulling apart the unkempt layers of gaze.

“I guarantee I can figure it out,” you say, giggling, collapsing onto the pile of pillows. “I’ll just google ‘how to get cum out of ball gown.’”

“Oh god.” He grimaces, twisting and falling onto his back beside you. The skirt still manages to billow out splendidly around his legs. “Maybe…don’t google that.”

You turn and kiss him on the lips, sighing contentedly as he responds with enthusiasm, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Thanks for doing that for me,” you say. “That was…a fantasy I didn’t know I had, till today."

He grins against your lips.

“Oh, I knew I had that fantasy,” he says, skating his hand up your leg, around your waist. “But you…you…”

“Hmmmm?” You curl into him, finding that the fake breasts make a surprisingly comfortable pillow.

“I never thought I’d be loved the way you love me,” he says, kissing your cheek, your eyebrow, your forehead. “I didn’t think a person like you existed.”

“Course I do,” you tell him, flipping the skirt over his hip so you can rest your hand against his thigh. His skin really is amazingly soft. “We were always going to find each other.”

“Next time,” he says, melting into your touch, kissing your earlobe. “Dress up as a sexy prince for me, babe?”

You tuck his wig behind his ear and kiss his beautiful, smudged, wrecked, perfect face. “Anything for you, princess.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta @hunterelys

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #saeyoung choi #saeyoung x reader #707 #707 x reader #request #gureishi writes requests #decadentathleteoperatorpainter #spicy spaceship

110 notes · View notes

bobbys-naughty-corner · 4 years ago

Text

Bokuto x reader (I heard it was HOEVEMBER. y’all not ready for this.)

Warning: NSFW 18+

After school tutor

“YN please! I really need you to tutor me you’re the smartest in our grade!” Bokuto pleaded to you. You sat in your seat with your head down. It was currently lunch time but for you, nap time. Bokuto had came over with his lunch as an offering. “I don’t really think that’s a good idea.” You declined him. It honestly wasn’t. He was your very first crush, still is actually. You may be a smart, beautiful woman but you geek out over him like a weeb attracted to Miku. “Please please please YN. Akaashi already declined me and I wouldn’t not can’t ask anyone else. You’ve always been there for me. I just need a month. I’ll come to you to make it more convenient.” He grabbed your hand which in turn made you blush. “I-I have to ask my mom.” You lied to him. “So that means yes?” He knew it was a yes. His mother was friends with your mother and you usually spent vacations with each other. “If she says yes.” You told him pulling your hand away. It hurt to do but you couldn’t hold his hand forever. He hugged you over the desk making it scoot back some nearly crushing you. “Thank you! I’ll come by later. Don’t fall asleep in me!” He grabbed his lunch and left your classroom. Bastard. All your classmates stared at you. One of your mutual friends came up to you. “Did he just ask you out?” She asked trying to start a rumor or little gossip. “Um, no.” You averted your eyes and tried to pretend you were fixing your skirt. “Aww look at that little blush. You like him don’t cha? Don’t worry your secret is safe with me.” She leaned in close. “No no that’s not it. He asked if I can tutor him. Our parents are friends so he’s known me for a long time so I guess he felt I was the next best choice in order to pick his grades up.” She leaned back, bummed out that you didn’t answer her last question. “Who did he ask first?” She asked you. “Akaashi.” She bursted out laughing. “That’s so rude of him. To ask you right after asking someone already. You should’ve been the first person he came to. Akaashi is smart and all but you’re way smarter. What a jerk, doesn’t he know a thing about ‘Lady’s first’?” She folded her arms. “I don’t think that’s ho it works.” You said softly. She didn’t hear you of course. “You should’ve said no. Let him learn his lesson that way. You’re too nice YN. You don’t know how to say ‘no’. One of these days you’re going to agree to the wrong thing and I wish you luck. Here you can have one of my rice balls. Does your mother not make you lunch?” She asked putting the little ball on a napkin and handing it to me. “No. I usually make my own lunch but I seem to always forget it at home.” You took a bite of the rice and nearly wanted to throw up. “Well I make my own food too. It taste great. I watch cooking shows with my dad. He’s a chef.” You slowly spit the food back into the napkin as she continued to talk. You looked around for somewhere to throw it out. “I saw this recipe and I had to try it. Everyone on the television loved it so why wouldn’t I?” She looked up and you put it in your lap and pretended to be on your last bite. “It was really delicious, I devoured it.” You wiped your mouth and she was about to offer you another one but someone came through the doors being loud. It was Bokuto, he was back with a plate of food. Your mouth nearly watered at it. His mother’s cooking was so good but he didn’t always bring food from him so this was really special. You could smell it. “Here, I promised you food.” He took the napkin out of your hand and set the food in front of you. He pulled up a chair beside you and watched you actually devour the meal. “So YN says you asked her to tutor you? But she also said she was your second choice. Now to me that doesn’t sound right. She’s the smartest in our grade but you ask your friend first.” She said taking a bite of her food and tried to hold back a gag. “Well I know how busy she is. So I didn’t bother asking her at first. But that doesn’t seem like it’s any of your business.” Bokuto was a secret smart mouth. He could hoesntly roast someone and not even know he was doing it.

He leaned in your ear and whispered to you. “Don’t go around telling everyone your business.” He said. Your friend didn’t notice as she was trying to spit her food out without looking gross. You nodded your head at him with a mouth full of food. He licked his thumb and swiped off whatever it was on your face. Oh dear God, you cried in your head. He leaned back to your ear and whispered: “I’ll see you tonight.” He left with a wink and continued being his loud self. When your friend finally looked up she saw the embarrassment in your face.

After school

It was nearly 9 pm and Bokuto has yet to show. Suddenly your door bell rings. You jump up and close your journal stuffing it under your bed. You headed to the door and cooled yourself down before opening the door. “Hi Bokuto. I was just thinking that you was gonna skip your first study night.” You joked. He walked in and took his shoes off putting on his house shoes that you brought for him. “Miss a night with you? I wouldn’t ditch an opportunity like that.” Opportunity? He walked into your room with his book bag and you trailed behind him. He tossed his bag on he floor and plopped on your bed. “You’re going to take a nap? Was it a long practice?” You asked him. You stood next to his legs watching him as he laid back on your bed. Suddenly he pulled you towards him and flipped you over. You stared at him, taken back by his actions. “Would you be mad if I kissed you?” He asked. You furrowed your brows in confusion. A kiss from Bokuto. Oh my heart could sing. “I mean it’s just a kiss. I wouldn’t be mad at that.” (Unless they have herpes.) you told him. His lips attacked yours in a dominate kiss. He shoved his tongue in your mouth and let his hands feel all over your body. He pulled up your shirt and ogled your nonbound breast. “Bigger than I thought.” He said. You instinctively covered yourself with your arms. “B-Bokuto! What are you doing?! You’re here to s-study!” You stuttered, embarrassed that he saw your chest. “I lied. YN we’ve been close since elementary school. My feelings for you started growing, differently than just being friends. And I know you like me too. I’ve read your journal before and you have a lot of interesting things in there. For example,” “STOP!” You yelled at him. “I get it. We like each other.” “No we love each other. YN I cannot picture myself with any other women. You will be my one and only.” He said moving your arms. “That’s nice an all but do we have to do this now?” You asked. He gave you the are you serious look. “YN ive seen you describe worst scenarios in that dirty journal of yours. I know what you like and don’t like. Trust me. In fact I bet you’ll be begging for more” you couldn’t deny him. Not that you wanted to. He was right and you didn’t mind that. He kissed both of your nipples and fumbled with the strings of your sweatpants. Was he going to do everything himself. You pulled off your shirt completely and pushed him on his ass. As you began to pull off your bottoms Bokuto took off his shirt as well. You stood and took the rest of your pants off with your feet. “My God YN you really have changed.” He rubbed your ass and bit his lip. You knelt down and pulled his shorts down. You gawked at the black trail from his stomach attached to his pubic hair as you kept pulling down his shorts. Your mouth nearly watered at the sight of his base, as you kept pulling down there was more. Wtf 😬. “How do you hide all this?” You asked so confused how it fits into his volleyball shorts. He chuckled, “it’s a mans secret.” When his shorts hit the ground your hand moved to his length. He was semi-erect. You pushed his dick up against his abs and the sight of his hard length against his stomach made you drool. Not in your mouth though. You sat up from your relaxed position and put his tip against your mouth. Your tongue gently licked the tip, getting a slight taste of the skin. You hovered your mouth over him and let saliva drip down from your mouth onto his cock. “You’re really sexy baby.” He said. Nearly groaning at the sight of you below him about to suck the soul out of him. Yeah you knew what you were doing. Whenever you watched porn you’d practice on your dildo that was in your locked dresser. You licked from his balls to his tip causing him to shudder. “You’re so big. I don’t know if it can fit all the way in my mouth.” You praised him, admiring his tall member. Your right hand slowly stroking it as you pushed some hair behind your ear and stared at his glistening member enticingly. “Just take in what you can.” He told you, putting a hand in my curls.

His hand was gentle but still nudged me forward. He was eager to know what it feels like having my lips around his cock. I want to know what he taste like. Probably a salty caramel. After a while of stroking him, Bokuto got tired of the teasing and tugged my face forward harshly. Impatiently telling me to hurry up. Taking his warning into consideration I opened my mouth and stuffed a mouth full of him in my wet oral cavern. Bokuto groaned and massaged my scalp. He didn’t have a taste I expected. It was like sweat with soap. 🤨. Slowly bringing my head up and down on his length as he groaned through his teeth and cussed every few minutes. I lazily let my teeth graze his length and he hissed. Saliva pooling around my mouth, glossing my lips and his dick. Bubbles littering his dick as my saliva got thicker and mixed with his leaking cum. He shoved my head down further a couple of times making me gag and pushed his hips back. Tears threatening to slide down my cheeks scared of the suffocation from his dick. But he didn’t seem to care as he gripped my hair tightly and fucked my mouth. His hips hitting my cheeks, my nose and mouth rubbing his pubic hair while his balls hit my chin. My eyes stared up at him pleading for him to stop. Gags, gurgles and muffled moans/screams emitting from me while he complimented on how hot I look. His left hand under my jaw and his right hand gripping my scalp as his cock pushed passed my uvula. He bit his bottom lip as we both stared at each other’s eyes. His face was so captivating, I’ve never seen him show such a dirty expression. I tasted something super salty and he yanked my head back and stroked himself in front of my face spraying his cum on my lips, cheeks and nose. I whined at the mess. He put a thumb in my mouth and let the last of his cum land on my tongue. Bokuto breathed heavily as he stared at me. His thumb playing with my canines. After a while of sitting on my knees while he just stared at me quietly, I got up and climbed into his lap. “Damn, you really had me speechless.” He finally spoke snapping out of his trance giving me a kiss. Bokuto shifted us on the bed and laid me on my back. He trailed kisses down my body, from my neck to my collar bone. Collar bone to my breast to which he sucked on gently and tweaked with his fingers. Dragging his tongue down my abdomen to my little bush. I jumped at the new visitor. He hiked my legs up and made me hold them back. He played with my folds, stunned at how wet and sticky I already was. “Wow. Every inch of you is just absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to see you squirming and crying from my tongue. Soon I’ll have you screaming and cumming on my dick too.” His words had a serious effect on me. I felt my body heat up even more and I can feel myself leak more. He hasn’t even touched me ‘properly’ yet. “Oh you like to hear that. I’ll talk you through it then. Since this is your first time. I don’t want you to be lost or confused.” He moved up leaning his forehead against mine. His hand cupping my coochie lightly teasing my hole. “Do you mind if I start?” He asked keeping my eyes locked on him and his finger was waiting on in my answer. “Y-yes.” I nodded my head along with my answer. His finger slowly entered and I flinched slightly. I never played with my hole out of fear of the pain. But now with Bokuto doing it, it actually didn’t hurt. It was uncomfortable and weird but I’m sure I would get used to it. “How does that feel babe?” He asked me. My eyes snapped from his chest to his face. “It’s weird. I’ve never fingered myself but I’m getting into it.” I told him truthfully. Bokuto smiled and kissed my cheek watching how I reacted to each little move of his finger. When he rubbed against my walls my body would jolt at the feeling, when he sped up I would moan and when his thumb rubbed my clit I would groan. Everything he was doing was pleasurable. “I see you’re liking my finger. How about two?” He wasn’t necessarily asking me if he could use two. In fact as he was saying it I felt his other finger try to fit itself in with the first.

The sensation of two fingers wasn’t too bad. It did hurt a little but after he continued to finger me the pain vanished. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like. But having 2 fingers in me made me feel so dirty. Dirty and naughty. ‘Please pleasure me more Bokuto.’ I whined in my head. As if reading my mind his fingers did all type of tricks inside me. “Yeah, you like these fingers in you dirty girl. Do you want me to pleasure you more?” He said. His words nearly sent me. My hips shook a little and my hands raked his shoulders. My face was so erotic. I was biting the tip of my tongue and crying through it. His tongue played with my neck, his lips latched in different spot covering me with dark bruised loves bites. If I was in the right state of mind I would’ve pushed him off but honestly I loved the idea of him claiming me. I wanted to be his (not like some servant shit). I gasped when I felt a third finger tease at the entrance of my hole. Bokuto huffed out a smirk and poking his finger in a little. My hips backed further into the mattress. I felt the stretch and knew nothing good would come of it. I gripped his wrist to hold his hand steady. “What’s wrong?” He asked playing coy. I looked up at him, my focus now on his smirk. He was purposely teasing me and showing so much dominance over me. His hand still sliding that third finger in as he watched me cry and wheeze from the pain. “Shh baby, I’m just preparing you. You’re doing so well,” the praises kept me happy. “Really?” I asking wanting to be praised more. “Absolutely. You’re so beautiful taking my fingers. You make the most amazing sound and your eyes just keep begging for more from me. And I’ll happily fulfill those needs of yours.” His other hand caressed my cheek as he kissed me. ‘God damn this man is perfect!’ My arms wrapped around his neck as the kiss partially distracted me from the sharp pain at my hole. Controlling my arms to not choke him as he finally got that little finger completely in me. He kept his hand still as he smothered me in pecks. “Such an amazing and beautiful girl.” His compliments were making me blush. After a minute his hand picked up where he left off. My moans filled his ears and unbeknownst to me, his dick twitched a lot and cum was just coming out in small sticky beads, dripping down slowly on my sheets. “I want you to cum on my fingers baby. Tell me how to make you cum so you can soak my hand like how I did to your stunning face. Tell me what you do to make yourself cum.” He sat up and watched my hips move with his fingers. My hands gripped the sheets under me as I watched him stroke himself over me. ‘Wouldn’t it be hot if he rubbed his dick over my clit like my finger would?’ I thought to myself. “You want it? Are you thinking about my dick? Yeah, you are. How about a little sneak peek at what we’ll be doing later.” His hips moved closer to mine and he pressed his long member against my cunt. I gasped when he began to rub his dick against my clit. My hole clenched and my back arch. “Please! Bokuto please! I want you inside me.” His movements changed. His hips bucked against his hand as he fucked me with his fingers. The pads on his fingers rubbing against my walls and curling in me. His other hand palmed his dick against me making sure it’s grinding hard enough against my throbbing clit. It was rubbing me exactly the right way. My thighs trembled in the air and my hips just kept rocking against him for more friction. “Come on princess. Cum, I know you’re about to.” He pulled his fingers out and used them to rub my clit fast. I yelped and instantly orgasmed. My legs slapped together trapping his hand as he kept rubbing, overstimulating me. He soon stopped and pulled his hand away. My legs ached from being spread for so long. I held them together and Bokuto pushed my legs to the side and kissed my head. “I wish I recorded that.” He hands wrapped around my waist , holding me tightly against his body. Trying to silence my whimpering with his gentle touches. “Do you want to stop?” He asked. “No! Please no! I can go more rounds.”

I never expected a moment like this would turn out like this. I was begging for him so shamelessly and he was just loving it. It was boosting his ego so much and he would return that in a very specific way. “Oh that’s too bad. I was going to rock your world.” He teased. “Yes rock my world Bokuto. Fuck me good please.” I maneuvered my body under his, turning on my stomach, laying my chest over my hands and arching my lower back making my hips rise up and touch his pelvis. “It’s going to hurt. I don’t know how bad but it’s a bigger stretch than my fingers.” He said rubbing my ass and kissing my spine. “I like the way you hurt me.” I blurted out. I instantly blushed at my own words and felt a hard smack on my tushy. I moaned and bucked my ass back. “I thought you were a dirty little masochist in your journal. But I love this side of you. Take a deep breath for me baby.” He lowered his hips to mine as the tip of his dick tried to slide its way into my core. He missed a couple of times sending his dick to rub against my clitorus a couple of times. I continued taking deep breathes, bracing myself for the worst. Bokuto used his hand to keep his dick steady as he pushed at my tight hole and pushed passed invisible barriers as his dick tore right through me. He kept his other hand on my hip to keep me from running away as he made his way in slowly. It felt like needles, my eyes rolled back and I tried to muffle my little screams in my sheets. He was so eager that he had to hold himself back, once he was in he nearly destroyed me. His hips bucked a couple of times before he stopped and apologized to me. “Fuck! I’m sorry, I got overwhelmed. You’re okay.” He shushed my cries and kissed my shoulder. His hands were placed beside my head as his hips slowly pulled back. He was really slowly with his thrust. I can’t even call it a thrust. He was so content on making me comfortable that he almost didn’t notice me throwing it back. 👀😳. His eyes staring at my ass as it jiggled and bounced over him. A mixture of clear and bloody fluid coated his dick and he couldn’t be more happy. His hands gripped my hips making me go still as he bucked into me. Hitting a certain spot that made me scream. “Oh you like that?” He hit the same spot expertly and laughed when I cried out again. “Say my name.” He commanded and I began to chant his name and tell him how great he felt. “Bokuto, Bokuto yes more please. Right there! Harder please. I want to cum again. Make me cum Bokuto! Your dick is so big it feel amazing. You’ve made me so happy.” I said thrusting back into him trying to match his pace. “Yeah. Who’s fucking you so good baby? Say my name louder. Let the neighbors know who you belong to. I want everyone to see that you’re mine. Say it!” I couldn’t even speak. I was too fucked out. It felt absolutely amazing. I had felt an orgasm about to come as his thrust got harsher. The sound of him clapping my cheeks really turned me on more. “Can’t speak? Too fucked out? Aww. Remind me how good you look and feel when you cum. Lemme hear those high pitched moans and the babbles of nonsense coming out of your mouth.” He pulled back my hair and exposed my jugular. He groaned against my neck, feral like and I loved it. But all good things must come to an end right? I yelled his name as I came all over him. “Fuck baby. Just hold out until I cum too. I’m almost there.” He said through his clenched teeth as he continued to pound me against the sheets. He covered my mouth as he got rougher, his hips no longer hitting my ass but still fucking me senseless. I heard keys from out my window unlocking the front door. It was my mom. I panicked but Bokuto kept me in place. His hand on my lower back forcing my hips down and his other over my mouth, silencing my moans. He grunted and groaned and his nails scratched my ass. “I’m heading back out, I just needed to get my charger!” My mother yelled from downstairs. The door slammed and after a minute of silence Bokuto returned to his previous rough fucking. “Bokuto,” I whined, extremely embarrassed. What if we were caught?!

His thrusts finally stopped as he emptied his load in me. “Fucking hell gorgous! You feel absolutely amazing!” He rubbed my clit and forced another orgasm out of me as if he knew it was right there. I was out of breath and took deep and heavy inhales of air when he lifted himself off of me. “YN,” he called my name. Cum leaking out of me and onto my bed. “YN, we have to get you clean. Can you stand?” He asked looked for any signs of pain or discomfort. I nodded my head and he helped me out of the bed. But once I stood I collapsed. Bokuto instantly dropped down to my level and picked me up. I forget how strong he is. He helped me to the bathroom, forcing me to walk a little to get some feeling back in my legs. When I sat down on the toilet he waited for me to pee. I was a little embarrassed to even do it so I held it. He saw the discomfort of me holding it in on my face. “YN just pee. I just fucked your brains out there’s no need to feel embarrassed about peeing in front of me.” I couldn’t hold it anymore and just did as he said. Feeling my stomach deflate as I released fluid. “Why were you embarrassed by that? You’re too cute.” He kissed my head and started a shower for us.

#Bokuto #Bokuto x reader #smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu Bokuto #x reader #lemon #hoevember2020

156 notes · View notes

callmeelle22 · 3 years ago

Text

Blue Dream IX

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Allen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 6, 258

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Chapter IX: He Loves Me; Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter.)

He Loves Me

You love me especially different every time

You keep me on my feet happily excited

By your cologne, your hands, your smile, your intelligence

You woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me

You school me, give me some things to think about

Ignite me, you invite me, you co-write me, you love me, you like me

You incite me to chorus, ooh

She tells him she loves him on a Friday night.

A week later, and it's the first night in a long while that she doesn’t get to stay at home because Barry has asked if he can have her time tonight. He doesn’t give her any details, only tells her to come over to his place around 8 and to be prepared to stay over. He seems particularly animated, when he asks, and it makes Iris wonder why, if he’s got something planned or if it’s just that he’s happy he gets to spend the time with her, even if they’ve been around each other more than usual this week.

So, the entire day, she’s dizzy with excitement.

Her taping of Good Morning, Central City is mid-morning. The segment tapes live at 9:30, which gives her some time to down a cup of coffee or two to settle her nerves, and then carefully apply her makeup. She dresses in one of her favorite dresses, a long sleeved wrap dress in black with soft, pretty flowers printed on it and a pair of shoes that boost her confidence, tall black pumps with a gold heel and gold double chains around the ankle. The neck of the dress dips and the delicate material flirts with her lower thighs; she feels pretty in it, in a lighter, brighter way than she’s found herself feeling before. Her makeup is subtle, except for the dark maroon lip, and she’s had her hair blown out and it hangs in soft fingered out curls just past her shoulders. A small black bag is all she takes to keep her keys and cards and then she’s out the door.

WCCTV, the station that houses the studio, is a short drive away, tucked into a neighborhood that Iris doesn’t frequent. She isn’t sure what she was expecting of the station, but it’s a squat little building in an unimaginative cream and brick scheme that would look like any other commercial building if not for WCCTV printed in large blue letters on the building and the satellite dishes spaced intentionally around it.

A news producer meets her at the door, a thin young woman with thick red hair piled into a high ponytail who introduces herself as Katherine.

“We’re all excited to have you here,” the woman says, smiling as she leads Iris through a number of desk cubicles towards a back room. She recognizes a couple of the anchors from the station, who all look either intensely focused on their work or bored out of their minds.

“Thanks,” Iris says politely. “It is a little overwhelming here, though.”

Iris doesn’t love speaking in front of people, which is why she's firmly on the invisible side of her work, but she isn’t as nervous and she figures she could be. There’s that feeling in her belly she connects with nerves, but it’s slight; instead, she’s ready. This can change the trajectory of her blog, invite more viewers and more paying ads. It could invite more stories, people who see her and trust that she wants to do right by them and their lives. She’s practically giddy with the idea.

Katherine’s response is an easy grin. “I know it seems that way, but you’ll be fine. You look fabulous so that’s one concern out of the way. Plus, Alexa and James are phenomenal at getting people to open up at the same time that they project a sort of calmness. It's fascinating to watch and I can tell you’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Katherine. I really appreciate that.”

Iris is led back to a small room where the two anchors for Good Morning, Central City are standing with four other local internet stars. Alexa May is tall and blonde and exactly like what one thinks about when they think of a news anchor: pretty and personable on a killer black skirt suit, though Iris is a little surprised at the naturally kind gleam in her eyes. James Broderick is even taller, his dark hair styled to look windswept, his ice blue eyes looking constantly around the room, as if he’s always wondering where a new story might be.

Iris steps in to greet the other four guests. They include a short Somalian woman in a beautiful bright purple hijab who cooks and shares recipes on YouTube; a stocky white guy known for his skits on TikTok; a dark-skinned Black Instagram beauty guru; and a non-binary Mexican person who discusses true crimes on Snapchat ala Buzzfeed Unsolved. It’s an eclectic collection of people and Iris feels honored to be a part of this group. She’s watched all of their videos in some fashion, though she’s more partial to Aya, the home chef, and Nadine, the beauty grammer. Still, they each have large followings and to be included gives Iris such a sense of pride, that she’s a little drunk with the force of it.

“You guys ready?” Alexa’s strong voice pulls all of their attention immediately, and Iris passes one more look through the crew of them before locking eyes with Alexa and James.

She nods her assent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At 8, Iris pulls into Barry’s two-car driveway right next to his Jeep backed up into the drive as usual. The garage is open, though, and she takes that as an invitation to walk into the house, finding the kitchen door unlocked. She steps in and presses the button that closes the garage, locks the kitchen door behind her.

Her giddy mood has stuck with her.

The segment had been a quick fire round of questions and answers, with the hosts wanting to know how they all got started, what motivates them to do what they do, and the ups and downs of being in spaces of both influence and criticism. It’d been fascinating to hear the stories of the others, and afterward, they’d all exchanged contact information with the idea of collaborating on future projects.

After, she’d gone to lunch with her dad and Wally, who’d all but hinted at a watch party planned for the following night. She'd merely shaken her head at her family’s love of partying.

Now, she’s at Barry’s and she recognizes that tonight is going to be different. Because she knows that she’s going to say it. After the last part of her interview, where she’d all but explained to Alexa and James that she’d fallen in love with someone, she understands that there is no way that she can announce it on television and not tell the man himself.

It’s fairly dark in the house; there is a small light on above the stove. She continues through the quiet living room, a single table lamp lighting her path down his hallway. She pauses to pull her jacket off, tossing it over the arm of the sofa as she treks towards his room. That’s where she finds Barry, sitting in the large overstuffed chair in the corner near the window.

She takes a moment to look at him, in a pair of soft looking pajama pants and a simple white t-shirt, tattooed arm hooked behind his head as he sits wide-legged in the chair. His dark hair is only the slightest bit messy. Iris likes the look of the breadth of his shoulders, the bulge of his biceps, the print of his sex visible through the thin cotton of his pants. He’s not overtly sexy in the way that other men she’s dated have been, but there’s something about Barry, his eyes and his mouth and his length, that really gets to Iris.

She drags her eyes away from him and that’s when she suddenly notices the two gift-wrapped boxes sitting in the middle of his bed, the large bottle of wine and two glasses on his bedside table, a couple of pre-rolled joints sitting beside them too.

Iris steps further into the room, her heels heavy on his hardwood floors; the movement is enough to catch his attention and his head pops up, those sea-foam eyes glittering behind the wire frames of his glasses as he smiles up at her.

(And, Iris will realize later, her entire body floods with her affection for him, the feeling familiar in that the thought comes so much easier now, comes to her so smoothly that she doesn’t know how it’d once felt so difficult to get the words across.)

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets as he stands, unfolding his long frame from the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles at him as he comes to a stop in front of her. She naturally reaches out to wrap her arms around him, tightening them around his waist. His touch is automatic too, his big hands landing on her neck, thumbs trailing softly across the skin on her cheeks. She falls against him, his firmness and his warmth and the soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leans down and kisses her, a peck and then another, and then a longer one, his tongue easing out to coax her open. He pulls back first, though slowly, and Iris chases after him. He obliges with another kiss, this one longer, wetter, Iris squeezing him to her.

“Hi,” she speaks, voice a little faint.

“Hey, beautiful” he repeats. He thumbs at her bottom lip, the tip of his finger tracing gently over the line of her mouth.

“What’s all this?” she asks, when she pulls away from him this time. She gazes around the room again, at how the only lights on are the bedside lamps and at the weed and wine waiting on one of those tables and the gifts sitting neatly on the bed.

“It’s a celebration,” he says with a wide smile. “Well, it’s your Friday night routine, just here. I got the wine and the weed, and Thai ordered out here for a bit later.” His smile dims a little, becomes unsure. “And I thought we could talk about your segment today; maybe actually watch it. I recorded it.”

“Really?” Iris’s eyes widen in slight surprise. “I know my dad and Wally did because we’re gonna have a watch party at dad’s place tomorrow. And probably Linda, but...”

“Of course I recorded it, baby.” Barry gives her an indulgent look. “I tried to watch some of it at work, but we got called out on a case before you came on. Then I thought it’d be better to wait to watch it with you.”

Iris doesn’t have a response other than to bite at her lip, eyes trained on him, the reality of his kindness rendering her momentarily speechless. Barry doesn’t acknowledge her silence; instead, he plants another firm kiss to her mouth and steps away from her, nodding at his bed.

“Is this all okay, though? Maybe you can open your gifts and then we can pour the wine and turn on your interview?”

Her smile is big. “Yeah, Barry, of course.”

She looks over at the sleekly wrapped presents before going to sit on the edge of his bed. She makes quick work of unclasping the buckle around her ankle, leaving her shoes strewn on the floor, and then she hops up into the middle of the bed, pulling the two boxes in front of her, her dress riding up to the top of her thighs.

One of the boxes is bigger than the other, though it’s lighter than the heavier one. They’re wrapped in shiny gold paper with dark blue bows sitting in the corner of each. She picks up the bigger present first, tearing through the paper. She recognizes the garment box and thumbs open the top. Nestled in white tissue paper is a pile of red silk, the material so soft and delicate it looks like waves on the cardboard.

“Bear?” she questions, picking up the folded clothing. It’s a nightgown and matching robe. The gown is almost like a dress she’d wear out, with thin straps and a split up the right side, except the fabric of it is so light, one can tell it’s only made to be seen by a lover. The feel of it in her hands is so nice and Iris knows that this isn’t like the inexpensive dresses she buys for herself.

“I thought that you could have one to keep over here sometimes,” he says when she catches his gaze. He looks a little bashful, cheeks slightly tinged pink. “I know that Friday night is largely your thing, but maybe every so often you can spend it with me.”

“And wear this?” Iris asks, her grin widening slowly.

Barry nods.

“I think that this is really a gift for you,” she says and he barks out a laugh.

“It is my favorite color.” He grins. “And I admit that when I saw it, the first thing I wondered was how it would look as I took it off of you.”

Iris rolls her eyes in jest. “Pervert.” She fingers the material again. “So you picked it out yourself? In a store?”

“You have no idea how embarrassing it is buying women’s lingerie. The sales lady kept making these innuendos and I thought I was gonna pass out, I was blushing so hard.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Iris laughs as she reaches over and pinches his cheek. “You did good though. It’s so soft.”

Barry beams at her. “Can I get a kiss as a thanks?”

Iris shakes her head. “Not until I open this other one. I could hate it and then that would overshadow how much I like this nightgown.”

He snorts. “Even if you do hate it, I’ll still get to see you in the nightgown and, honestly, that’ll make my night.”

“Like I said: pervert.”

He just chuckles as she picks up the heavier box and claws at the paper on it. It looks like some sort of leather book, and once Iris pulls all of the paper off, it takes everything in her not to just start bawling right then and there. It’s the journal she’d seen at the fall festival, except in a pretty royal purple instead of the coral she’d picked up there; this one’s definitely a better choice. It has the rose gold edging that the other had and her name is stitched in that same color at the bottom right corner of the journal. She flips through it, fingering the heavy cream paper. Handwriting catches her attention and she turns to where Barry has written a message on the first page in small, scrawling script.

Iris,

I think I knew that I was falling for you during fall fest, when I saw you staring down at the notebook with such a look of reverence on your face. I could see in that moment how much you loved your craft. It made me curious about you, about someone who’s goal in life is to be the voice for those who can’t or simply won’t. And when I started to read your work, I saw your heart in everything you wrote, in every line that scrolled across my computer screen. I wanted to know that heart.

Now that I do, now that I’ve seen it firsthand: in the way that you touch me, in the way that you smile at me, in the way that you make me feel like every day is new story to experience, I want to be able to experience it for as long as you’ll let me. Because you are a lightning bolt, Iris, brilliant and electric. You are beautiful and tenacious and the single most fascinating person I’ve ever met.

So keep putting your heart into your stories, and I’ve no doubt that everyone who reads it will love it as much as I do.

Barry

“Barry,” she says, breathes really. She looks up at him, his expression nervous, his eyes tracking her. She feels the moisture pricking at the corners of hers and she blinks, letting the tears fall.

“Iris.” His voice is a little raw as she gazes up at him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I can…” he cuts himself off as he reaches for the journal. Iris swats at his hand and brings the notebook closer to her. “Iris?”

Another tear, and then another and then more, roll down over her cheeks and Barry stares at her, hand outstretched, mouth agape.

“Iris,” he tries again. Wordlessly, she places the journal back down in the box and then she crawls over to him, planting herself in his lap. She wraps herself around him, legs locking around his waist, arms crossing behind his neck. He closes his mouth, but his features are still twisted in turmoil. “Baby, please tell me why you’re crying.”

He asks this as he reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Everything in Iris seems like it’s settling now, even as the tears fall. Even clearer than before, she can read the story of them, like the book is in front of her, words bold and in technicolor. She can see the dream she’s living in, the vision of them laughing with each other and making love to each other, for days on end, one that plays out like a movie in front of her.

She tightens around him, trying to get as close as she can without crawling inside of him—she really wishes she could right now—and she sniffs, looking down at Barry through her wet lashes. She takes a deep breath. And then she tells him.

“I’m crying because I love you.”

Much like the last time they’d had this conversation, Barry’s body stiffens beneath her. He asks carefully, “And loving me makes you cry?”

She nods and Barry looks stricken. It’s what she needs to bring a modicum of levity to the moment and she huffs out a small laugh. “These aren’t sad tears, Barry.”

Iris can physically see him exhale, letting out a shaky breath. His shoulders lose their tension and he gives her a tentative smile. She returns it.

“For someone who always seems to know what I’m thinking, you completely missed the mark here.”

Barry shakes his head as Iris notes the flush climbing up his neck. “The tears threw me off.” He wipes at her face. “Please never do that again.”

She laughs. “I’ll do my best.”

Barry runs a hand down her back, over the fabric of the dress she’s wearing, and he grips her chin with his other thumb and forefinger, bringing her down so he can stare into her eyes.

“So you love me?” he wonders. His voice dips, lower like midnight walks on a beach in the fall or like early morning talks before coffee and reality ease in. He pulls the glasses from his face, folds them on the table beside them, and gives her all of his attention. She likes being surrounded by him like this, by the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him. She stays wrapped around him like a koala and Barry holds on to her too, gripping her chin and pressing her to him with a wide palm to the small of her back.

“I do,” Iris nods. “Very much.”

Iris can see the joy brimming in his gaze. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“What you love about me.”

Barry shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably on the bed and she’s perched even closer in his lap, the crotch of her panties almost pressing against his belly. He pushed the boxes and wrapping better towards the edge of the bed.

“For example,” he says, and he lets go of her chin to touch his palm to her chest. His hand is warm through the fabric of her dress. “You know that I love this heart, how gracious and compassionate it is.” He reaches down and picks up on her hands, rubbing a thumb along her knuckles, along the rings that adorn her fingers. He brings it up to his mouth and presses a few tiny kisses along the pads of her fingertips. “I love these fingers, because it’s through your writing, your typing, that you show yourself, even when you can’t always physically or verbally.” He goes back to her face, his thumb caressing the middle of her bottom lip. “I love this mouth: the way that it smiles and laughs, the way that it purses when you’re annoyed, the way that it feels on my own.”

Iris can’t help it when she licks her lips, tongue swiping at Barry’s thumb. He makes a soft grunting sound.

“Tell me, Iris.”

She thinks back to the second night they’d been together, when he’d been hard inside of her and he’d asked her to tell him how he felt fucking into her. She decides that this is even harder, not because she doesn’t know, but because when she speaks it, it’s officially there, written out in the sky, heaven coming to collect on its bet.

“I love your tattoos,” she starts, tentatively. She unhooks one of her arms from around his neck and touches at the skin on his arm, tracing the outline of a white daisy. “I love that you did it as a way to remember your mother; I love that you were brave enough to put the iris on your heart, even when I wasn’t sure how to receive that.” She reaches up to trail her fingers along his brows. “I love your eyes. I love the look of them, the fact that I can’t actually name what color they are; I love the way you look at me, how you can tell my feelings by just watching me, how it seems like I’m the only one you see whenever we’re out together.” She lets a nail trace the outline of his mouth, dropping her hand to rest on the back of his neck. “I love your mouth too; the way you always say things that make me feel beautiful or smart or loved.” She licks her lips again. “Or make me blush, like when you’re saying those dirty things when you’re…”

Barry gives her a deep smirk, those eyes flashing in a way that makes Iris’s body clench. Her thighs close around him.

“Like me saying those dirty things when I’m…?”

She rocks her hips. “You know.”

“I do,” he nods, “but I want to hear you say it.” He grinds up into her. “When I’m what, baby?”

“When,” she licks her lips again, slower this time, buoyed by the way his eyes darken, “you fuck me.”

“Mmmm,” Barry groans and then his grin changes to something a little indecent, darker and dirtier. “You know what else I love?”

Iris shakes her head, though she thinks she does.

“I love the way you respond to me, when I’m saying those dirty things to you when I’m fucking you.”

Iris rocks her hips again and she knows that it’s an involuntary moment. Because, like always, she responds to him easily, fluidly, like they’ve become extensions of the other.

Barry fingers at the hem of her dress sitting around her thighs. “Take this off,” he demands. “I want to show you how you look.”

Even with her brows furrowed in confusion, she does what he says, pulling the dress up and over her head. She reveals to him her bra and panty set, a dark green that even she thinks makes her skin glow. He fingers the lace at the top of the cups of her bra, at the same piping along her hips.

“As pretty as this is,” he murmurs, “I want it gone too.”

She unhooks the bra first, staring back at him. She tosses the bra on the bed beside them, her breasts sitting heavy on her chest, nipples already pointing out at him, seeking him, his fingers or his tongue or the nip of his teeth.

He helps her off of him so that she can take her panties off. Then, instead of letting her climb back on top of him, however, he positions himself so that he’s facing the side of the bed. He pulls her to him and sits her so she is sitting between his open knees, her back to his chest.

This brings a different part of the room into focus. Iris has always paid more attention to the wall length window on the other side of the room, the one that Barry will open when they’re together sometimes, taunting her with the eyes she’s sure she’s seen peeking through their blinds and his. The bed sits on a platform facing front, a television mounted on the wall above a stand that holds his game consoles and a few other knick knacks. But on the other side, there’s a bookshelf, above which hangs a mirror. Of course Iris has known it was there, has looked into it as she’s done her makeup or straightened one of Barry’s stolen shirts on her. But it looks almost dangerous now, only in that she can only imagine what Barry has planned for it. In the mirror, she can see all of her. It’s not an extremely large mirror, but it spans the length of the bookshelf and it’s just high enough that, on the bed, Iris can see both of their bodies.

“Barry?” she questions as she looks over her shoulder at him.

“I know you like it when other people watch,” he says, and she almost rolls her eyes at the smug, laughing look on his face. “But I want you to watch you right now. To see yourself the way I do; to see why I felt so compelled to come to you that first night.”

Iris’s lips quirk up slightly. “I didn’t look like this the first night you saw me.”

“I’ve got a great imagination,” Barry winks.

Ignoring his statement,

(but not the way her heart fills with love for him, the kind that sits heavy in her chest, bold and open; the kind that stays strong in her belly, flipping and fluttering and always present; the kind that dips low in her sex, warm and wet and wanting)

Iris turns back to the mirror and catalogs what she sees: her naked body cocooned in his fully clothed one; her brown eyes bright with anticipation, his darkened with barely disguised lust. There are still traces of her lipstick on her full mouth, and some of it is on Barry too, a look that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. The fabric of his clothes are so soft on her bare skin, and the warmth of the heat through the room only serves to heighten her desire. Barry moves her hands, throws them over either side of his thighs, and uses his to open her legs; the move puts her even more on display, the gold necklace she’s been wearing all day nestled in between her breasts, her belly taut, the pinkish brown lips of her pussy already slick.

Barry circles a hand gently around her throat at the same time that he palms the inside of one of her thighs, holding her open, rubbing gently at her skin.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” Barry says to her, whispers it, his voice soft in her ear. “I admit I was drunk that first night, but I saw you and it was like, like the entire world came into focus. I think my body knew I would love you before the rest of me could even deny it. And, by some miracle, I got you to take me home with you.”

He touches her lightly on her neck and then moves down, the tips of his fingers feeling on her breasts until he circles a nipple. She gasps, the sound more like a low moan, and Barry smiles at it.

“You were so responsive,” he explains. “I’ve never seen anything like the way you respond to me; it’s so electrifying, baby.”

He circles one nipple with the rough pad of his fingers, pinches at it until it fully hardens, the action almost painful in that she needs more. He moves to the other nipple, does the same thing, and Iris grinds her hips, hoping to move the hand still gliding on her thigh closer to where she always wants him.

“It can be the slightest touch,” he continues, running his nails down the space between her breasts. She proves his point, whimpering a little as he glides down to her belly, and then up again, adding a finger as he goes down once more, and then up. It should not feel like this, such an innocuous move. But he’s right; she’s so responsive to him. This ghost of a touch, just the barest hint of his fingers on her, and she’s heated, her thighs quaking, her sex fluttering.

“Barry,” she sighs, catching her gaze through the mirror. He licks those pink lips, eyes honed in on her, and in that moment, she sees that it is mutual. However true it is that she so easily reacts to him, he is not unaffected. He is, just as much as she is, the truth of it right there in his wrecked countenance: the burning gray of his eyes, the pink flush of his cheeks, the colorful bunch of the tattoos on his arm as he holds her tight.

“I’m in love with this pussy, too,” he mumbles into her neck, his pale hands moving to grip her thighs. The sight of it is a touch obscene, his lightly tanned skin on the umber of hers, his long fingers pressing into her flesh. He doesn’t touch her sex, not right away. Instead, he squeezes her thighs before repeating his pattern of running his fingers up and down, up and down again.

“Look at it,” Barry groans, and she watches his gaze go down to her before she looks at herself. She knows her own body, but Iris has never looked at herself like this, has never spread her legs in front of a mirror when her lips were wet like this, flushed red like this, puckered open as if begging for the stretch of his cock.

“Look at how pretty you are, baby.” His voice sounds like music to her. “Look at how slick you get for me; how open you get for me.”

“Bear,” Iris moans.

He chuckles. “I know. I wanna fuck you right now too.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not finished playing.”

Iris gripes at that, throwing her head back on his shoulder and canting her hips toward his hand.

“No, be a good girl for me, Iris.” Those nimble fingers inch toward the middle of her. “Be a good girl and keep looking while I finish playing.”

He waits until she looks back at the mirror and then he starts. That first touch to her sends electricity coursing through her. He swipes a finger straight up the middle of her slit and she jerks, followed quickly by a limb-loosening moan when Barry sucks the digit in his mouth.

“I love the taste of it,” Barry says.

He reaches back down again, uses his index and ring fingers to hold her open and then dips his middle finger into her. He fucks that finger into her slowly, rubbing against her walls as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of her, gathering the slick of her on that finger.

“I love the feel of it.”

He shifts to use all three of those fingers, dipping them in her wet and rubbing them over her. This is where he finds his rhythm. Iris catches, and this time holds, the sight of them in the glass. Her hair is a curly mess, the strands hanging loose and tangled around her head. Her lips are swollen from how often she keeps tugging the bottom one between her teeth, her chest heaving as she prays for release. In all of that, Iris swears she’s glowing, eyes darkened and alight, her entire body lit with pleasure, bringing out the honeyed undertones in her skin. She looks raw. She looks fucked. She looks like a woman who sings out whenever she can, you woo me, you court me, you tease me, you please me.

And Barry holds on to her, fingers moving a little erratically, going between fucking his fingers into her and massaging her swollen clit with his wet fingers. All of it is, a lot, the way his fingers look slicker and slicker until she’s dripping down onto his wrists, the way that their different skin colors seem to matter right now only in how erotic the contrast looks right now.

“Come, baby,” Barry says. “And watch yourself.”

She does, watches herself as she comes, watches Barry watch her as she does. And it’s as beautiful as he says. Because she looks like a woman drowning in bliss, a woman draped in desire, the look of it hugging like a second skin. She looks like the way women might be described in romance novels, so satisfied she can’t think of anything other than being wrapped up in the man giving her the satisfaction. She looks like the woman in some fantasy or dream, ascending the clouds, spread out and open in an expanse of blue. She sings it in her head, you school me, give me things to think about; invite me, you ignite me, co-write me, you love me, you like me; incite me to chorus, at the same time that she sings out loud, “god, Bear, baby yes,” her eyes fluttering closed at only the very last minute.

“I love you,” Barry tells her, after, as she blinks through the haze of her orgasm.

With low, shaky limbs, she turns around, crawling on top of him and pulling him out of his sweatpants only enough that she can slide down the length of his dick. He stretches her, even as wet as she is, her cream coating him. Then he wraps his arms around her, pulling her down to him, all the way until there is only the ocean blue shade of his eyes filling her gaze, so different from the molten whiskey of hers, though nothing in Iris doubts that the same expression shines in both of them: that of a craving for this to last until the last breath shudders from their bodies, that of the love that she hopes makes that dream come true.

“I love you too, Barry.”

And this time, they only watch each other, reading each other, their climax hurtling toward them with the sort of rugged elegance that has always accompanied her idea of love. It’s bliss, la, la, la; da, da, da; do, do, do.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So Iris, tell me,” Alexa May starts. Iris inclines her head as she awaits Alexa’s question, the other woman’s gaze kind and curious. “Are any of the stories on your blog particularly personal to you?” James Broderick nods his head at the question.

“Well, they’re all personal to me,” Iris tells her with a side grin. “But I assume you’re asking if one of the stories I’ve written is particular to my life?”

“Exactly,” Alexa gives her her own smirk.

Iris shakes her head, pauses for a minute as she decides how much she wants to say on a widespread television

“None of them are,” she says, carefully. “But I’m working on one.”

Both Alexa and James’s blue eyes light with interest.

“Oh really?” James questions.

Alexa leans toward her, crossing her slim legs and settling her elbows on her thighs. “Is it a love story?”

“It is,” Iris laughs softly. “It’s a story still being written, so I don’t want to give too much away. But I can tell you that it’s about two people who’ve found something neither had been particularly expecting. It’s about two people who’ve struggled to find acceptance in different ways, to fight through the pain they’ve experienced. It’s about two people who feel into each other’s lives in one of the easiest ways possible, like puzzle pieces clicking or locks being secured or some other metaphor for two people who just… fall into place.” There’s a round of sweet chuckles from Alexa and some of the other guests. “Most importantly, though, it’s about two people who’ve stumbled right into something out of a storybook, something that can only be described as love.”

There is a pause. And then Alexa sighs. “God, that’s beautiful.”

Iris presses a hand to her heart, trying to keep in the surge of emotion that floods through her in that moment.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So are we.”

“And there you have it, viewers,” James says, pulling the attention away. “Keep a lookout for that love story on What a Life You’ve Lived. Thank you all so much for watching. We’ll be right back.”

You're different and special

You're different and special in every way imaginable

You love me from my hair follicles to my toenails

You got me feeling like the breeze, easy and free and lovely and new

Oh when you touch me I just can't control it

When you touch me, I just can't hold it

The emotion inside of me, I can feel it

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen

13 notes · View notes

fandom-collective-writers · 5 years ago

Text

Reader x Le Comte de Saint Germain {IkeVam} - Letters to You

Title: Letters to You

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Le Comte de Saint Germain

Genre: hOHOHOHOHOho smut

Warnings: sexy sex

Kinks: 18th century sexting: the telegraph, masturbating, biting (vampire biting), slight (very slight) choking, sensual ??? idk , internal cumshot, prob some other things idk

Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 2290 words

POV: second person

Request: “I see youve started without me” by non

Written by: @mythiica

Other comments: HAH that was entertaining to write, sorry im late!

Before he left, Comte told you that he would only be traveling for a few days at most. He flashed you one of his irresistible smiles and his canines even sparkled in the lights. Like a gentleman, Comte embraced you tightly before stepping into the carriage and waving goodbye.

That was a week ago, and you are starting to get anxious now.

The moment you make it down the stairs, you call out for Sebastian and ask if any news about Comte has come. You know that he is getting tired of your antics – constantly inquiring about any mail or telegraphs from him – but instead of scowling at you, Sebastian extends a gloved hand and presents you with a slip of yellow paper.

Finally, news from Comte!

“Thank you, Sebastian!” you call over your shoulder as you run back upstairs. As you clutch the paper to your chest, you can even smell his scent embedded in the parchment. It is hard to mistake the beautiful combination of sharp earl grey tea mixed with the sublte sweetness of pastries and pen ink. It comforts you to have it in your hands, and you know that whatever message he has sent you is very important.

Back inside your room, you throw yourself across the bed, undoing Sebastian’s hard work to make it, an you tear open the envelop to pull out the letter. Your name is written in fine penmenshap across the length of the paper, making your heart ache for Comte. Upon beginning to read, it is almost as if you can hear your lover’s voice in your ear.

We have just passed through Romania from the east, and are headed back to the mansion. I warn you that my excursion might take longer than anticipated, mainly because of a storm that hit us in Moldova. Do not worry though, I will be back before you know it.

You had heard about the strange and powerful thunderstorm that blew through eastern Europe, but you are happy to know that Comte is well and safe. Brushing your finger over the cursive, you realize that the telegraph is dated three days ago. Perhaps it got lost and was not delivered in time? You hang on to the notion that, perhaps, Comte has sent you another message and that it will arrive later today.

As you go to set down the paper, another sheet comes loose from the back. The handwriting is less neat than his normal script, but you can still make it out.

I have to admit that I absolutely long for you. Although it has only been a few days since we last saw each other, my heart grows weary with every passing moment. Sometimes, there is a rush of warm air that sweeps through my chambers, and I imagine it to be your aura watching over me. But the other, less innocent notion, also crosses my mind, and I have indulged myself this evening.

This is for your eyes only, ma cherie, and I know it will bring you joy to read this from me: not only do I miss your beautiful smile and the sound of your laughter in the morning, but I desire the desperation that sparkls when our limbs entwine in front of the fireplace. How long has it been since I had the chance to see you unravel?

Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to stop reading for a moment to shift your legs and squeeze them together. This second letter, obviously more personal and… dirty… was Comte sexting you? Late eighteenth century style sexting, albeit, but the heat of arousal is already tempting you to satisfy yourself like Comte has.

It does not feel the same if it is not you giving me this carnal pleasure… your hands are much softer than my own and, by some kind of magic, you seem to know exactly what I need in the moment. It is beyond shameful to admit that I am consumed by this passion, and that it has lead me to do unspeakable things to the pillow… ah, and now the rush of embarassment. I wish that I could have brought you with me on this trip, for not only would you have the chance to witness the countryside in its winter glory, but I would also ensure to keep you warm during the night.

Without realizing, you have slipped your hand down past the elastic of your skirt to press against your underwear. There is already an obvious wet spot, and to think that Comte can do this to you from just a written message… you begin to share his fantasy and give in to desire. There is no harm in doing so, after all, he still has to return home. It feels heavenly to grind against anything, even if it is not your Comte.

I sometimes what is hotter: the crackling fire or inside of you. Surely, when I dip my fingers into your heat, it boils my blood and goes up my arm until I feel your burning warmth everywhere. It is not enough just to imagine it because there is nothing on this earth that compares to you as your walls clench around me. The lit in your voice teases me, but it soon melts into moans when I coax your release faster and faster. What a beautiful sound and what a heavenly sight: you, beneath me, unraveled and marked with the white stains of my love.

His words flow like poetry and seemingly guide your hand to follow the motions he describes. Your wetness welcomes your fingers with ease, and you contort your body in every direction, searching for the position that allows you to touch yourself more. Spreading your legs seems to be the best option as you delve your digits deeper into your core.

You very well know that I was against biting you at first, but upon doing it for the first time, it was like we were merging together in more ways than just physically. The blood – your blood – ignited me, and I knew that we were meant to be together. Not only our bodies, but our hearts and souls together. Can you feel my emotions as I write this? I sincerely hope you can, because I miss you so very much. We will see each other soon, ma cherie.

Now, you give in to the pleasure of the flesh, and every other sound is drowned out by your gasps for air and your drawn out moans. The room already smells like sex, but you wish it would smell like his cologne. Turning your head to his pillow, you bury your nose against it as your fingers rub your most sensitive spot. Bliss envelops you just like it does when he is the one giving it to you. It is wonderful – your release – and it sends you higher than you have gone on your own before.

As you remove your fingers from inside of you, you feel the slick dribbling down your inner thighs until they drip onto the bedsheets. Giggling at the mess you’ve made, you turn back to reach for the letter to read it again, but it is not there.

You turn over, looking for it, and think that maybe in the excitment of everything, it fell off the bed. From the corner of your eye, you see a whisp of a shadow and a flash of yellow.

“I see you’ve started without me, ma cherie–”

At first, you cannot believe that he’s standing in front of you. When you go to sit up and get out of bed, Comte holds out a hand, signalling to stop. The next moment, he is by your side. Comte brushes your hair back with one hand and starts removing his jacket with the other one. “I thought you would read that before I arrived home, but this is even better than I anticipated.”

You are compelled to look directly into his beautiful eyes – it is not that you would want to look at anything else, but you do not realize that his shirt is off until he presses his chest flush against yours. The next second, Comte is whispering how much he missed you as his belt clinks off. Snapping back into reality, you fumble with his trousers until they too land on the floor in an abandoned pile.

“Ah, yes, this is what I have been missing...” Comte’s voice is hot and heavy, and now that his own clothes are gone, he works at your bodice to remove it completely. You had gotten off while still wearing everything, and when his gaze falls to the wet spot that had soaked through the fabric of your skirt, Comte laughs heartidly. “How interesting. To think my words made you this wet. I do not know to be impressed with my own skill or yours~”

“Comte!”

His fingers lace across your throat as he leans over you, raw emotions seeping through his teeth as he nips your jaw. “Yes, do call my name like that. I think I longed for your voice the most of anything…” Comte drags his tongue across your neck, searching for your pulse like he forgot where it is in the time that he was away. Upon finding it, your lover suckles on it. His hand slips between your legs simultaneously to pull your thigh back, giving him space to grind against you.

“P-Please, I’ve been waiting so long for you!” you hiccup as you drag your nails acorss his back. A groan rumbles in the back of his throat – a sign of his own pleasure. You do it again to entice him and coax out another moan.

“Tell me, did you like my letters?”

“Yes!”

Applying the slightest big more pressure, Comte smiles, his fangs winking in the lamplight. They enter your flesh the same time his cock enters your wetness. It is a glorious sensation: the fluid motions of his tongue as it rolls over the puncture marks and the powerful thrusts that send your toes curling. A hand flies into Comte’s hair, and you tangle your fingers in his caramel locks to hold on to him, to ensure that this is not a dream.

He grips your thigh in such a way that you know there will be spots of beautiful purple left on your skin. You can already feel the knot building up in the pit of your stomach, but Comte is far from done with you.

Cuping your face gently, Comte runs his fingers over your cheek to brush your hair out of the way. His gaze is so loving and deep, you feel like you could get lost in the amber alone. Your hand falls to his jaw and you do the same to him before sitting up slightly. Your breasts are flush with his as you nuzzle against Comte.

He continues to thrust into you mercilessly, but the two of you are suspended in a loving moment. Having been reunited now, you cling to him and teeth on his earlobe. “Bite me again, Comte… I trust you, and I’ve missed you so so much.”

Obeying your command, Comte dips his head to the marks already at your pulse so he can run his tongue over it again. He presses dainty kisses down your neck, all the way to your collarbone where he bites you once more. This time, he is more gentle, but you are still hit with a wave of pleasure that makes you moan joyfully.

You squirm under his firm grip, making some of the blood run down to the bed. Comte catches it with a swift lick before the crimson has a chance to stain the pillowcase. “Careful..” he whispers as his lips fixate against the new puncture marks to suck on you.

Mewling, you shift your hips in such a way that allows Comte to bury himself deeply into you. His tip rubs against the spot that makes you unravel instantly – as he repeatedly thrusts against it, you entwine your fingers with his. “Comte, I’ve–”

“Sh, ma cherie, I know. And you are so beautiful.”

You remember his letter in the moment and clench harder around his length because you want him to climax with you. Comte moans and leans back slightly, giving you a full view of his muscular chest. He rakes his fingers through his hair and continues to thrust into you, dragging your orgasm out longer. A line of blood trickles down his lower lip, so you reach up to catch it with your thumb.

Comte grasps your hand and laps at your digit. You moan again, and Comte smirks before coming down to kiss you once more. He tenses a final time and releases inside of you. Crying out, Comte shushes you gently and nuzzles against your cheek. “Ma cherie, how wonderful it is to be home..”

There is a moment where everything is still and Comte still covers you with his body. But he shifts and takes his place next to you. His seed trickles out of you, making you feel incredibly dirty, but Comte pulls your leg over his hip to hold you close.

“You were supposed to receive those earlier than today, but I must say, I am not dismayed in the slightest.”

Pressing a hand against his chest, you nuzzle close to Comte and pull the blankets up over your shoulder. Comte gives you a quick kiss across the bite marks before holding you close. “Next time I leave, shall I send you more messages like that?”

“No, take me with you. I’ll keep you warm,” you reply with a grin.

#ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevam comte #ikevam comte de saint germain #cybird #otome #ikevam smut #ikevam x reader

435 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

A Vampire in Paris, Prologue (Fame x Violet) - Chae

A/N: hey! i’ve been lurking for a while and decided it was about time i contributed. this is a prologue to a long-ish?? Gigi x Crystal fic, and it takes place about 100 years before the actual story so that’s why it’s a different ship. Also, the lack of Famelet recently has been disturbing so here i am!

Summary : Set in the 1920s, Miss Fame is the high-class, high-power CEO of the worlds biggest, and frankly, only fashion brand. She often scouts burlesque clubs for pretty models to take home as well as hire, and happens to find herself at Violet Chachki’s one night… Oh yeah, by the way, Fame and every high status designer in Paris are vampires.

—–

What had brought Miss Fame to the burlesque club was a mystery. Especially because it was a Friday, and she knew it would be packed, and she knew someone would recognize her. She hoped the sunglasses she dawned would conceal her identity enough, but she had a feeling her efforts would end up futile.

She entered the room wearing a boatneck blouse tucked into a leather skirt, and she removed her floor-length overcoat when she stepped inside. The brooch and necklaces around her neck sparkled in the dim light, her sleeveless pale arms hosting no imperfections and the sheer milkiness of her skin causing her to stand out. She removed her hat as well, her icy blonde hair styled in face framing finger waves, her baby hairs stylishly curled around her temples. She was easily the best looking person in the room.

The mistress slinked to a booth in the back as a waiter came up to the table to take her order.

“Madame, are you sure you’re in the right club?” He was referring to the fact that the performers were women, and it was ‘useless’ for a female to watch another female.

Fame peeked over her sunglasses, the server turning white as he realized who he was talking to. She had been to bars such as this in the past to scout for talent (as well as take them home, and boy was she lucky for that cover up), so it was no surprise that she was here alone. Fame was known for being illusive and independent, and although many protested her position and status, there was not much they could do about it. The woman was undoubtedly powerful and not only ruled the blossoming fashion industry, but had a hand in just about every going-on in Paris.

With all this said, the waiter apologized for his rudeness and caught the attention of his manager immediately to let him know who their guest was. Fame was immediately brought a glass of Grand Marnier — every bar in the city knew that to be protocol for whenever she was present. The woman loved the way it reminded her of the sweets and delicacies that she once ate when her form of sustenance wasn’t human blood. Her real pick of poison would be Absinthe, but ever since it had been deemed illegal she was forced to choose something else.

When her name first hit the scene, bar owners would often sit across from Fame and discuss performers that she might want to hire. This practice had inevitably stopped when she went from portrait model to CEO, everyone far too afraid to say something wrong in her presence. And that’s the way she liked it. She was there for her purposes, and the only people she had interest in talking to were the beautiful women she got to seduce. The debutante sipped her drink, watching the empty stage as she waited for someone to come out.

Finally, the name of the next performer was announced — a name that wouldn’t leave Miss Fame’s head for the next century: Violet Chachki.

The woman that stepped into the spotlight could only be described as an illustration, or as close to an illustration as humanly possible. Her skin was even whiter than Fame’s (and Fame was dead), which starkly contrasted her raven-black hair, styled in bob-length curls smoothed to her head and pinned together with a sparkly feather fascinator. Her face was small, her greek nose pointed and her eyes squinty and catlike. Her tiny, upturned lips were painted deep red. In the 150-plus years Fame had been alive, she had never seen a visage so strikingly and purely beautiful. She leaned forward on her elbows, entranced by Violet’s movements as she simply walked on stage. Somehow, even sat at the back of the club, the burlesque dancer made eye contact with the vampiress. In those moments, the two seemed to share an energy beyond physical attraction. Fame’s back raised with goosebumps as she realized that she needed to have this woman — not just for the night, not just as a model, but as a part of her life. Forever.

And the performance hadn’t even started, which Fame realized when the jazz band began playing a tune. Violet flounced around the stage in a black leotard, dark feathers pluming out from her hips into a dress shape. Her rhinestone jewelry caught the lights as she began her number, her movements light as air. She pulled off her sheer gloves, also adorned with sparkles, to the beat of the music and cast them aside. Fame’s eyes widened when she noticed the woman had tattoos, a complete and utter rarity among the streets of France. The heiress couldn’t help but imagine her own marks joining the ink on Violet’s skin.

Violet danced with a feather boa before tossing it down to join her gloves. A drumroll started and she turned around, revealing the zipper to her dress that she undid. As a cymbal crashed, she revealed the costume under her costume: a strappy thong, a bejewled corset, and a matching bra. Her waist was unimaginably small, causing Fame to wonder where her body could possibly go in that tiny space. Poor thing must not eat much, she thought. I can relate.

The crowd went wild when the dancer removed her garters and stockings, whipping them around like small lassos and tossing them to the savage gentlemen in the front row. She turned and rocked her hips, letting everyone in the club see the way her ass was flawless in every way, shape, and form. Fame licked her lips, the pain of waiting to have that ass in her manicured hands too much to bear. The corset soon came off as well, revealing that Violet’s actual waist wasn’t much larger than her corseted one. Now was the trick that got the crowd riled up the most — when the burlesque dancer removed her bra, putting her breasts on display in all their glory (well, except for the black glittery pasties). They were small and perky, of course, just like Violet, and it set Fame off. She needed this woman.

The final part of Violet’s set was dancing around the club, collecting her tips. Fame’s eyes didn’t leave her for a second, making sure no men touched her or even looked at her wrong. If they did, they’d be disposed of soon enough. Violet made her way to where the mistress was sat, making eye contact once again. There was that energy again, the invisible line that bound the two together, and Violet seemed to recognize it, too. Fame pulled out 100 Francs, a healthy amount of money, and waved it towards the performer, beckoning her to come closer. She did, coming up real close to Fame’s face, a move anyone else could have been killed for. But Fame welcomed the close proximity, stopping herself from closing the gap.

“I want you to meet me here when you’re done, Miss Chachki.”

“I want to meet you here as well, Miss Fame,” Violet winked as she took the money and strode away. Her voice was sultry and airy, very fitting and very sexy.

At the prospect of speaking to the one and only Miss Fame, it didn’t take long for Violet to finish up and get changed. She probably skipped about half the club, but had a feeling these tips wouldn’t matter for much longer. She put on her best set of lingerie, wanting to show Fame how good of a model she was. Only in the back of her head was the idea that she’d be showing off for a different reason, and those were feelings she’d only address if she was forced to.

She made her way to the back of the premises again, her regular clothes disguising her from the clubgoers. Her coat was black, like most of her wardrobe, and was lined with feathers. It swallowed up her figure, but it protected her from the cold. She found Miss Fame’s booth, who patted the empty space next to her, beckoning her to join. Violet could barely contain the buzzing in her chest—an opportunity like this didn’t come just every day. She hung up her jacket on a coat rack and took her place.

“Violet,” Fame started, scanning the beauty’s face. Violet had kept on her makeup, but Fame was eager to kiss off that rouge lipstick. “I’d introduce myself, but you seem to already know of me,” she continued, removing her sunglasses.

Violet was surprised at how gorgeous Fame actually was. It’s not like she’d assumed she was ugly, but the woman’s face shone with a youth and perfect facial structure that didn’t quite line up with how old Violet thought she was. “Of course I know of you, madame—”

“Mademoiselle, please.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Violet’s voice wavered, but she didn’t let herself skip a beat in order to make a good impression. “Mademoiselle, every performer in this city wishes they could meet you. Every person knows of your work. You are stunning, Miss Fame.”

Fame couldn’t help but blush at such a woman calling her ‘stunning—’ well, actually, she couldn’t blush because she had no blood to rush to her cheeks, but if she could she would’ve. “Why, thank you Miss Chachki,” she placed a hand on Violet’s thigh, feeling the human warmth from under her dress.

Violet shuddered at the contact, a feeling washing over her that she couldn’t quite explain. Her stomach tightened up and her lips were ever-so-slightly parted, the idea that she wanted Fame the only thing she could think. But Fame was a woman, and that was absolute insanity.

“I look forward to working some more with you, so I’m asking you to come spend the night at my penthouse,” Fame suggested. Violet couldn’t help but agree to the prospect, her dingy apartment above the club would barely compare to what awaited her in that home. “I’ll just do some evaluations, and we can get to know each other, hm?” Fame rubbed the spot on Violet’s leg, making the younger girl let out a small sigh. Needy and noisy she is, huh? Fame couldn’t wait to have time with her.

“That sounds wonderful, Mademoiselle,” Violet nodded.

“Amazing, shall we?” Fame scooted out of the booth, conjuring both of their overcoats in her hands and presenting Violet with hers. The fabric was disgustingly cheap compared to what Fame wore. Fame made note to buy her a new jacket like this one, as Violet seemed to adore the color black.

They exited the bar, Violet asking which way they were to go. Surprisingly, Fame motioned forward into the street, opening the door to a shiny Rolls Royce with a chauffeur sitting up front. Violet climbed in, eyes wide at how expensive the car was, down to the smell. She looked at Fame with a wondrous childlike expression, causing a break in the vampires stony exterior. She smiled, and Violet smiled, and they smiled together because they were happy to be in each other’s presence.

The entire drive to Fame’s home, her hands were glued on top of Violet’s, relishing in the warm contact. Violet found it adorable and madly attractive how Fame wouldn’t let go, but grew acutely aware that the older girls hands were cold — freezing cold, like there was not one ounce of life in them. Strange.

They were led out of the car and into the grand spinning doors of the apartment complex Fame owned. Most of her models and workers were housed there and she spent a majority of her time living there, managing the many clean-ups that went around town, attempting to find better solutions for obtaining blood, and ruling an entire fucking royal fashion empire. Busy, life was, and this was her only break.

Without much hesitation, they wound up on the top floor: the penthouse. Great glass windows lined the walls, a perfect view of Paris visible below. Violet stared out of them in awe, her attention turning back to the living room and a portrait hung up on the wall.

“Who’s that?” She asked, gesturing to the painting. It was of another beautiful woman, with tan skin and long dark grey hair. She looked exciting and different, and Violet could’ve sworn she looked familiar.

“Ah, Raja. She is someone very close to me, almost like a mother.”

“She’s not dead, then?”

Fame let out a laugh, covering her mouth to chuckle as she sat on the couch. “Oh no, darling, she’s very much around.”

Violet giggled nervously, perching on the edge of an armchair, a flush of embarrassment dotting her cheeks. “Oh, I see. A mother—is that what you’re trying to be for me? Did she do what you’re going to do?”

Fame blinked, not knowing how to respond. Something was telling her to be upfront about her intentions, the conversion process much easier when the victim had time to calm their nerves. “Well… hopefully I’ll be doing to you what she did to me, yes,” Fame began. “But I was hoping our relationship could be something… different to mother and daughter?”

“Of course! Friends? Sisters?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of lovers, Miss Chachki.”

Violet turned beet red, her arms tensing up and her elbows locking. She responded with curious eyes. “Lovers?”

“I know you are probably not interested in women the same way I am, Violet, but I offered anyway.”

“I don’t know who I’m interested in,” Violet admitted. After years of performing for unruly men, seeing how disgusting they could truly be, her attraction to them had significantly decreased. The pining in her chest never left, however, and ever the hopeless romantic, she’d taken a small interest in women through the years (no matter how much she tried to deny it). “I can say I’m intrigued by whatever you have to offer, though. I meant what I said when I said you were stunning.”

Fame put her finger over her chin and flicked her eyes over the shape of Violet’s body, the dancer growing hot from the attention. “Come here, ma cherie,” Fame said. Violet did as told, sitting on her own leg to face the other woman. Fame was still surprised how close to her Violet was willing to get, the bond between them only growing more prominent. “I don’t want it to seem like your success is only based on attraction, but if I’m honest, I only brought you here because I’m mesmerized by you, Chachki.”

Violet’s pointed eyebrow raised. “So, you don’t want me to model for you?”

“Of course I want you to model for me, but god, Violet, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you walked on that stage.”

“I assumed that was the case when you said you wanted to be ‘lovers,’” Violet smirked. “You felt it when I looked at you, right?”

Fame nodded.

“Is that what love is supposed to feel like?” Violet asked.

Fame nodded.

Violet bit her lip and looked down. “Oh. I guess… well, I guess that was the only time I’ve felt it.”

The vampire lightly took the other girl’s chin and flicked her head up. “Darling, do you want me to show you what love can feel like?”

Violet blushed at the intensity of her stare, already feeling completely roped in. She nodded quickly, Fame closing the gap in between their mouths. At first, Violet’s eyes widened at how cold the other woman’s mouth was, but sighed into the kiss at the sweetness of how she tasted. Fame latched onto the warmth of the human’s lips, caressing her cheek and intertwining their tongues. Violet was still in shock, but welcomed Fame and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. It was a long and passionate kiss, each woman pouring all their feelings for each other into it. Fame finally broke away to Violet’s dismay, the vampire not wanting to take it too far before she couldn’t control herself.

The burlesque dancer felt a deep longing once their mouths had parted, not realizing until then just how much she adored Fame. From the moment she’d seen her in person, she’d adored her. “Mademoiselle-”

“I know you’d like to continue, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Fame, I don’t care, I just need you to know that I…” The heiress let Violet continue, intrigued. “I think— what’s it called when you know you want to marry someone?”

“You want to marry me?”

“Anything to spend the rest of my life with you, please.”

The corner of Fames lip turned up in a satisfied smile. “Well, that happens to be part of my proposition.”

“Do tell!”

“Have you ever heard of a vampire?”

“… yes?”

Fame focused her energy on her mouth and her eyes, her natural fangs popping out from her gums and her eyes swirling from their human-blue shade to crimson red irises and pitch black scleras. She was expecting Violet to be afraid, but she wasn’t. In fact, Violet was more fascinated than anything. She’d always been interested in gothic themes and horror novels, and her appearance was already more vampiric than Fame’s. She stared at the transformation in awe, the purpose of this meeting clicking into place.

“Miss Fame, are you suggesting that I spend eternity with you? Like this?”

“Only if it suits you, ma Cherie.”

“It suits me, Fame, oh my lord it suits me,” she grabbed Fame’s cheeks and before the vampire could protest, they were interlocked in another kiss. Violet gently ran her tongue over Fame’s ridiculously sharp teeth. It was so light of a touch, yet it still cut a tiny gash in the muscle. Fame sucked on it, a hint of warm liquid sliding down her throat. Violet’s blood tasted like honey and candy and a hint of liquor, and got Fame hooked immediately, her instincts taking over as she sucked harder. She snapped herself out of it when Violet seemed to mumble, and she realized she needed to focus on the transformation before she drained the younger of blood.

“Darling, turn around,” Fame ordered. The younger complied, sitting with one leg hanging off the couch. Violet took it upon herself to remove her thin dress, finally getting to show Fame the outfit she’d worn for her. Fame ran her teeth across her tongue, hungry for blood and for Violet. The human had taken her hair out of its style, and it now sat just above her shoulders so that Fame had to brush it away. “This is going to hurt a little, but I promise it will feel heavenly soon enough,” Fame stated.

Before Violet could ask what she meant, two sharp pains entered the crook of her shoulder and neck. She let out a wince as Fame began drinking from her. Immediately Violet felt cold, then lightheaded as one did when they lost large amounts of blood. She almost forgot Fame was working some vampire magic and fully expected to pass out, before the cold suddenly disappeared and her senses were regained. She thought it was over, but Fame continued drinking. From the wound on her neck, a familiar need latched itself in the pit of Violet’s stomach — lust. She knew vampires were creatures of the dark and of sex, but didn’t expect the transformation to pool wetness in her panties—which probably wasn’t made any better by the fact that she was attracted so desperately to Fame.

It only took a couple seconds for the need to overtake her, Violet beginning to writhe and her hips grinding uncontrollably upward. Fame sensed this, not surprised as it was a customary part of the transformation, and slid a hand around Violet’s waist and down between her open legs. She massaged the woman’s clit through her panties, a moan escaping through Violet’s lungs. She continued the motion, taking in Violet’s noises and adjusting her position accordingly. She eventually slipped her hand under the cloth of her tiny underwear, beginning a more vigorous stimulation. Violet let out more squeals and moans of pleasure at the feeling, biting her lip to try and stop, but the girl was loud and her jaw hinged open anyway. She was already nearing a climax when Fame slipped a finger inside her, slowly pumping in and out. Violet leaned backwards into Fame as the vampire continued to feed, her pleasure completely numbing her to the pain. She was moaning loud, her thighs tensed and shaking.

“Fame—ah! I think I-I’m gonna—” her last words were drowned with another prolonged moan as Fame hit her sweet spot, which basically released the floodgates as an orgasm overtook Violet’s body.

Fame sucked up the last drops of blood as Violet came, the girl shuddering and falling limp into the mistress’s arms. The transformation had gone without a hitch, and Fame congratulated herself for drowning out the painful process and answering Violet’s needs. The orgasm mixed with the blood-draining always caused the victims to pass out, which left the magic to do its thing for a while anyway. Technically Fame had killed Violet, similarly to how she did to any person she drank from; but unlike the humans she feasted on, there was a certain amount of focus needed to transform someone. It left Fame deathly tired, but content and probably full for the next few weeks.

The older vampire gently removed herself from under Violet, finding a blanket and pillow and tucking her in. She stopped by her kitchen and poured a glass of blood that she kept in her refrigerator (newfangled things, really, and extremely useful to a vampire), setting it on the glass coffee table in the living room. She knew Violet would be extremely thirsty when she woke—and she didn’t know when that would be, so better safe than sorry. Drowsy, Fame looked upon her sleeping lover, who seemed incredibly peaceful despite what had just occurred, and smiled. My Violet, she thought, going over to pat her on the head. I hope we go on to make something incredible.

#rpdr fanfiction #miss fame #violet chachki #famelet #lesbian au #historical au #supernatural au #vampire au #smut #a vampire in paris #chae #tw mention of blood #concrit welcome #submission #s7 #s12

31 notes · View notes

xiaojuxiyou · 5 years ago

Text

Assassin

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 1000

A/N: This is the first smut that I will post. I’m not that confident with my smut writing and don’t think it’s that good. I wish I could write and describe more with emotions. But read at your own risk.

She pushed him onto the bed, crawling on top of him. Bambam scooted himself higher up the bed to rest his head on the pillow. He placed his hands onto her butt, gripping it as she ripped his shirt open, the buttons flying into the air. She could feel his hardness rubbing against her core as he thrust his hips to tease her. His hands reaching under her shirt sliding up her waist to her breasts. She let out an angelic moan that aroused him even more than before.

Managing to slip off her shirt, he threw it to the floor. Planting a kiss onto his left chest, she let herself down onto him, pressing skin onto skin. Tilting her head, she traced his bottom lip with her tongue before gently kissing him. Her techniques so great he was hypnotized. He tilted his head back with his eyes closed as she moved her hips in circular motion. She was good at pleasure, he had to admit, but it was not what he was here for. Yet her skills satisfied him, he was on the verge of giving in until he felt her hands reach under the pillow, pulling out a cold object.

The coldness touch his arm and opened his eyes just in time to see her holding a small knife above his chest, about to stab him. Apparently, she wasn't here for the sex either. Grabbing her hands, he took the knife, throwing it onto the floor before flipping her over onto the bed. She struggled to break from his grip as one hand held her hands above her head, the other reaching down to touch her.

"I was sent here to kill you, but the sex is just too good to give up, don't you think?" Bambam questioned as she wriggled beneath him.

She trembled under his touch. Her breathing uneven from the pleasure he was giving her.

"You make me go crazy with your sexy curves, the way you grind on me." Bambam released her hands and grabbed her skirt, pulling it off as she turned onto her tummy, reaching for the knife. Just as her fingers touched the knife he pulled her back again. She quickly turned, kicking him in the stomach, sending him flying back a few feet.

"I was sent here to kill you too." she stood up, grabbing the knife.

In that time, he managed to pull his pants off and he was standing naked in front of her. He wasn't going to give up after getting this far. It was her who suggested having sex in the first place, even if it was a cover up for her real motive. She stared at his big long length, nodding, impressed for a few seconds before attacking him once again. Using the skills he had learned in assassin 101 to dodge, he caught her arm, making her drop the knife. It was an upside for him that she didn't wear underwear. He bent her over on the bed, leaning onto her back.

"You don't have to be all business, have some fun." Bambam teased her, rubbing his length against her entrance.

Her whole body shook. She whimpered, wanting more. She can't deny that she was attracted to him especially after seeing how big he was. Unable to hold it anymore, she broke free from his hold. Turning to face him, she grabbed his shoulders pulling him down to her.

"I don't care if I should kill you or not, but right now I need you." she dug her nails into his shoulders, "Fuck me, Hard."

With a smirk, Bambam held his member to her entrance and pressed in as deep as he could. She held her breath as he slowly filled her up and she tightened around him. He was big and she loved it as he thrust into her so fast like his life depended on it. Hell it did depend on it. Her melodic whimpers brought him to a high, higher than usual. He wanted more. Spreading her legs even wider, he held onto her hips, pulling her closer.

“Oh my god…” she threw her head back, gripping onto the bedsheets. They were the only things keeping her sane right now.

Feeling the need to get closer, Bambam let his body down, crushing her under him. Digging his fingers into her hair, he pulled her in for a kiss, biting on her bottom lip. Only the sounds of their moans harmonizing filled the room, not even caring if anyone could hear. He drove her over the edge like no one else had ever done. She loved it. How he could continue without showing signs of exhaustion was out of her knowledge, but she could feel herself coming close.

“After this, you’re dead.” Bam’s raspy out of breath whisper beside her ear did it.

She tightened around him as she came, milking his erection as well. The warm liquid filling her up. Their eyes met when they recovered from the experience and Bam pulled out, flipping to lay beside her, both staring at the ceiling. Their minds blown from the whole situation. Why did they have to kill each other? Who was behind all this?

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” Bambam admitted.

“I don’t want to kill you.” She added.

“Then don’t.” they turned to face each other.

“So you can?” she questioned, “We both know you are stronger.”

“I’ll give you a twenty minute head start to run away as far as possible before I come after you.” Bambam replied, “If you manage to escape then good, but if I find you, you won’t have a chance to live.”

She rolled her eyes, annoyed at the reality they both can’t escape.

“I’d do anything to have sex with you again, but seems this is the end.” She gave him one last kiss before heading out the door.

She ran. He waited twenty minutes as promised and the chase continued.

#Bambam #Got7 #Kpopscenarios #kpop fanfiction #smut #assassin

7 notes · View notes

badbookreviewclub · 5 years ago

Text

Empress Theresa, Chapters 3 & 4

If you haven’t read Chapter 2, here is the the link. I recommend reading through this and Chapter 1 first before continuing on for the sake of continuity. These WILL contain spoilers, so if you’re not cool with that, don’t read it.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 by far has to be one of the most boring chapters I’ve come across in this book. It took me forever to work through this chapter alone simply because of how boring I found the writing and the general story line of the chapter. Its sole purpose is to introduce a couple things, one being Theresa’s love interest, Steve, and how ‘interesting’ she is. Summary and Analysis: Theresa has finally moved on from her high school baseball career to attend Boston College, which Boutin, the author, constantly abbreviates to BC throughout this chapter. This abbreviation grows annoying rather quickly, considering that I don’t think the name of the college needs to be mentioned as often as it is. Aside from annoying abbreviations, this chapter is absolutely littered with a poor attempt to follow the story line Boutin seems to have loosely laid out throughout the book as well as piss poor logic. In chapter 3 we learn that Theresa is a whiny little bitch who thinks the amount of homework given to her is absurd despite the fact that there are plenty of college students out there who are handling it just fine. “The assignments I got in my classes seemed endless. Could anybody do all that work in a semester? (Pg 40)” This is Theresa’s first day of classes and she’s already getting upset over the amount of work she has to do. I don’t know about anybody else, but even with my higher level courses the amount of homework ramps up over the semester before the assignments become more manageable when finals start to draw near. Aside from complaining about her homework, we never even see Theresa do it once throughout the chapter. After her classes, rather than starting to work on this ‘endless’ amount of homework she has, Theresa relaxes in her room before a group of girls (I assume her roommates and not just random strangers - It’s never explicitly stated which one.) invite her down to the cafeteria. In the cafeteria, out of a “”long habit” Theresa started to look around the room. She notices pretty quickly that a group of ‘kids’ are staring at her. I tend to take issue with the fact that Boutin constantly refers to these college-aged adults as ‘kids’ simply because it throws you out of the story. Theresa wouldn’t refer to people the same age as her as ‘kids’ and the book is supposed to be written like an autobiography. Nonetheless, these ‘kids’ are staring at her and Theresa automatically picks two out to comment on in the book. “Mr. Intense,” who was looking at her intently, hence the name, and “Mr. Fast Move.” I have a slight problem with the name “Mr. Fast Move” simply because Theresa gave him this name before he even got up to introduce himself. Theresa somehow being omniscient is a problem through everything I’ve read up until this point and I’ve found it to be more and more annoying as I keep reading. Boutin also tends to have a really big problem with making Theresa assume the emotions and thoughts of other people. “One boy [Mr. Intense] was intently looking at me.... he was around six feet which was a good match for my five feet four inches. I liked taller guys and apparently he liked smaller girls (pg 40).” ‘Mr. Intense’ hasn’t even gotten up to talk with Theresa, nor will he for the next little while as far as I can tell. Yet, somehow, Theresa already knows his likes and dislikes and what he looks for in a potential partner. It doesn’t end there though, Theresa also goes on to continue and assume just what he is doing and thinking. “He wasn’t gawking at a pretty girl, or lusting for her body. He looked interested. And that’s ok. A girl gets used to being looked at (pg 40).” Aside from assuming what he’s thinking, there’s a lot of problems with this quote, enough so that I’m not sure where to being. Starting simple, I absolutely hate when authors write out ‘ok’ rather than ‘okay.’ It comes off as lazy to me. It only takes two more strokes of the key to add the ‘ay’ to the first two letters. Moving on to the next problem, Boutin never takes issue with the fact that someone may be looking at Theresa like an object, and Theresa never objects to that idea. She seems to be fine with the idea that someone is looking at her like an object or like a potential partner. Boutin never out right states that someone is looking at Theresa like an object as far as I’m aware, but it tends to be heavily implied throughout the book that Theresa is fine with that. Moving on from Theresa’s assumptions about ‘Mr. Intense’ for now though, ‘Mr. Fast Move’ obviously makes the first move. As stated early, Theresa gave him this name before he even got up to make the first move. She also keeps calling him this after he gives her his name, Jack Koster. To keep it short and sweet so you all don’t have to suffer as much, Theresa knows pretty soon into her and Jack dating that the two of them are not a good match and that their relationship won’t last. Yet, she continues to keep dating him and dragging him along. One day, when she goes down to his dorm because they have a movie at eight. Turns out, Jack has another girlfriend named Ginny from before college. Despite the fact that she knew her and Jack wouldn’t work out and was just dragging him along, Theresa still gets angry at him and wants to make him jealous. Jack says that he’ll talk to Theresa upstairs so she goes upstairs to wait for him. Before I go further, I just want to point out that Boutin wrote that there were six guys in Jack’s dorm waiting on him as well as Ginny. That’s a lot of people for a college dorm. Still chugging along, Theresa decides she wants to make Jack so jealous he’ll “throw Ginny out a window (pg 45).” Theresa says that there’s no chance that her and Jack will get back together, so I’m not quite sure what her logic is on this one. But she dresses in a “backless dress made of flimsy, cling material (pg 45).” The dress falls six inches above the knee, which “wasn’t a big deal these days, but to make it more interesting I folded back the hemline three more inches inside the skirt and taped it (pg 45).” I may just have short legs, but I measured how short this dress would be on myself, and this wasn’t even covering the bottom of my ass cheeks. Anyways, Theresa watches a movie which Boutin goes into way too much detail to describe and it’s just overly boring and pointless. Jack never shows up but surprise surprise, ‘Mr. Intense,’ better known as Steve at this point, does. At this point the dress has ridden up Theresa’s hips at this point and despite Steve’s clear discomfort with the whole dress situation, she makes no move to try and make it better even though he’s there to offer her comfort. We do get this banger of an exchange though (Pg 49): “You’re quite, Steve. Something on your mind?” “Yeah. I’m trying not to think about what I might see.” “I’m wearing a thong. You won’t see anything but my hip.” “And a nice hip it is, I’m sure.” Steve has had a total of maybe 5 words spoken up until this point but he’s already my favorite character solely from the line “And a nice hip it is, I’m sure.” Steve and Theresa’s relationship develops absurdly quickly from there and it’s almost at a worrying pace. After only about a month of dating, the two of them decide to get married. Father Donoughty, or as I lovingly refer to him, Father Dick Doughnut, convinces Theresa’s parents to let her marry Steve at the tender age of 18 and after only a month of dating because he is more than certain that their marriage won’t fail. Eventually her parents give in because “Discouraging it [the relationship] could do more harm than good (pg 54).” Theresa and Steve apparently have an absolutely amazing wedding and we get a lovely detailed description of what Theresa wore that I’m more than happy to share with all of you because it’s not in the slightest drawn out or excessive; “I was gorgeous as a recently turned eighteen year old. For the church service I wore a two piece wedding gown. A floor length wide skirt with spaghetti shoulder straps made from matte duchess stain. Over this I had a jacket made of peekaboo cotton Venice lace that more or less covered my shoulders and the top half of my upper arms so as not to scandalize the congregation. At the reception the jacket and train came off and my shoulders and cleavage charmed the crowd (pg 54).” This description just reminds me of the excessively long description of what Ebony was wearing in the all-time classic My Immortal. Nobody gives two shits just what Theresa was wearing and the comments about what she is wearing don’t even make sense. I don’t recall a congregation ever being ‘scandalized’ by a young woman having their shoulders exposed. I also don’t recall a crowd ever being ‘charmed’ by someones breasts and shoulders, or you know, I just live in a boring world where people don’t get dazzled by my boobs and my offensively sexy shoulders. As for the poor attempt for Boutin to continue the plot throughout chapter 3, in-between Theresa meeting Jake and then finding out about him cheating, Theresa is called into the campus police office because her ‘watchers’ were caught following her. Nothing really comes of this other than that we learn the Pope is paying for her tuition and finds her a ‘highly interesting’ case. The president also talks on the phone to the head of the campus police and tells them to pass along the message that they didn’t see anything happen, that they shouldn’t tell this to anybody, and that they should just forget about it. It’s a boring scene with boring dialogue and its rather pointless as well. If anything, it only serves to create more plot holes throughout the entire story. Chapter 4 So we got through the boring hell that was chapter 3, but what about chapter 4? It’s not better. Arguably it is so much worse. I can sum it up fairly simply for you. Theresa gets kidnapped by government men, she assumes they’re ‘Navy SEALS’ but calls them goons through the entire book. She’s then put on a plane with an atom bomb on it because I guess the president finally decided that he wanted her dead and yet nobody objected to this happening despite there being no evidence for her deserving this fate. Also her watchers just disappear in this chapter so I guess their presence in her life was just completely pointless. This may come as a surprise, but Theresa manages to get out with the stupidest solution ever and doesn’t die. This is the part where I should be celebrating her survival but all I can do is mourn the fact that she could have died but didn’t. If she did, the book would be over. Summary and Analysis: God, I really don’t want to summarize this chapter and point out things I hated in it but I will. This chapter was so overwhelmingly painful to read and mark down that I gave up towards the end and just started scribbling ‘No’ and ‘Why’ into the margins. Okay, rant over. Starting off, Theresa is on her way to go to the grocery store when a bunch of cars in front of her essentially make a barricade so she can’t get through. The people in the cars get out with their weapons drawn as a van pulls up behind her. Once more, Theresa’s omniscient knowledge kicks in and before the door to the van opens she already knows what the interior looks like. She gets into the van anyways without much of a fight and just willingly lets herself be kidnapped. They take her to a helicopter and fly for a long ass time. Eventually Theresa asks where they’re taking her and rather than telling her that it is classified information like they should, they basically tell Theresa that they’re taking her to an aircraft and that she’ll be killed. Rather than getting upset about this, the tears just well up in her eyes but she doesn’t break down into hysterics. As Theresa so eloquently puts it, “But I didn’t cry. I wasn’t a phony movie actress using hysterics to milk all the drama she could out of every moment. I was a real person and I didn’t give a damn what these kidnappers thought (pgs 57-58).” Theresa once more assumes emotions, and states that she must have impressed her kidnappers and won their admiration by not breaking down into hysterics. This is where she also guesses that they’re Navy SEAL despite having absolutely no proof of them being in that part of the army as of yet. Blah blah blah, Theresa decides to ‘wax poetic’ though she’s not being poetic at all and it’s just Boutin trying to fill in space so he can make his book longer. Somehow this chapter is even more boring and annoying than chapter 3 and shit is supposed to be happening here. I suppose Boutin is trying to make it intense, but it comes off as long winded and any sense of action of anxiety that may have been there is gone. In-between the long and boring moments of Theresa just observing things, she asks how she’s going to die and they tell her that she’s going to be loaded onto a plane with an atomic bomb. This is a problem for a lot of reasons, actually, and I’ll put them in a list for you: 1. This is a stupidly expensive way to kill someone 2. Theresa never stood trial for this and its not as thought it could have flown under the radar either. There is a shit ton of money being funneled into an atomic bomb and a plane that wouldn’t go unnoticed in the records. 3. Theresa’s watchers never showed up once despite having watched her grow up and seeing that she would never harm a fly. Yet here she has been declared a danger to national security. 4. All of the men who are escorting her to her death have no proof that she has done anything to be a threat to national security. As far as they’re aware, she’s an innocent eighteen year old girl. 5. The way that they’re going to kill her is cruel, inhumane, and excessive. Never in my life could I see anyone letting a president get away with ordering a death sentence like this. 6. Theresa never fucking stood trial for this shit. This wouldn’t just fly under the radar with congress. Believe it or not, but the President of the United States doesn’t have enough power to just order someone dead because they believe them to be a threat. Theresa would have to go through a trial first. I could see a coup happening in the United States before anyone ever let anything like this happen. These tend to be my problems with a majority of the chapter. To get into more specifics, Theresa says that she needs to think of a way to get out of this, but we never see her elaborate on a plan nor do we ever become clued in that she has come up with an idea. Instead, we, the reader, see her do some nonsensical bullshit. When they take her to an empty cafeteria to have her last meal, Theresa takes an empty garbage bag and fills it with exactly 11 coke bottles that at the time confused the living shit out of me. As it turns out, she’s going to empty out these coke bottles and shove them into her jumpsuit so she’ll be buoyant when she jumps from the plane before it can blow her up. This is some kind of bullshit five-minute crafts solution. It’s a stupid one and never in a million years could I ever see this working. Theresa also decides to reflect on her life and comes to the conclusion that her life as not significant and was incredibly boring. How wonderful for that the reader has to reader that when we could have come to that conclusion ourselves. We also learn that Theresa has had ‘no illnesses’ which seems like utter bullshit to me, but alright, go off Boutin. She also had a ‘mean’ dog growl at her once and suddenly she now has absolutely no love for dogs. I’ll let you interpret that one however you want. The night before she’s going to be executed, Theresa decides to reflect on her life thus far with Steve. This could have been a bittersweet moment where we truly get something emotion filled and with fond memories that we didn’t see. It’s not a bad idea to have her reflect on her loved one during what should be a very emotional time, yet all we do is get a recap of his experience with her last chapter. It’s boring and inspires no emotion from the reader. We could have learned something about Steve and how Theresa sees him and yet we don’t learn anything. What we do learn however, is that Theresa somehow has shit tons of knowledge about aircraft despite this never being mentioned before in the book. I don’t think she actually is supposed to be an aircraft nerd, I think that Boutin just forgot about that and started to write far too much that he learned about planes so he could share the information with everyone. It’s more confusing than not in the actual text though and draws away from the story, not that there was much to begin with. Also, somehow, refueling in flight will snap your neck if you don’t brace right according to Boutin. I did some light research and no, no it will not. Despite this, Boutin goes on for about two pages about how Theresa has to brace so it doesn’t snap her neck when they refuel mid-flight on their way to take her another boat so she can get on the plane with the bomb on it. Jesus christ the next few pages are just absolute hell. Theresa lands on boat. Captain of boat brought women onto top of boat. Thought the one being executed would be man and deserved to see women before he died. Strongly implies women are objects for men to look at again. One woman takes out her phone. She asks Theresa if she has anything she’d like to say. Dis bitch. Dis. fuckin. bitch. “I once read a famous quote by the Shawnee Indian Chief Tecumseh about singing a death song and going out like a hero. I had rewritten it for a more universal use, never dreaming that I’d use it myself so soon. ‘If people grieve your passing rejoice in the good you did and die like a hero going home. I feel good about who I was.’ (pg 68)” Not only is pulling your phone out to record someone who is about to be executed highly against probably all policies, but also, just... fuckin... if this situation were to ever happen in real life, this would be an absolute shit show of a situation. People are breaking rules left and right, nobody is obeying any sort of code of ethics or any kind of rules that were laid out for them. It’s just stupid. All of this chapter is just plain stupid and the logic is terrible. One of the people gives Theresa thermals because it’s going to be cold when she’s flying up and they insist that she gets oxygen and wears a mask. They do all of this for her despite the fact that in the end she’s going to get blown up and none of it matters. Nothing fucking matters in this book. After this though Theresa fucking jumps from the plane once it has taken off and is at an altitude of 54,140. The impact on the water alone would have been enough to kill her and yet it doesn’t. She just passes out when she hits in and then wakes back up. Now is when she starts to get cold and she passes out again. The entire time that the plane is climbing into the air and she’s falling before she hits the water is supposed to be an intense and action-packed scene. I get that’s what Boutin is trying to do in this last part of the chapter, but it doesn’t come across that way. It’s dragged out. It’s wordy and Theresa thinks way too much about other things for it to feel like it is supposed to be as intense as I think Boutin wanted it to be. It’s poorly written to put it simply, which really sucks because it’s the climax of the entire chapter and the most intense moment out of anything leading up to this point. End Alright that is the end of chapter 3 and 4. I don’t know when 5 to whatever chapter I decide is worth it will come out, but hopefully sooner rather than later so I can finish with this book. Chances are I’ll post a review for a different book in-between this one and the next so look out for that. I’ve got a few absolutely terrible books on their way that I’ll be receiving over the next month. The first one out of the batch I plan to review is someone’s fan fiction that they decided to publish called Insanity: Jeff the Killer simply because it’s 77 pages and after flipping through it, it’s already better than some of the shit I’ve read lately. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and please feel free to follow and look out for more reviews of books. I hope I’m actually getting better at this review thing! Please feel free to leave any feedback and things you would like!

#empress theresa #chapter 3 #chapter 4 #bad book #bad book review #review #this was hell #someone please kill me #when will it end

9 notes · View notes

writtenbynath · 5 years ago

Text

Like a doll

The bagpipes are so loud, my ears are ringing. But I still want to dance more. The swing dress with the white petticoat makes me feel sexy, and my feet don't hurt yet. I look around for dance partners.

A hand on the nape of my neck. Warm and forceful. Automagically, my eyes look down at my feet. I calm down and I grow and blossom under her touch. "Let's dance," she whispers.

As we move to the dance floor, a mazurka starts. The hand on my neck wavers only for a second, and then applies more pressure. "You lead," she says. Obediently, I lay my right hand on her back, our arms touching the whole length, and I hold out my left for her to take. I take a deep breath and wait for the right count in the music. One twooo. One two three.

I sway and she follows flawlessly. I apply gentle pressure to her back and she hears every hint my body gives her. My eyes rest on her right breast in the lowcut top. I'm aware of the dancefloor, I navigate and lead at the same time, all from the corners of my eyes and my ears. We're not dancing alone at all, but no one else matters. Her fingers caress the nape of my neck and her breath is near my right ear.

"Your mouth is open." Her voice is soft, it takes me a few moments to work out what she said. "No, leave it open. I like it," she adds. "You look like a doll. My pretty dancing doll. You belong in a music box." My body continues to dance, while on the inside my heart flutters. Making her happy makes me happy.

Am I still leading or is she leading now? The dance makes me drift into a trance. Or maybe it's her hand. Or both. My head feels light and my eyes are unfocused. But we dance until the song ends, swaying me deeper under her power. One twooo. One two three.

When the music stops, there is applause, but she leads me away from the dancefloor. Her hand still rests on my neck. Not quite aware of my surroundings, I follow her up a few steps, through a doorway, over thick carpet, another doorway, into a quiet room. She tells me to sit and closes the door.

My mouth is still open, I can feel it but I don't want to close it. Still lightheaded and unfocused. A soft lamp is turned on and she approaches me. With light touches she moves my feet and pushes my legs apart. She rearranges the petticoat and drapes the skirt over the chair. She shifts my shoulders and lays my hands in my lap. Shivers run through my body as she touches me and poses me like a doll.

When she touches my face and poses my head, I feel a tingle in my forehead. My eyes grow wider but I can see even less. She moves in for a kiss and my lips tingle and remain limp. A happy glow follows her hand as she touches me more, the final touches. She moves away and I can hear a camera. I sit motionless as it flashes, a beautifully posed doll.

She moves in and upends the skirt and petticoat. More flashing. I feel unable to move and intensely happy. She unbuttons the dress and exposes my bra. More flashing. I am no more but her sexy doll and I enjoy every second of it. Her hand pulls the bra down to expose my nipples. More flashing. My mind is almost blank but for whatever she is doing to me.

A drop of drivel moistens the corner of my mouth. My heart flutters as she touches it and makes a smiling sound. She puts down the camera and touches my right nipple, pinching it. An involuntary gasp escapes my lips.

"Such a beautiful doll..." She sighs. Her hands roam my body and I shudder. As she starts to remove the dress, she says: "I wonder how anatomically correct you are..."

PS If you and I are strangers and you liked this writing, feel free to follow me or peruse my other writings. But please don’t leave comments or messages describing what you think of me or what you’d like me to do to you. I don’t know you, so don’t breathe down my neck. That behaviour will only motivate me to block you or write less erotica.

3 notes · View notes

bailesu · 6 years ago

Text

One Day in Paris (Haruka / Michiru Fanfic)

This is for a Haruka / Michiru exchange thing for @amrynth.

I’ve put the story behind the cut as it’s kind of long for a tumblr post.

One Day in Paris

By John Biles

For the Haruka/Michiru stuff exchange.

*******************

Some days, Haruka loved being a detective. A good, challenging mystery. High speed chases on high mountain roads where one wrong turn meant going off a cliff. Shootouts in a Monaco casino. Romance under the stars. Finding yourself tied up the next morning and your wallet stolen. Being arrested as a homeless person and…

Okay, her last job hadn’t *ended* well, but the start had been awesome.

“But Saaaaaam,” Makoto wailed into her cellphone two desks down. “I’m a detective! I can’t just let criminals rampage even if we did plan this for a week!”

Detective Minako had legs which wouldn’t quit. Wouldn’t quite *kicking her desk to a beat*, that is. Detective Rei, who had the desk behind Haruka, was starting to crumple paper and make grunting noises, and this could not lead to *anything* good.

“So you’re saying it’s Lupin,” Detective Zenigata said, four desks down into his cellphone.

It’s never Lupin, Haruka thought, sighing; she was busy checking her email to make sure she hadn’t missed a summons from their boss. The last time she’d done that, Head Detective Setsuna had somehow gone back in time and wrecked the best date she’d had in high school.

Petty, yet powerful.

I need a mission, Haruka thought as Rei now rose and began heading over to Minako’s desk.

Also, I need to convince Head Detective Setsuna that this open office arrangement is a *bad idea*, she thought as Makoto now babbled to Sam; no one was sure if Sam was male or female; Haruka was pretty sure Sam was a woman, but whatever Sam was, Makoto was headed for another crash and burn. Haruka would have felt sorry for her but now Clippy rose from the grave, occupying half the screen on her monitor. ‘Do you want help with your resignation letter?’

‘I want a damn mission to get me out of this office,’ she typed in. ‘Also, I thought you died.’

‘That is not dead which cannot die, but with strange aeons…’, Clippy began.

Not another cult case, dammit, Haruka thought.

“If it’s a woman, it’s not Lupin, it’s his confederate Fujiko,” Inspector Zenigata said into the phone. “Be very careful; she is nearly as cunning as Carmen Sandiego, who *still* has my Betamax, dammit.”

A coffee mug slid onto the desk, and Haruka started, then saw it was Detective Usagi. “I thought you were on the Osaka Jewelry case,” she said to Detective Usagi.

There was a crashing sound as half of everything on Detective Minako’s desk (six figurines of Sailor V, five of various idols, four pictures, a baseball signed by Babe Ruth, and a stack of books Minako would never read but claimed she would) all fell off it because Rei and Minako were engaged in either a fight to the death, foreplay, or probably both, Haruka assumed.

It had been kind of sexy the first three times but after Minako had accidentally somehow knocked Haruka’s favorite racing trophy into the toilet (which was fifteen meters away, an act which was *never* clearly explained to Haruka), Haruka now wished they would keep it at home and be professional at work, like *her*.

“I want to explain it to you, but the Kingdom of D was involved and Umino had to pass himself off as the princess and I just don’t want to think about it,” Usagi said, looking haunted.

“If those two weren’t separated at birth, I will be stunned,” Haruka said, then tried her coffee. She took Usagi’s hand and squeezed it. Usagi turned a little red. “You are a master of coffee. Did you catch the thief, then?”

“It was all a trap to kidnap the princess, and we barely rescued Umino from the deathtrap when they realized they had the wrong person,” Detective Usagi said, trying to sit on Haruka’s desk.

Makoto sat at her desk, clutching her head, while Detective Ami patted her shoulder over and over, trying to help but not knowing what to do.

“I think I have to help Makoto,” Usagi said.

“Drop by any time,” Haruka said.

DING.

Salvation had arrived. A mission, so she could get out of this madhouse before…

“So is that your gun, or are you happy to…” Minako began.

“It’s my gun,” Rei said irritably as she tried to pin Minako.

“That joke only works with Detective Conan or Inspector Zenigata,” Ami pointed out.

Minako sighed. “Ami, the straight woman’s job isn’t to ruin my jokes.”

The mission was to investigate the break-in at Renate Jewels in Paris. Ahh, gay Paris, Haruka thought with satisfaction. A city of beautiful buildings, great food and drink, love, and… hopefully not another chase through the sewers.

“No one in this place is straight except maybe Conan but he’s too young for us to think about that,” Ami said.

“Ami, you made *me* the straightwoman,” Minako said mournfully.

Haruka fled to get in her car and drive to Paris.

******************* Haruka then remembered it was not in fact possible to drive to Paris, so she got a plane ticket and arranged for a Lamborghini to be waiting for her in Paris. When she arrived, she got it and… immediately fell asleep from jet lag in the parking lot of the rental place.

The next morning, she woke up, went to her hotel, took a shower and headed off to investigate the case, hoping the trail had not gone cold. She felt alive; she needed her missions to give her purpose after she’d been banned from racing, even if it was all that freak Dirk Dastardly’s fault!

Then she headed out to Renate’s Jewels, a beautiful boutique near the Seine; a superheroine and a villain were fighting on a roof nearby, but Haruka ignored them; they had no jewels and were not part of her very important mission.

Renate was a middle-aged redhead who looked oddly familiar to Haruka, but Haruka didn’t worry about that, since it probably wasn’t going to be relevant. “So she seduced you, tied you up, and then stole everything.”

“I wouldn’t have minded being tied up if she hadn’t *stolen* everything,” Renate said, then swooned.

Haruka caught her and put her up on her feet. “You should probably loosen your corset so you can breathe properly,” she said very seriously.

Renate said, “I’m going to need your help, detective. Why don’t we go upstairs and you can help me do it.”

“Sorry, fair lady, but I’m on a *mission*,” she said, kissing Renate’s hand, then quickly adjusting her corset without taking it off. Soon, Haruka headed for the Regal Arms, as the thief, who Renate had identified as the notorious Jewel Thief Michiru from a photo, had left behind a pack of matches. The place was huge and grand, exactly the sort of place for an exciting showdown. Every piece of furniture was worth two years of Haruka’s salary.

That would make her triumph cooler.

She paused to adjust her suit in the mirror. When confronting your nemesis, you have to have everything *just right*. If your tie is out of place, it ruins the moment.

She then went to the front desk, presenting her badge and a photo of Jewel Thief Michiru running out of a shop with a bag full of jewelry. “Have you seen this woman?”

The clerk adjusted her glasses. “Yes, she was lounging around… our lounge… all night last night, looking increasingly cranky, then finally her friend dragged her upstairs with the help of the night concierge.”

Friend?

“Can you describe the friend?” she asked.

Hotel security footage showed Michiru, clutching a wine glass in one hand, unconscious and being dragged onto a luggage cart by a dark haired man in the hotel uniform and by a dark haired woman who was ambiguously teenage and wearing a black blouse, black knee-length skirt, black high stockings, black boots, black nailpolish and a pink rose over her heart which looked lost, but certainly stood out.

Haruka said, “Can you get a printout of that?”

After some tech fumbling, she and the desk lady got the footage sent to Detective Ami for analysis. She also got the desk lady’s phone number, the address of a good chicken place, and the room number of Jewel Thief Michiru.

And the advice to never eat at Francois’ near the Arc d’Triomphe. Or however you spell it; Detective Haruka never sweats the details.

The elevator took her to the twenty-third floor and she made her way down the hallway to 2307. She pulled out the keycard the clerk had given her and unlocked the door.

“I’m going to have to steal the crown jewels,” she heard Michiru say; she flattened herself against the wall inside the little atrium; to her right was the changing area and a hanging closet; beyond that was the bathroom; she pressed herself against the left-wall, then realized it left her visible, so she slipped into the hanging closet, where a half-dozen dresses were hung up.

The burgundy one was the best, but Haruka wasn’t sure if it really matched Jewel Thief Michiru’s hair. As she contemplated high fashion, she heard a woman she did not know. “I’m sure she’s coming. The Fox told us that her plane arrived last night.”

“Then why didn’t she come to the hotel?” a despairing voice said from the bed.

“Why do you *want* her to find you, anyway? You’re not the Riddler’s sister, right?” the woman asked. “I need the money to get Father exorcised, but if I go to jail, I can’t help him!”

“What good is stealing things if there is no one to recognize my skill?” Jewel Thief Michiru said. “I am in this for the sport, to pit myself against the best.”

“Then why are you worried about this bozo?” the other woman asked.

“I am not a bozo!” Haruka said, coming out and throwing the finger of accusation at the other woman, who turned out to be the teenager from the photo, holding a short fighting staff.

Which she now flicked and it somehow extended into a glaive.

“Don’t bring a glaive to a gunfight,” Haruka said, drawing her gun.

“Now, now, Detective Haruka,” Jewel Thief Michiru said, getting up off the bed and striding closer, gracefully. “Point the gun at me and make empty threats.”

“They’re not empty! I’ll shoot!” Haruka insisted.

“We both know you won’t shoot us,” Jewel Thief Michiru said, gliding closer. “Why didn’t you show up last night?”

“Jet lag,” Haruka grumbled.

Jewel Thief Michiru stopped, then said sympathetically, “I forgot to take that into account. My apologies.” The other woman, still unnamed, frowned. “Okay, what is *actually* up with you two?” She had turned her glaive back into a staff and put it in her black purse.

“Oh yes, Haruka, this is my new assistant, Hotaru. She’s a cyborg assassin from the future.”

“I’m not a cyborg *or* from the future,” Hotaru insisted. She pinched her arm. “This time, anyway.”

“I’m from the future!,” another teenage girl said from the balcony; she wore what looked like a Star Trek uniform to Haruka. But she was armed with something like a lightsaber. The big heart on the end did make it stand out.

“No! You’re going to ruin our sexy confrontation,” Michiru said angrily, pointing at her. The glaive vs. Heartsaber battle began wrecking the hotel room, so Haruka said to Michiru, “How about if we check out this chicken place I know about until they’re done?”

“My plans… in ruins…”

Then the scented oils caught fire from a parried Heartsaber blow and the whole suite went up in flames. Haruka picked up Michiru and ran.

***************

“So I got docked two weeks pay because Paris caught fire and it wasn’t even my fault,” Haruka groused to Usagi later as they ate okonomiyaki which Makoto had made them since they both had, as usual, no money.

Makoto flopped down on the other end of the couch with her pork okonomiyaki and put on Netflix. “Did they riot?”

“Don’t let the boss know or I’ll lose even more pay,” Haruka said, shaking her head.

“He doesn’t know I sunk Atlantis, either,” Usagi said conspiratorily into Haruka’s ear. Then she began stuffing her face.

I thought *I* sunk Atlantis, Haruka thought.

Makoto would never ever tell them it was the result of her trying to date a brother and a sister at the same time without either finding out about the other. Never, ever.

So don’t tell Haruka now that you know.

Iris Out.

#Sailor Moon #Fanfiction

7 notes · View notes

unitedjust · 2 years ago

Text

Revolve formal dresses

Revolve formal dresses series#

First as “the collection that came at the most turbulent time in my life,” which she says solemnly, and then as “the nervous breakdown collection,” which she delivers with a laugh. Merhej describes this delivery in two ways during our conversation, both earnest but dissimilar in demeanor. Well, all except for this one fall 2022 was developed while Merhej lived in Paris after the explosion and during the pandemic, away from her team, space to work, and lacking of her usual process. For this reason her collections are small, focused, and developed with her mother and a small team of seamstresses in Beirut. I don't really come at all from Western society where it's normal to consume and throw away, that's very foreign to me,” she adds. “I come from four generations of war and loss,” she says, “I want to make something that lasts, things that are considered. “I grew up understanding the power and craft behind clothes and the impact they have on a daily life,” she says, adding that she always planned on working with her mother, but she wanted to make sure that if she entered the business of fashion she’d truly have something to offer. Her great grandmother used to have an atelier in Palestine, as did her mother in Beirut (“it kind of skipped a generation,” she says), and now her. Merhej is the third generation in a family tree of fashion designers and makers. To say the past, give or take, three years have been plagued with conflict is an understatement, but seeing the work that is coming out of those singular experiences can help put things into perspective. She’d recently relocated to her hometown after moving to Paris during the pandemic, which was just a few months after the explosion that devastated the Lebanese capital on August 4th, 2020. From alluring ruching to brilliant beading, we include all the exquisite artistry and show-stopping detail so characteristic of master designers, letting you shimmer regardless of the occasion.Renaissance Renaissance designer Cynthia Merhej joined our Zoom call from her parents’ house in Beirut. Each Evening Gown and Mother of the Bride Dress design in our MGNY® collection is a nod to this extraordinary ability and the network you so fearlessly support. You provide strength, humor and sense with the same grace and stability as a star, connecting to more people than you probably even realize. Opt for something stunning and strapless or add a layer of class with longer sleeves, jackets, stoles or capelets. In this one collection, we offer both floor and tea-lengths, figure-hugging or flowing cuts and a range of colors from voluptuous red to classic black.

Revolve formal dresses series#

The result is a series of figure-flattering evening gowns that are at once sexy and reserved, classy and daring, shockingly simple and attention getting. With the MGNY® Collection, Madeline Gardner has a singular vision: to capture a timelessly elegant and sophisticated look. Luxurious fabrics, exquisite laces, and fine beading enhance the elegant sophistication of perfectly designed Evening Gowns. Okay, now stop imagining it, and live it.Įxperience the luxury and glamour of our exclusive MGNY® Collection featuring Evening Gowns and Mother of the Bride Dresses. The hush that fills the room when you enter it is very real. The rush of confidence that floods through you when the zipper finally reaches the top is exhilarating. Try our evening dresses on in your mind and imagine the experience. You will swoon over the intricate beading, the delicate embroidery, the sensual lace appliqué. You’ll find plush seductive materials - silky crepe, creamy chiffon, luxurious organza, alluring lace. We have tea length and long flowing skirts, form-fitting and figure-flattering dresses with sultry silhouettes, sweeping skirts with daring necklines. In our Morilee Evening Dress collection, designed by the inspirational Madeline Gardner, you’ll find gorgeous and sophisticated gowns for all tastes, styles, and moods. In short, when you decide to wear a Morilee Evening Gown to your next event, you can check off, “Be the most striking person in the room” on your to-do list. They regularly turn heads, weaken knees, and raise blood pressure. Our evening dresses are so beautiful they have been known to start and stop a conversation in the same moment.

#Revolve formal dresses

0 notes

avaalons · 7 years ago

Text

Chris Evans Imagine: You’re struggling to find an Oscars dress

It was only three days until the Oscars and you were desperately wishing that time travel was real so that you could go back and just choose a dress when there was still plenty of time left and no pressure of the big day looming over you like a black balloon. Chris was sorted, of course, but then it was always an easy process being a guy.

‘Hey babe, how did it go today? You find something?’ Chris asked you from where he lounged across the sofa, Dodger stretched out in a tiny sliver of space between Chris’ body and the back of the couch as they watched television together.

‘No,’ you sighed, ‘I’ll have to try again tomorrow I guess.’

‘Not even anything that could be a possibility?’

You pulled your phone from your purse and Chris swung his legs off the sofa so you could sit next to him. Dodger moved so you could tuck yourself under Chris’ arm, and then jumped back up once you were settled, curling up next to you.

You tapped your photos app and began scrolling through, showing Chris the pictures the stylist had taken that afternoon as you tried on dress after dress. You gave him a sentence or two of commentary as you swiped from image to image.

‘This one had a good cut but the colour did nothing for me… hated this… really liked the style of the skirt but the neckline was so awkward and uncomfortable… this made me look too boxy… didn’t like the cut outs here…’

And so on you went, barely giving Chris enough time to see any of the dresses, but he made noises of protest about how you looked beautiful in everything, until he stopped you.

‘Hey, go back, what was that one?’

‘This one?’ You asked as you flipped back a couple of photos.

‘Yeah, that looks great on you!’

It had been one of your favourites, you had to admit. The luxuriously flowing fabric hung casually from the shoulders, the deep neckline ending in a point just between your boobs. The material was gathered at the waist, ruched delicately over your bust and then fell to the floor. It was light, comfortable, moved well as you walked, was sophisticated and a little bit sexy. The overall effect was quite Grecian, only emphasised by the dress’ one fault: it was white.

‘I did love it and I tried it on because it is my style, but I can’t wear it, it’s white!’

‘What’s wrong with white? White suits your colouring,’ Chris’ furrowed brow clearly betrayed his confusion. Poor guy, so naive.

‘Christopher, imagine all the times in a woman’s life where she might wear a white, floor length gown…’

You gave him a minute to try and work it out but as a couple of seconds ticked by, the heat of embarrassment rose in your cheeks. Maybe you were making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe your refusal to wear white said more than just wearing the damn dress and not reading too much into it.

‘…okay, a wedding right? But it’s not like weddings have the monopoly on white dresses. There’s plenty of them on the red carpet!’

You glanced down as you explained in a rush, ‘It’s just too bridal. It makes me look desperate. Like I’m trying to drop hints to you or something. And, you know, I’m not. We’re happy as we are. I just don’t want to spark gossip and opinions about our marital status.’

‘Babe, no one is going to think that, I swear. It doesn’t look like a wedding dress anyway, the cut is less… formal or something I guess.’

You chuckled at Chris’ attempt to describe fashion. He was sweet.

‘If the dress is comfortable and you feel good in it, just wear it! Don’t worry about what anyone thinks.’

‘It was really nice to wear…’ you conceded as Chris’ pep talk gave you a little more confidence.

‘Exactly, so don’t worry. Besides, I can think of the perfect accessory to go with it. Wait here a second.’

He shot up off the sofa and headed for the stairs. You were puzzled, mentally running through your jewellery and purse collections, wondering what he had in mind. You gazed back down at the image in your hand as you tried pairing different pieces with it and wondering what shoes to wear.

You heard his footsteps in the hall again and looked up as he walked in, hands behind his back with a grin on his face.

‘What are you up to?’ You asked, amused suspicion lacing your words.

He perched on the edge of the couch next to you again, taking one hand from behind his back and securing it around your fingers.

‘I just thought that your white, floor length gown might look even nicer if, say, you had a rock on your finger to really set it off.’

He produced a small black velvet box from behind his back, and you were barely able to process his words. Your gaze flicked what felt like millions of times between the ring nestled against its velvet cushion and Chris’ expectant face and when he slid from the couch to the floor, balancing on one knee, you gasped, your face hot and the first drops of moisture pricking your eyes.

‘Chris… what are you… this can’t - Christopher!’

‘Would you mind finding another white dress at some point in the future? Maybe one you could see yourself walking down an aisle to me in?’

You nodded, throat thick with emotion, what you could only imagine to be a stupidly wide grin on your face.

‘Good, because I’ve been sitting on this for a while and it’s not been easy! Simply stated, I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. My days are richer and more vivid with you in them, and you make me want to be the best version of myself on every single one of them. I want to continue building this life that we’ve started together and I’m hoping that you want the same.’

You gave him a good natured roll of your eyes through your tearful smile at end. Of course you wanted the same, the big dummy. His little sliver of insecurity was only ever endearing.

‘So, the big question then,’ he took a deep breath, ‘Will you please make me the happiest man on earth and agree to marry me?’

You gave a wide beaming smile in response, nodding emphatically as Chris slid the ring on to your finger. Joyful, sobbing laughs spilled from you both and he leaned up to kiss you firmly, you meeting him half way and punctuating his kisses with the word ‘Yes’ over and over again.

***

‘So, we hear congratulations are in order?!’

A microphone was thrust out at you as the two of you paused on the red carpet press line, the whole affair as noisy and manic as always and a complete sensory overload.

Chris took over, as he usually did, feeling that this was part of his job, not yours.

‘Well, I asked the question and she said yes, so we’re pretty ecstatic right now.Still in a bubble of happiness I think,’ he said, glancing down into your face at the end, joy still etched into both of your features.

‘And can you tell us anything about the proposal? Was it super romantic?’

‘Honestly, it was the white dress that did it,’ Chris didn’t even look back at the presenter, just gazed at you, his eyes intently on yours, ‘I just couldn’t resist her.’

#chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you

338 notes · View notes

wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog · 7 years ago

Text

The history of the prom dress

How the prom dress has evolved over the years. (Photo: Everett Collection, Art: Quinn Lemmers)

The prom has endured as a meaningful teenhood tradition for decades: It’s a hotly anticipated toast to high school, playing a pivotal part of basically any teen flick worth its salt (not to mention how pivotal it can be IRL too).

But the true roots of prom — short for “promenade” — are as a rite of passage, debuting at Northeast colleges such as Harvard University and Amherst College in the mid- to late 19th century, as relatively simple farewell dances for graduating classes. The practice skewed younger in the decade that followed, emerging as a teen tradition at high schools by the 1940s. Proms are held at some Canadian high schools, and they have also caught on to a lesser extent — and with a younger demographic — in the past decade or so in the U.K., although it hasn’t expanded much farther globally.

Proms are just one type of coming-of-age ceremony, along with quinceañeras, bar/bat mitzvahs, Catholic communions and confirmations, debutante balls, and weddings. All these rites of passage, and the carefully chosen clothes that are worn on these special occasions, have stuck around. But the prom dress differs from most rite-of-passage fashion traditions: It’s nonsecular, and not tied to any particular ethnicity, and, thus, it’s more universal.

It’s also the rare coming-of-age garment that can, and often does, telegraph a teen girl’s burgeoning sexuality, as sociologist Amy Best explores in her 2000 book, Prom Night: Youth, Schools, and Popular Culture. “The prom dress is critically important to this invention of a sexual self,” Best writes, detailing how she overheard some of the girls she interviewed describing their fathers’ “utter discomfort” upon seeing their risqué getups for the big night, which provide proof “that the girls had succeeded in transforming themselves.”

1942: High school seniors at their prom in Greenbelt, Md. (Photo: Getty Images)

Granted, the prom dress wasn’t very sexy at its midcentury inception. Prim and ultrafeminine was the M.O. instead. In the 1940s, prom dress silhouettes were often cut slim and close to the body. This wasn’t done for the sake of a sexier, more body-con dress: It was due to WWII fabric rations. These frocks had higher necklines and covered shoulders (often with some pouffy volume at the shoulders), with floor-grazing hemlines, often fabricated from heavy materials like velvet and taffeta.

1954: Prom in Cloyne, Canada (Photo: Wikicommons)

Ultrafeminine, waist-whittling tea-length dresses dominated the fashion vernacular in a big way in the 1950s, and it was the preferred shape for promgoers during that midcentury period too. The style includes fitted waists, full skirts, and calf-grazing hems, falling 3 to 4 inches below the knees. (Interestingly, the term “tea length” actually dates back to the dresses women wore when having teas circa the 1920s.) Some styles even were bedecked with frilly ruffles. Necklines were less demure than in previous decades, for the most part, and strapless styles were also common.

1960s: Students dancing at the Mariemont High School prom in Cincinnati. (Photo: Getty Images)

The early ‘60s brought about a return to closer-cut skirting that had been de rigueur two decades earlier, but purely for aesthetic reasons — not as a cost-cutting measure. Slimmer skirts were paired with higher waistlines, making for more of a baby-doll silhouette. Pastel palettes with Easter egg-worthy hues were popular, and dresses moved toward spaghetti-strap and boatneck shapes up top. Later in the decade, empire waist shapes rose to prominence, paired with a range of necklines, like sleeveless boatneck styles and square-neck short-sleeved iterations. And throughout the ‘60s, ultra-voluminous coifs were the norm.

However, proms fell out of favor to an extent as the decade wound down, thanks to shifting cultural attitudes based on political events and attitudes of the time: “The prom’s popularity waned in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s,” Best writes in Prom Night. “With countercultural movements, antiwar protests, and an antiestablishment stance, many ‘irreverent’ youth brought proms to a halt.”

1975: Susan Ford and her date, William Pifer, dance during the 1975 Holton Arms School Senior Prom, held in the East Room of the White House. (Photo: Getty Images)

In the 1970s, many prom dresses, reflecting the wider dress trends of the era, became roomier in cut, often without any definition at the waist whatsoever. Unlike the strapless, snug bodices or sleeveless styles that were dominant in previous decades of prom dressing, these frocks tended to have off-the-shoulder, possibly lace-trimmed necklines or long sleeves that were often sheer or billowy.

On the silver screen, Carrie depicted a considerably less dowdy take on the trend: a clean-lined strappy gown with a fluid skirt. Another iconic ‘70s prom dress was worn at the first, and only, prom to be held at the White House: Susan Ford, daughter of President Ford, donned a flowy, salmon-hued jersey gown designed by Albert Capraro, a former assistant to Oscar de la Renta. The frock was trimmed with a few buttons, plus a massive orchid corsage (as her classmates had).

1976: Carrie White, played by Sissy Spacek, is unexpectedly elected prom queen in Brian De Palma’s horror film Carrie. (Photo: Getty Images)

A major prom milestone of the ‘70s was the founding of Jessica McClintock: The brand, created by a former schoolteacher with no formal design training, went on to become synonymous with prom dressing in the ‘80s and ‘90s, and also did big business with bridesmaid gowns and other formalwear during those decades. While the designer herself retired in 2014, and her namesake stores were shuttered around the same time, the label still has licensing deals for some products, such as fragrances.

1986: Jon Cryer and Molly Ringwald in the film Pretty in Pink. (Photo: Everett Collection)

The maximalism of all things ‘80s certainly didn’t spare the prom dress category. The extravagant excess of the era translated to ultra-pouffy details like oversize bows or ruffles and flashy metallic materials. Tresses were teased and/or crimped, and the makeup of the era tended to be equally as over the top: heavily pigmented lids, copious amounts of self-tanner, and bold lips.

But the most memorable ‘80s prom dresses were certainly in the multiplex, as the teen-movie genre really solidified and took off in the decade, thanks in no small part to John Hughes’s iconic flicks. Take, for example, the pale pink dress — a thrift-store hand-me-down that gets some considerable revamping — worn by Andie (Molly Ringwald) in the seminal 1986 teen classic Pretty in Pink.

1990s: Jennie Garth and Shannen Doherty in Beverly Hills 90210. (Photo: Fox)

In the early part of the ‘90s, prom frocks looked quite similar to those of the ‘80s in terms of having lots of pouf and ample metallic hues. Sweetheart necklines became quite popular for promgoers (and for fancy occasions in general), and while form-fitting bodices endured, the silhouette shifted slightly, with waistlines hitting closer to the hips.

Shorter hemlines with dramatic necklines were common too, among prom-worthy minidresses of the early ‘90s. To wit: the identical black tube dresses with massive, white bow-adorned off-the-shoulder necklines worn by both Brenda Walsh (Shannen Doherty) and Kelly Taylor (Jennie Garth) on an episode of Beverly Hills 90210 in 1993. The style was so iconic, it inspired a runway look nearly a decade later, when designer Isaac Mizrahi trotted out a similar frock in his resort 2011 collection.

1999: Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. (Photo: Everett Collection)

Later in the decade, slinky, spaghetti-strap slip dress or sheath styles reigned supreme. Recalling the iconic and ill-fated style that Sissy Spacek wore (and got drenched in pig blood) in Carrie, two decades before. These styles represented a trickle-down from what was seen on the runway during the era, most memorably in Calvin Klein collections circa the ‘90s. Two epic teen flicks that debuted on the silver screen in 1999 showcased the style: Kat Stratford (Julia Stiles) in a deep purple gown with a lavender shawl in 10 Things I Hate About You, and Laney Boggs (Rachael Leigh Cook) in her post-makeover prom reveal, replete with a sparkly, skinny-strapped LBD.

1999: Rachael Leigh Cook in She’s All That. (Photo: Everett Collection)

Other popular silhouettes of the ‘90s included skinny-strapped halter styles, which flaunted ample shoulder and back. As for length, a mix of floor-grazing gowns and minidresses ruled late ‘90s prom dance floors.

Rachel Bilson and Mischa Barton in The O.C. (Photo: Fox)

The new millennium brought about a mishmash of prom trends (spurred by the era’s prevailing fashion trends). Think: bubble-hemmed looks, like a wildly unrealistic, straight-off-the-runway Chanel frock worn by Marissa Cooper (Mischa Barton) to the prom on The O.C. in 2006. Strapless gowns with lots of shirred detailing were, and continue to be, popular, often sporting some level of sparkly embellishments and resembling colorful, slightly less voluminous iterations of wedding dresses. Sweetheart necklines, one-shouldered styles, and halter-style necklines were also popular.

Prom dress styles have certainly evolved — and gotten more scintillating — in the past two decades, becoming a more controversial topic in the process. Some schools have enforced restrictive and often sexist dress codes, which tend to predominantly control what girls can and can’t wear to the big event. By the 2010s, risqué prom dresses entered the picture, such as ones sporting dramatic cutouts, which tend to resemble the most revealing of Miss Universe getups or professional dance competition looks.

Social media and the evolution of celebrity red carpet style are largely responsible for these saucier prom looks, which include midriff-flaunting two-piece sets, ultrahigh slits, and sheer overlays on supershort minidresses (the latter lends a sense of modesty to a short, potentially controversial silhouette).

As for prom dresses of the 2020s and beyond, perhaps they’ll stay consistent with the styles dominating dance floors currently. Or the ’20s may usher in an entirely new era of prom frocks, continuing the decades-long tradition of getting gussied up for one last, festive hurrah of the all-important teen years.