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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 1 year ago

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Distracted Driving

This fic will fulfill the Fuck Buddies square in my @spnkinkevents bingo card:

Summary: Y/N is out to prove she's a better driver than Dean, and Dean's very determined to distract her from that.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Fingering, Implied oral (m receiving), stupid, dangerous driving (never do this IRL!)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 1,270

A/N: So, a couple things inspired this idea. The bingo, obviously. But also this post, and this post. Thanks for the inspiration for a little dirtiness on the road! Hope you all enjoy! ❤️

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89

Masterlist || Tag Lists

The highway you were driving down was quite deserted and mercifully straight and flat, a fact that you were increasingly grateful for the more Dean teased and tormented you.

"You're…cheating, Mr. Winchester." You said breathlessly, biting into your lip hard to avoid letting out the ragged moan inching up your throat.

"Never." Dean answered as his fingers grabbed the hem of your short skirt and pulled it up your thighs.

"Ah, fuck me." He whispered roughly as he saw the lacy stockings and garters you wore. "You know what these things do to me."

His big hand passed over your upper thigh, and his thick fingers found the weeping center of you, rubbing gently over the soaked cotton of your plain white panties.

Your hands tightened on the big steering wheel, and you tried your damnedest not to drive you both into the ditch. But since that was exactly what Dean was after, he noticed your action and doubled down on his teasing, pushing the wet material tight against your clit, and using the light fabric to create a gorgeous kind of friction as he rubbed you.

But you held steady, determined to prove to him that you were perfectly capable of handling the two tons of steel wrapped around you both.

It had started earlier that morning, when you'd seen Dean, once again fixing Baby up in the Bunker's garage. She'd gotten a bit banged up during an escape from some particularly riled up demons the day before.

"Geez, Dean," You bugged him as you came to lean over the open hood beside him. "After all these years, you'd think you'd be a better driver!"

Dean simply cast a dirty look in your direction, and went back to listening to his baby tell him where she hurt. But you hadn't let up. You were bored and hoping to fire up some anger and annoyance in him that might turn into fiery sex.

You and Dean had a casual, no-strings-attached deal to hook up after hunts, let the adrenaline pump through you both and fuel a couple rounds of fairly acrobatic sex. You had no problem with that arrangement since you weren't looking for anything permanent either.

But you'd stayed over the night before, something that didn't usually happen. However, after fucking each other senseless, you'd both fallen into a coma-like sleep, and you'd woken up to the smell of Dean and sex lingering on his sheets, making you instantly as horny as you'd been the night before.

You'd grabbed a cup of coffee and then found him out in the garage. Seeing him bent over the hood, with his plump, round ass outlined perfectly in his worn, dirty jeans, thighs thick and pushing against the seams, and his back muscles moving smoothly beneath his grease-stained gray t-shirt, was more than your overcharged hormones could take, and you suddenly needed him like air, physically craving his touch. The streaks of dirt across his freckled cheek, and down his corded forearm muscles made things even worse for you as you approached him.

Strictly speaking, though, the two of you had only ever hooked up after a hunt. There was no precedent for sex outside of your agreed upon times. So, you didn't really know how to ask for it, or if it would weird him out, make him worried you were pushing for something more.

So, you'd gotten it into your head to goad him a bit, and see if you could get his blood pumping, and then channel it into a pleasurable release. But as you teased Dean about being a bad driver, he just seemed to get annoyed, and then he'd turned it around on you.

"Hell of a lot better driver than you are, sweetheart." He'd smirked, caressing Baby's side. "She's a lot of car to handle, much tougher than the shitty little piece of plastic you drive around, so I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Oh, you don't think I could drive this old dinosaur?"

You saw Dean's eyes flare and knew you'd struck a nerve, which made you smile, even though you were mentally apologizing to the gorgeous piece of machinery that you loved almost as much as Dean did.

Just trying to rile him, Beautiful.

"No," he said with a bite in his voice, "as a matter of fact, I don't think you can drive her. Certainly not with a huge distraction like a load of demons hot on your ass."

Which was how you'd wound up behind Baby's wheel with Dean's hand up your skirt.

Now you felt the blunt tip of his forefinger slip around the side of your panties and begin to gently circle your clit, making it throb and harden. He flicked it lightly, and you shouted hoarsely and swerved over the white line and into the oncoming lane.

Dean chuckled as you straightened out the car. You shook your head.

"This is not…" You panted and licked your lips. "...not the same…as demons!"

Dean nodded agreement. "Not exactly. But, it's definitely distracting." He pushed your panties aside and slid two thick fingers inside you, pumping slowly.

You squeezed your eyes shut momentarily, as Dean brushed his fingers over the spongy spot inside you. You popped them open again quickly, though, trying desperately to keep your eyes on the road.

But Dean was relentless and his fingers knew the inside of you the way a guitarist knows every chord, and he continued to play you perfectly.

As your climax hit you, your foot reflexively slammed down on the gas, and your arms jerked to the right, heading you straight for the ditch. You had just enough presence of mind to switch to the brake pedal and you came to a screeching halt, skidding a few yards down the gravel shoulder of the highway, as your body clenched tight around Dean’s massaging fingers..

As you came down, Dean finally pulled out of you and you sat in the aftermath of your powerful orgasm - heart pounding, breath gasping as the dust began to settle around you. After half a minute you looked over at Dean and he wore a very self-satisfied grin on his face.

You aimed a flurry of slaps at his chest. "You fucking idiot! You could have gotten us killed."

Dean caught hold of your wrists and held them tight, hauling you up against him. "N'ah, Baby's a tank, she can take a bit of reckless driving."

Suddenly he dropped your wrists and fisted your hair, pulling your head back with one hand and sliding the other up to wrap gently around your throat before he plunged his tongue into your mouth, his lips ravishing you and making a pathetic whimper rise up from your throat.

He pulled out of the kiss with another smug grin. "The point being, sweetheart, that I won our little challenge. And now you have to admit that I'm a better driver than you."

With a spark of fire in your eyes, you pushed Dean back against the passenger seat, before you climbed into his lap, and ground down against the bulge pressing into your cunt.

"I don't think so, honey." You argued as you popped the button on his jeans and yanked down his zipper. You reached underneath the waistband of his underwear to grip his throbbing dick in your hand, pulling a guttural groan from Dean, and making his head fall back.

You sank to your knees on the floorboards and licked a stripe up the back of his massive cock.

"See, Baby here's an automatic, and I prefer to drive stick."

NEW TAGS:

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

@globetrotter28

@jensensgirl

@perpetualabsurdity

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@djs8891

@muhahaha303

@kayyay1219

@emily-winchester

@recoveringpastaaddict

@maximumkillshot

@mimaria420

@sacriceria

@envyaurora95

@lacilou

@jc-winchester

@spnwoman

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only.

@saikosheadcanons

@lgranger67

@carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

@nancymcl

@spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@awkward-and-indecisive

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@mysherlock221b

@jensensgotyoudean

@stixnstripesworld

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@norman1967

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy

@b-i-t-c-h-i-e

@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

@courtn92

@avanatural

@ellie-andthemachine

@this-is-me19

@roseblue373

@katbratsupernaturalwhore

@fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fan fiction #spnkinkevents

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webbedphantom · 5 months ago

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Get to Know me Better

ALIAS / NAME: Volt, because I tend to use the 2099 swear "shock" instead of actually cursing. I'm not as strict on that rule as I used to be, but just know that if I'm cursing out of character, my mental health is in the trash.

BIRTHDAY: October 1st. Don't really do much for my birthdays, but this year it's right after my sister's wedding, so we'll not only be actually celebrating for once, but she's buying my a new computer, and I am very excited for that

ZODIAC SIGN: Libra. I have to look this up everytime one of these asks about it, since I don't put much stock into the idea. I don't really understand it, and I don't think I ever will.

HEIGHT: 5'11 Fun Fact, I made that Aaron's canon height just so that I would remember my own. My brain is weird.

HOBBIES: Gaming and writing, obviously, but there's also streaming, drawing occasionally, and making edits in Photoshop. And as soon as I get my new computer, I also plan to start learning how to make my own games.

FAVORITE COLOR: I've got a few actually. Cherry Red, like P5, Neon Green, and that shade of blue that's so dark it almost looks black. I don't know what it's actually called, I just call it Symbiote Blue, because that's what I usually see it on.

FAVORITE BOOK: If graphic novels count, then I'd say Spider-Man: Life Story. It's not the best story in the world, but it has inspired so much of what I'm working on rn. If we're talking actual books, it's been a while since I read any, but if I had to pick one... The Spider-Man 3 Novelization by Peter David. He's one of my all time favorite writers, and as bad as the movie was at points, the novel really shows how much potential it had. There's so many things that were cut from the final release that David put in here, and it just works so much better. Highly recommend checking it out if you're a fan of the Rami films.

LAST SONG: "Break Through it All" from Sonic Frontiers. I have a massive Sonic playlist that I was listening to while working on the Multi-muse. Though I also found this AMAZING Metroid playlist on Spotify that I've been listening to a ton. So many great remixes and covers that I can't get enough of.

LAST MOVIE / SHOW: Uhhh... Panty & Stocking, I think. I will not be answering any questions, thank you.

RECENT READ: Aside from the incredible Ultimate Spider-Man run going on rn, I've been catching up on some DC books. And by catching up, I mean reading through the Rebirth runs of Justice League and Titans (since Rebirth was when I actually started getting into DC, but I wasn't able to actually keep up with them when they were new), with plans to check out Green Lanterns and Superman next. I've always really enjoyed the Titans, moreso the adult ones after watching Young Justice, but this Justice League run (which I only started reading because I know they crossover with the Titans at some point) really surprised me with how... Amazing it is. Like I've always liked the team, more because Batman and Flash were there, but this has me really liking the entire team for the first time since the animated series, and that has really got me hooked.

INSPIRATION: I'm not sure if this means for the character, or me personally, so I'll just say... Spider-Man and Sonic? Since those two kinda work for both.

STORY BEHIND YOUR URL: He's a Phantom Thief that shoots webs... Look, it was the best I could come up with at the time, and I didn't want to just repeat my Twitter @ of... well this-

I have a friend who lives in Japan, and is much more knowledgeable about their culture and stuff. So when my old @ became irrelevant (story for another time), she came up with this as a replacement. And like, I like it. It's memorable, and it kinda makes sense if you know Japanese, but it's also VERY hard to remember how to spell, which isn't exactly ideal-

So, I just went with webbedphantom because I suck at naming things-

FUN FACT: I've kinda been sprinkling these throughout this whole thing, which is why it's so shocking long, but to end it off with one more... I have posters from a shumako Fanzine hanging up in my room. I also have some stickers and keychains from it, but I don't remember where they are-

I'm very normal about them, I swear-

Stolen from: @fatexbound

Tagging: Whoever hasn't done this yet idk.

#ooc - out of costume;#dash games #gif warning #im such a shocking nerd

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duskholland · 4 years ago

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One Million | Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ you’re not one to shy away from competition, so when your co-star Tom approaches you with an opportunity to secure the ultimate bragging rights, you aren’t afraid to play a little dirty... ↠ famous!y/n x tom.

word count ↠ 4.3k

warnings ↠ mxf protected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, swearing, fluffy feels.

a/n ↠ this took a very soft turn, but I’m not mad about it tbh. it’s definitely inspired by that thirst trap photo that Tom posted the other day. does that man ever chill??? for frame of reference, Tom currently has 35.4 million followers on Instagram, which is...insane lmao. I guess this is kind of similar to my last Tom fic, but I’m really digging famous!y/n, so I wrote it anyway and I’m really happy with how it turned out! I hope you enjoyyyy :)

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

“Y’know, Y/N, I think my fans love me more than yours love you.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the bold statement. With a grin rising on your face, you glance up and across the sofa, your gaze drawn immediately to Tom. Your co-star has a cocky smirk fixed to his lips, and he raises an eyebrow defiantly as he meets your eyes.

“As if,” you scoff. You sit up straighter and stretch out your back, glaring slightly at him. “My fans love me. That’s why I’ve got more followers than you on Instagram.”

“Low blow.” Tom isn’t looking so cocky now, as he draws his arms across his chest and pouts at you. You try not to stare at the way his tight black t-shirt clings to the bulge of his arms, but it’s quite difficult: Tom is incredibly attractive. “Plus, that’s barely even true. What are you at? Like, 37 million?”

You delight as you tilt your phone screen towards him, his brown eyes widening in shock as you exclaim, triumphantly, “40!”

Never one to accept defeat so easily, Tom reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist, his touch keeping your phone in place as he brings his index finger up and begins to scroll through your feed, greedy eyes skimming over the numbers. You stay still, trying not to think about how nice it feels to have him gripping at your skin so tightly.

“Well, I get more likes than you,” he finally resolves, his words significantly weaker than they’d been previously. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. “I do!��

“No, you don’t.” Disliking the way he seems cocky now, you shuffle up the sofa. The cushions are firm and slightly uncomfortable, but that’s what you get when you’re crammed inside a trailer on a film set. You’re just glad Tom had suggested you spend your lunch break together in his trailer rather than yours -- his, at least, has a working lock on the door and a functioning mini-fridge. “Give me that.”

He passes you his phone, and you fall to a stop when you’re sitting right beside him, your thighs now pressing together. Your teeth catch at your lower lip as you begin to scroll through Tom’s profile, your irritation slowly rising as you realise that he’s right: he does tend to gather more likes on his posts than you do.

“Shit,” you mutter defeatedly. You pass him back his phone and lean back, stretching your arms above your head as you groan softly. You can feel him, looking at you with those warm, brown eyes, his stare taking in the curves of your chest and the way you know your nipples strain against the fabric of your white t-shirt, so you make a poised effort to jut your front out just a little further than is truly necessary. When you bring your arms back down to your sides, his eyes find yours, and the way his pupils are blown a little wider brings a smirk to your face. You’d be lying if you said you viewed Tom only as a co-star, or even as just a friend: really, there’s been this palpable, will-they-won’t-they air surrounding the two of you ever since that first day on set. The timing’s never quite been right, but as your gaze shifts between his handsome, seductive grin and his phone, you have a feeling that things may change sooner than you’d imagined.

“How about we settle this, once and for all,” Tom suggests, his words slow as he thinks. His eyebrows pull together as he picks his phone up and presses the small plus button at the bottom of the app, creating a new post. “We have a little competition, right here, right now. Whoever wins gets supreme bragging rights.”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Tom’s tongue slips across his lower lip, wettening it torturously slowly and his firm gaze settles on your mouth for a quick moment, his lips pulling into a slow smirk as he takes in the way you fluster beneath his gaze. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“We both post something, together, at the same time. Whoever gets to a million likes first, wins,” he explains.

“And I can post anything?”

“Anything you’d like, love.”

Your eyes narrow as the cogs begin the twirl in your mind. “And when I win..?”

“If you win, darling, I’ll let you rub it in my face as much as you’d like.”

You hum slowly, letting one of your hands fall to Tom’s covered thigh. You feel his muscles flex beneath your touch, and it makes your thoughts darken. “Let’s raise the stakes,” you suggest, “If you really believe in your popularity, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

A semblance of hesitation twitches out across his face, but Tom nods nonetheless. “What do you want?”

You let your hand go for a little wander, the tips of your fingers circling up to his knee. You tap a small rhythm over his jeans as you string your words together, doing your best to sound as innocent as possible as you say, “Winner takes all.”

“Winner...takes all?”

“If you win, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”

Tom’s quiet for a moment, and the silence that envelopes you is charged with the past few weeks of lingering touches, suggestive stares, and building sexual tension. When you drag your eyes from Tom’s knee to his face, you find his cheeks tinted a light rosy red and his forehead pulled tight. His eyes narrow as he looks at you, but then one of his arms moves and wraps around your back, and he’s bringing you in closer. You lean into the touch and find yourself swinging a leg over his thighs, your body shifting in closer as you straddle him. He’s hot and firm beneath you, and you find yourself sinking into his thighs easily.

“And if you win?” Tom continues, both of his hands now resting on the curve of your waist. His fingers are light, teasing, and you try not to think about them as he drags his touch down to toy with the hem of your shirt.

You let your lips brush up against the shell of his ear as you move closer, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. His cologne is strong and distracting and a sense of lust pushes aside all other logical emotions. “If I win,” you say, whispering into his ear, “I get to do whatever I want to you.” You brush your mouth, feather-light, across the column of his neck, barely leaving a kiss to his skin.

When you move back, Tom’s face is flushed significantly darker. He tilts his head to the side, his loose curls flopping over his forehead, and he looks so fucking attractive that it’s hard to keep your mind focused when all you can think about is how lovely his head would look, buried between your thighs, or how nice it would sound to hear his deep grunts as he fucks you.

“You’re on.”

You sit back in his lap as you force your attention back to your phone, ignoring the way your body is slowly rising in temperature. You know exactly what you need to post in order to win, and luckily, you already have the shots edited and saved as a draft; you’d been prepared to post them last night but something had told you to hold back, and now that’s going to play to your advantage.

“I’m gonna win,” you tell him confidently. “There’s no way you’ll be able to beat me. May as well just throw in the towel now, Holland.”

Tom just hums in response, his eyes fixed firmly to his screen. “We’ll see about that,” he counters. “Are you ready?”

“Not gonna let me see?” You ask, taking stock of the way he’s purposefully angling his phone so you can’t get a sneaky peek.

“Nope.” His tone is infuriating and the way his eyes twinkle mischievously makes you doubt, for the first time, your ability to win this bet. “Don’t want you getting any big ideas and beating me.”

“Fine,” you grumble. You move your thumb to hover over the post button, eyeing him sceptically. “3.”

“2.”

“1.”

In sync, you press post, watching as Tom does the same. You watch as it takes a moment to load, and then it pops up into the top of your feed. You grin as you refresh, and you see Tom’s post slip up. You can’t help but sigh wistfully as your eyes take in his photo.

It’s so obviously a thirst trap, but fucking hell, you don’t care. He looks glorious. You forget for a moment that you’re straddling the man as you pinch your fingers together and zoom in on the photo, your eager eyes taking in the lines of Tom's sweaty, post-workout body. He’s posing in a mirror, the lighting all dark and mysterious, but the lines of his hard, exercised abs are clear, and his face looks so goddamn sexy pulled into an intense smirk that it makes your panties wet.

“Holy shit,” Tom says. You shake yourself out of your blissed-out thoughts and look up to him, finding him staring at his phone, looking at your post. Your lips quirk into a small smirk as you watch him swallow deeply, his lower lip pulling into his mouth as his eyes examine your photo unabashedly. “When did you become a Calvin Klein model?”

You shrug lightly. “Had a shoot a few weeks back,” you say. “I think the photos turned out quite well, don’t you?”

You know the photos are bomb. The air on set had been electric, the photographer had been a creative visionary, and you’d felt unbelievably alive the entire time you’d been posing. The branded underwear and bralette clung to your body in just the right way, and for the first time in a long time, you'd felt radiant. The photos capture that completely, and you know that you've probably played dirty - because who can resist a thirst trap? - but you can't bring yourself to feel guilty because Tom's done the same thing.

He doesn’t give you an answer verbally. Rather, Tom takes one final look at the screen, curses beneath his breath, then tosses his phone aside and pulls you closer. Your centre settles over his crotch and you find yourself raising an eyebrow as you feel his hard cock straining up against his jeans. His hand finds your face, fingers grasping at your chin, and you let him tilt your head towards him, eyes dark and heady. His mouth is close now, his breath warm and smelling of peppermint and lavender, and the temptation to dive right into kissing him is almost overwhelming, but instead, you decide to tease him a little bit.

With a slight smirk on your face, you move in, allowing yourself to grind against his covered crotch as you let your lips kiss at the corner of his mouth. Tom groans softly, the noise rattling straight through your chest and sending excitement rushing between your legs, but you reach up and curl your fingers through his hair, and delight as you continue to kiss around his face, your pecks light, always avoiding where you know he aches to feel you. He lasts a few minutes, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows you to tease him, but as you drop your mouth to his jaw and start to nibble at the sensitive skin there, Tom pushes you away.

“Such a fucking tease, love,” he murmurs, voice dark. One of his hands slips up beneath your t-shirt, skating over the curve of your back. “No bra?”

You give him a slight shrug. “No need,” you say. “You know, you’ve probably just made a million people horny, just from that one picture.” You pause as Tom’s hand skims around to the front of your body, gently, delicately shifting up to cup one of your boobs. A soft hiss passes through your lips as he drags his thumb across your nipple, his touch firm. “You’re quite the specimen, Holland.”

“Could say the same about you, love,” he returns, bringing his second hand beneath your top. He explores your front, and your body responds naturally as you push nearer to him, craving more of his touch. “Better check the likes.”

“Don’t move,” you ask him, ignoring the way his smirk drips with confidence at the words as he continues to play with your breasts. You reach down and pluck up your phone, opening up Instagram and moving to your profile. A loose chuckle falls past your lips. “I’m at 1.2 million,” you brag.

Tom growls. “What about mine?”

Your smirk is quickly wiped from your face as you find your way to Tom’s profile. “It also has 1.2 million.” You keep refreshing each post, but the numbers are moving too quickly for an outright winner to emerge. “I think we’ve tied,” you’re forced to admit.

Tom’s mouth finds your neck, and he delights in dragging his lips up and over your sensitive skin, kissing softly, deeply, tenderly, letting his teeth occasionally drag over you as you whimper. He makes his way up to your ear, his tongue swirling around your ear lobe, and you have to stifle a moan as he whispers, “guess that means we’re both winners,” in that delicious, husky voice. “C’mere.”

He finally catches your lips in his, his mouth moving fiercely against yours as you return your fingers to his hair. He groans as you pull on his strands, bringing him nearer, kissing him back just as hungrily. Your mind lingers on that image he’d posted, of himself all hot and defined and sweaty, and it brings the heat between your legs to the forefront of your mind as you start to imagine what it’ll be like to see the thing in real life.

His kisses are needy and messy - a collision of teeth and tongue, but you part your lips and you let him push his tongue into your mouth, his hands clinging to your front. As his thumbs skim around your nipples, you grind down against him, every part of you on fire as you let Tom consume you.

“Is the door locked?” You ask between hot kisses.

“Fuck,” he says as he breaks away, angling his head back to look at the rickety trailer door. “No.”

With a reluctant sigh, you catch his lips in a long, hard kiss, and then break away. You’re a little unsteady on your feet as you stagger up, your chest feeling a chill as Tom’s large hands fall away from your skin. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you quickly go to the door and turn the lock, breathing out a sigh of relief as you realise that’s it: no more distractions, only Tom, and you, and hopefully, a fuck so good it rocks your world.

When you turn around, you see that Tom’s moved. He’s ditched the squeaky old sofa in exchange for the small double bed that’s hidden in the corner of the trailer, and he’s laying across it, waggling his eyebrows seductively. You giggle as you approach him, your eyes skating over his bare chest, and you appreciate that he’s taken the time to pull off his top and jeans, and you scramble to do the same.

“If it’s a tie,” Tom mumbles, as he wraps you in his arms and presses you down into the mattress. His arms go either side of your head, his eyes skating across your naked chest. “I think it’s only fair we each get something that we want.”

You let your hand wander down his body, your fingers curving over his abs before grasping at his length over his boxers. The groan that rumbles up his throat makes you catch your lower lip between your teeth. “Seems fair,” you concede, a smirk lilting at your lips as he grinds down against your hand, pushing his aching member further into your touch.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you.

You kiss him a few times as you ponder his question. There are about a thousand things you’d like Tom to do to you.

“Might be nice if you ate me out,” you say finally. The man raises a ruffled eyebrow as he slides down your body, grinning. His fingers push into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as he spreads them apart, face level with your hot core. A shy smile on his face, he maintains eye contact with you as he presses a gentle, dry kiss to your covered clit. “Fuck, Tom.”

He’s a tease. For a while, he seems to enjoy kissing everywhere but your centre, always lingering just over or beside your silk panties. By the time he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs them down your legs, you’re throbbing and wet, and you’re so sensitive that you’re thrusting down to meet him the second you feel his tongue dragging through your slit.

“Taste so good,” he coos, voice muffled by your heat. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you in place as the wide, flat expanse of his tongue leaves bold stripes up your centre, exploring and poking at your slick folds. He’s attentive — keeps an eye on you and notes the way you respond as he does certain things, and within no time at all, he’s got you moaning and squirming. The sensation of his tongue as it firms and slips into your aching hole, or as it sucks and flicks around your clit is sensational, and the fact that it’s Tom makes it a thousand times better.

“Shit, Tom, you- fuck, you feel so good.” Your hands twist around his curls, finding relief as you tug at his strands whenever his tongue caresses you particularly strongly. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Your words seem to spur him on, and as you make brief eye contact with him and see your juices soaking his chin, you realise that’s exactly what he wants. Tom slips two fingers into your flushed entrance and coaxes up against your back wall, fucking you roughly as his tongue continues to twist around your clit.

“Cum for me, love,” he urges, speaking against your slit. “Want to watch you fall apart for me, gorgeous girl.”

You’re seeing stars before you know it, your legs tensing and your mouth falling open as you cry out, Tom’s fingers and tongue working you through it. He makes out with your heat like there’s no tomorrow, the obscene sounds mixing with the way his fingers twist and thrust, and it’s got to be one of the best orgasms of your life because you’re still shaking from the aftershocks even as he’s pulled his fingers from your cunt and pushed them into his mouth. His eye contact is unwavering as he licks his fingers clean, a dirty twinkle dancing in his eye.

“Fuck,” is all you can muster, your chest still heaving. Tom falls to rest beside you, and you’re quick to turn and move up to straddle him, enjoying the view of his flushed body as you grind your soaked centre over his boxers. “I guess it’s time that I return the favour, Tom. What would you like me to do?”

You run your fingers over the grooves of Tom’s muscular abdomen, admiring the lines of his abs as his hands wander your sides, drawing up to find your boobs again. You raise an eyebrow and draw a lovely, rattling chuckle from his mouth.

“Sorry, love, can't help myself.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers teasingly, smirking as you whimper. “There are so many things I’d like you to do…” One hand moves and he cups the back of your head to pull you in. Your lips connect in a deep kiss and you shift against him, his muffled moan sinking into your mouth as he bucks up against you. “I think I’d like you to ride me.”

“You think?”

Tom moves his hands to the curve of your bare ass and he squeezes softly over your skin, nudging the line of his strong cock further into your slit. “Y/N,” he says, eyes flooding with heat as you teasingly rock down against him, “I need to feel you. Been waiting- fuck, been thinking about you on top of me for months.”

You reach down and pull his boxers down his legs, returning to settle in his lap with a smirk on your face. “Who am I to deny that?” You ask, voice sultry. “Condom?”

Tom reaches out and rummages through a nearby drawer, procuring a silver packet with a grin.

“You fuck a lot of people in this bed, Tom?”

He splutters, and you feel bad for a moment, until he says boldly, “Not been with anyone since I met you.”

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way it makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest to hear those words. “Me neither,” you admit. Then you take the condom wrapper from his hand and rip it open, and the mood shifts as you wrap your hand around his length and give him a few pumps, Tom groaning deliciously in response. Once he’s full and hard, you pinch the tip of the condom and roll it down his length, settling yourself over him a moment later. You grind down for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of his rock hard tip rubbing over your clit.

“Please, love.”

You see the desperation on Tom’s face and quell it with a long kiss. Your hand guides his length between your legs and you sit back on him slowly, moaning into his mouth as he fills you up completely. Your lips separate, and for an aching moment, your foreheads are pressed together, and there’s an air of unspoken silence hanging between you as you get a little lost in his deep brown eyes. You swallow deeply, the emotions stirring in your heart making you nervous, so you quickly kiss him again, and then his hands are on your waist and he’s guiding you along.

It’s electric. As your bodies connect and you gradually begin to move faster together, you find yourself getting lost in it. You drag your lips over Tom’s necks and collarbones, kissing him and sucking lightly, and enjoying the quiet whimpers that fall from his pink lips. His hands explore you, grabbing at your ass, or your boobs, before one of them settles permanently between your legs and toys with your clit. His fingers work magic as his hips jut up to meet yours, the combination of your movements allowing his cock to hit nice and deep inside you.

You wonder why it’s taken you so long to do this with him. Tom’s eyes watch you intently, notes of adoration mixing with his obvious arousal. At some point, his free hand stretches out and tangles with yours, and then your intertwined fingers fall to the mattress and you find his lips with yours as you begin to build towards your high. His grip on your hand keeps you anchored, even as you begin to get lost in the hazy pleasure of it all, his body twitching slightly as your walls start to squeeze him.

“G’nna cum,” you manage, voice thick. Your clit pulses beneath his fingers. “Fuck, Tom, you feel so good in me. Love your cock.”

He kisses you harshly, but it fades to a softer kiss as you hold your mouth against him. “Let go, baby,” he urges, “‘m close too. Want to feel you, darling.”

It’s the way he grinds down to meet your bounce as his fingers rub your slick clit that has your breath hitching and your orgasm rippling across you. You don’t even try to stay quiet as you rock against him, his length brushing over your walls perfectly, and his face screws into a picture of orgasmic bliss as he cums with a splutter, his grip on your hand tightening as a string of curses fall past his lips.

A deep breath escapes you when you collapse beside Tom, your body blissed out and tingling warmly. A smile springs across your face as he brings your joined hands to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles softly. It’s so gentle and loving that you find yourself looking at Tom a little differently, his lips now appearing alluring and inviting, and the shaggy curls resting across his forehead endearing. You inch closer to him subconsciously, and one of his arms wraps around your shoulders to keep you against him.

“So,” he says, voice a little uncertain, lacking that normal charismatic charm. “That was…”

“Life-changing,” you suggest, punctuating it with a light laugh.

Tom nods, large hand shifting over your bare back. “You could say that.” His eyes focus on your lips for a moment, before he moves in and lets his mouth press across your forehead. “Would you want to… go on a date with me, sometime?”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you nod bashfully, finally allowing yourself to feel the butterflies that twinkle in your heart every time you see him.

“I’d really like that,” you admit. You press a kiss to the top of his shoulder before snuggling down, wrapping your arms around his warm chest as he holds you near. “I’d say this was a pretty good outcome to our bet, wouldn’t you?”

Tom chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d say we’re both winners.”

He kisses your temple, lips soft, and you know that he’s right: you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to be held in his arms like this, to have felt him so intimately, to have his heart held in your hands, even if you don’t quite know it yet.

“Definitely,” you agree. “I couldn’t think of a better prize.”

And he kisses you then, mouth meeting yours in a slow burn of new love, and you know that he agrees with you wholeheartedly.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland oneshot #i...would like to be tom’s co star thanks #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #famous!reader #costar!reader #smut

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rawiswhore · 3 years ago

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Rob Van Dam x Fem Reader- "Dirrty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap"

In 2002, pop star Christina Aguilera really underwent a makeover, especially by the end of that year.

What was once a cute, girly, bubblegum teenybopper had become a sleazy, dirrty (literally), slutty, oversexualized hoochie mama with long blond hair with black streaks.

She looked unrecognizable even.

She didn't dress slutty all the time, of course, even she admitted that, but by the end of the year, she was promoting a different version of herself.

Christina might've been sexualized even before the end of 2002, just look at the "Lady Marmalade" video of her wearing a corset and fishnet stockings with garter belts attached to her panties, but by the end of that year, she presented a new, sluttier version of herself.

The "Dirrty" music video which its name speaks for itself, posing in magazines with a guitar concealing her nude body, wearing nothing but a thong inside of an innertube, arriving to the MTV VMA's wearing a scarf as a top and a denim micro miniskirt, wearing black leather lingerie with handcuffs, and performing on stage wearing a bikini and ass chaps with words like "dirrty" scrawled on the panties of her rear end.

And in 2002, the World Wrestling Federation had a name change to the WWE, which is what it's still known as today.

And arguably the World Wrestling Federation's Attitude era had ended in 2002, however, its remnants were still there that year and the years after.

The WWE/F has always tried cashing in on pop culture, like when Al Snow had that pet Chihuahua named Pepper who was obviously based on the Taco Bell Chihuahua that was popular during that same time, or when Trish Stratus recreated Nicolette Sheridan's Superbowl commercial where she drops a towel in front of Vince McMahon.

And in the WWE/F, the divas in the company---especially those more about their beauty than talent i.e. Torrie Wilson and Stacy Keibler--- were very oversexualized, even still in 2002.

At the end of2002, on a "Monday Night Raw" episode, Rob Van Dam had a match with you.

When Rob stood in the ring, he was awaiting for you to come out.

Pretty soon, your entrance music played, which made many fans, especially male fans, get out of their seats and cheer for you when they heard the opening notes to your entrance music.

As your entrance music played, you soon entered the arena dressed in a string bikini top with black panties and matching black cowboy-style chap pants.

Your outfit was inspired by the outfits Christina Aguilera used to wear when she performed at the end of 2002.

The males in the audience really got a rise seeing you in that Christina Aguilera-like outfit, their eyes were bugging out of their sockets and staring at you.

Rob, too, couldn't help but look at you in that Christina outfit, and he had an erection forming underneath his singlet seeing you in that outfit.

Whilst you strutted to your entrance music down to the ring, you had a naughty smirk on your face while your eyes looked at the audience and men were whistling at you, and Jerry Lawler was shrieking his throat out at the commentary table over your appearance.

Some male fans sitting front row could see the words "dirrty" in white letters across the back of your panties, and they were staring at that word written across your rear as well as pointing at that word with their index fingers.

These male fans were smiling from ear to ear looking at that word across your ass, and many fans knew you were obviously trying to copy Christina Aguilera with your outfit.

The camera was even zooming in on the words "dirrty" on the back of your panties and filming you, to which Jerry Lawler brought up and mentioned how the words "dirrty" were on your ass.

When you were close enough to the ring, you raised your feet off of the floor and placed them on the corner of the ring, where you turned your body around.

As your body was turned, you lounged and sprawled your arms across the top ropes, slightly leaning your body backwards.

You swayed your hips back and forth to the beat of your entrance theme in front of Rob, which made males in the audience cheer for you and whistle at you.

Your head was turned sideways and your eyes were looking at Rob behind you, your mouth smiling and grinning.

Your hands grabbed the middle ropes, where you raised your feet up in the air and flipped your body backwards over the ropes, like how the Bella Twins used to enter the ring.

With your backside in front of Rob, he was staring and gazing at the words "dirrty" on your ass, and he wanted to read those words.

"Can he read what's on the back of her panties?" Jerry Lawler asked. "She should've worn a thong!"

Many male fans in the audience agreed with him about that, and maybe you will wear a thong with your chaps next time.

Rob was walking up closer to you just to see the words "dirrty" on your ass, and his eyes were glued to the white letters on your panties.

"Rob's got a woody!" one wrestling fan shouted in the audience.

You, however, turned your head sideways while your eyes looked at him, your mouth smirking sideways at him, only for you to rotate and turn your body around.

Rob's eyes were examining you up and down, his mouth was slightly agape while his eyes studied you.

Hopefully you haven't taken his breath away before wrestling.

Because wrestling is fake, he knew that you had the words "dirrty" written on your panties.

You then strutted closer to him to the middle of the ring, your eyes looking at him.

Soon, the match was on, and actually, during the middle of the match, there was a part where you were standing in front of him, swaying and gyrating your ass and hips in front of his crotch, your ass nudging his genitals.

As you did this dance, Rob was staring at the words "dirrty" on your ass, whereas you had your head turned sideways while your mouth smiled.

You distracted Rob with your outfit, beauty, half naked body and sex appeal, only to turn your body around and do one of your wrestling moves in the ring.

It was pretty difficult to wrestle in a string bikini top, considering it could easily come off.

You should've done this match with Shawn Michaels considering he's worn cowboy style chaps to the ring.

#rob van dam #2002 #2000s #00s #christina aguilera #dirrty #wwe

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jovialyouthmusic · 5 years ago

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Kiss from a Rose 3

A Valentine’s Day romance

Bastien has serenaded Sophia and she has returned the favour - now it’s Drake’s turn before the two lovers return to their hotel to make it a day to remember

Word Count 4476

A/N I’m excited to post this final part on Valtentine’s day 2020, and as you might imagine, it is NS*W so NO UNDER 18s

3 A Night to Remember

The night stretched on, and Riley got up and sang ‘The Look of Love’ while Drake muttered and knocked back whiskey after whiskey as he looked for inspiration on his smartphone.

‘How about the list?’ asked Sophia

‘Sophia honey, that was an excuse so Drake could go and tell Bas we were ready’ Riley said ‘There is no list’

‘Ooooh – you knew?’ she said, eyebrows raised

‘Yup, sure did’ Drake grinned lopsidedly. Bastien put his hand on her thigh under the table, and she put hers on top to stop him from straying higher. She at least had to stay long enough for Drake’s song, she realised, as much as she wanted to be alone with Bastien so he could live up to ‘Nobody does it better’

‘How did you choose your song, Bas? She asked.

‘The title said it all, and when I looked up the lyrics…it was perfect’ he smiled, taking her hand and kissing it.

‘Bas, did you practice?’ she asked ‘I never heard you’

‘You know I always prepare thoroughly’ he said ‘it was hard finding time and opportunity, but I managed it’

‘Yeah, Kiss from a Rose is a hard one, I need something easy’ slurred Drake. Suddenly, he threw his fist in the air ‘Got it!’ he said in triumph, and before they could ask, he rose unsteadily to cue up a song to follow the couple who were singing Madonna’s Crazy for you.

‘Hey folks’ he announced when it was his turn. ‘I wouldn’t normally do this – but I’m drunk as fuck’ before launching into ‘I’m too sexy for my shirt’ Bastien’s eyes widened and he started to get up, but Riley stopped him.

‘Let him do it, honey’ she said ‘He’s been working up the courage for the past half hour. He might stop drinking when he’s done’ On stage, Drake was giving it his all

I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts

He fumbled at the buttons on his shirt, giving up with rubber fingers to grasp the neckline and rip it open, popping the buttons, a couple of them pinging off into the audience. He dropped it to the floor.

And I'm too sexy for your party, too sexy for your party, no way I'm disco dancing

He grabbed the bottom of his t shirt and pulled it up over his head, missing a line of the song, to twirl it over his head and throw it into the audience. Riley got up swiftly and went to retrieve it from a young woman who had caught it and was making eyes at the bare chested Drake. He could certainly give Bastien a run for his money, Sophia thought, casting her eyes over his broad toned chest.

I shake my little tush on the catwalk

At this point, Drake turned his back and wiggled his behind at the audience. Whoops and hollers came from the women, and Riley hovered, giving the stink eye to one who was being a bit too enthusiastic. Sophia laughed and looked at Bastien, who was shaking his head with a wry smile

I’m too sexy for my…’ Here, Drake indicated his groin and the crowd went wild. Riley rolled her eyes and went to join him on stage to fend off one or two overenthusiastic women who were obviously on a girls night out. Bastien got up and moved stealthily toward the stage

I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love, love's going to leave me… Here, Drake flung his arm around Riley’s neck and kissed her on the cheek before the final line

I’m too sexy for this song…

Bastien was smoothly clearing a path for the couple so they could leave it without being mobbed.

‘Alright ladies, it’s over now, give the man some space’ he was saying, his words almost drowned in the catcalling from the group of women on their ladies’ night out. Riley clutched Drake’s t shirt and he had half struggled into his denim shirt. Someone else was already taking Drake’s place on the stage and attention turned to him so they could sit at their table safely. Riley helped him dress properly. He was flushed and unsteady but had a huge grin on his face.

‘Okay honey, I think it’s time we went back to our hotel’ Riley said ‘If we walk you might have sobered up before we get there’ She looked over at the other two ‘I think we’d better leave’ she said, and the friends said their goodbyes, Drake grinning stupidly but not too far gone to know what he was doing. Bastien turned back to Sophia as they left.

‘Is there any chance you’re wearing stockings, theá mou?’ he murmured, his hand grazing her thigh. She shook her head

‘No, you were so late I thought you deserved a little punishment. You’re going to have to work to make up for it.’ His face fell, and she squeezed his hand ‘But the song made up a massive amount of ground, so you only have a little further to go’ Bastien leaned close to her ear.

‘What would you have me do, my goddess? I’m yours, I’ll do anything you ask’ Her eyes glittered in the dim light as his voice sent shivers down her spine.

‘That’s a rash promise, agápe mou’ she whispered ‘I’ll think about it on the way back to the hotel’

------

Minutes later they walked in from the rain showers and checked in to reception to get their room key. They rode up in the elevator, where Sophia pressed Bastien against the side and tried to get her hands under his jacket and shirt.

‘Control yourself, woman, your hands are cold’ he scolded light heartedly ‘I’m yours when we get in the door, have some decorum until then’ The door unlocked, they stumbled into the room, Sophia kissing him as she shrugged her jacket off. ‘Let me hang that up, it’s wet’ he offered. She sighed and kicked her shoes off, and waited while he hung her jacket and his coat up. As he worked at his bow tie, she backed him up against the wall.

‘You need to stop stalling’ she said ‘I want you, Mr Lykel, and you promised to do whatever I want’

‘As soon as we’re undressed, my goddess’ he promised ‘I hired this jacket, so I need to hang it up’

‘Okay’ she sighed, and turned her back ‘Unzip me’ He smiled and slowly pulled the zip down, kissing her neck and working his way down until it pooled on the floor. She pulled away from him teasingly

‘I’ll run a hot bath’ she said ‘Follow me when you’re done putting stuff away’ She unfastened her bra and dropped it deliberately one the floor, followed by her panties as she sashayed to the bathroom. Bastien growled, half with annoyance and half with arousal, and set to tidying up after her.

By the time he’d undressed and put everything in its place, she had drawn the bathwater and was getting in to the huge corner tub. She liked the water hot, and he had gotten used to it, and indeed it suited his injured thigh. He knew it wouldn’t hold him back for what was to come. He eased himself in opposite Sophia and lay back, making groans of contentment that matched her sighs. They both lay luxuriating in the hot water for a while, a pause in the excitement of the evening, a preparation for their passionate encounter. Sophia shimmied over to sit next to him.

‘So’ she said, squeezing his arm ‘Remember you said you’d do anything I wanted’

‘You know what my hard limits are’ he said, and she hummed in thought

‘You know I’d never ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but I’d like to push the boundaries just a little’ she said softly. He frowned but gave in to his curiosity.

‘You know I trust you – tell me, my goddess’ she took a deep breath

‘I’d like you to take me at my word – do anything I ask. I’d like to be in charge’ He sucked his breath in, but let her continue ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to handcuff you or tie you up, but I’d like you to lie still and let me do what I will’ Bastien wavered. It didn’t sound unreasonable or dangerous, although his preference was to be in total control in order to please her.

He had lectured her on the dangers of bondage – he had a trusted member of the guard who he would notify if he was about to embark on anything like that. ‘After all’ he had said to her ‘What would happen if I had tied you up securely and I was incapacitated?’ He would set a time limit and if he had not texted his contact by then, he would have full permission to come to his suite and make sure all was well. The most they had done so far was to use a gag, and he wasn’t going to push her past her comfort limit. He had promised to do her bidding that night, and he didn’t think Sophia had any deep dark secret kinks that she hadn’t revealed.

‘The warning system stands’ he said ‘I need to let you know when I need to pause or stop’ She smiled and stroked his thigh.

‘Naturally. Is that a yes?’ she asked, and he nodded

‘Very well, a promise is a promise. Where do you want me?’

‘On the bed’ she replied, and he grasped the side of the bath to get out.

‘Wait there, I’ll get a towel for you, my goddess.’ He rose and stepped out, and Sophia bit her lip watching him, her gaze running over his broad frame, water streaming down and shaping the dark hair on his body. Her heart always skipped a beat to see the sharp V of his pelvis, whether or not his genitalia were visible. He dried himself off and knotted the towel around his hips, picking up a bath towel and holding it out for her as she followed him out of the tub. Gently and attentively he rubbed her dry and put the damp towel on the heated rail, to take a warm bath sheet to wrap around under her arms, covering her soft breasts. Her hair was only a little damp, as they had bathed mostly to warm themselves, and went through the lounge to the bedroom, lit by coloured mood lights that cycled through red to pink to purple to blue and back again, soft music playing in the background.

‘Bas’ she said softly as she noted the silk rose petals scattered on the bed. He smiled, placing a bath sheet on the bed, taking off his towel and folding it neatly before sitting on the edge.

‘Command me, my goddess’ he said, looking up at her. Sophia smiled

‘Lie down on your back’ she said ‘You can put your head on the pillow if you like’ Obediently Bastien lay on the bed, head propped on the pillow – he reasoned that he could see more of what she planned than if he lay completely flat. ‘Make yourself comfortable’ she directed, and he nodded, shifting on the bed and settling. She knelt beside him and ran her palm over his chest and belly, and he naturally assumed she would go lower, but instead she swept her hand back up his torso to stroke his jaw and bring her lips to his. He groaned and put his hand to her cheek as they kissed. They parted for breath and she smiled at him

‘Put your hands behind your head’ she directed ‘No touching unless I say so’ His face dropped

‘But Sophia…’ he protested, and she tutted.

‘No speaking either’ she scolded, and paused at the dismay on his face ‘Prove to me that you can endure temptation’ He sighed and did as he was told. Already he was plotting how he could pay her back for testing his boundaries.

‘How should I signal…’ he started, and she pressed her fingers to his lips.

‘You don’t have to remain silent – you can grunt, or make some other noise’ she explained. He nodded reluctantly, but she got up.

‘I have an idea how to keep you from talking’ she smirked, and turned away from him, stepping away from the bed. He strained to watch her, raising his head but keeping his hands where they were. He couldn’t see where she went, but she was back swiftly. He frowned to see her holding a scrap of fabric in her hand. His eyes widened as he recognised the panties she had been wearing earlier, which she must have recovered from the bag of laundry he was amassing for when they got back home.

‘I’d like you to take these in your mouth to remind you not to talk’ she said silkily. ‘Are you comfortable with that?’ He remembered that he shouldn’t talk, but the idea of having her used panties in his mouth suddenly appealed so much that he nodded eagerly, rather than speaking and risking her changing her mind. After all, he didn’t have to remain silent, he told himself. Slowly she was sneaking around the edges of his limits, challenging him as never before. He marvelled at her ingenuity and cunning.

‘Open wide’ she instructed, and he did so. She carefully stuffed the fragrant item of clothing into his mouth. His eyes rolled back in bliss and he groaned in appreciation – keeping his mouth open and inhaling brought her intimate scent to his senses. He closed it again – it was only a scrap of fabric, a flimsy thong, but he didn’t want his mouth to get too dry. ‘Is that okay?’ she asked ‘You can adjust it if you like’ He groaned again and nodded, feeling himself harden and wondering what else she might do to challenge him. He didn’t have long to wait as she knelt beside him, casting her gaze over his naked body. He felt open, vulnerable, but his trust in her was unshakable. He knew she wouldn’t hurt or humiliate him or go past his hard limits.

‘Oh, I can see that you’re enjoying this’ she purred, indicating his groin, where his arousal was more than evident. The only things that restrained him were her wishes and his willpower. He could bring it to a stop whenever he wanted, but he was curious where she would lead. It would take almost no time to break the spell – remove the panties, tell her he loved her, touch her, take her… but he did not. He waited and watched, and moaned in anticipation. Already she gently wrapped her fingers around his length and stroked. He rolled his hips, and she smiled

‘In case you’re wondering, yes it’s okay to move like that – just stay where you are and keep your hands behind your head.’ He grunted in approval as she smoothed her palm over his belly and threw her leg over him to straddle him, leaning forward a little to allow her hair to brush his chest. She lowered herself so her delicate parts were resting on his length, and he could feel how wet she was.

‘I don’t believe in punishment’ she went on ‘So as long as you do as I ask, I’ll reward you. Is that okay with you?’ He groaned his answer, nodding his head. ‘It’s really very easy – just lie back and let me do the work. No coming until I say so – and after that, it’s your turn to do as you will with me’ His eyes widened and the sound he made came from deep in his belly, a muffled primal sound that reverberated through her. He knew what he would do – or did he? Should he flip her over and take her from behind or against the wall? Should he take it slow and sensual, tease her as she was about to tease him, or explode into action? He just had to endure what was to come, that was all.

Sophia slowly tilted her hips, taunting him with her wetness, sliding along his length languorously. She leaned close to him

‘Do you want me?’ she asked in a sultry tone. He swallowed – he didn’t want to beg, but how long would she go on before she – before she – he groaned again, mouth dry, mind working overtime. ‘I know you do’ she whispered ‘just nod’ He snorted, too proud to say yes in the way she wanted, too used to being in control to submit. She pouted. ‘Oh well, you’ll just have to wait longer.’ She sighed and rolled off him, lying beside him and stroking his flat toned belly.

‘I do want you, you know’ she said ‘I want to feel you inside me – feel you stretch me. I want you to fill me, over and over. I want to scream your name – I want passers-by to hear me. I want the people in the next room to complain about the noise’ Bastien’s eyes were jet black but he lay still. He felt his length hot and heavy on his belly, twitching, a drop of precum oozing from the tip. His balls were tight, aching with need. She carried on talking quietly, palm caressing his chest, skimming over his hard nipples.

‘Do you know what it was like for me the first time?’ she asked him ‘Nobody ever came close to how you made me feel that night. You made me come, over and over – and when you finally entered me, I knew nobody would ever out do you. When you first showed me how big you were I didn’t believe you’d fit.’ Bastien tried to keep his breath steady and even as she spoke. ‘After a while I understood that I’m – well I’m also larger than most. I was only once told I was tight before you, and that was my first time. Nobody else touches the places you do.’ He turned his head toward her, hoping that his eyes said what he couldn’t utter.

Then he knew that nodding – admitting that he wanted her – wasn’t begging. It wouldn’t damage his pride. Of course he wanted her – and only her. No-one else would do. Since he’d admitted his feelings for her, no other woman held his attention. There was no shame in being vulnerable and submitting. He already submitted to her in a hundred little ways – tidying up after her, making her coffee in the morning, giving her a foot massage when she was tired, just holding her and stroking her hair when she was aching and bloated from her period. She gave too, soothing him when his injury ached, giving him space when he was grumpy, meeting him halfway on his standards of order and tidiness. It was a relationship of equals, no matter what they did. All of it was done in the spirit of love, with devotion and dedication.

So he nodded, calmly and without shame. She sighed happily and straddled him again, this time allowing him inside, slowly and steadily taking him to the hilt, settling to stillness and squeezing herself tight around him so his eyes rolled back in bliss and he gave an answering twitch inside her. He gave a satisfied moan and steeled himself to keep his hands where they were. He watched in adoration and extasy as she started to rise and fall. At first her head rolled back and her eyes closed, then she remembered him and gazed down, watching him. He kept his hands behind his head but shrugged and flexed his shoulders, which already ached a little.

Her breath was slow at first, and started to quicken. She leaned down to hold and put her weight on his wrists, hair in his face, breasts brushing his chest. He remembered his distraction technique as his eyes rolled back as her rhythm increased. He struggled to list the counties of England and Scotland, taking his mind away from his throbbing member and aching balls, her smooth warm skin against his, the tensing and relaxing of her thighs.

As promised, she started to vocalise, soft sighs at first, changing to moans, to soft wordless chanting. She sat upright and released his wrists. Her body bucked, her back arched smoothly and goosebumps erupted over her skin. She was his wild goddess, and he lay in worship and adoration, for a moment outside himself, watching her writhing in extasy.

He was brought back to his senses as her voice grew guttural and urgent

‘Bastien’ she gasped. ‘I’m coming – join me, come – come with me’ His body responded without hesitation, his climax boiling up from deep inside him, a muffled roar fighting to escape from the cloth held in his mouth, body bucking with hers, tightly clasping his hands together to keep to his promise despite desperately wanting to hold her, grip her hips with his strong fingers.

‘Bastien!’ she cried out, her body still racked with tremors until she softened and slid from him, gasping and trembling with the intensity of her orgasm. She lay beside him, spent, and he obediently stayed as she had instructed him. She looked at him through heavy lidded eyes

‘Hold me’ she whispered, and at last he released his hands from behind his head, to cradle and caress her in the afterglow, and took the now damp panties from his mouth. Her eyes were closed in bliss, and he stayed with her despite the fact that his mouth was dry and his arms ached. Her eyes opened and she smiled, reaching out to stroke his cheek

‘Well done’ she purred ‘You did what I asked. Was it difficult, agápe mou?’ He smacked his dry lips, and croaked unintelligibly, and she watched with concern as he got up and walked away. She sat up, wide eyed as he came back from the bathroom with water ‘Oh I’m so sorry’ she said in dismay ‘your mouth was dry’ He moistened his lips and swilled the fluid around inside his mouth before drinking deeply and passing the glass to her.

‘You have a few things to learn’ he smiled ‘and yes, it was difficult, but you challenged my boundaries in a gentle way’ He stroked her cheek as she handed back the glass ‘You are so gentle with me, theá mou, but you’re strong too. You always amaze me’

‘I have to live up to your example’ she answered. He put the glass on the side table and lay on the bed with her.

‘I believe you said I could have my way with you if I followed instruction properly?’ he said. She looked at him through her eyelashes

‘Fair’s fair’

‘First, I want to caress every inch of you’ he smiled ‘So lie back and let me begin – oh, and one more thing…’ Again she watched him as he got up, this time to go to where her clothes hung in the wardrobe. She raised her eyebrows as he selected a broad scarf and brought it back to the bed. ‘Sit up, my love’ he instructed. She did so, and he placed the scarf over her eyes, looping it around and tying a knot at the side so she could lie comfortably. ‘How does that feel?’ he asked ‘Can you see anything?’

‘It’s fine, and no, I see nothing’ she answered. He smiled and quietly went to the vase of flowers on the sill of the window looking out up to the Castle. He took one of the blooms and went back to her

‘Wonderful – lie down.’ he instructed ‘You’re free to move, and you can make as much noise as you like, but keep the scarf on. Tell me if it slips’ Sophia nodded and lay back, feeling he bed shift under her. Before long she felt him take her hand and kiss each finger in turn. She felt him pause and he touched her palm with something soft and velvety – she didn’t know it was one of the deep red roses he had bought her. She sighed as he worked his way up the sensitive skin of her inner arm, and soon he had paid attention to her arm right up to the shoulder before he switched to the other. He worked on her other arm before bidding her turn over. He put the flower aside, knowing how much she loved him paying attention to her back – stroking, or massaging, or firm kneading – almost as much as she loved him massaging her feet, and soon she lay completely relaxed and soft, almost boneless in relaxation. Before she slid into sleep he turned her over onto her back and kissed along her jaw and collarbone, across her breasts and belly before switching to her feet.

His attention to her toes and feet started to wake her up more, and he smiled as he heard her moan with appreciation. He took the rose again and trailed it up her legs, at which she started to roll her hips in anticipation of him reaching her core. Lovingly he leant down and kissed her inner thighs, and she opened out like a flower, her private parts for all the world like the rose he had just caressed her with. He sought her sweet nectar, delving with his tongue as she moved under him. He brought her to the brink, then shifted to position himself to take his own pleasure. She protested faintly, then moaned with delight as he slowly eased into her. She snaked her arms around his neck as he angled his pelvis to hit the spot he knew would send her closer to the edge.

His rhythm started slow, and he sped up in response to her sighs and gasps. She had already been so close, and knowing that, listening to her, feeling her under him, the long drawn out exploration of her body, had all focussed into his own burning need for his own release. He fine tuned his movement to her response until they moved as one toward their climax. They knew each other so well now that every tiny sound or movement spoke volumes, so it was effortless to come together, letting passion sweep them away together to the thrusting, grinding, pulsing, groaning, chanting, gasping completion of their union.

Sophia pulsed and Bastien gave his last few thrusts and they rolled and undulated and slowed to a stop, lying side by side in a tangle of limbs, Sophia’s fair hair spread out around her, and Bastien’s dark hair was ruffled and peaked.

‘Theá mou’ he said quietly ‘Every day with you is a day in paradise’

@emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @cora-nova @stopforamoment @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @pedudley @indiacater @texaskitten30 @be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @ladyangel70 @bbrandy2002 @rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01 @ibldw-main @burnsoslow @addictedtodrakefanfic

#bastien lykel #trr bastien #sophia x bastien #OC x Bastien #trr au fanfic #the royal romance au

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gluestickcherrybum · 5 years ago

Photo

Happy Earth Day peeps! ヾ(@°▽°@)ノ

I haven’t written in a while but I wanted to write something for this occasion, and more posts about environmentalism since its something i’m quite passionate about. Coronavirus is pretty much all anyone’s talking about lately. And as a result , our entire way of living has been adjusted due to the outbreak: Staying indoors, washing our hands, and social distancing has become the new normal.

But just because we’re experiencing difficult times doesn’t mean we should lose sight of the bigger picture which is caring for the earth.

Thinking about sustainability is even more important now because it connects us to the world at a time we’re told to quarantine ourselves. We’re told now more than ever to purchase single-use hand sanitizers, face masks, gloves, and other products.

Unfortunately, these items will likely end up in landfills, or worse - the environment. Already, face masks are polluting the shores of Hong Kong. Also, people fear reusable items like never before - some businesses flat out refusing reusable mugs, containers and produce bags. While I understand we want to stay healthy, and prevent the spread of the virus, we should still make a conscious effort to think about how our decisions effect the Earth too. So, with this in mind, here’s how to stay zero waste during the coronavirus outbreak.

Why should we care about zero waste right now?

Sustainability probably isn’t on the forefront of anyone’s mind right now, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still care or talk about it. As I mentioned earlier, thinking about sustainability helps us connect to the world in a time we’re told to bunker down and stay inside. It helps us appreciate things and maybe view the world a little differently. And, as scary and disheartening as all of this is - there is some good news too.

For example, there have been several reports of clearer waters in Venice where fish are now visible. Air pollution has dropped significantly in Italy due to the fact that fewer fossil fuels are being burned from people staying indoors. Even New York, Los Angels, Chicago, Seattle and Atlanta have reported significant drops in air pollution.

I’m well aware these positive changes come at a cost - so they’re bittersweet, at most. However, they can’t be ignored. It would be fantastic if, after the emergency is over, we could remember the beauty we’ve seen reappear in the world and do our best to preserve it.

There’s of course negative news as well, single-use items are being disposed on the daily and ending up littering up our community. Worst part is, these gloves and masks are not biodegradable or good for the environment - they’re made with petroleum. They’re also a health hazard because you can’t exactly pick these items up without worrying you’ll catch something.

That’s why it’s so important to think about sustainability right now. And zero waste does figure into all of that. By remaining zero waste during this time, we’re acting on our commitment to bettering the planet as a whole.

How can I stay zero waste during the coronavirus outbreak?

Thankfully, there are several ways to make an impact during this time. All hope is far from lost.

Make the most of your food by reducing food waste

In this hard time, the food we eat should be cherished. With so many people struggling to put meals on the table due to job loss, we need to make our food last us. One way we can do this is by cooking with leftovers. For example, if you have some leftover rice and vegetables - make fried rice. Or turn boiled potatoes into mash.You can also get creative and make vegetable stock out of food scraps, turn mushy berries into jam, pickle some fruit. Or getting into some good old composting.

Invest in reusable masks and gloves

During this time, you’ll likely see a ton of people walking around with face masks and gloves on. Most of them are single use too. As I mentioned earlier, lots of face masks and gloves are being littered right now.

It’s bad enough these items are single use only, they should be disposed of properly. Face masks have already started to wash up on the shores of Hong Kong in addition to other ocean polluters. Yikes.

Cloth masks havent been proven to be as efficient as clinical face masks in filtering the air, but for those who are sick and would like to prevent infection to others, the cotton does aid in catching water droplets from coughing and such. Just make sure to wash them regularly.

Instead of plastic gloves, consider using those reusable rubber gloves that people use to wash dishes sometimes. You can wash them with soap or even boil them to disinfect.

Decluttering

If you haven’t yet read Marie Kondo’s book “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up”, now’s a good time to get inspired. Time to go through all of your items and find the items that truly “spark joy” and be rid of the rest. Unfortunately during this time, you can’t exactly donate items to thrift shops. More than likely, thrift shops will be closed. However, you can at least set items aside to be donated once all of this is over. If you’re not comfortable waiting that long, you can always try selling it online like on Depop or Carousel.

That said, don’t be afraid to throw certain things out. I know that may seem kind of counterproductive, as I’m advising you to stay zero waste during this crisis.However, I’m fully aware there are some items we hold onto as zero wasters because we hope to keep them out of the landfill as long as possible. Items that are hard to recycle, or we don’t know how to recycle; items we believe we can fix but never get around to fixing; items simply destined for landfill one way or the other.

I know it hurts to let these items go, but you have to. It’s good for your mental health, and for the sake of your home. Remember: There is no such thing as being fully zero waste. We can get very close, but the truth is, our economy is a linear one. And every living creature creates waste of some sort. Now, this doesn’t mean I want you throwing out perfectly good items. Try to find items homes first! See if your friends or family want items you don’t first. Then, if not, seek to donate or sell. But obviously things like clothing tags and junk mail must go.

Invest in reusable period products

At this moment of crisis, with everyone panic buying basic necessities, menstrual pads and tampons are starting to get scarce so much so, you might have a hard time finding those items these days . This might be a good time to try out some sustainable alternatives. Women spend an enormous price in period products throughout their lifetime, so investing in reusables not only keeps a phenomenal amount of waste from landfills, but also saves the time going to the store and a whole lot of money.

Personally i use a menstrual cup (which i might write a whole post about it later), but for the less adventurous there are a good few other choices like reusable cloth pads and period panties (which sounded like a miracle when i first heard about them, but i haven’t seemed to be able to find any sold locally for now)

Heck, invest in reusable anything…

Its not just pads and tampons with reusable counterparts, if you want to get a little advanced in zero waste, try swapping out any disposable items possible, like stainless steel safety razors for plastic ones (ask your granddad), the infamous metal straw for plastic straws, or even things as simple as bar soap for bottled body soap.

Shop for food without the waste

During this time, please only stock up on what you need. You don’t have to hoard food - there’s plenty to go around. There’s more than enough food for everyone. Just take what you need and leave some for others.

To continue shopping sustainably, you can bring your own reusable shopping bags or produce bags (or you can diy some from old pillow cases)

I understand not everyone will be able to shop in bulk during this time for dry goods. So, you should shop as if you have no bulk food options. This means opting for items packaged in paper, cardboard, glass and aluminum.

If you must get something packaged in plastic, get the biggest container you can afford. Smaller plastics especially cling film are harder to or even impossible to recycle. Less than 9% of plastic is actually recycled so the less we consume, the less will likely end up in the landfill or oceans.

And thats all for today’s post, im sorry if its posted a bit later on Earth day than expected. I hope everyone is safe and healthy during these hard times. And if youre a student, i hope the online classes arent as bad as people say (im conveniently on a special leave of absence this semester (see my last post) so i have no idea how its going down) and if youre interested in more tips and tricks in being zero waste, feel free to hit me up and maybe ill write more posts like these. Thanks for reading ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

#zero waste #zero waste lifestyle #gluestickcherrybum #studyblr #earth day #happy earth day #quarantine #coronavirus #covid-19 #outbreak #environmentalism

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vivisarts · 5 years ago

Note

Your art is so beautiful! Do you think you could list off some of your artistic inspirations?

Thank you! I have a few that I can think of right off the top of my head. I’m mostly inspired by animators and cartoons. I have a few people from Calarts who inspired me and I have a few Famous artists throughout history but mostly it’s cartoonists. I don’t know how many know this but I hope to go to school for animation soon.

To start, Obviously, I love Rebecca Sugar. They’re one of my biggest inspirations and I’ve always wanted to work at Cartoon Network. It’s is my dream job and if I could work with them, I’d die happy. I’ve been watching CN since I was a little kid and I think my favorites were PPG, Ed, Edd, N Eddy, Dexter's Laboratory and Samurai Jack. I liked just about everything on CN but I found myself watching those the most.

I learned that Genndy Tartakovsky worked on most of the shows I grew up watching. He would be another artist/animator who inspires me. He knows what he likes and has always done animation for himself. It really shows.

I also went through a Disney Phase. I grew up on Disney like a lot of children. I have so much respect for Disney’s Nine Old Men. Their skill and innovation pushed animation to an all-new level. They’ll always have a place in my heart. There is also Glenn Keane, Chris Sanders, who draw girls so beautifully. Chris Sanders was one of my animator crushes. I just idolized him when I was a teenager haha. I couldn’t get enough of the girls he drew.

I also started to watch anime when I was maybe twelve or thirteen. Specifically, Studio Ghibli films. I’ve watched them all numerous times. I came across Hayao Miyazaki’s work and I can say out of everyone I just listed, he is my number one inspiration. I’ve never seen anyone as passionate about animation. Each film is an art piece to me. I admire him and his studio more than anyone else. I love other animes of course but there is something different about his films. I watched whatever anime that was on adult swim and whatever I could on Toonami. I think Inuyasha was my favorite. The first anime TV show I ever watched. Rumiko Takahashi's art style was so adorable and I loved her sense of humor. I used to laugh and cry reading her manga.

As for Calarts, it wasn’t just all the famous Alumni, it was these three people in particular. McKenna Harris. I used to follow her on Deviantart back in the day and sort of grew up with her. I followed along her journey. I remember her getting accepted at Calarts and how her art improved so quickly. I was so happy for her. I loved her student films. Definitely check her out. Merry was my favorite of hers. I cried.

Second would be Michelle lam aka Mewtripled. I just think she's incredible and beautiful. Her art has this sort of Panty & Stocking vibe that I dig. Not only is she super talented, but shes also gives really good advice to aspiring animators.

The third person is the Elasmosaurus. She always had this sort of Disney style to me. I thought it was so freaking amazing. She would draw Kingdom Hearts all the time and I just freaking loved it even though I never played Kingdom Hearts she made me obsessed. I lost her for a while when she deleted her account on DA but I finally found her on Tumblr. She’s still kicking ass and her art is incredible.

As for famous artists, I’ve been told by my art teacher that my life drawings look like Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and Honoré Daumier had a baby. I like their work it's very loose and alive.

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givemesomeseoul · 6 years ago

Text

Wonho Route Part 3

You didn’t mean it...

Why is there a thunderstorm today of all days? All this loud annoying ass thunder. Curse this gosh damn hangover! I mean for crying out loud why did I drink on a fucking school night? You had a little too much to drink last night with your girlfriends and ended up passing out on your living room floor in a giant cuddle-fest mess. HyunA was in her bra and panties, Hani had no pants on and was drooling on your furry area rug and, LE had thrown up a little bit in the kitchen sink (good thing you did the dishes) and fell asleep with her head buried in HyunA boobs. They left at 8am to head to their respective businesses which in turn woke you up. Your first class wasn’t until twelve but you decided to wake up early and make yourself breakfast to help calm your mind...and stomach. As you checked out what was in your kitchen to eat you glanced at your phone and saw a notification.

“Wanna hang out this weekend? Maybe something a little more...romantic this time? Winky face?!” You read the text out loud to yourself and felt your heart thump at the suggestive winky face.

Does he like me or something? Is that what’s happening? No...no. I will not do this to myself. Not until I’m sure. I’ll go out with him again but, I will not get all love-struck and hurt myself if this isn’t what this is about. You were having a stern internal monologue as you prepared your breakfast. You closed your texts and started watching Korean makeup tutorials on a very low volume (because hangover). Before you knew it, it was time to go to class with...him.

…

You slowly sat down at your bench and blankly stared at your phone. Wonho then walked in and sat down at his bench next to yours. You got a text from Wonho again.

“Hey you ;) How are you?” He was eagerly looking at you with his big brown puppy eyes which made you smile despite your misery. You texted him back with a coy smile.

“Hey you lol. I’m ok. A little hungover but, alright. How about you?” Wonho chuckled to himself and looked at you with a smile of disbelief.

“You got drunk on a school night?! XD” You teasingly scoffed audibly as you rolled your eyes at him.

“It just sort of happened for your information. I invited my girlfriends over and we got a little carried away. You should’ve seen the cluster fuck of disaster we were in this morning lol.” Wonho laughed out loud making people turn to look at him. He meekly bowed his head in embarrassment. You covered your mouth and quietly giggled to yourself making Wonho turn to you and playfully glare at you. You waved at him but stopped as the professor began to speak.

“Afternoon class.” The professor was wearing bright pink glasses with equally as bright matching lipstick. It was so bright on such a cloudy day it made your eyes hurt to look at her. Then again it probably had something to do with the hellish hangover. “Today I want you to get in your groups and continue working on your project. If you have questions ask me and each other for help. Get to work.” Everyone began standing and shuffling to their groups while Wonho cheerfully made his way over to your bench.

“Hi.” He was smiling at you super obviously and it was a little overwhelming since your group members were watching. You avoided eye contact and used your awkward “professional” voice.

“Hey. So um...are we ready to get to work? I did some more sketches yesterday and played with different fabrics and colors. I was thinking of some ripped hot pink fishnet stockings with a pair of metallic lavender shorts and then a pastel color off the shoulder crop top with a silver pentagram on it and maybe outlining it with some black glitter. For an outfit like this, I think some crazy high white platforms with some bold buckles on it would be a good choice. Then add some more chains and metal with the jewelry and accessories.” Everyone was nodding as you explained some of your ideas then one by one everyone shared their ideas. When Wonho’s turn came you tried to pay extra attention.

“So my idea was a unisex tunic/dress sort of thing. I was thinking of having it as a pale pastel sky blue with some white lace details or trim or something. Then maybe to add to the unisex factor it could be paired with a pair of ripped jeans of some complementary pastel shade like a light gray denim or maybe even white and then a pair of rave-style platform boots in some out of the box shade to made it a little edgier.” Everyone was nodding and intrigued by the idea but all you could think of was.

Oh my goodness, he used the color scheme of what I was wearing on our date yesterday. How cute!

“Why do you want it to be unisex?” A girl in our group raised the question with a slightly pointed tone.

“Well, I think it would be kind of cool. Fashion is becoming more inclusive especially in western countries. It’s trendy to push and blur the lines of gender with your fashion so I think goth and pastel would be perfect for that. You know that Tumblr aesthetic that’s on the rise.” Everyone exclaimed impressed with his reasoning including you.

Wow~ he’s so cool and professional. He must really keep up with what’s trendy to draw inspiration. Also...he uses Tumblr?!

“So how about now we each pick one of our sketches to be our final design and then start talking construction.” Everyone exclaimed and nodded in agreement as they flipped through their sketchbooks. You decided to go with your fishnets and shorts idea and, Wonho picked his unisex dress/tunic outfit. After everyone picked their outfits the group started talking about what fabric to use and how to get a hold of the shoes and accessories when your professor spoke.

“It seems like you guys have a lot of dialog going on which is always good if it’s about the task at hand like I hope. I’m gonna start walking around and talking through your ideas so be ready to fill me in.” Your group was all set for when she came over. When she finally made her way over your were actually excited to share your ideas.

“So group three. Show me whatcha ya got.” Wonho spoke up first and explained his unisex tunic/dress idea which seemed to also intrigue the professor. “Sounds very interesting. What’s the inspiration?”

“Well, the idea for it being unisex I got from western fashion and Tumblr with how now the younger generation likes to blur the lines of gender with what they wear. The colors I got from a date I went on actually. The girl was wearing this really pretty sky blue dress with white sneakers and it was just so perfect for that day I wanted to use it for this.”

Aw. He told her about our date...more or less. You were touched and could feel tears kind of welling up in your eyes but you reminded yourself you were in class so don’t cry like a lil’ bitch. The professor nodded with a slight smile brimming with intrigue.

“I like that a lot actually very edgy and trendsetting. I think you should give it a bit of a torn flowing train and maybe something a little corset like in the front to add to the gothic aspect. A little more attention to detail and I think it could work pretty well.” Wonho nodded and politely thanked the professor for her feedback. “Now onto you. Show me what you got.” You began to explain to her your idea with the fishnets and the metallic lavender shorts and the crop top the professor simply nodded. “Ok well I think this is a good starting point but, it needs some more tweaking. I think the top could be a little more on the sleek and sexy side of crop tops instead of a baggy eighties style crop top since we want it to have a gothic modern look.”

You nodded. “Ok, that makes sense.”

“I also think maybe having rainbow colored pastel fishnets would be a little cooler with maybe a little silver or black glitter. Keep the rips though I love that. I do have to say I don’t think a stretchy fabric is the way to go on those shorts. I like the metallic lavender idea but make sure the fabric itself is also gothic and flattering. Ok? Good job though I love the ideas especially with the accessories and shoes. Can’t wait for your next draft.” You nodded and could feel your heart slightly sink. It’s not that you didn’t like the criticism or that you’re bad at taking it it’s just that you weren’t expecting so much of it when you worked so hard.

Was it really that bad?.....

You were overthinking everything and could feel your mood getting worse. When class finally ended you just wanted to run away. As you walked out of the room with a long face Wonho sped up to you and nudged your arm.

“Don’t beat yourself up. She just wants to make sure you do your best and I mean she did say she liked it.” You looked at him with a slightly irritated glaring expression.

“I know. It’s not a big deal. No need for a pep talk...” Your tone was very agitated especially as you grumbled towards the end which seemed to hurt Wonho’s feelings quite a bit.

“You just looked upset so I-” You stopped and looked at him.

“Look I get it but you don’t have to. It’s no big deal. It’s fine. She gave constructive feedback. Please just back off a little. You’re not my boyfriend so just leave me alone and stop smothering me.” You then put on your headphones and walked away leaving him standing there sad and confused.

“...We could do something fun... to cheer you up like go look at some street art or…something...” He lowered his eyes as he softly spoke after you left.

I don’t care if it was a little harsh I just want to be left alone to think...I need to focus on this project because clearly, I’m off my game running around after him.

You didn’t mean it...

#monsta x #monsta x scenarios #monsta x wonho #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #monsta x fanfic #monsta x shin hoseok #exid hani #exid le #exid #kim hyuna #4minute hyuna #monsta x jooheon #monsta x hyungwon #monsta x shownu #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop fluff #kpop x reader

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thegreatwhiteferret · 7 years ago

Text

Pretty Baby

Summary: Bill really wants to see his boyfriend Stan bent over in lingerie and a skirt.

A/N: I don’t even know. Thot Stan is an amazing thing. They are college age, no relation to the actors, so bite me.

*NSFW under the cut*

Stanley Uris could not believe that he was fucking doing this right now. This couldn’t be his fucking life.

Two weeks ago on the brink of a mind shattering climax brought on by his boyfriend’s super skilled fingers, Bill had leaned in and huskily whispered in his ear that his dirty fantasy was seeing Stan bent over, ass up, wearing a pretty skirt, makeup, lingerie, and tights, just to get absolutely ruined when Bill’s own cum stripped them. The desperation dripping from Bill’s voice, coupled with the idea that Stan himself could inspire such passion in his boy, made him cum so hard on the spot that he nearly blacked out. He had passed it off at first, just something Bill had said in the spur of the moment, until he went to borrow his boyfriend’s laptop and opened it to find the browser full of tabs from some Trashy.com and Victoria’s Secret. Stan was taken aback, it stung, he looked at the pictures of models, perfectly molded breasts and curved hips. Stan thought about his own body; flat chested, straight boyish hips, pale, and scrawny. Hair still comprised of corkscrew curls. Of all of his friends, Stan had been the one whose body had decided not to develop. He was only an inch or two taller than Eddie for crying out loud. He was still frozen in contemplation in front of the computer screen when Bill opened the door to the dorm room. Bill went into full panic mode when he saw what Stan had open on his laptop, swearing up and down that he had cleared his browser history. He moved forward cautiously to the curly haired man. “B-ba-baby.” He uttered carefully reaching to place a hand on Stan’s shoulder. When he got no reaction, he moved to talk again, “S-Stan it’s n-n-not what it l-looks l-like.” He stuttered out, nerves high. “Is this what you want?” Stan snapped out of his frozen state, “Is this what you want now, Bill? You don’t want me anymore? You don’t find me attractive...I mean why would you when...I’m nothing compared to them...” Stan’s voice broke, tears were filling his vision, he’d loved Bill, only wanted Bill for as long as he could remember. No other human could ever compare for him, but obviously Bill didn’t feel the same way. “Stan.” Bill said, hints of pain and embarrassment in his voice, Stan took it as pity. Prepared himself for whatever blow was about to come next, Bill was going to leave him for sure. “I...I...I don’t want t-them. I w-was l-looking at w-what they w-were wearing f-for you.” He pushed out, stumbling over his words. He was waiting for Stan to strike out at him, to yell, this was a weird request in all honesty. Bill knew it wasn’t normal. “What are you talking about?” Stan asked confused. His boyfriend’s words making no sense at all. Why would Bill be looking at half naked pictures for him? “Uhm...w-well...I kind of like to picture you wearing pretty lingerie and stuff.” Bill rushed out quickly, before his stutter had a chance to interject. “What?” Stand blanched, “Does this have anything to do with what you mentioned in bed the other night?” Bill nodded, ducking his head in embarrassment. Stan tried to comprehend this and let out a bit of a sigh of relief, “That’s what this is, baby? Your kinky self wants me to dress up all pretty for you? Want to run your hands up my stocking thighs under my skirt?” The other boy choked on his breath and let out an involuntary groan. Hearing his love describe his fantasy was almost too much for him. Stan took his boyfriend’s moan as the response he needed. “Well hell, Bill. Then that’s all you had to say. I thought you were going to leave me for some bimbo with big tits.” “N-no. Of course n-not. I l-love you, Stanley. Only y-you.” Bill said sincerely leaning forward and pressing his lips to Stan’s in a reassuring kiss, hoping to convey all of his feelings. Stan pulled away before Bill could really have his way with him, and pulled a groan from him. “Well Billy, let’s take a look at what you like Baby and pick something for me to rock your world in.” Bill almost cried out at the words.

True to the shipping description on the website, “Guaranteed Delivery in 5-7 Business Days”, Stan found the box waiting for him in the dorm office when he came back from his Economics class. He thanked his lucky stars that his longtime friends and dorm mates Richie, Eddie, Mike, and Ben had decided to go to some crap music festival and blown off their Friday classes. Stan was all for making his boy happy, but he wasn’t sure that he would be able to mentally calm down enough and get in the mental space to do this if there was even a possibility of one of them walking in. He sat staring at the box that sat on the table in the common room of their dorm suite, somewhat afraid to open it. He knew that Bill would be back from class in two hours, and he needed to bite the bullet and get ready. He moved to the wall and picked up the phone, resting the receiver between his shoulder and ear, quickly dialing a number and praying that they would pick up. “Hello?” Came the response and Stan could have kissed her in his excitement. “Bev! Oh thank goodness!” He nearly screamed into the mouthpiece and he could imagine Bev wincing holding the phone away from her. “Hey Stan the Man,” she responded using his old nickname, she always was good for a dose of nostalgia, “what’s up? I thought all of you were going to that blazefest that Richie found out about.” “Eww no. Anything that Richie thinks is a good time, I’ll pass on.” Stan responded, before chiding himself to get back on track, “Bev, I called because I need your help...” “What could you possibly need my help with?” She replied surprised, it wasn’t everyday that Stanley Uris asked for helped, it would be more common to see a dog walking on its hind legs. “I...I...you have to promise not to tell the others. Bill would kill me...” this had piqued Bev’s interest, she and Bill had shared a few brief months of puppy love, most of which was what could be considered long distance when she moved to Portland with her aunt. They had wound up moving back the following summer, her aunt claiming that relocating would be easier than having to listen to Bev cry over missing her friends, her Losers. The Losers Club bond was tight as ever, but her feelings for Bill were strictly platonic, plus she was really waiting for his dumbass to realize that he had feelings for his best friend, none other than Stan Uris. That took until winter break of their sophomore year when Stan finally just grabbed the taller boy by his collar and pulled him down into a kiss, tired of waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and make a move. “I’ll be over in 15.” she said, no explanation needed. No one blindly supported the two of them more than Bev. Stan hung up the phone and tapped his fingers on the table, still looking at the offending box. Bev lived in the female dorm on the other side of campus, try as they did the campus housing department would not allow her to room with them. No co-ed rooming was allowed on campus. It was a small price to pay for being able to keep the club together in one place though.

“Fucking Hell, Marsh. Stop laughing.” Bev was rolling, literally rolling with laughter across the floor. Stan had only just finished his explanation of why he needed help when she collapsed. Stan tapped the toe of his sneaker against the floor a few times, arms crossed and cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Alright, I’m sorry,” Bev laughed, pulling herself together, “I’m so sorry, Stan. Let’s get you ready. You’re so sweet for taking your boyfriend’s desires into consideration and stepping outside of your comfort zone.” Her face was still red and slight tear streaks from her mascara were visible, but she was completely sincere as she moved to find scissors to open the box. Stan sat silently and waited for more snarky responses as she pulled items out of the box, but Beverly only gasped at how gorgeous the items in the box were. She pulled out a baby blue satin bra, the top of the cups trimmed with matching blue lace. Next out of the box came the matching panties, garter belt, and white thigh high stockings with pure white lace at the top. Bev turned to look at Stan gawking. “This is all gorgeous. You are going to look amazing, Bill is going to lose his shit!” She exclaimed. Laying all of the items out on the table, tapping her cheek with her fingertips as thoughts began to swirl in her mind. “You really think that it will look nice? Even on me?” Stan wondered out loud. Bev gave him a look of disbelief, but kept the obligatory eye roll to herself. “Oh Stanny Boy, you don’t give yourself anywhere near enough credit. You need to be confident and own it. You hold all the power here.” Stan didn’t look convinced, but she moved on, “Soooo, do we have anything else to work with? Shoes? Make up? Hair accessories? What about the skirt?” Stan blushed, surprised that anything was still embarrassing him at this point, but disappeared into his room and returned with a bag from Target.

Stan had gasped as he took in his new appearance in the mirror. It hadn’t taken Bev very long to get him all together. He stood a bit wobbly on three inch silver satin Mary Jane pumps, the delicate ankle strap the only thing keeping him at all stable. His legs were sheathed in the white nylons, lace bands stretching around his thighs where they attached to his garter belt. He had added a simple yet flirty mini skirt, it was a pale mint. Bill had mentioned once that he liked the color, Stan just never thought that he would use that knowledge for this exact purpose. He had stolen one of Bill’s white button down shirts and left the buttons undone, Bev had carefully tied it so it would show off a bit of his waist and his pretty blue bra. She had worked wonders with the bit of makeup that he had bought as well. His skin looked flawless and seemed to glow, just the right amount of rosey accent on his cheeks. She had somehow made his eyes look way bigger and brighter with shimmery eyeshadow, mascara, and black eyeliner flicked out into a perfect cat eye. Stan’s lips were a glossy pale pink with a hint of shimmer. His hair was the finishing touch, Bev had twisted a few tendrils backs and away from his face using a touch of gel and secured them with sparkly barrettes, she fluffed the rest of his hair out to add a bit more volume. He couldn’t believe it. He looked...pretty. He looked stunning if he did say so himself, he wished he could look like this all the time. He finally understood the allure that Bill saw in Stan dressing like this, because he did too. He hugged Bev goodbye and thanked her a million times, promising to give her details the following day, and leaned against the armrest of the couch. Bill would be home any minute. Stanley Uris could not believe that he was fucking doing this right now. This couldn’t be his fucking life.

Bill was pissed. Like next level pissed. His stupid Medieval Lit professor didn’t do jack shit, and certainly didn’t actually read Bill’s carefully researched and well thought out paper before slapping an ugly ass “C” on it. Bill Denbrough didn’t get “C”s, hell he freaked out if he got too many “B”s. He worked hard because he loved the content and knew that he needed a high GPA if he had any hope of actually getting a job with a damn English degree.

He half considered heading over to the health center and taking his frustration out on a punching bag, but he would rather just have Stan wrap his arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be alright. With Stan his anger always managed to dissipate, no one could take care of him the way his boy did.

Bill took the stairs to the fifth floor to help rid himself of some frustration, he was of course one of those freaks who thoroughly enjoyed exercising and used it to relieve tension, Mike was the only other Loser who agreed that this was acceptable, everyone else thought they were both bat shit crazy. Bill reached the fifth floor and headed down the corridor to where their dorm suite was located. They were on the very end, Bill frequently wondered if they just knew that the boys were going to be loud when they submitted their application for housing, and stuck them in the last suite on the top floor, blocked off by cinder block to try to keep them from disturbing other residents.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key, slotting it into the hole and gently pushing the door open when it unlocked. He closed the door and swung his backpack off his shoulders before he finally looked up.

Stan was sitting on the arm of the couch, legs spread slightly and chest pushed out, glossed lips pouting. Bill’s eyes shoot from the heels, to the baby blue bra, to the skirt, and holy shit Stan was wearing Bill’s shirt. Jesus, Bill had never seen anything so Goddamned beautiful and sexy in his whole life.

“Mmm baby, I thought you were never going to come home, I thought I was going to have to take care of myself and start on my own.” Stan moaned out with a smirk.

Bill nearly came in his pants right then and there.

Stan could feel his confidence blooming even further, his boyfriend looked like he was in pain from the amount of pleasure he was in, and Stan hadn’t even touched him yet. He strutted up to the other boy, smirk never leaving his mouth. Bill was shaking with anticipation, Stan reached up to whisper in Bill’s ear, thankful that the heels did some of the work for him because his boyfriend was well over six feet and Stan was lucky to be considered five foot seven most days.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, you want that right, Billy? Want me to make you lose your damn mind with pleasure?” Stan whispered seductively, he had no idea that this side of him existed, but he liked it. Bill whined out in response, unable to form words. Stan pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and stepped back, turning to head to their bedroom, making sure to sway his hips as he went. He mentally fist bumped when he heard Bill behind him racing to keep up.

Bill closed the door behind him, and then was immediately slammed back against it by Stan. He didn’t even have time to steel his nerves before Stan was sinking to his knees in front of him, he made quick work of unfastening Bill’s belt and jeans, pulling them down his legs so Bill could kick out of them and toe off his sneakers. His boyfriend played with the waistband of his boxers, but made no move to actually take them off, just ran his hand up Bill’s stomach over his subtly defined abs. Bill moved to strip off his shirt, tossing it onto the growing pile of his clothing. Stan bounced back up onto his feet and stepped back taking a look at his boy.

Bill stood absurdly wearing just his boxers and his striped tube socks, a blush spreading from his cheeks down his chest. He was so damn hot, but Stan wasn’t giving in that easily. He was going to make Bill work for it.

“Bed. Now.” Bill scrambled to comply, he sat on the end of the bed waiting for Stan’s next order.

“G-g-god St-stan, you l-look so f-fucking perfect, b-baby. So fuc-fucking pretty.” Bill stumbled out, he couldn’t take it anymore, his pretty baby was driving him nuts.

“Only for you, babe. Only for your eyes.” Stan said while moving to sit in Bill’s lap, he ground down lightly and felt that Bill was already rock hard and ready to go. Bill grabbed Stan’s hips to still him, he was going to come embarrassingly fast if the smaller boy kept it up. “Tell me what you want, you can have whatever you want, but you’re going to have to say it.” Stan teased.

“S-sh-shit. W-want you t-to suck m-me off.” Bill groaned, “W-want those p-pretty glossed lips around m-my c-cock.” Stan hummed, letting Bill know to continue, “T-then I want to r-rip those p-pretty panties off of y-you, and eat y-you out u-until you are c-crying with antici-pation, and then I’m g-going to p-p-pound that t-tight ass of y-y-ours until y-ou screm a-and c-cum and then I’m going t-to pull out and c-cum all over th-that pretty f-face.” Stan groaned, he wanted all of that so bad. So so bad.

He pushed Bill back so he was lying down, and nudged him to move further up the bed. Stan knelt between Bill’s legs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down. Bill hissed as his cock sprung free from its confines and the cool air hit it. He was painfully hard now, Stan could see that. He knelt forward and allowed his breath to ghost over the head, Bill’s dick twitched and pre cum leaked from his slit. Stan couldn’t stop himself from looking Bill dead in the eye and licking his lips.

He loved the teasing, but he leaned down and licked a stripe up the side of his cock, Bill’s moans becoming his soundtrack, cheering him on to continue. He slipped the head in his mouth and sucked, Bill cried out in pleasure, and Stan without skipping a beat began to take him all the way down. He swallowed around his dick, willing his gag reflex to stay away. When he needed to take a breath he began sliding his mouth up and down, alternating between nose resting in Bill’s well kept happy trail and tongue swirling around the tip.

Bill could feel his stomach tightening. He knew what would happen next, if Stan didn’t stop. He pushed on Stan’s shoulder, urging the boy to pull off, but Stand just looked him dead in the eye and kept up with his torturous suction. “B-baby p-please, I’m g-gonna cum.” He warned again, plea falling on deaf ears. Bill couldn’t hold on anymore he shouted out and he realeased his loud down his boyfriend’s throat. Stan kitten licked his head, making sure he got every single drop from Bill.

Bill sat up and pulled Stan into a filthy kiss, tasting himself on Stan’s tongue. They made out lazily for a few minutes, Bill softly palming Stan under his skirt through his silky panties. He could feel a wet spot forming on the fabric, Stan getting more and more desperate. He reached around, rubbing his hand over Stan’s plump ass and then lifting his hand to slap it. Stan let out a surprised squeak, but arched his back out more so Bill could do it again.

“H-hands and kn-knees now, L-little S-slut.” Bill said, taking control. Stan was running the show, but hot damn did he love it when Bill got impatient and took control, so he scrambled onto his hands and knees, presenting his ass to his boy for the taking. “G-good boy.” Bill praised, running his hands up and down his ass, he pulled down the blue satin, revealing Stan’s milky mounds. Bill could see a small reddening where his hand had made contact with with the smaller man’s ass. He couldn’t help himself, he rested his hand against the mark before lifting it and adding to the redness, he did this until he could see the definitive print of his hand mark his boy’s ass and Stan was writhing in pleasure underneath him. “Y-you like that, d-don’t you s-slut?”

“Y-y-es! Holy shit, yes!” Stan screamed, he wanted Bill in him, wanted Bill to get on with it now. “Fuck my ass with your tongue, baby. Open me up for that big cock of yours, I want you to pound be into the fucking mattress.” Bill smirked at his boyfriend’s desperation, enjoying the momentary role reversal.

Bill got to work, he pressed light kisses down Stan’s spine, watching as the other boy falls apart more. He spread his cheeks and looked at Stan’s perfect puckered pink hole. Watched it twitch as an invitation, just waiting for Bill to devour it. He licked a stripe over it, keeping his tongue flat as he repeated the motion. Stan was crying out, lost in pleasure. Bill took the opportunity and works the tip of his tongue into his hole, stretching the opening slightly until he could full on fuck into his boyfriend’s sweet asshole with his tongue. He did so with reckless abandon, jaw aching, and Stan falling to his elbows, unable to hold his own weight.

“T-ta-take off the shirt, i w-want to s-see t-that pretty b-bra.” Bill requested before reaching his hand around to Stan’s front, collecting some precum from the weeping head and using it to slowly jerk Stan off teasingly. Stan complied with Bill’s instruction but was clearly waiting for Bill to do even more, but that’s not how Bill plays. He wanted the other boy to beg.

“Please!” Stan cried out, he wanted to cum so bad, but also wanted to feel all of Bill inside of him even more. Wanted to be stretched open on his boyfriend's huge cock, wanted to feel the shocks of Bill pounding into his prostate over and over again like only he could.

“P-please, what?” Bill asked, playing coy, moving his mouth away from Stan’s hole, but keeping his hand working on his dick. He was already reaching for the bottle of lube, that Stan had left on the side table.

“Please...please...gah...please fuck me, want you inside of me Baby, need to feel you.” Stan babbled and Bill finally gives in to his requests. He removed his hand, and moved to coat his own cock with lube, he quickly coated three of his fingers as well. Stan was already loose from the assault of Bill’s tongue, so it took no time to scissor two fingers into his hot hole and then slip a third in. “I’m ready, Bill I’m fucking ready, get your fingers out of my ass and stick that big and thick penis of yours up my ass...” Stan whined, but was cut off when Bill pushed in to the hilt with no warning. He cried out at how full he felt.

Bill pounded into him, just like he asked for. He looked at his beautiful boyfriend, his blue satin bra contrasting against the pale skin of his back, skirt hiked up around his hips so that Bill could take his ass and use it, and those damn stockings on his legs, Bill was buying him so many more of those.

Stan’s ass was warm and tight, no matter how many times they have done this, Bill was always mesmerized by how his boyfriend feels. If he could only do one thing for the rest of his life, he could honestly say that it would be fucking, Stan. He could feel that Stan was getting close, sharp gasps and moans leaving him. He angled his hips and felt Stan seize as he hit his prostate, and smiled to himself before pounding harder into that spot with every thrust.

He pulled Stan up so he was on his knees, back leaning into Bill’s chest. His hand pulled down one of the cups of Stan’s bra, tweaking his nipple as he continuing his ruthless thrusting. Stan was crying, begging Bill to let him cum. Bill obliged, he wrapped his hand around Stan’s dick and in three strokes, Stan was screaming and Bill could feel Stan’s dick pulsing as warm cum flooded over his fingers. He held his hand out for Stan, and he licked his own cum up, swirling his tongue around Bill’s fingers to get it all. Bill thrusted lightly one more time, before motioning for Stan to turn around.

Stan did one better, he got off of the bed and sunk to his knees, tilting his head back slightly. Bill began jerking himself mercilessly, pulling himself closer and closer to the edge, aching to paint his boy with his cum. Show him just how much he was his.

“Come on, you can do it.” Stan urged him on, “Cum on my face, Daddy.” Bill fucking lost it when Stan called him that, he came harder than he could ever remember doing before, his huge load landed all over Stan’s face and chest. He sat heaving for a moment, coming back to himself when he heard Stan.

“Shit baby, that really got you, huh? You like being called Daddy, don’t you? That’s so hot.” Stan whispered in his ear, pulling him in for a soft and slow kiss. “But fuck, I don’t know how I’m going to get the stains out of my bra…” He pouted.

“I-i’ll buy you a-another one. A-an-anything you w-want, just s-say the w-word.” Bill stuttered, out of breath. He pulled a few tissues out of the dispenser and began wiping his cum off of Stan.

“Ooooooh, Sugar Daddy William Denbrough, I could definitely get used to that.” Stan giggled.

Bill pulled Stan up from the floor and towards their bathroom. This was not a clean up job that could be accomplished with just tissues. Bill started the shower, adjusting it to Stan’s preferred temperature, because he was amazing like that. Stan stripped himself out of all of his pretty clothes. Bill had him sit on the counter, carefully unbuckling his shoes and letting them drop to the floor, before rolling the stockings down Stan’s thighs. Stan reached up to remove his sparkly barrettes and leaves them on the counter. Bill helped him step in the shower, and began to lather shampoo into his curls, making sure to get all of the gel out.

Stan felt so loved and cared for. How could he have ever gotten so lucky to find someone like Bill? Someone who worshiped him and made him feel so pretty?

Stan couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be his fucking life.

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nntodayblog · 7 years ago

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A (Gross) Girl’s Guide To Personal Hygiene

Tallulah Pomeroy

400

I am a “gross girl,” and I’ve identified as such for as long as I can remember.

In part, I have my mother to thank. Although she dutifully applies a thick layer of lipstick before any and all activities, including bath time, she also adheres to the cardinal toilet flushing rule “If it’s yellow, let it mellow” and counts quickly flitting her wrist under a running faucet as washing her hands.

For my sisters and I, hygienic transgressions have always been badges of honor. When we were younger, we’d compete to see who could go the longest without showering, cackling together while we discussed which body parts itched the most. We built toilet paper castles in the mellow bowls our mother left behind, piling the paper like cotton clouds in the middle of a urine-filled moat.

As I got older, I remained gross.

During my freshman year of college, I wore the same leggings every day, deodorizing the crotch instead of washing them properly. My senior year, rather than walking all the way to the downstairs bathroom in my apartment, I took to peeing in a mason jar on my bedroom floor. When spillage occurred, I’d wipe it up with a rogue bit of laundry.

There are others like me, I know. I’ve seen evidence in listicles across the web. There’s BuzzFeed’s “49 Gross Things Most Girls Secretly Enjoy,” which includes “running your fingers through your pubes in a nonsexual way.” Bustle’s “19 Gross Things All Women Do in Private (Or At Least When We Think No One’s Watching)” exalts the fun of “examining your panty crust like you’re a scientist.” Cosmopolitan’s “13 Super-Gross Things Women Do That Men Don’t Know About” takes the cake with a description of cleaning yourself after a period-poop combo ― “the good ole PB&J wipe!”

The headlines make plain the fact that countless women indulge their grossest urges out of curiosity, laziness and pure fascination. Yet their bodily offenses, so counter to the image of a pristine and clean young lady reflected in etiquette books and American Girl Doll catalogues, are often kept secret ― or, at the very least, outside the purview of men.

Tallulah Pomeroy

Enter A Girl’s Guide to Personal Hygiene, a picture book illustrated by Bristol-based artist Tallulah Pomeroy that’s full of the kinds of gross girl confessions that trump even my and my sisters’ rituals.

Divided into chapters including "Picking & Squeezing," "Nooks & Crannies," "Periods," and "Tasty Snacks," Pomeroy’s book ― released on Feb. 13 by Soft Skull Press ― features anonymously submitted anecdotes detailing the nasty shit women do behind closed doors, from smelling their dirty underwear to free-bleeding in their pants.

The 112-page paperback is a celebration of everything feminine and dirty ― an homage to the women with a surplus of earwax, an abundance of gray pubes and far too many crimson-stained articles of clothing.

Pomeroy, the in-house illustrator at Catapult, started the project over two years ago. Inspiration struck after she overheard two women gossiping about a friend who’d drunkenly taken a shit in the sink. Utterly scandalized, they declared that anyone who could do such a thing was “not a girl.” This got Pomeroy, 25, thinking: Which of her own private habits would disqualify her from girlhood?

Around the same time, Pomeroy’s then-boyfriend lent her Charlotte Roche’s 2008 book Wetlands, which chronicles a sexually liberated and unabashedly grotesque 18-year-old’s hospital stint recovering from a botched ass shaving accident. No dirty details are spared as the protagonist, with time on her hands, takes stock of her sexual exploits and corporeal habits. “I love it when sperm dries on my skin, when it crusts and flakes off,” reads one relatively tame line.

Not enough for you? Here’s more (obviously NSFW):

When I jerk somebody off, I always make sure that some cum gets on my hand. I run my fingers through it and let it dry under my long nails. That way, later in the day, I can reminisce about my good fuck partner by biting my nails and getting bits of the hardened cum to play with in my mouth; I chew on it and, after tasting it and letting it slowly dissolve, I swallow it. It’s an intention I’m very proud of: the memorable sex bon-bon.

These are the sorts of passages that titillate a segment of readers and nauseate the rest. Pomeroy counts herself among the former group, enraptured by Roche’s ability to treat the body as both a site of sexual pleasure and grotesque glory. She endeavored to do the same with A Girl’s Guide to Personal Hygiene.

“She was so unashamed to the point of being proud,” Pomeroy said of the primary Wetlands character, Helen. “She loves that she’s gross. I think that’s what I identified with the most ― that I could feel positive about these things rather than ashamed of them.”

Tallulah Pomeroy

This combination of events ― reading Wetlands and overhearing the shit-in-the-sink story ― ultimately prompted Pomeroy to forge a space where women could share the nitty-gritty details of their nasty pastimes. In 2016 she created a private Facebook group cheekily titled “A Girl’s Guide to Personal Hygiene” and invited all her female friends to join. Before long, friends invited friends and the group went, as Pomeroy described, “mental.”

Right away, stories started rolling in, each woman playfully trying to out-gross the last. Pomeroy even created a submission form so some members could share their funkiest exploits anonymously if they so desired. The confessions achieved Roche-levels of nastiness. “I like to pick my nose while I masturbate. It helps,” one woman wrote. “I like to smell the contents of my Mooncup because someone once told me theirs smelled like beef,” wrote another.

Women even started using the Facebook group to seek advice about personal matters like IUD insertion and achieving multiple orgasms. It quickly became clear to Pomeroy that the space she carved out wasn’t just something women wanted ― it was something they needed.

From the beginning, Pomeroy said she had dreams of turning the confessions into a book ― an ironic etiquette guide that would “take the piss out of the idea that girls should be hygienic.” She had her doubts, though. Beyond a sense of gratification, the Facebook group had also awakened in Pomeroy a bubbling sense of humiliation she hadn’t even realized she possessed.

“A voice of shame,” she explained. “The voice you’ve heard since you were a child saying your body is dirty. Saying that women are clean and beautiful and don’t squeeze their spots.”

In an essay for The Atlantic, writer Leslie Jamison discussed a similar kind of humiliation that came with writing about matters of the flesh. “A certain shame,” she wrote, “like a faint body odor I couldn’t smell because it was mine: There was too much body, and this too-much-body risked banality and melodrama at once.”

Roche encountered it, too. Despite the fact that Wetlands became a cult obsession ― it was the best-selling book in the world in March of 2008, and was eventually translated from its native German into 27 languages ― some critics took issue with what they categorized as the novel’s cheap thrills, suggesting Roche’s work was not so much pioneering as “faux-outrageous.” In a 2009 review for The New York Times, Sallie Tisdale lambasted it, calling Roche’s descriptions “banal and repetitive,” her vocabulary “painfully limited.”

Of course, men have long been permitted to discuss their bathroom quirks and sexual secrets. “We’re very familiar with male toilet humor and the stereotype of a stinky man,” Pomeroy said. Yet when a woman wants to laugh about an ingrown hair or a particularly pungent flow she runs the risk of being perceived as “not funny, not moving, not provocative and certainly not titillating,” as The Guardian’s Nicola Barr wrote of Roche back in the day.

Pomeroy calls bullshit on this kind of literary criticism. “It’s much easier to call the book ‘clumsy’ and ‘banal’ than to call yourself a prude,” she said. She thinks Roche’s prose, written from the perspective of a teenager, feels exactly as it should ― intimate, unpretentious and imperfect.

“The language in Wetlands isn’t complicated,” she explained. “It isn’t trying to impress. The form of it is very frank and open and talkative. You feel like she’s right there with you.”

Tallulah Pomeroy

Pomeroy’s nagging voice of doubt didn’t linger for long. With the help of Soft Skull Press, she began compiling some of the standout anecdotes from Facebook into a book and illustrating them. Aside from some minor edits for typos, she preserved the original language of the Facebook group.

“These girls are often saying these things for the first time,” Pomeroy said. “They’ve thought about how they’re going to phrase it. I think it’s important to not make it sound more grand than it is. Let it be earthy.”

Deciding which anecdotes would make the cut was difficult. When it came to a story about a woman who, in advance of a threesome, whipped out her bloody tampon and stored it in a full teapot, which her boyfriend’s mother later discovered, editors assumed the anonymous story was fake. Pomeroy laughed; she actually knew all the people involved in the teapot debacle.

In the final book, juicy stories like this come to life thanks to Pomeroy’s illustrations, gangly line drawings splashed with watercolor that make a woman shitting herself look vaguely cool. Like the book’s language, its images do not attempt to sugarcoat their subject matter. Pomeroy draws clearly the most deliciously vile of moments ― poop emerging from a butt, discharge soaking panties, pus oozing from a zit.

“It’s kind of funny because it runs parallel with the book, me realizing actually I could be myself [in my drawings],” she said. “I didn’t have to clean things up. The drawings are very rough. They’re always the first drafts, that’s how I like it best. If I do multiple drafts, they lose that immediacy, and I wanted the drawings to have a real sense of freshness, in the same way the stories are honest and free. It was a real relief to realize my style is a good style, my own thing that I do is valuable, even if it’s rough and wonky.”

Because many of the book’s confessions were submitted anonymously, Pomeroy isn’t certain how many ― if any ― trans or gender-nonconforming women contributed. “My understanding of the term ‘girls’ refers to anyone who identifies as feminine, regardless of their gender,” she said. “Most of the stories relate to physically female bodies, but not all, there is still the underlying emphasis of pushing at the idea of femininity, which is relevant to trans and cis women alike.”

Pomeroy’s book has received praise from writers including Carmen Maria Machado (Her Body and Other Parties) and Alissa Nutting (Tampa, Made for Love), both of whom fearlessly write the feminine bodily experience into their work. The day it arrived in the HuffPost office, my coworkers and I swarmed around the pink paperback, pointing out which anecdotes we’ve participated in and which were completely baffling. Before long we were swapping our own stories of earwax and butt hair, tales unbeknownst to even our partners.

One of the main messages of the #MeToo movement currently sweeping our culture is that there is power in women’s stories. The subtext, however, is that to be taken seriously, these stories often revolve around personal experiences of trauma and pain, painstakingly rehashed to convince the public of a truth they should already have accepted.

“It’s really important to share these silly stories, too,” Pomeroy said. “They don’t diminish the power of the more serious ones. They still affirm that women’s bodies are our own.”

Perhaps the right to pop your own zits is not the ultimate feminist crusade of our time. But Pomeroy’s gross girl gang isn’t just stirring up shit for the fun of it. They are rebelling against long-held beliefs that women’s bodies are shameful, dirty and obscene ― at least without proper primping and powdering. They’re giving a glimpse into their hairiest, smelliest, stickiest parts in solidarity with women who just want to feel comfortable in their own skin.

“We’re not created for someone else’s pleasure,” Pomeroy said. “Our bodies aren’t for anybody else’s use. I’m not there to be groped and I’m also not there to be told that my body is disgusting or shameful. I think it’s all part of the same thing. If someone is horrified by the idea of girls picking their ingrown hairs then maybe they need to think about what they expect women to be. There might be a problem.”

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BEFORE YOU GO

PHOTO GALLERY

11 Period Illustrations That Are All Too Real

Priscilla Frank

Arts & Culture Reporter, HuffPost

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Hygiene

Reference source : A (Gross) Girl’s Guide To Personal Hygiene

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otapleonehalf · 7 years ago

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Defining Anime

What is anime? Before we can define something we have to know what it is we’re defining.

The Entomology of Anime

Remember the dad from My Big Fat Greek Wedding and how he insisted that every word comes from Greek?

So no one is actually sure where the word “anime” (written in Japanese as: アニメ) actually came from, but there are two main theories.

The first, is that it’s effectively an abbreviation of the English word “animation”.

animation -> animeishiyon -> anime

This is the currently more popular theory. The second theory, which was more popular in the 80s, is that it’s derived from the French word “animé” meaning animated or lively.

animé -> anime

But it doesn’t matter which theory you like because both the English and the French are derived from the same Latin root “anima” meaning spirit. And the Latin is in turn derived from the Greek “anemos” meaning wind.

anemos -> anima -> animation -> animeishiyon -> anime

anemos -> anima -> animé -> anime

So there you go.

Defining Anime

Anime as it’s used in the Japanese language is simply the word for animation, any and all kinds.

But anime as it’s used in the English language is used to refer to animation that originates from Japan.

Look up “anime” in an English dictionary and we get this:

Dictionary definition an·i·me noun: a style of animation originating in Japan that is characterized by stark colorful graphics depicting vibrant characters in action-filled plots often with fantastic or futuristic themes. – Merriam Webster Dictionary (2017)

The dictionary definition is obviously just meant for someone who has never heard of anime and has no concept of what it could be. It gives a very generalized idea of what anime is, and isn’t useful to those who specialize in the niche interest.

As a result, English speaking anime fandom has been left to their own devices when it comes to defining the word that describes what it is they’re passionate about.

Defining by Nationality

I want to get this one out of the way. Monty Oum, the director of RWBY, puts it nicely in an interview from 2013:

“Some believe just like Scotch needs to be made in Scotland, an American company can’t make anime. I think that’s a narrow way of seeing it. Anime is an art form, and to say only one country can make this art is wrong.“

It’s not as if only Japanese people are allowed to write haiku or play the biwa. There’s no reason anime should be enforced as an art form that’s dependent on the artist’s citizenship status. So let’s move on to a different method.

Defining by Geography

Animation that was entirely made in Japan and then solely released in Japan may have once been a commonality but contemporary anime is a vaster art form that can’t be pinned to a single point on a map, thanks to globalization. After all as western fans, we’re proof that anime has crossed boarders and expanded beyond Japan.

Many anime are not even physically made in Japan anymore. In 2012, Jonathan Clements estimated a third of the labor for Japanese animation was outsourced outside of Japan and speculates that number has only risen since.

Hand animation for in-betweens and other parts of the animating process are outsourced primarily to South Korea, but also other places like China and India, for the sake of cutting costs. A simple solution many take is to simply insist that only the lead creatives of an animated project must reside in Japan in order for that project to be categorized as anime. Yet there are many examples where none of the projects staff reside in Japan, providing widely accepted exceptions to the idea that anime must be created in Japan.

South Korean animation is included in online anime databases such as MyAnimeList, Anime-Planet and Kitsu. Films that are entirely produced and debut in South Korea like Yobi the Five Tailed Fox, The House and Oseam are counted as anime by the aforementioned sites despite having no apparent connection to Japan.

Simply expanding Japan’s aura to neighboring countries doesn’t tidy things up as one of America’s largest anime conventions has yet to realize.

Otakon tries to take the geography route when defining anime, as in anime music video, for its annual event. Here’s an except from Otakon’s AMV Guidelines via its website in 2017:

“’Anime’ footage is loosely determined by the animation studio that produced the art for the show. If it is an Asian studio, then the footage will likely be allowed. If it is not, then your entry could be disqualified.

Sorry, but by this definition, ‘Avatar: The Last Airbender’ and ‘The Legend of Korra’ are not ‘anime’ and will be disqualified.

We have to draw the line somewhere.”

Otakon defines anime as animation produced by an Asian studio, ergo making Avatar footage disqualified from its AMV competitions.

But whoever came up with this policy clearly didn’t choose the best wording. The studios responsible for the art and animation of Avatar are DR Movie, JM Animation and MOI Animation which are all South Korean studios. South Korea is an Asian country, ergo Avatar actually fits Otakon’s definition of anime perfectly.

It doesn’t make sense to narrow anime down to animation that was made in Japan, debuts in Japan and intended solely for the Japanese market just so it can be tied down to one spot on the planet. This method isn’t useful when there are anime conceived to cater to overseas markets like Afro Samurai, Space Dandy, and The Big O II which were developed with the intention of airing on American TV. Nor does it provide clear guidelines for when Japanese studios collaborate with talent from around the world, like in the cases Oban Star Racers and Mysterious Cities of Gold which are both French co-productions. Is it really worth excluding such titles from the category of anime in the current global era? I think not.

Defining by Art Style

This is a fun one. Anime is anime because it looks like anime, right?

But what does anime look like?

When most people hear the word anime, certain visual qualities spring to mind. Big shiny eyes, crazy colored hair that stands on end, long bodies in elaborate costumes. Shows like Yu-Gi-Oh!, Sailor Moon, Code Geass, Tenchi Muyo!, and Lucky Star flash in our heads when we think about the art style associated with anime.

But if that’s what anime really looks like, then why would there be an discontent over shows like Avatar or RWBY being called anime?

We’ve already gone over why the country of origin of these shows isn’t the best measure, so what’s wrong with just judging an anime by its looks?

The issue with this approach is that it’s incredibly subjective. There’s no list a visual traits shared among all anime. Anime like Tekkonkinkreet and the Tatami Galaxy hardly resemble the same art style of shows like Sailor Moon.

They might not immediately come to mind when the medium of anime is mentioned but that doesn’t mean they don’t still exist within that medium.

And then there’s anime that imitate western animation and actively defy typical Japanese aesthetics, like FLCL or Panty and Stocking.

In the case of Panty and Stocking, not only is the whole show modeled after a western art style (as opposed to only a few seconds), but the content of the series is effectively a love letter to western media. Under the assumption that anime must have a certain look to it, a show like Panty and Stocking would have it’s anime status revoked.

So even if there is a supposive art style only anime can have, when did that art style come into being?

Classics that originate from the 1960s like Kimba the White Lion and Sazae-san pull heavy inspiration from western animation.

Astro Boy fits in much better with characters like Steamboat Willie and Betty Boop than he does with any of the characters from say, Akira or One Piece. So is it really okay to exclude works as important and influential as Astro Boy from anime because the art style is dated?

Personally, I’m glad not everything in anime shares the same art style. I’m not sure the medium would have the same appeal if every thing looked like this.

(This is from Kamichama Karin by the way.)

The medium of anime clearly encompasses infinite art styles that don’t necessarily share key qualities with each other, rendering art style a useless means of defining anime as a whole.

So what methods of defining anime are even left at this point?

Defining by Intended Audience

This is my personal method of defining anime and it’s the most practical method I’ve encountered, and that is to define anime by intended audience. If an animated work is intended for a Japanese audience OR an audience of anime fans, then it’s anime.

Here’s a flowchart to help explain it:

Let’s run through some examples with this method:

Sailor Moon

Is it an animated work? Yes -> Was it originally made for a Japanese audience? Yes -> It’s an Anime

RWBY

Is it an animated work? Yes -> Was it originally made for a Japanese audience? No -> Does it resemble Japanese animation? Yes -> Was it made for fans of Japanese animation?

The creators of RWBY have been explicit about how they set out to create something that anime fans would enjoy, so the answer is Yes -> It’s an anime

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Is it an animated work? Yes -> Was it originally made for a Japanese audience? No -> Does it resemble Japanese animation? Yes -> Was it made for fans of Japanese animation?

Well, Avatar aired on Nickelodeon and was geared toward children who watch Nickelodeon, whether those kids knew about or liked anime wasn’t relevant. No -> It’s not an anime

But the creators of Avatar have talked about how they took inspiration from Japanese animation and Asian media and knew that what they made could appeal to anime fans and wanted those fans to be able to enjoy the show as well. Yes -> It’s an anime

So something like Avatar could be argued either way BUT AT LEAST YOU CAN ARGUE IT!

You can back up which ever conclusion you reach with this method using context that surrounds any title. No more debates that are baseless like:

“But Avatar looks like anime!” What does anime really look like? Style is subjective. There are plenty of anime Avatar doesn’t resemble at all.

“But Avatar isn’t from Japan!” Neither is a lot of anime. Anime is medium of art, one that can, has and will continue to expand beyond Japan’s borders.

This method gives one the ability to construct a logical argument on why something should or shouldn’t be considered anime.

That said, there is a hole in my method. That hole is a universal audience. What if an animated work is aimed at everybody?

There’s a few examples that I think fit this case.

Ghibli movies, specifically the more recent ones, are made while the staff is well aware that their work is going to be seen overseas and that their audience is not just confined to Japan. Ghibli films are popular all over the world, and not just with anime fans.

Pokemon is another example of an anime becoming a international phenomenon. It has effectively grown out of the label of anime and is something much bigger that’s meant for global audiences to consume.

So is it possible for something to expand beyond the label of anime and become something more universal? I consider the examples above to still be anime. I don’t think it matters, at least for now, but it is worth thinking about as our world and the media with it becomes more and more global.

So next time you’re debating what is and isn’t anime, try considering who was intended to consume the work. It could make navigating those grey areas of anime a little easier.

[This post was adapted from my panel “But That’s NOT Anime!”. The information in this post was last updated Aug. 2017]

OtapleOneHalf.com // OtapleOneHalf.tumblr.com

#avatar: the last airbender #rwby #anime #legend of korra

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ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade · 7 years ago

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Because I am nothing if not an entirely raging narcissist, the last headcanon I wrote inspired me to revisit my redheaded OC and expand Ignis’ portion of it into a longer fic. At roughly 6700 words, it might be a little on the lengthy side for readers who like their smut in shorter, more consumable quantities, but at the very least I can guarantee approximately 70% of it is high quality genital-mashing.

Also, because we’ve established that I am indeed a raging narcissist, I drew a picture that you might’ve seen floating around these parts as supplemental material to help my followers visualize the naughty scene I’ve set. I’ve copypasted the fic in its entirety below the cut, but you can follow the link I’ve included to my AO3 account if you prefer getting your rocks off over there. While comments and constructive criticism are not necessary, they are more than welcome and always appreciated. Happy reading!

Idiotically NSFW

They have a routine, the strategist and the redhead; she waits in the shadows of his apartment landing near midnight, listening for the audible click of his front door unlocking to signal that the coast is clear; he greets her with a chaste peck on the cheek and a steaming cup of Ebony when she finally tiptoes inside; they seat themselves around the living room and chat politely for thirty minutes or so, about this and that and all sorts of mundane things, until they both silently acknowledge the real reason why she is here and discard their clothes in the hall on their way to the bedroom.

It’s a comfortable routine, something she has to look forward to after a long day at the Citadel, something that hasn’t changed in the weeks and months since she’d involved herself with the strategist. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee always succeeds at putting her mind at ease, as does the deep vibrato of his voice when he mutters the latest complaint against his royal charge. Even the slight narrowing of his eyes indicating his desire for intimacy is customary, for Ignis Scientia is nothing if not entirely consistent in his mannerisms, and the redhead knows the only expectation either one of them will have for the evening is just how long it takes for her to cry out his name.

Which is why it’s decidedly unexpected when she sees him pushing a large rectangular box across the coffee table in her direction. “What’s this?”

“A gift,” he says, in the clipped accent they both share. “Of sorts.”

She peers down warily at the violet ribbon wrapped around the package before turning a dubious eye on him. “For me? I scarcely would’ve taken you for the charitable type.”

“More for me, actually. Although it would be an added bonus if it was to your liking.” He takes a sip from his Ebony, and then nods toward the box. “Go on—see if it suits your tastes.”

She hesitates, somewhat puzzled by this curious break in their habitualness, but concedes to his request and tugs on the end of the ribbon. Once she’s removed the lid, she is met with a plethora of tissue paper; it takes her a few moments to unearth what lies beneath, and she laughs aloud when she finally recognizes the shimmer of satin and lace textiles. “Really, Ignis? Unmentionables?”

“They can’t really be considered unmentionables once you’ve mentioned them, now can they?”

The way the corners of his lips turn upward into a faint smirk is both utterly endearing and entirely exacerbating, and she resists the urge to sigh. “And what, precisely, do you expect me to do with these?”

“Wear them, I would hope. Preferably for me, but I obviously can’t stop you from entertaining lesser fools.”

She pegs him with a tart glance before returning her attention to the contents of the package; a pair of sheer black stockings is nestled between a matching garter-and-panty set, and she catches a glimpse of indigo silk beneath the lacy undergarments.

She then withdraws the purple article from the box and holds it up teasingly. “Your fashion sensibilities are certainly predictable. Did you purchase this from the same tailor who designs your dress shirts?”

The boned corset in her hands is indeed crafted from a similar Coeurl-print pattern the strategist favors in his own wardrobe, although this evening he is sporting a dark button-up shirt and necktie, likely due to a late night council meeting. “Not quite,” he replies. “I picked it up from the department store yesterday when I was with Noctis.”

She is almost positive he delights in the look of horror that crosses her features. “With the prince? What in Astrals were you thinking?”

“Come now, I’m more discreet than that.” He crosses one knee over the other and swirls his mug around demurely. “Umbra showed up just as Noct was buying new tube socks, and he asked me to bugger off for a bit. I took the liberty to make my purchases and was back before he could finish dotting his I’s with little hearts.”

“And you weren’t the least bit worried about being caught browsing the ladies intimate apparel section? Not concerned with any… assumptions the cashier might’ve made about you?”

The strategist shrugs. “Not at all. Even if someone were to suspect I was buying lingerie for myself, the whole Citadel knows I have nicer legs than anyone.” He then tosses her a wink. “Your included.”

She has half a mind to swipe her foot across the sensitive part of his shins, but the sight of multiple zeroes printed on the label affixed to the corset derails her malevolent intentions. “Goodness,” she breathes, and draws the label closer to confirm her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, draining the last of his beverage before setting his empty cup aside. “I merely wanted to ensure durable enough construction that wouldn’t fall apart immediately after putting it on. And besides—if you’d rejected my offerings outright without the tags, I’d be a few hundred credits lighter and nothing but aching testicles to show for it.”

She drops the corset back into the box with the other items and replaces the lid. “You could’ve always worn them yourself. Or perhaps your legs aren’t as shapely as you think?”

It’s admittedly one of her favorite aspects of entertaining the strategist, this delightful battle of wits; she cocks a mischievous eyebrow in his direction, poised and ready to counter his incoming barb with a pointed one of her own. But his green orbs soften behind his spectacles, and he surprises her—just as he did when he set the package in front of her moments ago—by reaching across the table and taking her hand in his own.

“I’d rather like to see you wear them,” he says quietly. “Won’t you consider humoring this stuffy chamberlain just for one evening?”

For a split second, the walls guarding her mind draw up; it was rather unlike him, the stoic personality he most often was, to reveal any signs of weakness around her, and the details of their arrangement never explicitly addressed the specifics pertaining to unusual fetishes or lewd requests. But his proposal wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for a lover—nor even particularly lewd, when the she really thought about it—and the earnestness in his eyes curbs her skepticism.

So she draws herself up from her seat without another word, the box of unmentionables tucked under one arm and her gaze trained on him as she strolls off in the direction of the master bedroom. When he’s out of her line of sight, she enters the on-suite bathroom and closes the door behind her; she then sets the package down on the marbled vanity beside the sink and removes the lid once more.

She hefts the bodice from the box and holds it against her torso, and her nose wrinkles as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. The redhead may have been the object of considerable desire within the walls of the royal palace, but she can’t even remember the last time she’d agreed to compress her organs for the sake of beauty. She wonders if perhaps the strategist is growing bored with her, dressing her up like a plaything in a final effort to coax the last remaining vestiges of attraction he still harbors for her, until she remembers that there are far more economical ways of getting one’s rocks off than dropping a few hundred Crown City credits on couture underwear.

She eventually discards the wardrobe she wore to his apartment and sets to work. The panties, stockings, and garter are straightforward enough, but the corset bindings are packaged separately from the bodice, and when she unravels them she finds herself tangled up in several meters of cording. She may be an expert at lacing a pair of combat boots, but ladies shape wear proves to be another beast entirely; it takes her ten minutes to thread the binding through the narrow grommets enough for her to squeeze herself into the overly complex garment.

When she moves to adjust it, however, she is left with an excessive amount of binding in both her hands; what the purpose was of having six feet of rope when she only needed two to hang herself with eludes her entirely, and she spends yet another ten minutes trying to figure out why only the bottom half of the bodice will tighten when she pulls on the end of the cords.

“Need a hand?”

She snaps her head around, and her eyes lock on to the lanky figure leaning against the threshold. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to recognize you haven’t the slightest clue how to lace a corset properly.” The strategist moves into the bathroom and stops behind her, gliding his fingers gently across her neck as he shifts her long tresses to one side. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

The tightening around her ribs eases abruptly, and her spine begins to tingle when she feels his warm breath on her shoulder. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people like that,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t even hear you open the door.”

“I’ve made a career out of sneaking up on people. Are you really surprised?”

“Hm. I suppose not.”

His hands move quickly, tugging on the binding and rethreading them from the bottom up. When he reaches the grommets centered near her waist, he picks up the other end of the cording and begins lacing them through alternating holes from the top down. She studies his face in the reflection of the mirror while he works, his bespectacled features furrowed with the same razor-keen focus he would dedicate to any other task, imperative or otherwise; she has witnessed his awesome powers of concentration before, whether he is channeling the celestial magic of the crystal the sovereigns of Lucis have bestowed upon him, or taking notes in a boring council meeting, or even—nay, especially—when he is making love to her in the earliest hours of twilight.

“There’s a method behind lacing a corset,” he explains, tying off the ends of the cord at the two lowest grommets and tugging on the excess binding looped at her waist. “Pull on these ones”—he clutches at the bottom strands—“and it tightens the lower half. Pull on these ones”—his grip switches to the top strands—“and it tightens the upper half. Makes it easier to distribute the tension more evenly.”

As the compression surrounding her ribcage equalizes, the redhead surmises she learns something new about him every day; how he takes his coffee, what section of the newspaper he prefers to read first, how deep the rabbit hole of his perverted psyche actually goes. “You seem to be quite the authority on corsetry.”

He secures the loops of the binding into a snug knot; then he slips a hand around her waist, drawing her close and touching his lips to her ear. “I like my presents wrapped as much as anyone.”

Her eyelids flutter shut when she feels his arousal pressing against the small of her back. “Seems a shame to go through the trouble of putting everything on, only to take it all off again.”

“Who said anything about taking it off?”

Finally, she turns to face him. “You’re going to have to,” she says, gesturing to the panties that are trapped firmly between her stockings and garter belt. “Unless you plan on fucking me through my underwear somehow.”

Neither one of them was in the habit of employing vulgar language with any regularity; they both had reputations at the Citadel to uphold, and at times it seemed like they were the last two remaining consummate professionals amidst the likes of bawdier individuals like Gladiolus Amicitia and Libertus Ostium. Still, the occasional use of more… colorful vocabulary held a certain measure of gravity, and indeed her expletive has its desired effect; his cheek twitches as he takes a step toward her, and she can see the fire of lust flaring behind his emerald eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

It’s rather unbecoming of her to bait him like that, and she knows it; he may be The Strategist, but he’s still just a man, and it was hardly fair of her to tease his ardor without giving any serious thought of following through with her insinuation.

But then she’s reminded of all the times he’s held the upper hand and delayed her gratification to agonizing lengths, and there was something about wearing a corset and thigh-highs that is making her feel empowered besides; she meets his gaze with a wicked one of her own, and reaches up to loosen the tie around his neck. “Since you managed to persuade me into donning this little outfit of yours,” she purrs, “I was wondering if I might make an inquiry of my own.”

His jaw clenches in visible restraint as she slips the tie out from under his collar. “But of course.”

“How much do you trust me?”

His gaze then drifts to the knot she is suddenly tightening around his right hand. “About as much as I trust anyone fettering my wrist with my own necktie, I suppose.”

When she is content with the strength of her makeshift shackle, she guides him to lean his lower back against the vanity countertop. “It’s just that you have a tendency to make sure my needs are met without ever giving any thought to your own. I find that rather troublesome.”

His face betrays the faintest hint of apprehension as she snakes the long end of the tie around the back of the sink faucet. “I’m certainly not feeling neglected, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Be that as it may, there’s a notable disparity between my efforts and yours. I was hoping to rectify that particular oversight.”

Only when she attempts to seize his unfettered wrist does he finally interrupt her machinations. “While I wholly appreciate your concern,” he says, raising his left hand away from her and out of reach, “I’m not sure if this is the best solution to an imaginary problem.”

She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching her leap futilely after her target, so she levels him with a steely gaze instead. “Afraid of turning the wheel over to someone else, for once?”

“No, but in my experience, bondage without the advantage of forethought rarely ever goes as planned.”

The hairs on the back of her neck tingle in mild irritation; she drops the end of the necktie on the vanity and lowers her voice to nearly a whisper. “I never ask you for anything, Ignis. You’re the one who leaves your front door unlocked every night, not me.”

The words left unspoken linger like a specter in the tiled room; she had no way of predicting from the start where exactly this dalliance of theirs would take her, but she’d done all she could to play by the rules, her rules, the ones that explicitly stated this was merely an agreement between two consenting individuals, where they could express themselves privately in ways they otherwise could not. She certainly would never have been able to envision herself clad in nylon and expensive silk with her buttocks on full display, at the behest of a man who had cooked for her and shared his bed and had even engaged with her in the occasional lover’s spat, and who for all of Eos felt like a loyal and doting husband in everything but name.

He adjusts his spectacles across the bridge of his nose, and she can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing her desire to please him against his need to always be in control. After a moment, he heaves a long-suffering sigh and extends his left wrist in her direction. “I suppose we ought to agree upon a safe word.”

She can’t quite conceal the smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and moves to secure his outstretched hand with the remaining slack of the necktie. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. The worst that could happen is you uproot your faucet.”

“And send a geyser flooding through the apartment?” He shakes his head woefully. “My renter’s insurance would positively skyrocket.”

When she is finished tethering his wrists to the polished brass fixture behind his back, and is confident he won’t be able to immediately break loose the instant her mouth meets any sensitive flesh, she traces her fingers lightly across his smooth cheeks and draws him close. “I’ll try not to be the reason for any permanent water damage,” she says, as the distance between their lips vanishes, “but I can’t make any promises.”

It’s a wholly unique experience, kissing the strategist whilst his arms are bound; his hands are usually everywhere at once, tangled in her hair, caressing her breasts, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties to massage her aching nub. But the tables have suddenly turned, the onus of his pleasure firmly in the palm of her own hands, and she almost doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she isn’t having to clutch at the walls just to hold herself upright under his devilish ministrations.

Almost.

His shirt is still buttoned and, without the present use of his limbs, it might’ve remained that way for a while longer if her desire to undress him hadn’t been entirely innate. But since the instinct to strip the clothes right off his back was as involuntary as breathing, she doesn’t even need to break their kiss for her fingers to find and unfasten the top three closures; two more, and she’s drinking in the flavor of Ebony and spiced cologne as she explores his tongue; the final two, and she’s parting his tunic like the curtains of a window and pressing her body tightly against his warm chest.

His mouth drifts across her cheek and follows the outline of her jaw, but his lips stop just shy of her left earlobe when his restraints prevent him from leaning in any farther. “I hope you don’t intend to imprison me like this for too terribly long,” he says.

His shoulders flex under the hand she is gliding over his collarbone, presumably testing the durability of the tie against the strength of his own wrists. She then trails her fingers down his abdomen, encircling his navel once before untucking the hem of his shirt from his waistband. “I loathe to disappoint you, but I’m only just getting started.”

A curious noise bubbles out of his throat just then, scarcely audible enough for her to hear, but sounding halfway between a frustrated whine and a carnal growl. The expression settling in across his features conveys a more telling tale; his lips are parted and his jaw is set, and he lowers his chin to his chest when she presses the palm of her hand against the bulging in his trousers. Her other hand is snaked around his neck and gripping at the base of his scalp—just the way she knows he likes it, because of course she knows, because tugging on his tawny hair only served to urge his arousal onward in the past.

But he can’t do anything about it like he could before, since the tie fettering his wrists has held up remarkably well thus far; he conveys his annoyance at being shackled against his will by biting gently on her lower lip. The hand she has resting on his groin moves to tackle his belt buckle, and she releases the zipper of his trousers with deft fingers before pulling away from him and dropping to her knees. The strategist didn’t spend several hundred credits on intimate apparel just to view the evening’s entertainment from the nosebleed section, however, so the redhead makes sure her posture is such that the lacy undergarment dividing her backside is suitably conspicuous from his birds-eye perspective.

“I just had a thought,” he says suddenly. “The bathroom’s not exactly the most hygienic place for this kind of activity. Perhaps we should move into the bedroom?”

“And spoil my fun? I think not.” She glances up and cocks a teasing eyebrow at him. “Besides—knowing you, you probably sterilized every square inch of this apartment with industrial strength bleach before I arrived.”

“Regardless if that were true, the floor tiles can’t possibly be comfortable on your kneecaps.”

She then threads her fingers beneath the waistband of his fitted boxer briefs and tosses him a wink. “Itching for release, are we? I’m getting there.”

He doesn’t get the chance to counter her argument before she is tugging down on the garment and liberating him from the constricting fabric. For a brief moment, her pride swells at the sight of his warm and rigid flesh; any and all doubts she had about boring him are quickly forgotten upon seeing his erection standing at full attention. She wraps her fingers tentatively around the base of his shaft and slips the other hand beneath the hem of his shirt, tickling his hip; her eyes lock onto his for half a heartbeat, long enough to enjoy his expression of pleasure mingled with sheer torture when she finally takes him into her mouth.

“Be reasonable,” he says hoarsely. “You can’t expect me to remain upright in this position if you continue like this.”

She subdues his protests by drawing him in closer; a silent gasp escapes his lips when the head of his shaft meets the back of her throat, and she can feel his right leg quiver slightly through his trousers. She drops the hand she has at his waist and squeezes his thigh to ease his trembling, withdrawing from him briefly to focus her attention on the sensitive tip. As she traces circles around it with her tongue, she catches a glimpse of his face out of the corner of her peripheral vision; his eyes are closed, his forehead furrowed in concentration—or is it dread?—and his lips are pressed together in a thin line.

She hears a soft clank when she returns him fully back into her mouth, and glances up to see his shoulders working against his restraints. “Please consider reneging on your proposal,” he whispers, his eyes still firmly shut. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take before I break something.”

But she doesn’t consider reneging on anything, not even for a nanosecond, because it’s not often she has the chance to witness the strategist at his most exposed, and the look of pure, naked vulnerability on his face has lit a fire in her belly that is quickly turning into a roaring blaze. Instead, she redoubles her efforts and encompasses him nearly to the point of choking herself on his flesh-and-blood sword; the trembling in his thigh has grown more pronounced, and the muscles of his bare abdomen twitch furiously with every flick of her tongue. His spectacles have shifted and are creeping down the bridge of his nose, so he throws his head back and grits his teeth to stifle the cry of ecstasy clawing its way up his throat.

She is employing every tool at her disposal to please him now—she’s appropriated the fingers of her right hand into a makeshift cock ring, trapping his member between her thumb and forefinger to prevent the flow of blood from exiting the tissue of his shaft, while the ones on her left gently massage the delicate part of his scrotum. Her slow oral ministrations have given way to a more rigorous pace, and the copious amount of saliva that is currently coating his loins provides a suitably slick lubricant with which to prime her throat. She takes him in deeper, but he doesn’t thrust against her; if anything, he appears to be yielding away from her, and for a moment she wonders whether his reticence is a result of her accidentally nicking him with her teeth.

But then she hears the sound of ragged gasps rattling around in his lungs, and is alerted to other signs of his imminent climax approaching; his flavor on her tongue has changed slightly and the temperature of his skin has risen, and the base of his shaft is pulsating as his body prepares to conclude its natural cycle. Maintaining a steady rhythm is key, she knows, so she reaches for the pockets of his trousers and clutches at his hips—partly to balance herself from her increasingly vigorous movements, and partly to ensure the strategist has no way of escaping the inevitable.

She would’ve patted herself on the back for her near-record time it took to bring him to orgasm, had her hands otherwise not been occupied; the sound of his breath catching in his throat is drowned out by the clank clank clank of his wrists wrenching violently against the gilded faucet. “Darling, I—I can’t—”

She has but a moment to decide which way the next few seconds will go. Hold fast, and her throat might reject his milky offerings; withdraw, and he’ll spill his seed all over her expensive corset. It’s his own damned fault for spending such a ludicrous amount of money on lingerie, she thinks, but she’s far too pragmatic to allow fine silk to be ruined over a few teaspoons of semen; in the end, she takes her chances and silently prays her body won’t betray her.

It’s not so much the flavor that catches her off guard, but the heat; for a man christened after fire incarnate, it ought not to have surprised her to discover his seed ran as hot as his libido. She presses her eyes shut out of fear for how her mouth will react to the intrusion, but—mercifully—her gag reflex remains dormant, so she relaxes into him and allows the warm fluid to pool on her tongue. He tastes slightly bitter, but not overly so, certainly no more than a slightly unripened apple, and when last of his pelvic convulsions finally slow to a standstill, she finds she has very little trouble containing the bounty of her efforts.

He is slumped against the vanity when she rises to her feet, his head angled forward and his spectacles displaced halfway down his nose. She isn’t sure if the way his nostrils are flaring is simply due to exhaustion, or whether it is a more foreboding sign; she takes a tentative step toward him and places a gentle hand on his chest. “Is everything… all right?”

“Please untie me.”

He doesn’t look up when he says it, and the redhead surmises it’s about the most animated reaction she can anticipate from a man who practically sharpens his teeth on his rookie lance pupils without even breaking a sweat. She reaches behind his back and fumbles with the end of the tie, half-expecting him to recover his dignity and march out of the bathroom the instant his left wrist is freed; he remains stagnant against the marbled countertop instead, moving only to return his spectacles to their proper place across his nose.

The heat of the moment is quickly dissipating with his ominously silent mood, and she frowns. “Are you angry with me?”

He finally glances up at her, his head tilted to one side, his eyes betraying nothing. “No.”

Her frown deepens. She’s seen the strategist grow aloof in the aftermath of their relations before, but there is something wholly distant in his expression she can’t quite put her finger on. “Then what is it?”

The necktie is still knotted around his right wrist, and it trails after him as he reaches out to caress her cheek. “Come here. I want to hold you.”

A queer sensation trickles down her spine; a few harmless pet names and bending the hours of their arrangement was one thing, but he was far too steeped in his devotion to the crown to show affection outside the confines of intimacy beyond the occasional peck on the cheek. “Are you feeling all right?”

The corners of his mouth curve upward faintly, and his hand falls to her waist and draws her close. Her eyebrows are knitted at this unusual display of tenderness, but she nestles herself between his legs—his erection is still hard as a rock, she notes—and leans to rest her chin on his shoulder.

He then snakes his arms around the small of her back and buries his face in her red locks. “You look magnificent,” he says quietly.

Her throat tightens, and she bites the inside of her cheek to stifle the feelings that are threatening to manifest themselves into tears; she’ll never have him the way she wants him, not entirely, and not because of their duties to the kingdom of Lucis, but because she knows deep down that the Six did not breath life into a man of his talents without a having a greater calling for him in mind.

His hand glides up her spine and stops at her neck, brushing her hair away from her shoulders as he touches his lips to the soft skin beneath her ear. Her own hands tighten around his chest, and she leans into his embrace; there will be plenty of time to fret about divine destinies later, and the gentle nibbles he is trailing along her jawline are admittedly working wonders to take her mind off of the hypothetical.

So she nuzzles her nose against his feathery temple and breathes in his scent; her ministrations from earlier must have been more laborious on his resolve than she first realized, because she is only just now noticing the light sheen of perspiration that dots his forehead. He finally pushes away from the vanity and draws himself up to his full height, guiding her hips with strong hands to the bit of marble countertop he just vacated, and braces his arms on either side of her to corral her in place.

“Darling,” she whispers, as he rakes his teeth across her collarbone, “you don’t have to continue for my sake. You must be utterly exhausted.”

“What was it you said earlier?” His hand finds the waistband of her panties and slithers beneath them. “Ah, yes—‘I’m only just getting started.’”

She snorts softly against his neck, but her amusement at his cheeky turn of phrase is short lived when he presses his long fingers inside of her. Then her beguilement is all but forgotten, and replaced by the singular desire to feel his warmth fill her entirely; she locks one ankle around the back of his knee and grinds her pelvis against his hand, and her insistence is rewarded when he massages his thumb across her sensitive hood.

His mouth returns to her face and he brushes his lips lightly against her own; she has little time for his chaste and gentle probing, however, and chases hungrily after his tongue instead. She is unable to stop the whine of disapproval from bubbling out of her throat when his hand disappears from between her thighs, but the strategist has a plan—just like he always does—and it requires the use of both hands to grip at her hips in order to lift her onto the edge of the vanity.

At the back of her mind, she can’t quite help chuckling quietly to herself at how ludicrous they must look in that moment; his necktie is dangling off of his right wrist like a wet noodle, his shirt rumpled and unbuttoned, his trousers and briefs halfway down his buttocks as he claws at the infinitesimally small strip of fabric separating his cock infuriatingly from her cunt. In truth, though, the redhead lives for moments like this, when their guards are down and their humanity is on full display, because even though he addresses her with cool and cordial formality at the Citadel, she knows the strategist has the same needs and desires of any other hot-blooded man that has fire coursing through his veins.

He shifts her weight in an attempt to displace the lacy accouterment, but it remains firmly wedged in her backside. “This would’ve been a lot easier if you had just let me take off my stockings,” she laughs.

“Remove my favorite accessory?” His spectacles lurch as his face crumples into a scowl. “Not on your life.”

Finally, he manages to push the stretchy fabric aside adequately enough to gain access to her warm folds. Her hand is already between his legs and gripping his shaft, her urgency to end this lustful torment as great as his; he clutches at her thigh to steady himself before he is plunging his searing heat inside of her like a pike impaling a fleshy target.

The air in her lungs all but evaporates, and her fingernails dig into the thickest part of his shoulders. His reaction is more subtle—not even the faintest cry of rapture escapes his lips—but she can feel his body shudder slightly when the full circumference of his girth meets the edge of her resistance. For a long moment, neither one of them moves, and the only discernible noise coming from the bathroom is the sound of their hearts beating furiously inside both their ribcages; then he is withdrawing from her, slowly, gently, agonizingly, returning his lips to the crook of her neck and nibbling at the baby soft skin there, before driving his hips forward again and resuming his occupancy fully inside of her.

How he is still so hard is beyond her, but she doesn’t protest or complain; if anything, the way the elastic of her wayward panties is capturing her nub between the base of his shaft is a miraculous serendipity that sends chills firing down her spine. The strategist notices this little development as well, she realizes, which really shouldn’t have surprised her in the least—it was his job to extract knowledge from the most trivial pieces of evidence, after all—but her eyes widen just the same when she feels him angle himself against the garment for a snugger fit.

Is he competing with me? she wonders. Was this all just a wanton race to see who could bring the other one to climax the fastest? She would’ve admonish him if she’d had authority over her own voice, but the only thing she is able to utter in that moment is an unintelligible moan of pleasure. And it doesn’t really matter anyway, because the familiar pressure spreading throughout her lower belly is growing stronger with each passing thrust of his hips; her hands glide down the back of his dress shirt, unconsciously and autonomously, and clutch at his buttocks as her resolve frays like a quickly unraveling thread.

She can no longer see his face, because he is resting his chin on her shoulder now—bracing it, really—as he moves between her legs with methodical precision. But she can hear his breath shortening, his exhales breaking in time with the heart she feels thumping inside his chest. Her own pulse is screaming in her ears, but she ignores it in favor of focusing her attention solely on the sensation of his warmth grinding against the most tender part of her sex. When she closes her eyes, she can almost visualize her climax hovering on the edge of her consciousness; her nub throbs every time he eases away from her, only to glow like a star on the cusp of going supernova when the pressure resumes.

Two more thrusts and her vision begins to swim; another three, and the scales are tipping rapidly out of her favor; one final push, and she’s reached the point of no return. “Ignis,” she whispers, the thread disintegrating, the star finally exploding. “Ignis—”

He tightens his grip on her thigh, although whether it’s to balance himself or merely to calm the violent tremors ripping through her body, she isn’t sure. Each wave of her orgasm takes with it a piece of her voice, until her loud cries of ecstasy finally fall silent and she is gasping desperately for air like a dying Lucian carp. Her fingers are suctioned to his lower back like barnacles, as are her legs that have captured his slender waist in a vice grip, and she holds him close for what seems like an eternity as the spots of light dancing across her vision slowly fade.

“Drat.”

The strategist’s benign obscenity returns her to the here and now, and she finally loosens her grip over him. She then glances up at his face, only to see him staring down between her legs; when she follows his gaze, she sees the fabric of her undergarment clutched in his hand, tattered and ripped at the side seam.

“So much for quality,” he mutters. “I’d have thought for the money I paid, it would’ve held up at least a little better than that.”

A small smile touches her lips, and she traces her fingers lightly over his cheek. “I’m not quite sure lace is rated for this kind of strenuous activity.”

“Indeed.” He releases the scrap of fabric and readjusts his spectacles once more. “I suppose I’ll just have to take my business elsewhere next time.”

He then withdraws from her and helps her down off the vanity. She has to hold the two torn sides of her panties at her hip just to preserve her dignity, although considering he had himself buried to the testicles in her sex moments before, she supposes there isn’t much modesty left to be lost between them. He returns his own equipment to his briefs and zips up his trousers, but he leaves his shirt unbuttoned, and his necktie is still wrapped around his wrist; she is tempted to make a wry quip about his unusual lack of fastidiousness, but she knows his persnickety side will eventually spur him to cover himself, so she simply enjoys the sight of his taut abdominals on display for her viewing pleasure for as long as she can.

She then reaches for the binding of her corset to ease the tension in her compressed organs, until another thought suddenly occurs to her and stays her hand. “Do you mind if I stay for a little while?” she asks.

He is already at the threshold of the doorway, no doubt longing to excuse himself and his mild germaphopbia from lingering in the bathroom any longer. “Not at all. Don’t feel compelled to stay in that outfit, though—I’m sure your spleen is begging for mercy.”

“It’s not so bad, once you get use to it.” She releases the torn ends of her ruined underwear and lets them fall to the floor. “Besides—for what you paid, you ought to get a bit more of your money’s worth out of it.”

One quizzical eyebrow rises above his spectacles. “What precisely did you have in mind?”

They won’t always have this routine, the strategist and the redhead; the Empire was building garrisons across Lucis at that very instant, and the Astrals would undoubtedly intervene in her happiness once they finally revealed the celestial plans they had in store for the prince’s most loyal advisor. There were times when the reality of their fragile agreement cut through her heart like a cold dagger, its icy tendrils suffocating her with the same lethal proficiency Ignis Scientia reserved only for enemies of the crown.

But this was not one of those times, and their illusion of normalcy remains intact if only for a brief moment longer. “I don’t believe our arrangement forbids any party from brewing a pot of Ebony without wearing appropriate undergarments,” she says, as she struts past him and out of the bathroom. “How about another cuppa?”

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