#Plain Silk Fabric

[wri0thesley]

Going back to corsets for a moment, can we talk about Zhongli being a corset addict? Like one isn't enough for him. No, this man makes sure you have as many as he desires, even if you only wear it once before he tears it off of you.

i think of zhongli as a man who likes mortal craftsmanship and beautiful things; and you, of course, fall into that second category . . . and what is more beautiful than you wrapped up in something else gorgeous? and corsets, of course, have the added bonus of nipping at your waist and pushing up your chest, of making you look so delightfully ravishable . . . well. can you blame him?

[tetrachromate]

Attempted a transcription of a (probably late) tang dynasty roundel medallion (https://www.chinasilkmuseum.com/zggd/info_103_itemid_25900.html)

[im-a-freaking-joy]

SILK is the fiber, what the fabric is made of.

SATIN is the weave, how the fabric is made.

You can have silk satin, or polyester satin, or hell even a cotton satin, but you cant have just. Satin fiber. Satin desribes the way the fabric is woven together.

[suvetah000]

Why handloom fabric will never go out of Style

With increased awareness of the fashion industry's negative impact on the environment, people have started to show a massive desire for handmade and hand-loomed items.

They realize the value and specialty handmade pieces bring to the table and in one's life. There is something special about handloom fabrics, it not only provides exclusive textiles, but the mastery of handloom fabrics is unique, authentic, and artistic.

The people behind creating this fabric have put significant effort, love, and passion into making these beautiful textiles.

So ever wondered what really are handloom fabrics?

What are handloom fabrics?

So, before learning about handloom fabrics, let us know what a loom is first.

A loom is a machine operated to weave cloth and tapestry. The primary purpose of any loom is to hold the warp threads under tension to stimulate the weft threads' interweaving to create a textile.

Further, handloom fabrics are handwoven fabrics created on this weaving machine.

To create a handloom fabric, the weaver starts the process by interlacing a set of vertical threads(the warp) with a bunch of horizontal threads(the weft).

Then the loom holds the warp threads under tension to facilitate the interweaving of the weft threads over and above the warp using a weaving shuttle. Finally, the weaver repeats the interweaving process until the handloom fabric is created.

Handloom weaving requires the utmost patience, artistry, technical skills, and physical strength.

Creating handloom fabrics is not just about protecting nature but also about love. The weaver's passionate about what they are making, they put their heart and soul into creating this textile. They select the yarn, pattern, color, texture, and accurate technique to create the suitable fabric, and it's reflected on the material.

Handloom fabrics don't feature just one type of fabric, instead, it comes in a variety of rich colors, patterns, and designs.

The reason handloom fabrics have wide varieties is that it's directly linked to the culture of each community. They have passed on their designs from generation to and formed an identity of their own.

Advantages of handloom fabrics:-

Originality and Uniqueness

The most significant advantage of handloom fabric is that no two hand-loomed materials are the same. Each fabric exhibits unique craftsmanship.

Variousness

As the handloom allows the weavers to explore their creativity in creating beautiful textiles, they explore new ideas and make some extravagant designs and patterns.

Quality

The fibers used to create handloom fabrics are high-quality natural fibers like cotton, linen, silk, and wool; these are environmentally friendly and long-lasting fabrics.

Good for the skin

The handlooms use natural fibers that protect the skin and don't harm it. In addition, it feels good on the skin, unlike synthetic fiber.

Skill preservation and source of livelihood

Since ancient times handloom has proved to be a great source of livelihood across rural India. Even today, the handloom community has preserved its heritage and employs numerous people.

Types of Handloom Fabrics:

Khadi: Khadi, the hand-spun fabric, referred to as the hope of our environment is a fabric known for our nation's freedom struggle, representing the love for our country and its people.

It is made by using natural fiber and is woven so that this fabric will keep the body cool during summer and warm during winter.

Kala Cotton: Kala Cotton is an organic woven textile that allows for sustainable living, as the production is purely ecological with no pesticides and synthetic fertilizers used. It is durable, strong, and stretchable, and it takes dye brilliantly

Tussar Silk: Tussar Silk is the strongest natural textile in the world. The fabric is highly breathable with high moisture-wicking abilities. Despite its immense tensile strength, its softness has made it a hotly desired commodity throughout history.

Mulberry: Mulberry silk is the highest quality silk that is smooth to the touch and has a glossy look. It is one of the oldest types of silk fabric that comes from moth cocoons.

What makes mulberry silk different from other silks is the uniform quality of the fibers. The diameter, color, and texture of a strand of mulberry silk are the same from one cocoon to another.

Muga Silk: Muga Silk follows the path of Ahimsa, meaning not causing harm to other living things. Therefore, this silk is produced without killing the creatures that crafted it. Instead, this silk is a step towards appreciating and supporting the beautiful soul and nature that created it.

Banana: Banana fabric is developed from the outer lining of banana peels. This fabric is one of the most luxurious fabrics. It is soft like silk on the inside and hard like cotton on the outside, making it one of the best fabrics to create comfortable, long-lasting, quality garments, decors, and accessories.

Organic Cotton: Organic cotton comes with various benefits for our environment and our people. For example, this fabric doesn't retain chemicals from its garments, due to which it reduces exposure to allergens and dermatological issues.

The use of organic cotton benefits the farmer as they are exposed to fewer chemicals.

There are so many benefits and types of handloom fabrics that they can never get out of style.

Bulk Organic Handloom Fabric Supplier and Manufacturer:

Suvetah is one of the leading bulk organic handloom fabric suppliers and manufacturers in India.

Suvetah is GOTS certified sustainable fabric manufacturer in Organic Cotton, Linen, and Hemp Fabrics.

We are also a manufacturer of other fabrics like Denim, Ahimsa Silk Fabric, Ethical Recycled Cotton Fabric, Banana Fabric, Orange Fabric, Bamboo Fabric, Rose Fabric, Khadi Fabric, etc.

[symplicoprints]

Shop pure cotton fabrics online at Symplico for high-quality, affordable options. Elevate your wardrobe with our comfortable and durable collection. Shop Now!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Sacrifical Bride.

Commissioned by the very lovely @yanmaresu.

Pairing: Yandere!Hades x Reader (Record of Ragnarök).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Forced Marriage, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, and Mentions of Kidnapping/Prolonged Captivity. Not Canon Complacent. I Have Never Met Canon But I Hear She's Very Nice.

The wedding was a solemn affair.

Not dull, because nothing that had your heart beating so violently could ever be considered ‘dull’, and not dreary, because despite the many, many things you could say about your kidnapper-turned-husband, he wasn’t one for bland affairs. No, your dress was of the finest and most vibrant silks, your veil lined with pearls and rubies and the gown’s train long enough to swell and ebb behind you as you walked down the seemingly never-ending aisle, unaccompanied by any escort. Wreaths of shining ivory lilies and blooming chrysanthemums encircled marble pillars, low-burning lanterns casting the chapel in long, wavering shadows. The pews were empty. The only guests were his ghastly servants, and they’d never once said a word to you.

There was no officiant. Hades waited for you at the brimstone altar alone, a gentle simper playing over his lips as he watched you drag your feet and fight the urge to bolt, to run, to do the very thing that’d left you trapped in his arm in the first place. It was tempting, albeit pointless. You’d always been swift footed, but there was nowhere to escape to in Helheim. At best, you’d spend a few days hiding and struggling to survive in the empty plains that surrounded his looming fortress of a home. At worst, you’d find yourself without direction and beyond the reach of his control, hopelessly lost and stumbling through fields of fading dead and gnarled beasts and things that would make the man in front of you look hospitable, in comparison. You tried to remind yourself of that as your body begged you to flee.

As you reached the altar, his smile grew into something that could’ve been convincingly genuine, had it been able to reach the pits of lifeless ice that were his eyes. Rather, the gesture only seemed to add to the coil of dread growing tighter in the pit of your stomach as you stepped beside him, clutching your bouquet to your chest in a white-knuckled grip. He’d let you pick that out yourself, at least, and you’d taken a truly irrational amount of joy in picking wildflowers and trimming roses and breaking every rule of decorum your mother had ever taught you. Now, though, the shadows of his hall seemed to dull your vision-searing colors, and it was difficult to take joy in such a simple pleasure knowing the man in front of you sought to ensure you’d never braid daisies or sleep beneath open skies again, when he was staring you down like yet another precious gem he planned to add to his ever-growing collection. It was a cruel comparison, but not quite as hyperbolic as you would’ve liked.

There was a shallow sigh, a hand brought to the edge of your veil. He toyed with the fabric for a long moment before taking the hem in both hands and pulling it away from your face. If he recognized the terror stitched into your expression, he only deemed it worth a slight shake of his head. “Oh, beloved.” His hand fell to your cheek. “You’re as radiant as the day we met.”

The day he plucked you from your mortal life and dragged you into the depths of the earth, the day he’d forced the awful seeds of that terrible fruit down your throat and promised you would never see another living soul again. You swallowed back your nerves. “Please, don’t draw this out.”

You were lucky you’d fallen into the hands of such a mild-tempered captor. He let out an airy chuckle, turning back to the altar. It was decorated sparsely; an overflowing cornucopia posed in one corner, a standing thurible slowly releasing nauseatingly sweet incense into the stagnant air sitting in the other. Between them was only a bottle of dark wine and two twin chalices, crafted of only the finest bronze and polished until they shined in the low lighting. He filled both to the brim before looking towards you, a glint in his remaining eye as he took a chalice in either hand.

You’d been wrong when you assumed they were identical. Where one had a line of aimless, curling thorns following the rim and plunging down the length of the handle, the other was embellished with roses, abstract and nearly shapeless, forming neat columns across the body of the cup. He extended the latter to you, its contents threatening to spill as you took it in your trembling hands. You’d managed to talk him out of the more elaborate ceremonies he’d suggested, but it was difficult to remember that this was a preferable alternative now that could feel the chill of his wine seeping into your palms.

You brought it to your lips, held it there for a moment, then pulled back at the hint of a more familiar scent than that of his dizzying incense. “Pomegranates?”

“I thought it would be a nice touch.” For him, maybe. He’d always struggled to see things from your perspective. “Forgive my sentimentality.”

You wouldn’t, but you were smart enough to keep that to yourself. When he raised his chalice, you did the same, mirroring him when your own will failed you. “To us, darling.”

You nodded. “To us.”

He took a long sip from his chalice, seeming to savor the rich wine, while you drained yours in a single breath. Try as you might to enjoy it, you could only seem to taste ash.

~

A few vows were exchanged, a kiss pressed into the back of your hand when you flinched away from his attempt to communicate his affection more directly. Finally, he took your arm and guided you back to your shared chambers, lingering in the doorway while you collapsed onto his bed – your marital bed, now, you supposed. You buried your face in the silken sheets, letting out a soft groan. There would be a celebration later on, a feast with all of his many gloating brothers and prying sisters in attendance, but the worst of it was over. You were bound to him, for better or for worse. All you could do was weather the consequences.

You’d hoped he would be kind enough to leave you alone while you consoled yourself, while you took all that you knew and all that you didn’t and recontextualized it with yourself as the mortal bride to the God of Death, but a hand on your shoulder dispelled that fleeting fantasy. With no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself upward and turned your attention back to Hades. This time, without the pretense of custom, he didn’t settle for your hand. His mouth found its way to the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into his chosen targets.

When he started to move towards the curve of your throat, you moved on instinct – your hands finding their way to his hair as you dragged him away from you before he could do anything you wouldn’t be able to forget as soon as he left the room. “Please,” you said, not for the first time that day. “I… I’d rather be alone, right now. If it’s all the same to you.”

His smile didn’t waver. “You know that, if it were up to me, I would bend to your every whim,” he spaced the words out generously, as if worried your feeble human mind might not be able to understand. “But we aren’t done.”

Your expression fell. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I wore the dress, and—and I took your vows, and—”

“My love,” he cut you off swiftly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. “Our union will have to be consummated, eventually.”

You felt your throat begin to swell shut.

“I know that, but—” You laid your hand over his, trying to call upon whatever pale imitation of sympathy might’ve existed in his heart. “—does it have to be consummated now?”

You watched as his gaze softened, as his head lulled to the side in that endeared-yet-condescending manner he seemed so fond of. Slowly, with a painstaking gentleness, he brought you closer to him, ghosting over the top of your head and lingering there, even as he started to speak. “I think,” he started, his voice muffled by proximity. “that it would be in your best interest not to keep me waiting any longer.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it was posed like one, dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest and accompanied by his hand on your waist, nimble fingers slipping underneath the sash binding your gown together. When you jerked back, reflexively trying to escape his advances, he was quick to chase you, to let his softened smile spread into an amused grin as an arm wrapped around your midriff and dragged you, willingly or otherwise, into his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.” And yet, your safety didn’t seem to cross his mind as his blunt nails bit into your waist, as he dragged you close enough to feel his chest press into yours, to become uncomfortably aware of the stiff outline against the loose fabric of his pants. “If I rely on my own self-restraint for another day—” Another kiss, this one to the tender patch of skin above your jugular vein. “I’m afraid I might end up doing something we both regret, when the time comes.”

“Less than a day,” you pleaded as he buried his face in your neck. There was a blur of movement, the ghost of his touch along the curve of your spine, and your bodice fell away in tatters, the ruined fabric collapsing to your waist. When you moved to cover yourself, Hades clicked his tongue and you froze, letting your arms fall back to your sides. Begging him to change his mind was one thing. Going against him so transparently would only make things more difficult. “Half a day. An hour. I just— Hades, I can’t do this right now—”

“My love.” Swift, blunt, merciless. You’d been a fool to ever think he was one of the kinder gods. “I think I’ve waited long enough to claim what belongs to me.”

Any protest you might’ve had died in your throat.

You’d been a fool to ever think he was anything less than the cruelest of his kin.

You wanted to scream. If you couldn’t run, then you would yell, raise your voice and tell him that he already had you, that he’d gotten everything he could’ve possibly wanted, but anything you might’ve said was torn away and ripped to shreds as his head dipped low, his teeth latching onto the vulnerable skin of you collar bone and sinking in. He didn’t draw blood, but he didn’t have to. A bolt of pure, stinging agony shot from your chest to your core, only dulling as he pulled away with a low groan. “Have I ever told you how much I adore the sound of my name on your tongue?” You felt his hand on your hip, then your thigh, the remains of your dress cut through and disposed of with little fanfare. He gave your bridal lingerie (pure white and so obnoxiously lacy, you’d had to wonder if this was all some sadistic joke as you slipped it on) more attention, his thumb running along the delicate trim before his fingers slipped underneath it, tracing the length of your slit before doing away with the barrier altogether.

Dread and panic dulled your reactions, but it would’ve been a lie to say the feeling of his mouth on your skin had left you completely unaffected. He chuckled as he gathered your slick on his fingertips, two of which were soon pressed into your clit with a brutal sort of precision. “And you tried to play coy.” He teased the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly, the patterns he traced into your clit too slow and too fleeting all at once. You wished he wouldn’t touch you at all, but if he was going to, it was the least he could’ve done not to draw it out. “That must’ve been why you seemed so rushed during our ceremony. If you’d asked me to make love to you on that altar, I happily would have.”

Hot, humiliated tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You attempted to deny it, but a cracked moan slipped past your lips instead as two of his fingers were forced into your cunt and spread, splitting you apart. Your hands shot to his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself, but he only saw your desperation as an invitation – bowing his head and pumping his fingers into you at the kind of languid pace that left you fighting not to rock against him, not to make up for the urgency immortal creatures so often lacked. “You’re a vice,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his tone low and lecherous. You wondered, briefly, if words that fell from the lips of a god could be considered sinful. “To think my own wife would’ve had me neglect her so severely for so long.”

You shook your head. You were married to him, sure, bound to him. But you couldn’t afford to think of yourself as his wife. You couldn’t afford to think of yourself as something so limited, something so purely an extension of him. “I’m not—”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings. I can see that I underestimated just how much attention my little mortal would need.” His wrist quirked, another digit pushing past your entrance and stuffing your pussy full as his fingers curled and ground inside of you. Against your will, you felt a tight heat begin to twist and writhe in the pit of your stomach, pangs of burning pleasure coursing from your cunt to your core. Now, you cried unabashedly, embarrassment and shame burning in your cheeks and fueling the unsteady stream of tears that Hades was so agonizingly quick to coo over, to kiss away as your hips bucked unsteadily against his hand. “What a sensitive wife I have.” That word – that awful word – was enough to earn a ragged sob, but if he recognized the connection, he didn’t deem it worth his concern. “I promise, you’ll never feel so unloved in my care again.”

You would’ve given anything to be able to pull away from him, to be able to shove at his chest and swear to all the gods you’d once worshiped that there was no part of you that could ever feel loved with him, but in the end, he was the one to let you go, to throw you onto the center of his great bed and leave you whining involuntarily at the sudden loss of stimulation. He’d never been one to deprive you, though; in a moment, he was in between your open legs, one hand wrapped loosely around your thigh while the other pulled feverishly at his own clothes. His coat fell away first, then his shirt. You heard fabric shift and metal clink and, in a daze, saw him wrap his fist around something he could not have possibly planned to fit inside of you. Half out of terror and half out of instinct, your gaze flickered from his cock to his face – to the wide, fanged grin he’d been wearing for as long as you could remember.

He moved to kiss you, and you drove your heel into his stomach.

The blow would’ve been weak by human standards, but it caught him off-guard. Out of reflex, he reeled back, and you took the opportunity to scramble off his bed and towards the door, to any part of this forsaken place where Hades wasn’t. You made it a step, maybe two before something caught your shoulder, before your body buckled under a weight greater than your own. You were dragged onto your knees before you could so much as think to slip away from him, your cheek forced against the cool marble of the floor before you could hope to make your descent more dignified. You felt his broad chest press into your back, his snarling lips against the curve of your throat. You wondered if the insult would be great enough to warrant taking your life, but the thought was dismissed quickly.

Hades had never been the kind of god capable of showing such mercy.

“I would’ve made love to you like a queen,” he spat, his tone all manic venom and overdue obsession. “But, if you’d rather be fucked on the ground like a whore, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You weren’t allowed the luxury of bracing yourself, this time. In one brutal movement, he thrust into you, splitting you open on his cock with the kind of harsh, unforgiving force better suited to a wild animal.  There was no time to adjust, no time to sob, only Hades groaning against your neck as he bucked against you, never daring to pull out completely. Whatever agony his fingers had sparked was now ten-fold. Your legs shook, your body threatening to collapse entirely, but Hades kept your ass raised and your thighs spread, his focus entirely on bucking into you as deeply and as roughly as he could.

It almost surprised you when one of his hands shot to your head, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he forced his mouth against yours. You tried not to cooperate, but two fingers pressed into your clit and your mouth fell open in a guttural cry, providing an opening he seemed content to take advantage of. It was a deep, lingering, messything – all tongue and teeth – but his cock ground against something soft and vulnerable and you failed to suppress the wave of pure heat that flooded through your battered body as you clenched around him, as you came undone around the cock of your kidnapper, your captor, your husband. Hades wasn’t far behind, his composure shattering no more than a second after the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. You could only choke on your misery-tinged pleasure as his hips pressed into your ass and he came inside of you – his awful warmth soon tainting every fiber of your being.

You tried to tell yourself that, at the very least, it was over - that he’d had his fill of you and now, you’d be free to console yourself elsewhere, but your hopes were once again dashed when Hades failed to release you, failed to pull out of you, failed to do anything but press himself into your back and trail his lips idly down to the nape of your neck. “Once is a pitiful amount for a king. Don’t you agree?”

You felt his hips move back, then rock against you just as quickly.

“You can forgive me when we’re done, love.”

[womensclothingworld]

Tussar Saree | Coper and Silver Zari Sarees |  Semi Silk Saree - Sundari Silks

Black Tussar Saree with gold tissue and gota embroidered border. This saree comes with blouse and black pallu.

Shop from: www.sundarisilks.com/collections/raw-silk-tussar-sarees

Visit our website: www.sundarisilks.com/

[bluelinen]

My Camboy

Pairing: Cam boy!Choso x AFAB!Reader Content/Warnings: smut, masturbation, no penetration, female anatomy, no use of y/n, porn no plot, well.. very little plot at the end

MDNI

Ting~*

You've always had this guilty pleasure for as long as you could remember. Since your very first time stumbling across that incredibly risqué audio.

You loved noises. Loved hearing the hoarse animalistic groans of pleasure as one grasped desperately for a release, strings of uncouth words and phrases dripping from a yearning mouth.

The carnal coarseness of such a voice, uncontrolled, unrestrained. It's what's led you down a path such as this, where that ting that notifies you of when his stream begins is the one thing you look forward to almost every week.

You don't see his face on stream, if you did you wouldn’t know what you’d do. It’d probably scare you shitless.

Not that he’s an ugly guy or anything. Quite the opposite really, you found the view of his face quite pleasant to look at every morning you saw him in your shared apartment.

See that was the thing. He’s your roommate.

Which meant that if you were brave enough or, you suppose, just plain crazy you could open the door from across your own and fully witness the complete uncensored revelry of Choso’s bare chest as his fingers brush across the button which makes your screen as well as your eyes light up.

A flurry of messages roll through the side bar proclaiming their greetings. A bunch of ‘hey's’, ‘hi’s’, ‘omg you’re so fine’s’. Even a few small gifts.

Yours was the largest of them, you made sure of that.

The bottom half of his face quirks up in a small smile as he whispers into the camera, his voice deep and airy. “It’s so nice to see all of you here..”

He reaches a hand up into his hair, out of sight from the camera, and a set of snaps from elastic releases his raven locks from the signature spiky style they usually were in, strands languishing comfortably along his shoulders. “I really hope that all of you have had a nice day today..”

He starts trailing a hand from his neck slowly down his broad chest. “Cause it’s been such a long.. long day for me y’know.”

“My muscles feel so tense..” His voice is a hypnotizing lull. “Tired too. I've been needing to find a way, a good way, to sooth this dulling ache.”

You yourself smile knowingly towards your screen.

He smiles back. “I’m sure you could help me with that though, couldn’t you?”

“Tell me you’ve had such a long tiring day too.. “ His sultry voice murmurs as his fingers inch down further towards his waist, his touch achingly slow, seamless as silk.

A spry fleet of comments surge in answer.

“The day is so hard isn’t it? So demanding..” He palms a growing bulge covered by the thin fabric of the shorts he’s wearing.

“We deserve a good release, don’t we?”

He fingers the edge of his waistband.

The chime of several gifts being given causes him to smile.

“Mm.. that’s what i like to hear.”

A low hum leaves his throat as he continues his faithful touch along his crotch and you watch with anticipation, waiting for the very moment he's decided, as you have already, that enough is enough.

It only takes a few minutes before he reaches his waning limit, a soft moan and quick snap of the waistband reveals the honest erection. Large and familiar it stands from it’s restraints proudly, clear substance already glistening from the sore crimson tip.

Choso smears the clear liquid along the head of his cock like a lubricant and you wonder how there's already so much, a small somewhat delusional part of you desperately wants to think that it's from the thought of you.

He begins moving his long fingers along his length, gentle smooth strokes coaxing a light train of moans to leave his lips. Each lithe sound causing an increasing tension to form between your legs.

“Ah.. i really wish you were here to help me with this..” He says to the camera, his voice light as he steadily increases his pace. “Fuck.”

He slides his fist from base to tip to base— and back again, low strained little whimpers following every stroke of his hardened cock sending a burning feeling of arousal to your core, little sparks of lightning dancing along the surface of your sodden clit. It’s only a matter of seconds before your hand reaches down to sooth your own aches, the onslaught of sounds desperately attracting one to the other like some burning magnet.

Sliding the pad of your finger along the soaking slit, building up your pace slowly, softly as you try to match the increasing intensity of his touch with your fingers upon your own wet cunt.

“Can you.. Mm.. Can you see how hard I am for you?” He groans as he suddenly stops to display the veiny painfully hard erection. He sits back lounging in his desk chair and it throbs and jerks impressively, engorged at the tip, almost pleading for release. Each involuntary jerk sends a flutter through your core and with a finger on your clit you pause, desperately wishing for him to continue so that you could also.

“I need.. ugh.. I need you- fuck.” He whimpers gingerly, smiling into the camera.

A dastardly scheme of course, but one you fall for every time. A click of the button with your free hand sends the swift notification across the screen notifying him of your donation as well as the donations of many many others, giving up your hard earned coins just for the man to continue stroking his hardon. It’s an awful cycle. But it's one you seemingly can’t stop. Audios, videos, they just didn’t cut it anymore, not in the same way.

Maybe it was the interactiveness, the control.

It was something magical about the way his cock twitches and how his veiny painted hands do something sinful about it while he whines and moans into the mic. You felt like you’d honestly sell your very soul just to see to it that the red rosy tip on your screen chases its unrelenting release every single time.

It allowed for you to do the same. And it felt so good, so damn good every single time.

Barely a minute and the flow of gifts had his fingers find firm fit around his shaft again, continuing the erotic train of degenerate touch. “Aah you always come through..” A chain of hitched sighs. “I Mm.. always know I can count on you.”

His pace only becomes faster and so does yours, his lovely voice, groans and ruts pulling you closer and closer to your peak as he chases his.

“Fuck i’m close.." He moans. "so so close.”

You can tell. The way his sweet lips part and quiver, wisping breath letting out those saccharine sounds.

The sticky head of his twitching cock ready to spill rich fluid.

It made your tongue swipe across your bottom lip in anticipation.

“Mm yeah.. I know you love this, you love.. ah.. you love watching this.” He releases a sequence of pitiful little haggard breaths. “You close? You about to c-cum? fuck.”

You sync every last stroke along your clit with his on his dick. Sharing every lewd moan and sigh, it’s just you and him in this dark little room.

A string of ineligible words fall from his sweet lips as he continues.

“Let’s cum together, ‘k-kay?”

You were getting there, a sheen of sweat forming across your damp forehead. You wanted to release, to come undone but not without him. You wanted.. no needed to hear him before you finished, it made the end all the more divine.

“Come on..” Your lips mutter softly under your breath. “Come on..”

“Oh God- oh fuck-”

He exclaims with a jerk of his hips before he comes undone with a final forceful tug, a delicious cry, thick milky spurts of cum wastefully flowing from the tip and pooling onto his thigh.

A dear part of you wishes you were actually there to put it to some good use.

Your brows pinch, nose scrunching as you let out a final moan. The good shivers running through you in great waves through your orgasm. You smile towards your screen, rush of honey swelling in your chest.

As you look down at your own mess, clear pearly liquid languishly dripping from the tips of your fingers you think.

Oh..

'this is becoming a bit of a problem, isn't it?’

*-*-*

Your teeth clink against cool glass as you promptly gulp down cold liquid, the crisp clear swill of the water that slips down your throat revitalises your body, clearing your mind.

A clear mind, god you needed that.

The glass is soon emptied and you rush to the sink for another one, you’re twisting the tap open when you hear the familiar footsteps of your roommate walk into the kitchen with a mumble.

You turn your head to find the man approaching you and you blank, panicking a little. It wasn't usually you found yourself face to face with the man you had just fucked yourself to a few minutes ago. It wasn't exactly the best scenario to find yourself in.

Fuck.

It was only a moment ago that Choso sent his goodbyes to the chat and it looks it with the light pink hue roaming the warm skin of his cheeks, the relaxed haze over his lazily lidded eyes. He looks so dazed.

Despite your dismay at his sudden appearance you can't help but appreciate the expression so honest on his face. The one thing about his streams was that you'd never witness the aftermath of those escapades, truly it was a shame.

He looks so fine after being fucked out.

Choso strolls into the kitchen with the cover of his usual cool look of indifference but you were very well aware of the many other expressions he was capable of making. From the nose down anyway. The sounds he was capable of making. It makes you have to stop from audibly swallowing as you hurriedly look away. You were going crazy.

Your breath catches when he comes ever closer, leaning towards you, dishevelled black mane of hair brushing forward as he does. You swallow. Do you look suspicious? Does he suspect anything?

You feel a rush of water overflowing from the forgotten glass, drip dropping along your fingers and into the kitchen sink, almost jumping as his arm reaches out— and passes you to reach the empty glass on the countertop behind you.

He narrows his eyes slightly at your flinching. “Something wrong?”

"No!" You exclaim immediately before realising you've overreacted a little.

You gave a false little cough before repeating the word. "No. I'm good." A little suave this time.

"Good?" He raises a brow.

"Yeah-yeah." You insist as you hurriedly turn off the tap. Taking your glass and swigging a sequence of urgent gulps. "Just a little jumpy today."

"Right.." Choso looks a little unsure but chooses not to press further as you cleared way for him to get to the sink.

As the water pours into his glass he suddenly remembers something and is about to say whatever that something is to you before you make like a magic trick and disappear into thin air, retreating immediately to your room before you can make a further fool of yourself.

Curling up into a ball upon your many blankets and hugging your favourite pillow underneath your chin you thrash around in your shame for a while before sighing and burying your head into the pillow.

God one day.

One day you really were gonna get caught.

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

A/N: First post here rawr👹 genuinely think i'm tweaking, hope y'all enjoyed it though ^^

Art drawn by @//Umbra3terna on tumblr & edited by me :33

[little-lynx]

EVERLARK OUTFITS: THE VICTORY TOUR

This part of “Catching Fire” is done (finally) so I put it all together;) DISTRICT 11, THE SQUARE

I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. <…> As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena to my dress. <…> I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. // Catching Fire, ch. 4

I think this dress should be a little semi-official so I choose cape sleeve sheath midi dress. It’s perfect for autumn (and they have early autumn weather there in 11th). The hair is just plain + gold hairband = girlish innocent look like the one after the games (this tactics they choose for the Tour). Plus I wanted to draw Katniss with her natural straight hair because i draw her with her braid usually ;) And again nothing about Peeta’s outfit. You know I feel like Portia 😅 because I have to choose how to dress Peeta. I’m not complaining through. So it is black suit with golden buttons (matching Katniss’s hairband and pin), thin soft orange sweater and black leather shoes.

DISTRICT 11, THE DINNER

A pale pink strapless dress brushes my shoes. My hair is pinned back from my face and falling down my back in a shower of ringlets. Cinna comes up behind me and arranges a shimmering silver wrap around my shoulders. He catches my eye in the mirror. “Like it?”  “It's beautiful. As always,” I say. “Let's see how it looks with a smile,” he says gently. // Catching Fire, ch.5

DISTRICT 7

Jackson has devised a game called «Real or Not Real» to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it’s true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation. <...> But since Peeta’s greatest confusion centers around me—and not everything can be explained simply—our exchanges are painful and loaded, even though we touch on only the most superficial of details. The color of my dress in 7. My preference for cheese buns. The name of our math teacher when we were little. Reconstructing his memory of me is excruciating. Perhaps it isn’t even possible after what Snow did to him. But it does feel right to help him try. // Mockingjay, ch. 19

So we have only one sentence in “Mockingjay” about this outfit. And still I decided to draw it because I have a theory (head canon?) about it. I think Peeta remembers the color of her dress because it was special night for him (a lot of kisses and attempts to sneak away from everyone and maybe it felt very real at times) and also because she had two braids and the dress was red. RED is the color ❤️. / Peeta has dark red + black + a little bit gold which is also sexy color combination.

DISTRICT 5 I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour.  <…> Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta’s suits that they altered— the clothes are striking. <…>  As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s.  // Mockingjay, ch. 16

Katniss: green silk dress + wavy sleeves + sea waves embroidery / Peeta: ivory dress shirt + knitted green waistcoat with sea waves embroidery + tweed suit

DISTRICT 2

Girl talk. That thing I've always been so bad at. Opinions on clothes, hair, makeup. So I lie. “Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet.” Velvet. The only fabric. I could think of off the top of my head. “I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back,” says Johanna. // Catching Fire, Chapter 15

This description gave me strong “Anastasia” feels 😅. So I loosely based Katniss dress on Anastasia’s ballet evening gown. For Peeta I chose tuxedo jacket similar to Salvatore Ferragamo design for FF 12/13.  Neo classic, purple velvet, shiny shoes. Also I decided to include a cane, both to help Peeta to have some rest during all this Tour activities and as an accessory.

DISTRICT 12

When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her. <…> She [Madge] saw my reflection behind her and smiled. “Look at you. Like you came right off the streets of the Capitol.” // Catching Fire, ch.6

When I started drawing this one I just felt that I need to make it look very “Capitol”. So I added some feathers. A LOT of sparkling feathers, haha. Also there are some “moon and stars” accessories in Katniss’ hair because this silver gown gives me moonlight vibes. For Peeta I came up with classic suit but made him wear it casually.

[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 3 Prompt: Lingerie 🎀 ~ 2,200 words you buy a pretty set of underwear to wear for Eddie. smut, 18+ only: p-in-v sex, spanking (brief), oral/fingering (fem!receiving), nipple play/tit sucking, praise, body worship.

Soft tissue paper crinkles beneath your fingertips as you gently remove each thin layer from the clean, white, department store gift box. 

You’re almost afraid to touch it; you’ve never owned anything so pretty and fragile-looking. Up until this point the fanciest underwear you’ve ever worn was a plain bra and panty set from K-Mart. 

But this? Whole ‘nother ball game. You imagine Eddie will be very pleased.

The bra is little more than delicately-constructed strips of fabric; creamy satin to line the underside of your breasts, dainty lace to adorn the top, in a display of completely false modesty, as there’s space enough between the two materials for the buds of your nipples to peek through. The waistband of the matching thong is frilled with gentle sprays of lace that will float over the curves of your hips, and there’s a tiny silk bow sewn into the fabric that will cover your mound. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that Eddie loves you in anything. That boy could look at you in snow pants and a parka and still succeed in getting a boner. But you felt the time was ripe for you to treat both yourself and him to something special. 

You’re aiming for soft, romantic — cherubic, even. Something Valentine’s Day appropriate. When you slip the set on for the first time, and eye yourself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror, you think you’ve definitely achieved that. It fits like a glove; you’ve never felt sexier. 

As if he somehow knew exactly what you were up to, Eddie taps on the closed door. “Sweetheart? Are you alright in there?” You don’t usually lock him out of the bedroom. 

“Yes,” you call back to him, heart jumping in anticipation. “Just give me one second.” 

Steeling yourself, you take a deep breath, cast one last approving glance in the mirror, and open the door for your boyfriend.

Eddie’s mouth, opened to greet you, suddenly snaps shut when he takes in the sight before him. His eyes are huge as he looks you up and down, greedily roaming over every square inch of your body. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”

He doesn’t even say anything — just lunges forward and crushes you to him, arms winding around you as tightly as they can go. His full lips press against yours in a searing, bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth and spit. He nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth, leaving you breathless, whiny, needy; he walks you backwards, until the backs of your legs hit the side of the bed, and you let yourself fall onto the plush covers.

Eddie covers your body with his own, warm weight adding a delightful pressure against your torso. Automatically your legs wrap around his trim waist, his denim-clad crotch creating delicious friction as it rubs against your own satin-covered core. 

He moves away from your mouth, peppering sloppy kisses over your chin and up your jaw, then all over your neck until he finds that little sweet spot that makes you keen. One fist tangles in his hair, and you give a gentle tug to the curly locks. Eddie moans into the hollow of your throat. 

With your lips now free, you manage, “Do you like it, then?”

Eddie’s head whips up, like he’s shocked you have to ask. “Hell yes. You look fucking gorgeous.”

Willing himself to gain some self-control, Eddie slows his pace. He peels himself away from you with reluctance, standing back up, and motions with his index finger for you to spin around. “Hands and knees, baby. Wanna see that pretty ass in the air.”

You scramble to the center of the bed on all fours. Once in position, Eddie runs his fingertips down your back, brushing lightly down your spine and back up again, making you shiver. Then he flattens his warm, calloused palms against your skin, rubbing in one smooth motion from your shoulders to your bottom, grasping each bare cheek in his hands and giving them a tight squeeze. “So pretty,” he croons, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to each one. “You’re my angel, you know that?”

You already feel flushed, dizzy, intoxicated by his praise and the feel of his hands, and the sensation of a single, curly tendril falling from over his shoulder and brushing against the back of your thigh. Eddie lets go of one cheek and runs a finger over the back piece of the frilly thong, toying lightly with the fabric nestled between your cheeks. You suck in a sharp breath as his finger dances along the crevice. 

“I like this,” he muses, then wallops a firm slap! against your ass. Nothing brutal — hard enough to bring the blood to the surface of the skin, warm and stinging, but not so hard that you’re writhing in pain.

It’s like giving you a kiss, really.

He spanks the other cheek and you let out a little yelp. Eddie rubs the skin soothingly, easing the pain away. Then he pulls the crotch of your panties aside, already warm and sticky with arousal. Mouth positively watering, the heady, pungent scent of your sex filling his nostrils, he leans in, and starts teasing you with little kitten-licks, cleaning away the soft wetness leaking out of your cunt. 

You moan wantonly, burying your face into the downy bed cover.

Eddie’s hands grasp at your hips, your ass, your thighs, anything that’ll keep him steady while he eats you out from behind like a man starved. His tongue picks up speed, alternating between broad stripes and precise, intricate patterns with the tip of his tongue, which dips inside of you, and after a few shallow thrusts, is replaced with a finger, then two. His mouth latches onto your clit, lips sealing around the sweet little bud, sucking gently while his thick fingers pump in and out of you, curling just so. 

“Tastes so fucking good,” he groans against the slick flesh, “my sweet girl.” He lavishes a series of rapid, sucking kisses against your clit, and you fall to pieces. 

“Eddie!”

Skin alight and tingly, panting heavily, you push recklessly back against Eddie’s face and he lets you do as you will, helping you ride out your orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, words muffled by your cunt, “cum for me.”

As you come back down, your bones feel soft and spongy; you’re drowning in oxytocin and dopamine, floating in that sweet, dreamy space that only Eddie can take you to. He moves the underwear back into place, and rearranges your pliant limbs so you’re no longer on your hands and knees, but lying comfortably on your back. He shimmies out of his clothes quickly, shucking off the black jeans and t-shirt in record time. When he pulls his boxers down, his cock springs free, red and weeping; he jerks himself with a few quick tugs. You moisten your lips involuntarily at the sight, and move to sit up, eyes locked onto his heavy balls and girthy shaft. 

But Eddie has other plans. “You can suck me off later, if you want to, princess.” He grins salaciously. “But right now I need to be inside you.”

He climbs on the bed, crawling between your legs, and turns his focus to your breasts. He lavishes the same attention on your tits as he did your ass, fondling them in the soft, barely-there cups, swiping his thumbs into the space where your nipples are exposed, pinching lightly, rolling them between his fingers.

The bra comes off, and he doesn’t hesitate to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. When he’s finished with one, he kisses his way across your chest to the other. “Love these tits so much,” he mumbles into the swell of your breast before sucking the next one into his mouth, making sure he shows it the amount of same love. He looks up at you with big puppy eyes, and your fingers weave securely into his hair while he sucks. 

Releasing your breast with a wet, almost-comical pop, he straightens back up and pinches the waistband of your panties between two fingers. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulls them down, baring you completely. Cool air hits your sticky, aching middle, and your legs tremble in anticipation. 

The curls on your pubic mound have gone soft, dampened with sweat and arousal; he strokes them with loving fingers before continuing to pull the underwear down your thighs, past your knees and calves, until they’re completely off. He bites his full bottom lip, eyeing your cunt. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he promises you. Then he brings the panties up to his nose and sniffs delicately.

You squeal and kick at him playfully with one foot. He catches your ankle and snickers, pressing a quick kiss to your heel. “What? I like how you smell. I like how you taste, how you sound, how you look…” he trails off, staring at your body beneath him with lovestruck eyes. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He runs his hands down your sides in admiration, feeling every curve and crevice and dimple and bump, and loving all of them. 

“So are you.”

He reaches out to cup your face with one hand. You lay your own hand on top of his and sigh, hoping you can feel this way with him forever. 

Eddie twines his fingers through yours, and presses your interlocked hands into the mattress beside your head. He lays over top of you, settling in slowly, all franticness from earlier gone. He rubs his body against yours, capturing  your lips in a sweet kiss, savoring the feeling, both of you letting out soft moans at the sensation of his hard cock slipping against your wet folds. 

He tucks his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Y’ready, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please…”

“Good girl. So polite.” Eddie lines himself up and slips inside of you, pushing in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his length. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, breathing heavily into the skin. When you moan, and clutch at his shoulders, he understands that you’re giving him permission to speed up. His hips start to rock into yours a little bit faster, a little bit harder.

You move in tandem. The bed creaks. The two of you are a mere tangle of limbs; holding each other this close, it’s impossible to tell where your body ends and Eddie’s begins. 

You whimper at the feeling of his thick cock pumping in and out of you, stretching you out in an exhilarating mix of pleasure-almost-pain.  “Tha’s it, baby, let me hear you. Wanna hear all your pretty noises,” Eddie says, voice ragged. “Let me know how good it feels.”

“Feels so good, Eddie,” you tell him brokenly, thoroughly fucked-out. “Feels so big.”

At that, his thrusts become sloppier. “Yeah? My cock makin’ you all nice and full?” He snakes a hand down to your clit, rubbing it with his thumb. He knew the second he saw you in that getup he wasn’t gonna last long — honestly, he’s surprised he made it this far with blowing his load. 

With the added stimulation over your sensitive bud, you’re nearly there. The scent of sex, spiced body wash, and tobacco invade your senses, so all you can think of is Eddie. The muscles of your abdomen tighten, the walls of your cunt clenching around Eddie’s cock — you’re teetering on the precipice of climax. Eddie wants it like nothing he’s ever wanted before. 

His lips at your ear. “Give me one more sweetheart you’re so close I can feel it —”

A second orgasm overtakes you, pleasure bolting from your core in every direction. You cry out, biting into his shoulder, nails digging crescent-moons into his back. He holds you tightly and works you through it, concentrating on your release, though his own is right on its heels.

It’s too much. “Kiss me,” he begs, and then, not waiting for an answer, desperately seals his mouth to yours, so urgently that it’s merely a collision of lips and noses. Equally drunk on you as you are on him, amidst the aftershocks of your own pleasure, Eddie finally lets himself go. The taut rubber band inside of him finally snaps — he cums as deep inside of you as he can with a guttural groan, curling his body around yours, hips stuttering an uneven rhythm. 

The rush fades slowly, and Eddie slumps against you, pulling his cock out when it eventually softens, which wrenches another sigh from you. You both lie there together and pant, waiting for your heart rates to slow. Eddie’s warm seed starts to trickle out, adding to the wet mess between your legs.

Eddie dots a few hazy kisses to your neck, and you push the sweaty hair back from his perfect face.

With some effort, he lifts his head up, and his eyes find yours. He shoots you an exhausted grin. “You’re too good, baby. How’d I get so lucky?”

You laugh, knowing he did most of the work. “I could ask you the same thing.”

His smile softens, becoming a besotted, giddy thing. He takes your face in between his two hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he pecks at your lips, “so fucking much.”

“I love you too, Eddie.”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

[viciousewe]

Hmmm. thinking about overshot….

[super-clearlysaltybouquet]

The One With the Blouse (1/2)

Part 1/2

Wolfstar x reader      Sirius Black x reader      Remus Lupin x reader      Sirius Black x Remus Lupin      Sirius Black x reader x Remus Lupin 

Established couple (throuple)

Summary: Reader cares about how people see her, tensions boil over when the group get ready for a Gryffindor party

Warnings:

Angst (argument)

Hurt (and minimal comfort…)

Lots of insecurity, feeling disposable in a relationship

my first fic ever so please be kind…will potentially write a part 2 if people like this one (feedback is welcomed)

word count: 1.8k

Sirius looks so pretty in his white blouse. The silk brings out his dark hair perfectly, and the fabrics warm undertones complimented his pale skin. “Is all the fuss really necessary?” Sirius asked, bothering with the bow neckline of the blouse.

“You want to look good, don’t you?” You respond stiffly, tying, and re-tying the bow, unsatisfied with how it sits around his neck. 

“You forgot to Iron it.”, you say, Tying, untying, re-tying. Completely zeroed in.

“Does it really matter?” Sirius responds, completely exasperated.

Remus watches on from the armchair by his bed. It’s standard routine at this point. Before every common room party, Remus is ready by dinner - always a plain top and trousers, today a white T-shirt with blue jeans. “Very James Dean”, Sirius had said. He's been sitting there entirely patient on the same armchair for the past two hours, reading only half attentively as you and Sirius get ready.

“Sweetheart, the bow is fine”, Remus advises gently. He’s not in a rush, but he can tell that as much as you usually enjoy it, today the up-doing process is stressing you out. 

“No..no, not yet”, you respond absentmindedly, still fixated on Sirius’s blouse. 

Tying, untying, re-tying the bow. Sirius huffs out a humourless laugh and takes a quick step back turning completely away from you. Your hands are still held up, frozen where his neck would be. Your eyebrows furrow, and Remus looks up from his book.

“It’s the same every bloody time!”, Sirius suddenly cries out, you’re completely taken aback. 

“Sirius”, Remus warns.

“Godric, Forgive me! I didn’t iron my fucking blouse!”, he feigns, “You’re suffocated me” he finishes, coldly, glaring daggers straight through you. He’s still so beautiful, with his ebony hair hanging long and dark over his face, but the pit in your stomach is somehow darker. 

Remus is stood to his full height now, book abandoned. “You’re out of line”, his anger still somehow contained. And Sirius has the gall to let out a laugh. The party in the common room seems to have started. You can hear music and laughing below the bluestone floors. You try and divert your focus to that lively sound and take it off the painful bob in your throat. 

“I’m out of line? You’re kidding Moony”, Sirius laughs. his lack of sincerity is incredibly unnerving. “The bitch is vapid”, and your heart nearly stops, you can feel the sick climbing up your throat. Remus is seething, but you’re not sure he knows exactly what to say anyway. 

“What?”, is all you can muster hopelessly. 

Sirius takes a step towards you, and you all seem to move at once. You take one step back at the same time Remus steps between you and the shorter boy.

“Cut it out Sirius”, Remus warns, towering above the both of you with his height, and his domineering demeanour. But Sirius is undeterred.

“You. are. entirely. vapid”, he repeats, now looking over at you past Remus’s shoulder. “you’re just like my mother” he whispers to himself, like some sort of secret revelation, and you just want it all to end. “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” he seethes, before turning back away from you again, taking in a slow deep breath. You think you can hear his heart beating nearly just as quick as yours.

Sirius’s accusation sits inside you. You can’t deny that you do like nice things. Your jewellery was all made custom, you shopped at the best boutiques on Diagon Alley, and you kept up appearances. 

Your parents have always been devastatingly high-achieving. You were no stranger to the odd charity gala, or pureblood ball. So, for you that meant endless expectations to live up to. Making sure clothes were ironed, hair was done right and shoes were all polished was just second nature. You pay attention to these things because you have to. Your label as a “washed-up-witch” in Witch Weekly’s coverage of the Macmillan ball in 72 serves as a reminder. Filtered through pre-teen public humiliation, these things stick. As deflated as you felt regarding Sirius’s outburst, you could feel an equal anger bubbling just below the surface. 

“You did not just compare me to your draconian fanatic of a mother”, is the first thing that leaves your lips. Your eyes are wide, and that anger is bubbling over. Yet, your voice is so level that you think you just might have the upper hand. You can tell that Sirius was expecting you to respond with equal fervour, he wanted a fight, and your composure has caught him off guard. You think for a second, maybe he didn’t even mean to hurt you. 

Remus would back you up if you needed him to, but he knows you really don’t need him to. You’d like to say your piece, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze in support.

“Just because you can afford to reject tradition and expectation doesn’t mean we all have that luxury” you seethe.

Sirius has always had the reputation of a Black Sheep, but it made him shine nevertheless. Every act of rebellion on his part was praised and admired by your peers. But as a woman in the 70s, and the only child in a pureblood family - you were often subject to incomparable scrutiny.

“Maybe I’m too much sometimes” your voice breaks, and the tears have started to flow of their own accord now. Rushing like silent broken faucets, or shower heads. Sirius’s eyes flash with regret. You look up at the ceiling to blink them back, and Remus gives your hand another squeeze, silently shaking his head and biting his tongue. He’s glaring at Sirius with a healthy mixture of disappointment, and something akin to fury.

“I can’t help but care about how I look”, you whisper to no one in particular, “This is usually fun, getting dressed up together”, and Sirius looks completely in despair. That almost cocky, goading aura that surrounded him has been evaporated by your undeniable heartbreak. He’s fidgeting with the hem of the blouse now, and his fingers move hesitantly up to his neckline, where your hands sat only moments ago. He’s palming at the skin there, as it slowly turns pink from the pressure.

“I’m only fussy because I care, Sirius”, you say wavering, lip quivering as your crying takes both your eyes, and your voice. He can’t look you in the eye.

The subtext isn’t missed by either of the boys, you care because you love them. You enjoy dressing them up because you want them to look good and enjoy themselves. To protect them from any anxiety associated with landing on a worst dressed list, even informally among the Gryffindor party-goers three flood below.

You look down at your disco boots, perfect stockings and shift dress. It all feels so silly now, wearing the outfit you picked out three days in advance. You want to crawl out of your skin, and you really don’t feel like dancing. Sirius is still palming at his collarbones, staring with dazed and shallow eyes at his feet and the floor below them. You can’t see his face properly behind his hair, but you know him well enough to think he might be crying too. “I hope you’re proud of yourself Black” Remus chimes in, and you wince at the use of that last name. Remus’s hand rubs small circles around the back of your neck, you can't help but want his hot skin off you.

“I-I didn’t-”, Sirius starts, but you walk from the room with Remus quick at your heels before he can finish. 

The stairway down to the common room is empty, with the party building up below. It’s just you and Remus standing still on the stairs. “You know he didn’t mean that”, Remus says kindly, more for your sake than Sirius’s. He’s brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, and gently pushing the hair back from around your face. “He gets like this when he’s stressed, it’s not your fault”, he reassures, kissing the top of your head. 

“I stressed him, I should have just let him be”, you whisper, and Remus is silent. This is the first big fight you've had as a couple. You’re a slightly more recent addition to their pairing. Quips and little disagreements have never been an issue. Even when you were all just friends these things were always resolved in a matter of minutes - or a few hours at most, but this is the first time a spat has ended in tears. 

You wonder if this was a mistake. You hope to Godric that Remus isn’t thinking it too. “I think I’ll go to bed”, you say finally, and you can feel him frown. 

“But you were so excited for tonight” he says sadly, more of an acknowledgment, you know he doesn’t mean to change your mind. You’re all hardly in the mood for a party.

“Maybe you and Sirius can still have some fun”, and you hope it doesn’t come across as bitter, but Remus’s solemn expression suggests otherwise, he lets it go.

“I’ll talk to him”, Remus assures, as he molds his body around yours in a much-needed embrace. Having him so close stirs a vulnerability within you, and you’re sure that if you could see his face, you wouldn't have the courage to open your mouth. 

“Maybe we were wrong”, you whisper into his chest, scared. 

Remus is burning 20 degrees hotter.

“What makes you say that?”, he responds measured, but the unease in his voice is palpable. He’s pulled back to look at your face now, and you fidget under his gaze. You give him a look to say without words, ‘are you kidding?’.

“But you know we love you”, Remus says desperately, more of a question than a statement, gripping the sides of your head firmly, so as to say, ‘please believe me’. You just shake your head between his hands. “You heard him, didn’t you?”, you start, “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” you quote, and Remus cringes. 

“I’ll talk to him”, he repeats.

“No, no its okay, I’m going to bed”, you say, almost completely defeated by the tidal wave of self-doubt flooding through you.

“Dove-”

“How about you talk to him, and you two can decide what we do from here”, Remus looks heartbroken at the implication.

“Surely you don’t think we don’t want to see you anymore?”, There seems to be something sparkly welling in his eyes too, Godric, what a horrible evening.

You’re so in your head you hardly register Remus’s question. When he goes to pull you close again you take a small step back, your fingers still interlinked. The moonlight shines in through the stained glass, and the sparkle of salt in Remus’s eyes begins to fall. You can hear Diana Ross’s smooth voice echoing off the stone from downstairs, tonight could have gone so differently. You can’t help but feel you’ve caused all this. Whatever animosity Sirius seems to have been harbouring towards you, you’re sure it lives inside Remus too, even if you can’t see it yet. You turn around before you have the chance to look back.

“I’m going to bed”.

[suvetah000]

Is organic cotton the future of sustainable development?

With the increase in climate change and global warming, each step taken by us matters, be it even by transforming our cotton closet into an organic cotton closet.

We are living in a time, where each step will either lead to an immense increase in global warming or will lead to the protection of Mother Earth. So why not make our actions count and take a step by protecting our nature by switching to organic clothing?!

As we know, the fashion industry is one of the largest industries of today, in which cotton textiles lead the line together with cotton manufacturing setting them as the highest-ranked in the fashion industry. These pieces of regular cotton constructed into garments lead to 88% more wastage of water from our resources.

Whereas Organic Cotton which has been made from natural seeds and handpicked to maintain the purity of fibers; uses 1,982 fewer gallons of water compared to regular cotton.

Gallons of water used by:

Regular cotton: 2168 gallons

Organic Cotton: 186 gallons

Due to the increase in market size of the fashion industry every year along with the cotton industry; regular cotton is handpicked by workers to keep up with the increase in demand for regular cotton and because these crops are handpicked it leads to various damages and crises such as:

Damage of fibers: As regular cotton is grown as mono-crop it destroys the soil quality, which exceeds the damage when handpicked by the farmers, leading to the destruction of fibers because of the speed and time limit ordered.

Damage to crops: Regular cotton leads to damage to crops when it is handpicked, as not much attention is paid while plucking it in bulk, due to which all the effort, time, and resources used to cultivate the crops drain out to zero.

Water wastage: The amount of clean water being depleted to produce regular cotton is extreme which might lead to a water crisis. The Clean water when used for manufacturing turns into toxic water that is disposed into freshwater bodies, causing a hazardous impact on the people deprived of this natural resource.

Wastage of resources: When all the above-mentioned factors are ignored by the manufacturers and the farmers, it directly leads to the waste of resources, as the number of resources used to produce regular cotton is way high in number when compared to the results in the end.

Regular cotton along with these damages also demands to use of chemical dyes for their further process, which is not only harmful to our bodies but is also very dangerous to the workers exposed to it, as these chemicals lead to many health problems like earring aids, lunch cancer, skin cancer, eczema and many more, other than that people can also lose their lives when exposed to these chemicals for long other than people can also lose their lives when exposed to these chemicals for long.

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures

18+ 3.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 1/4. AO3 link. CH 2 CH 3

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions.

He never expected you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

It’s Thursday, which means Homelander is currently bored to tears less than ten minutes into Vought’s weekly digital marketing meeting. These monotonous discussions of percentages and trending graphics gradually begin to feel like a drill pushing slowly into each of his ears, but they’re a necessary evil if he wants to have input when it comes to his image.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. The tapping pauses, however, at the appearance of a new presenter.

You.

You’re a far cry from the dime a dozen jackass in a suit that had been presenting before you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before, which means you’re new. His gaze drifts from your round face to the sensible cut of your blouse, the garment buttoned nearly to your throat. Anything less would be considered lewd given the size of your breasts. He wets his lips absently, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter.

He’s completely lost track of what you’re talking about in favor of watching the way your hips sway each time you walk from one end of the board to the other, tactfully engaging each observer. You have a resonant voice, commanding attention without sounding harsh. With a rack like that, you must have to fight to have a word you say heard by anyone with even a passing interest in a good pair of tits.

Not that the cheap fabric of your bra is doing them any favors. Silk would be better. He’s always liked the shine of it. Softer, too. It wouldn’t scrape against your shirt the way he can hear that cotton blend you’re wearing is doing. 

Curious, he focuses his vision to peer through your blouse. Your undergarments are plain and sensible. Boring. Still, it elicits a distinct pang between his legs. His mouth waters slightly. Even from where he is, he can smell you, fresh and clean, slightly sweet smelling–like vanilla. Your clothes may be pedestrian but at least your perfume is nice.

Letting his gaze slide lower, he admires how the curves of your body flow into one another. He can tell just by looking at you how soft you would feel against him, under him. How good you would feel to grip and hold in place, sink into and lose himself in. Your voice has a soothing quality to it that lets him easily imagine you’re breathlessly singing his praises instead of rattling off bullet points in a presentation.

Fuck, he’s getting hard, his cock throbbing lightly against the cup of his suit. It’s the only thing that allows him to fantasize as freely as he does. The best part of it is that he’s fairly certain he can sense something warm and wet throbbing between your thick thighs.

He suspects he’s not the only one fantasizing.

The room is quiet for a second too long, and Homelander abruptly tunes back in to realize you’re staring directly at him, expectancy in your gaze. He pulls a blank, realizing he hasn’t processed anything you’ve said. “Say again?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in your eyes before you tightly school your expression back into polite professionalism. His lips slowly split into a devious smile that he consciously fine-tunes to be more neutral. How close you came to some sort of heated response was kind of… cute. It makes him want to give your proverbial pigtails another tug just to see what else he can evoke.

The thought of pulling your hair is good. The thought of you pulling his hair is better, though.

“I asked if you have any feedback for our campaign leading up to the premiere,” you say, though Homelander finds himself more interested in the flash of your tongue he gets as you run it along your teeth afterwards. Your temperature is up a notch, too. You must not be used to such direct attention from someone like him.

“Nope,” he says glibly, turning on one of his patented knock-out smiles. “Looks good to me.” At that, he pointedly looks you up and down, meeting your gaze with a quick wink. 

Judging by the slight tic at the corner of your mouth, you aren’t charmed by his response. Still, he waits in preemptive satisfaction for you to appease him by returning his smile.

You don’t.

Instead, you say nothing more than a terse “Wonderful,” the singular word barely passing for civil, let alone professional. You move on, and Homelander finds himself taken aback. You don’t meet his eye for the remainder of the presentation, and while that gives him plenty of opportunity to ogle you, it bothers him.

Towards the end of your time, he clears his throat. Everyone looks at him.

Everyone but you.

“Thanks so much for your time,” you say to the committee, smiling, finishing your piece with a small incline of your head. You go sit, and there’s a slightly awkward pause before the next presenter takes center stage.

Homelander sits in stunned silence. The idea that you, some fresh faced nobody, think you’re in any position to blow him off is laughable at best. Who cares if he didn’t pay attention to your little presentation? That’s not his job. You’re lucky he’s even here, lucky that someone like him would think to give you time out of his day.

By the time the meeting concludes, you haven’t spared him so much as a glance. Indignation builds hotly in his chest. He’s had more than enough of being snubbed lately. He’s not going to tolerate it from the likes of you.

You should be on your hands and knees begging for his attention.

He watches a handful of your peers congratulate you on your first presentation, though plenty of others cast him wary glances and decide not to approach you. They know better. They know who’s really in charge around here. Naturally, they all skitter away like roaches when he strides towards you.

“Not bad for your first presentation,” he tells you, his smile toned down into a thin, lopsided smirk.

You look around yourself, no doubt taking note of how the other little insects around you have scattered. Maybe now you’ll realize your mistake.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, your body angled slightly away from him, as if you’re ready to bolt at any second.

“Got a lot on my mind, though, so I don’t think I absorbed as much as I could have,” he says, laying on that boyish charm a little thicker than usual. “Would really appreciate it if you could stick around and run that by me one more time.”

Your gaze flickers away from him–he wishes you would stop doing that–to the others who’re filtering out of the room, slowly leaving the two of you behind. “As I said during the presentation, all the documents will be available online,” you say, finally looking back at him. You actually have the audacity to look annoyed that he’s talking to you.

“I don’t have a computer,” he replies, his own voice beginning to flatten.

“I’m sure someone in IT can help you with that,” you say, undeterred by his attempts to corner you. 

His smile tightens minutely. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

Your heart jumps. He finds satisfaction in that, at least.

“No, sir,” you say sharply, a barely discernible hitch in your voice. “What I have are deadlines. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to meet them.” With that, you manage to squeeze by him. Despite the steady confident tap of your shoes against the floor, your heart races rabbit-like in his ears.

He contemplates you as you go, momentarily stupefied by your flagrant disregard for him. You weren’t entirely unaffected by his presence, though. If you’d had less of an avenue for escape, would you have been so flippant? He continues to focus on the beat of your heart as your steps carry you further from him. It doesn’t slow. You’re still full of adrenaline, the scent of it lingering alongside your perfume. He inhales a slow, deep breath, the leather of his gloves creaking as he curls and uncurls his fist.

Homelander finds himself wondering what your agenda is, what makes you so desperate to break from the norm and catch his attention. It’s clear to him that’s what you want. Why else would you be so stubborn where anyone else would yield? He scoffs to himself. 

God, it’s so obvious in hindsight.

He has no doubt that your brazen attitude would shatter if he pressed in closer, if you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. He could part your soft thighs and paint the face of God on the ceiling above you with his tongue inside you. You couldn’t dismiss him so easily then, could you?

You’re so determined to be noticed that it’s almost pathetic. He shouldn’t reward this kind of behavior, and yet he feels strangely inclined to commend it. What you’ve done is brave in a way. Insolence and sycophants he can’t abide, but a touch of bravery? Well… That can be rewarded.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you make a beeline for your office. You can feel a terrible burn crawling up your chest and into your cheeks, the reality of what just happened finally allowed to sink in. You had spent all morning preparing yourself for presenting your work in front of not only your new peers at Vought, but in front of the world’s most prolific superhero. You were solid, you were ready.

Until you felt the gravity of his gaze on you. The weight of it made you stutter where you shouldn’t have, lose your train of thought mid-sentence. Every time you dared to look at him, he was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole. Never have you felt more acutely aware of yourself than you did beneath his stare, feeling the way he was picking you apart as keenly as you would feel his hands undressing you.

It left you as furious as you are flustered.

That arrogant bastard!

You close the door behind you with a rough breath, closing your eyes. You can’t even sit, you have to pace your office instead, shaking your hands out as you walk. You know you weren’t imagining it. He confirmed as much for you when it took a solid eight seconds of silence for him to tear his gaze up from your chest, smiling as wickedly as any devil and caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

You couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was humiliating to be reduced so thoroughly and obviously in front of your peers. Worst of all, he seemed damn pleased by it. 

Though that isn’t the only reason your heart is still racing. You’re not quite ready to address that yet. You’re fairly certain if you’d been forced to speak to him any more than you had, you would have said something that would cause you to lose your job. You just need space to breathe, to collect yourself, to–

There’s a brisk knock at your door. Great. What now?

“Just a m–” You’re stopped dead in your tracks by a familiar flash of red, white and blue as Homelander lets himself into your office, closing the door securely behind him. 

“Howdy,” he greets. He looks cartoonishly wide and brightly colored against the neutral colors of your office, even more larger than life than he’d seemed in the conference room. He has a smile that looks like it belongs in the mouth of a shark about to take a bite of you. It sets you off kilter completely–not that you’d been much on it to begin with.

You gawk a moment before managing to close your mouth. “Homelander,” you say, your voice curt in your own ears. You have no idea how to address him, still frazzled from not only the presentation, but your interaction that followed it. You should ask him what he needs. 

“What’re you doing here?” That came out ruder than you meant it to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Still, you’re trying to keep this job.

“Are you always this pleasant?” He asks, cocking his head slightly as he comes to a stop in front of you, his arms held behind his back beneath his swaying cape. “Or did I catch you on a bad day?”

Is he serious?

“Your conduct today was inappropriate,” you say flatly, settling your hands on your hips.

Homelander scoffs lightly. “Oh, relax. You gonna ‘#Metoo’ me over a wink? Christ, you’re done up tighter than that blouse of yours,” he says, his gaze dipping. A chill rolls up your spine as you watch his tongue roll along his teeth. He’s like an animal anticipating a meal.

Your jaw drops, cold shock settling in your gut alongside that blistering heat. Of all the things you had prepared yourself for before coming to Vought, Homelander being a misogynistic sex-pest hadn’t been on your list.

Well. Not the sex-pest part, anyways.

You point to your office door. “Get out.”

He blinks, zero comprehension in those deceptively charming baby blues. His smile turns incredulous. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what’s happening here,” he says, his tone taking on a precarious edge. He lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “You know, most people in your position would be begging for my attention.”

There it is.

You suck a noise through your teeth, nodding slowly. "Oh, I understand exactly what’s happening here,” you say, shifting your weight like you’re winding up for a pitch. “I know you think you're special because you're famous, or a supe, or both. I know you think I should be grateful that you’d even look at someone like me, but you’re not special, and I’m not grateful. The reality of the matter is I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick–and I can get it without being humiliated at my job.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Homelander looks stupefied, but you decide that you’re not done.

“You're not blessing me by making entitled passes and crude remarks while I'm trying to work. You’re being a nuisance,” you say, your heart beating in your throat. “So please, would you kindly leave?” You ask, voice firm despite the friendlier nature of your phrasing.

Finally, Homelander is the one left gawking. He looks like a fish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing, but it’s the dismissive, aborted little scoffs he makes in between that really sell his wounded bewilderment. You can see tension lurking just beneath the surface, an anger that skulks in the creak of his leather gloves.

Fear begins to creep up the back of your throat, burning like bile, but you hold steady as he seems to be deciding what he’s going to do with you. The longer the quiet stretches on, your focus entirely on the subtle spasms in his expression, the more sweat begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You refuse to fill the space, you refuse to back down.

For all his power, he’s still just a man.

Eventually, he swallows. “Okie-dokie,” he says, his tone unlike anything you expected. He sounds confused–a little dazed, even. He walks to the door, and after one hesitant look back at you, he leaves.

The door closes with a soft click that still makes you flinch, the sound of it loud in the silence of the room. You blink several times, the abruptness of his departure making the whole encounter feel like some sort of fever dream. 

What the fuck just happened?

You’re not special.

The impact of those words struck Homelander’s ears like a loud, painful ringing that follows him as he walks out of your office. He feels off balance, each step leaning slightly to the right.

It’s a ludicrous statement. Objectively wrong. Who in the fucking world could be more special than him? He’s a literal god, and you’re no one. A faceless, nameless cog in Vought’s mechanism that hoists him to the top of it all. That’s your job. To elevate him. Worship him.

Instead you spoke to him as if he were nothing. He could have cut you down where you stood for that. He could have put your head through your office window, snapped your neck, held your skull and burned your eyes out of–

He shakes his head sharply, swaying. He all but stumbles into the bathroom, surprising one of the worker drones washing their hands. “Get out,” Homelander says gruffly.

“Uh, sir–”

“Get the fuck out!” He snaps, startling the man so badly he immediately rushes off, fumbling with the door on his way out. Homelander slams it shut and lets out a ragged breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, then his temples as he paces the bathroom. His reflection taunts him from his peripheral vision.

He hasn’t been able to look himself in the eye since he snapped his Doppelganger’s neck while he knelt before him.

That’s what he wants from you, isn’t it? Mindless desperate praise and worship. Why, then, does the thought od it make his stomach churn so violently he can taste the burn of bile? He tugs compulsively at his suit collar, the press of it against his skin uncharacteristically hot and itchy.

“I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick.”

He shamefully palms himself through his suit, confusingly hard amidst a swirling turbulence of contradicting thoughts and feelings. He could be good for you, too, if you’d fucking let him. He knows he could make you crumble, take apart that carefully constructed demeanor of professionalism and make you see him for what he is. He can prove himself to you. He will prove that you’re wrong about him, and then you’ll show him the love respect he deserves.

Hurriedly, he unzips his pants. His eyelashes flutter as he shoves his hand into them, roughly grabbing hold of his cock. He braces his forearm against the bathroom door and lets his head drop forward, watching his crimson glove pump the leaking head of his dick. His mind bounces between scenarios. He imagines himself in your place, fully on display for you to ogle. He imagines you’re watching him even now, staring him down with that unaffected look of indifference, of irritation, of disgust.

He bites back a whine, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to imagine his face buried in your soft tits while he fucks the plush space between your thighs, but he knows you won’t let him. Not right away. You’d make him earn it, wouldn’t you? You’d make him watch you please yourself before he ever got so much as a taste.

The glassiness in his eyes begins to sizzle, the moisture burning away as crimson light flares up in them. Would you laugh if you could see him now, or would you scold him for touching himself without your permission?

Homelander comes hard, tipping his head back with a loud moan as he paints the bathroom door with ribbon after ribbon of come. He barely manages not to blow a hole through the ceiling, the light of his eyes flaring and softening in time with each euphoric wave of release. He pants through it, head falling forward and thunking lightly against the door, resting there while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he exhales eventually, sighing. He wipes his hand on the wall and then carefully tucks himself back into his pants, his mind swirling hazily on the best high he’s had since…

Clearing his throat, he puts himself back together before leaving the bathroom. Clearly, the thing that he’s been missing is a challenge. 

Luckily for him, you’ve kindly volunteered yourself.

( chapter two )

[fabricdekho123]

Plain Cotton Fabric

[silkval]

♟】 the mahogany series- part Ⅴ

thinkin about how your pretty little genshin boys act under your desk...

★fujoshis, wlm and minors please fuck off- you will be blocked★

♢》 whether they were quickly hurried under your desk to hide them from the person who was knocking at your door, oh-so-rudely interrupting the two of you, or the pretty thing crawled under in desperate want of your attention...

kabukimono is such a darling- your darling. the poor thing is so skittish and still a little clueless about, well... everything. akin to a lost kitten; how he always whines your name when unsure, trailing after you any time he can with a pale hand bunched in the fabric of your clothes- clingy, clingy, clingy.

and it wasn't like today was to be any different; knowing how insistent kabuki was on keeping a routine- with you in every step, of course- which was how you were brought to your current dilemma.

...a very upset, watery-eyed kabukimono perched on your lap.

"come on, 'buki"

you warned gently, yet holding a slight lilt of exasperation as you eyed the poor thing, lingering on the crystalline tears beading at his gorgeous violet eyes, threatening to spill over the pinked skin of his porcelain cheeks as he stared up at you. those rosy, pliant lips turned into a wobbly pout, yet his only reply to your quiet words was a little whine.

what was the issue, exactly?

you had a rather important guest coming to visit, and your poor little puppet, being the needy thing he is, was refusing to leave the room.

a little mess of whines and whimpers, grumpy pouts and stubborn stares- that's what he was, on your very lap.

"don't wanna,"

he mumbled, pretty voice laced with a trembly whine, his supple hands tangled tightly in the sleek silk of your shirt, joints reddened by his adamant grip as a single, glistening tear dropped down his face- before the smaller male promptly buried himself against the crook of your shoulder with a quiet sniffle.

archons, how could you say no? the poor boy was just a little lonely- surely a little company wouldn't be much of a disturbance?

and with that, you ended up with a happy little kabuki settled neatly under your desk, slotted perfectly between your legs with a dumb, little smile tugged at his plump lips- content with not having to be away from you, even if it would only be for a mere few minutes or so.

oh, but you?

you were wrong.

...he was certainly more than just a 'little' disturbance.

you see the poor, clueless puppet had a small habit of tugging at your clothes- whether it was in want of your coat in a cold winter's day, or some skin-on-skin contact that he seemed to value so dearly; while it was an odd thing, it wasn't uncommon, so you had grown used to it.

...except, at your feet, the only item of clothing he could reach-

...was your trousers.

as much as you tried to ignore it as you chatted with the visitor, it was a little... difficult, as you felt the smaller boy rest his head against the inside of your thigh with a silent huff, content in your presence yet in want of your attention as his pretty little hands made their way up your thighs, grasping at the rich fabric of your pants with small, needy grabs and pulls, eventually making their way up to your belt, which proved... quite the startle to you.

...even more so, when you felt the cool leather give way, loosening over your swollen cock as a deep grunt escaped from the back of your throat despite your futile attempt at muffling such noise. but oh, how hard it was not to just grab hold of your darlings pretty violet locks and shove him down onto your dick when his little fingers trailed over the gentle plains of your stomach, feather-light touches grazing over your happy trail-

...and that was it. with the snap of your fingers, the visitor was gone- hurriedly ushered out of the room just before you let out a deep, breathy groan, all but swooping the sweet thing back onto your lap in an instant.

kabuki could only let out a little gasp at the movement, yet made no complaints at his position back in your lap, a mischievous little giggle slipping from his glossy lips as his eyes met yours, not completely sure what it was you were so riled up about- until, that is, when the rough pads of your fingertips idly grazed against his inner thighs, drawing out a rather lewd, strangled whimper.

oh, he didn't even know he could make these sounds- but there was only one thing in his mind right now; you.

"sweetheart, what did I tell you about touching me there, huh? clearly, that didn't get through your dumb little heat- so, let me give you a little... demonstration, hm?"