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chososcamgirl · 2 days

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(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER SIX: she’s my collar

masterlist

i made a playlist for this specific chapter! check it out

cw - very suggestive, mentions of alcohol/club scene, mature themes !

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Nobara muttered as she emerged from the sleek black Mercedes, the sharp click of her heels echoing on the pavement. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to fend off the biting chill that cut through the night air.

You pulled your faux cheetah-print coat tightly around herself, desperately seeking any warmth to stave off the biting cold. The regret of wearing a mini skirt settled heavily in your chest as the chill seeped through the fabric.

A biting breeze swept through the group as they piled out of the car, their breath visible in the crisp air. They made their way toward the building illuminated in vibrant LED lights, the name "Aphrodite" glowing in an elegant script above the entrance.

Your gaze fell on the line, a serpentine stretch of eager faces winding around the block and bending around a corner. “The line is so fucking long, bro,” you groaned, frustration lacing your voice.

“Don’t worry,” Panda replied absently, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, fingers tapping away with a rapid rhythm.

Maki arched an eyebrow, her attention shifting to Panda. “Yuta is here too,” she said, a teasing note in her tone.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if that meant anything significant, but your question was abruptly cut off by a loud, boisterous shout.

“BRO!” a familiar voice rang out, echoing through the night. A white-haired boy emerged from the shadows, his vibrant presence lighting up the crowd.

He approached Panda, effortlessly slipping into a familiar handshake that you had witnessed countless times before. Next, he turned to Maki and Nobara, greeting them with warm, polite hugs, each one filled with camaraderie.

Then, his gaze settled on you, his eyes assessing you from head to toe. He stepped closer, wrapping you in a longer embrace, leaning in to whisper, “You look good.” The words lingered in the air as he pulled away, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Turning back to the bouncer, he declared confidently, “They’re with me.” With a gentle tug, he took your hand, guiding you and the group inside, where the warmth and energy of the club settled, wavered to meet them.

As they stepped inside, a wave of warmth and pulsating music flooded over them, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your gaze was immediately drawn to a figure dressed entirely in black, standing near the entrance, seemingly lost in concentration as he studied something written on a piece of paper.

You noticed two beauty spots nestled just above his eyebrows, creating an intriguing contrast against his sharp features. “Huh,” you thought to yourself, curiosity piqued.

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. A subtle smile curved his lips as he offered them a nod, granting approval for them to venture further into the vibrant atmosphere of the venue.

“Yuji’s been so excited to see you again, Yn,” Toge slurred, his words slightly fuzzy, hinting at the drinks he had already indulged in.

They navigated through the bustling crowd to the VIP booth, where three silhouettes lounged comfortably in deep, luxurious velvet seats, their relaxed postures radiating a carefree vibe.

“Yn!” the pink-haired figure shouted, bounding over with infectious energy. He enveloped you in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne mingling with the rich aroma of the venue. Behind you, the others dispersed, finding their place among the group with casual ease.

“God, it’s been so long! You look incredible!” he exclaimed, stepping back to admire her. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at the compliment. But as you turned to respond, your gaze inadvertently drifted over his shoulder. There, a familiar figure leaned casually against the wall, his eyes fixated on you. He drank you in, the intensity of his stare making her heart race, even as he casually swigged from his beer, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.

“Come on, we need to take our traditional six shots!” Yuji said with infectious enthusiasm, grasping your hand and leading you through the thrumming crowd toward the bar. He slid onto a barstool, gesturing for you to join him with an inviting smile.

As he chatted cheerfully with the bartender, his energy radiated around you. He ordered the customary six shots for both of you, but your thoughts drifted back to Megumi and the way he had been staring earlier. Was it just the atmosphere, or did he really look that good? Hold on—were you actually finding him attractive? The guy who seemed like he spent too much time watching stepcest?

“...up.” You snapped back to reality at Yuji’s voice. Looking up, you were met with his bright, doe-like light brown eyes, sparkling with excitement. In front of you stood an array of colorful shots—twelve, to be exact each one a different hue, glinting invitingly in the bar’s dim light.

“BOTTOMS UP!” he shouted, already downing his first shot. A playful smirk spread across your face; there was no way you were going to let him finish first. You swiftly tossed back the first shot, the bitter liquid searing the back of your throat, but it was a thrill that sent warmth coursing through you. This was light work.

With each shot, the world around you faded into a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. You quickly moved through the shots, feeling the exhilarating buzz rise within you. Soon, you found yourself on your last one, placing the empty glass down and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You glanced at Yuji, who was just finishing his own final shot.

“Still can’t outdo you yet, huh?” he said, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of admiration and playful challenge.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, a hand pressed firmly against your back, sending a jolt of surprise through you. The warmth of the touch felt intimate, and you turned slightly to find a figure looming behind you. A husky voice cut through the air, rich and smooth, as it said, “Can I borrow her for a second?” The tone was both commanding and playful, drawing your attention away from Yuji and into the mystery of the newcomer.

The air around you was instantly infused with the intoxicating scent of the mystery man’s cologne—a deep, sophisticated aroma that reminded you of Maison Margiela. You turned to get a better look, your heart racing as you were met with his piercing green eyes, which seemed to draw you in.

Meanwhile, Yuji sat there, momentarily confused as he processed the situation, glancing between you and the newcomer. But with a shrug and a grin, he waved goodbye, calling out, “Find me later!” before making his way to the dance floor, his energy lighting up the room.

As Yuji disappeared into the crowd, Megumi smoothly slid into the spot where he had just been sitting. You rested your chin on your hand, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

“I hope you’re here to apologise,” you said playfully, flicking away an invisible speck from the counter. He met your gaze with a smirk that seemed to reveal a mix of amusement and confidence. Was that his go-to expression? Because right now, it was definitely starting to look punchable.

“Apologise for what? The truth?” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence as he raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, eager for a shot.

“Slut-shaming isn’t a good look for your reputation,” you countered, letting out a frustrated sigh. He was undeniably attractive, but the way he spoke was quickly drying up your pussy and killing your mood.

“Intrigue me, Yn,” he said, his sultry tone wrapping around you like a warm breeze. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“If I fuck you tonight, what number will that make me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you silently pray he doesn’t notice. Just then, the bartender sets the shot down between you, and you seize the opportunity to reclaim the upper hand.

You grip his jaw, guiding his face closer until your lips are mere centimeters apart. You glance between his lips and his eyes, feeling the tension crackle in the air.

“Oh, baby, don’t you know? I don’t fuck virgins,” you whisper, releasing your grip on his face as you down his shot and head toward the dance floor.

You weave your way toward the dance floor, each step a little unsteady as the pulsating music and vibrant lights overwhelm your senses. The crowd swells around you, a sea of bodies moving in sync, but the energy feels like too much to handle. Frustration and anger churn inside you. Fuck that was your seventh shot. You were no longer thinking with your head but with your vagina instead.

You weave through the pulsating crowd, your gaze searching for the perfect target. When did you become so needy? Finally, you spot the familiar salmon-haired boy from earlier, and a smile flickers across your lips. “At least it’s not a stranger this time,” you think, navigating through the bodies that sway and jostle around you.

As you approach, an unexpected wave of self-doubt washes over you. Was he always this tall? His shoulders seem broader, more defined, and the tattoos that snake down his arms catch your eye—when did he get those? You dismiss the thoughts, blaming the alcohol for your hazy perception.

Raising yourself onto your toes, you gently tap him on the shoulder, but the moment he turns around, a rush of regret floods in. His imposing figure towers over you, and a sense of horror grips your chest as you realise this is definitely not Yuji.

“Doll?” his deep voice resonates, cutting through the din of the club, leaving you momentarily speechless as you look up, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. You freeze. You can’t move. Why can’t you move?

The all-too-familiar pet name washes over you, and a torrent of memories floods your mind, each one more vivid than the last. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Suddenly, you feel hands grip your shoulders, pulling you away from the man, away from the chaotic atmosphere of the club, and guiding you outside into the cool night air.

As you slip into the car, the reality hits you: Nobara, Maki, and Panda are all there, their concerned faces surrounding you. In an instant, the dam breaks, and you begin to bawl, the emotions you’ve kept buried for so long surging to the surface like a tidal wave. You lean your head into Maki’s lap, feeling the comforting weight of her presence as she gently brushes your hair back from your face.

Nobara’s soothing touch caresses your skin, her fingers rubbing your back in gentle circles. “Shhh, let it out,” she murmurs softly. “You’re safe with us now.” Their unwavering support wrapping around you like a warm blanket, allowing you to release the pent-up feelings that had been longing for freedom. And then, just like that, darkness fills your vision.

extras!

• the aphrodite nightclub was a reeference dedicated to my beloved ree and her hq series ‘poker face’ you should definitely check it out here! @aozui thank u once again <3

• omi sneak in there if you squint

• i imagine aphrodite having the same vibe as the percy jackson casino scene highkey

• hm what does spotify have planned out with tridant i wonder…

• madagascar 3 is my shit guys i would watch it RELIGIOUSLY (maybe i am yn guys idk)

• why does the whole band want us idk we’re just hot like that

• it’s all platonic though guys trust LMFAO

• solstice is a reference to my upcoming spiderman kuroo au btw shhhh #shamlesspromoter

• i threw in the toge and panda texts just for fun LMFAO

• a lot of tridant’s gc texts were actually me and abi’s twitter texts LMFAO (ily abi)

• toge is never crowd surfing again after tonight.

• their set was a total of 1 hour and 49 minutes long (yn secretly enjoyed it and was lowkey fangirling)

• guys i had a field day with the written portion SPECIFICALLY THAT ONE QUOYE

• i hope u all listened to the playlist <3 (pls it’s important)

• yn’s ex is…. SUKUNA?

• to beepboplorpz’s ask that’s still in my inbox currently abt when sukuna would debut HERE HE IS😭

• sukuna’s backstory will be mentioned in the next following chapters..

• panda saw yn going to sukuna and INSTANTLY went to intervene #truefriendeventhohesfat

• yn blacked out in the car if it wasn’t obvious

• megumi was lowkey searching for her on the floor because he thought he was too harsh on her (he cared)

a/n: sorry the chapter is a bit behind schedule but it’s so worth it😭 this was fan service for the thirsty megumi asks so i hope you all eat this up because it took me so long to perfect !! anyways it’s still sunday so it does count… see yall next weekend!! <3 (apologies to my beta readers i was in a rush and wanted this one out but trust im returning back to schedule next week!!)

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @anqelfries @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yomamablazeit @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @pastriepuppy @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed.

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge.

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage.

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

#sherlock holmes #enola holmes #dark sherlock holmes #dark!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #unraveled

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biteofcherry · 7 months

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Because I just reread grain of truth: alpha Steve and alpha commands

I think about that all the time

I also think about him growling in the car you had no right to write something that hot

"You did not!" Your eyes widened, your whole body tensing like a string as you stared at your Alpha.

"I did," he replied, unrepentant.

Slowly, he circled your body, which was now frozen in place. In a sunroom that wasn't yet completely filled with plants and the glass walls gave a view into the garden where guests have been mingling in.

Meanwhile, your stupid, bossy mate has fucking alpha commanded you to stay in place and take your punishment.

With the snap of a command, you wouldn't be able to push against him or squirm away from any punishment he bestowed.

The fact he wasn't simply bending you over to give you a few swats, was worrying you even more.

It would be short and done, with no one noticing you're gone for a longer time. Steve didn't seem to care if anyone came looking for you, or if they looked at the sunroom and saw you between the specks of greenery.

Hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention when Steve stopped behind you. With the command on, your body wasn't interested to cooperate with your brain and turn to take a peek at your Alpha.

His growl reverberated through each bone in your body, zapping along your neurons and pooling in hot rush in your core.

"Fu-ah-ack!" You cried out, clenching your fingers into fists.

He growled again and the muscles in your legs shook from how hard you tensed. Your panties were a ruin.

Steve walked around you again, stopping in front of you. He trailed a single finger from your parted lips, down your neck and over your breasts. Your nipples were hard as glass, visibly printing against the fabric of your dress.

He moved his digit lower, flicking the hem of your dress and dipping below it. He swiped the trickle of slick that was dripping down your thigh.

Then he growled again. Though softer, like a teasing caress, a reminder of what he was able to do to you and how strongly your body reacted to him. Still, it had your knees weakening.

"Punishment over, sweet brat," Steve said, withdrawing his hand and lifting his finger up to his mouth to lick it clean.

You felt the command disperse its clutches on you. Your muscles quivered, as if he cut you off from restraints keeping you up. You actually had to brace a hand against his chest to support yourself.

"Let's join our guests," Steve rubbed a single hand along your back and gently pushed you toward the door.

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#crokitheloki #reply #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #alpha!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers x omega female reader #grain of truth #lazy sinday #lazy sinday drabble #steve rogers imagine

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ask-zacharies-snackarie · 4 months

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BODYSUIT bodysuit BODYSUIT

I finally got around to it. I said I was gonna do it and now I am. Under the read more.

First four pictures are the old suit, last three are of the new one.

The bodysuit used to be fucking BAD. In the desire to find lightweight fabric that wouldn't overheat me, I went and got this fabric that was.. just the worst. It was too thin, not very stretchy, and it RAN.

Any raw edges exposed to a force stronger than a gentle tug would separate and become unrepairable. Imagine your costume fucking separating at the seams cause something pulled on it a little.

I got most of the way before I said "this sucks ass, I'm restarting." So I went to Joanne's and dropped another 70 dollars on this wonderful modal knit thats discontinued as fuck. It's thick and doesn't show sweat until it's reaching clinical levels due to the modal fabric on one side and the spandex on the other! It absorbs it and disperses it so it doesn't show on the outside.

I definitely did get hot in that costume, but way less than I expected. Honestly I got cold more often than not @_@

N e way it's just a bodysuit pattern I modified to add the split in the middle. It clasps at the bottom and I think I went overboard with the snaps cause for some reason I was convinced they would pop so easily. They didn't lmao.

The gloves on this costume are part of the sleeves, so I can't free my hands lest I want to take off the whole suit.

The buttons are 3d modelled by me, printed, sanded, and painted by hand because I was pissed that no one sold buttons that looked right and I refused to compromise 💪💪

Evidently as you can tell, the ruffles are also sewn into the collar and actually did not give me any issue with the stretch when putting on the suit!

#aapiuuhhu feel free to send asks or dms if tou have questions i guess aauuuu #my art #fnaf #fnaf sb #five nights at freddy's #daycare attendant #sun fnaf #my cosplay #i yapped. certified yapper #EDIT i added another inage and it shattered the formatting. n e way its good again #i added a pic of the ring on the back #i 3dprinted some plastic bullshit to shove in the 'rod' portion fo keep the fabric ring upright but tbh it was fine without it #TUMBLR STOP BREAKING MY POST

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lunarfleur · 1 year

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Can You Fix It? ~ Earth 42! Miles Morales

Summary: “See, I was on my skateboard and…yeah.”

Warnings:None!

Tagging: @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @urfavnegronerd @kombuuuu @milesmolasses @luvjunie @n1cole-ghost @conitagray @nagi3seastorm @hiyaitssans

A/N:I just sent this ask to Kombu earlier today and I couldn’t help myself. I saw this Tiktok of this girl making her own clothes and I got inspired :)

This is x gender neutral reader!

“Can you fix it?”

It was both a hobby and a talent you had, working with all things thread. Sewing, embroidery, hemming…it was kind of your thing. It was something you did for fun, but it also managed to bring some ease into your life.

“Yeah, but…what happened?”

You held the hoodie in your hands, sticking your fingers through the hole in the fabric. It was big, right above the elastic. The hoodie was purple with print on the back that said The World Is Yours.

“See, I was on my skateboard and…yeah.”

That was a lie. Miles didn’t even own a skateboard. Truth was, he tripped over thin air while on a walk. People watched. People laughed. Miles was not going to tell you that.

It was convenient, actually. Just after that he went to his uncle’s place to talk all about you, to show him the small embroidery patches you made to cover up smaller holes in another hoodie of his. For an hour, he planned everything he was going to say to you.

“Right..”

You glanced at him. He was biting the inside of his cheek, something he always did around you. Miles pulled at the strings that hung from his backpack’s straps. He rolled them in his fingers.

“Thanks.”

You watched as he rocked on his heels nervously, and you swore he was going to start bleeding from the mouth. It was cute, how nervous he got around you, and painfully obvious.

“I ain’t mean to cause so much trouble,” he mumbled, “but I don’t wanna ask my mom cause she always so busy.”

“Don’t worry about,” you pushed, “it’s all good.”

You smiled at him, and Miles swore all air got knocked from his lungs. It was suddenly very hot in the hallways of Visions academy.

“Thanks,” he said again. And then the bell rang, and the swarm of kids in the hallways dispersed.

“I’ll, uh, see you later,” he stammered, backing up. You gave him a smile, setting the hoodie in your locker before closing it shut.

“Later.”

You smiled at him, and Miles swore all air got knocked from his lungs.

#earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles x you #miles morales #miles morales x reader #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman #x gender neutral reader

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emeryhall · 1 year

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prompts: hot, humid, water & sweat

CW: bordering on explicit

Remus Lupin had ceased to be shocked by words. Bodies comprised of crooks and holes and ridges wrapped in skin that stretched and breathed—that could overwhelm him. But words? At 36 and publisher of the gay poetry zine, Assonance, he thought he had read everything. He had printed poems about blond boys in bathhouses, public masturbation, the slick sound the handle of a heavily vaselined whip makes as you work it into your lover’s ass. What he hadn’t read—that is until this morning over breakfast—was a poem about himself.

His top floor apartment was silent and still. He could hear his bare footsteps on the kitchen’s hardwood floor. The flick of the button on the coffee maker, the drip of coffee hitting coffee, the pop of ready toast.

He sat at the table and placed his mug on the most recent submission to Assonance, where it left a damp ring. A perfect circle around the poem’s title and dedication:

Palm in Neon For R.L.

It was not the “R.L.” that caught his attention. R.L. could be any number of people’s initials. No, it was the title. His reaction to it was visceral. He could feel the press of a hand against his stomach.

Summer in San Francisco is cool 50s, but thinking about that skin against his and it was the very tip of a New York summer, the slow end of August 1971.

He took a sip of coffee and read:

What are you thinking?

I am thinking of August on asphalt. I am thinking of fire hydrants split and spilling. The cigarette butt pulled from your lips, a tiny fire that sizzles in the crook of the curbed river streaming to the ready drain.

You could fry an egg on the sidewalk, you said. And I think of a delicate shell cracking against cast iron. Later a pool of viscid liquid. Your stomach hard asphalt, hot iron.

We clung to subway poles, touching sweat to metal, but not each other. Shuddering with the clatter and the seconds suspended in blackness released to the blank eyes of underground animals. Yours on me though, glassy with trust and alcohol. Remarkable that you would come home with me.

We ascend into New York’s silence. The mumble from stoops, glass shattering the air at 2 a.m. no different than the air at 2 p.m. in its murkiness.

The street lamps wear wet halos.

My palm leaves a damp print on the stairwell wall as I kiss you into graffiti under a dying bulb.

In my room, it is too hot to speak of touching so we drag the bare mattress. You backwards, me burdened. Still wordless. Wordless with laughter, laughter at our clumsiness our need our risk our hope. Our corner of the roof and sky.

Your skin a sunset, gold and glazed in pink and purple. I place my palm in neon against the flat of your abdomen. Hot asphalt, hard iron, sperm smeared and hazy in your sweat. It fits perfectly in pink boundaries. My wrist dispersing light.

We should not be here come morning, but we are. Folded into our corner the way you fold against my chest. Laundry flickers dull colors above us. A shirt sleeve lax in the still air. I feel you stir as I stir. The stiff fabric of starched jeans pinned on the line. I hold you motionless. It is too light for this. And yet if we are silent. Wordless. The slight shift of your leg. The sheet barely rustles. And I need nothing more.

What are you thinking?

You asked. Of our future. Is what I did not say.

— S.B.

The mug slipped in Remus’s hand. He wiped his palms against his pajamas. He could feel the sheen of sweat on his stomach, at the roots of his hair, like his body wanted to relive the words.

He’d met Sirius Black at a bar in Greenwich Village. Some kids must have unscrewed the outlet of a fire hydrant because water poured down the street. He’d accepted a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall feeling like it was too hot to have even this small blaze near his face. As they walked to the subway, he flicked the butt into the rush of water flowing between the street and sidewalk.

Everything was there. The subway ride, the kiss in Sirius’s stairwell. The stifling heat of his Upper East Side apartment, so oppressive that they couldn’t bear to have their bodies next to each other, so they’d drunkenly dragged the mattress up a flight of stairs. When they emerged onto the roof, they weren’t alone. Several other mattresses dotted the tarpapered landscape, each with bodies sleeping restlessly. They’d hesitated, but found a far corner tucked behind an outcropping of chimneys. Someone had strung their drying laundry between one of the chimneys and an antenna pole and they lay beneath it.

He’d come on his stomach from Sirius’s hand wrapped around him, and as he lay there naked and sticky, they’d realized that the building next-door had a neon sign in its window. A pink palm, purple script above it reading Psychic, Know Your Future. From that angle, the sign’s illumination left a glowing palm on Remus’s belly, and Sirius placed his hand within the outline, fitting it perfectly, the base of his palm resting in the pool of come.

They were naked under a thin sheet on a shared rooftop when they woke the next morning, and they knew they should dress quickly, hurriedly drag the mattress back to Sirius’s bedroom, but instead they’d had sex. Spooning, barely moving, trying not to make a sound. The very stillness of it a pressure and a release.

“What are you thinking?” Remus asked.

Sirius said something about the heat. Neither of them mentioned the future. Remus boarded a flight back to San Francisco, never got a phone number, but he left his card behind: Publisher, Assonance.

* * *

@wolfstarmicrofic

word count: 1000 (exactly!)

I wanted to write a fic about gay poetry zines post-Stonewall (real thing) and New York before AC was common. Then it turned into a poem.

#wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #remus x sirius #remus lupin #sirius black #btw Assonance's lesbian sister zine is called Cliteration #sorry #I'm making poetry puns

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materialsscienceandengineering · 1 year

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3D printed elastic conductors for stretchable electronics

Three-dimensional (3D) printing has become increasingly advanced over the past few years and has been successfully used to create countless items, including toys, furniture and electronic components. As 3D printing equipment becomes more affordable, it could potentially also be used to fabricate soft electronic components for wearable devices.

Despite its promise in this area, so far 3D printing has rarely been successfully used to produce complex and flexible electronics. One reason for this is that solid-state elastic materials that can conduct electricity are difficult to print using existing inks.

Researchers at Korea Institute of Science and Technology recently demonstrated the successful use of 3D printing to create elastic components that can conduct electricity. Their proposed printing strategy, outlined in a paper in Nature Electronics, could potentially pave the way toward the large-scale printing of multi-functional and stretchable components for wearable devices.

The team's realization of elastic conductors using 3D printing was in great part enabled by a new emulsion-based composite ink they devised. This special ink consists of liquid components dispersed within a conductive elastomer, a rubbery material that conducts electricity.

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jordi-gali · 2 years

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Sigmar Polke

Der dritte stand 1995. Print. Guardian of the Threshold, 2003 Mixed media on fabric. You will accomplish today what most people wouldn't be able to accomplish in such a short time (substitute-van-Gogh), 2007 Dispersion on fabric 8 panels, Overall size: 180 x 305 cm https://www.pinterest.es/pin/329959110211378066/

#sigmar polke

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alex-harris · 1 year

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First Printing Workshop 26th September

In this class, we spent the whole day in the print workshop where we experimented with disperse dyes onto paper to create texture and interesting shapes. Once they were dry, we used the heat press in order to transfer and activate our dyes onto synthetic material. This was a great time to experiment with layering, collage and interaction which is what I have attempted to do here.

This first set of primary photos that I took of my progress which shows the raw mark making with the disperse dyes onto paper. With this step I think it was very successful because I took the time to experiment with various tools like plastic knives, spoons, paint brushes, dry brushes, wooden sticks and palette knives. I also think that the results came out very well, I almost prefer the original undeveloped dyes than the final product of my samples. I'm not sure at this stage that I can point out any obvious weaknesses in my samples, purely because this makes the very bare basics of my study which is there to be worked upon later with other techniques.

These two photos above are the final products once my collages had gone through the heat press. The disperse dyes work so that once they are heated, their colours transfer and stick to the fabric, very much brighter than they were before. This can be altered with the percentage of dilute, however, these dyes were made for us, so the colours were slightly non-negotiable. I think these samples were successful because they get the nature point across very easily, however I don't like them that much due to the fact that I find them very simple and using disperse dyes as a technique is boring to me. I prefer construction and hands-on techniques. I do like that I stuck to my colours of greens, browns and red/orange which are the main colours found in my primary photos.

I think that, to progress my samples, I need to work back through them with a mixture of machine and hand embroidery. Perhaps I might cut some up and reshape them in my sketchbook to better portray my story.

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yinfengtextilex · 1 year

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Disperse Printed Fabrics

The characteristics of dispersed printed fabrics, dispersed printing patterns: realistic patterns, meticulous colors, clear layers, firm color fastness, and strong three-dimensional sense. With its unique advantages such as soft hand, beautiful appearance, strong fastness and excellent texture, it has attracted the attention of many clothing manufacturers. The process principle of printed fabric is to first print the color paste of water-soluble reactive dyes to make transfer printing paper, and then close the fabric pretreatment with the transfer printing paper, and apply a certain pressure. The color paste on the transfer paper dissolves. Under a certain pressure, because the affinity of the dye to the fabric is greater than that of the transfer paper, the dye is transferred to the fabric and enters the fabric gap, and the finished product is formed after fixing and washing.

Phone:+86-13757227847 Email:[email protected] Address:Nanshan Village, Shuikou Township, Changxing County, Huzhou City, Zhejiang Province, China

#Disperse Printed Fabrics

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favouritefab-blog · 14 days

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Airlaid Nonwoven Technology: A Comprehensive Guide

Airlaid nonwoven technology is an innovative method used to produce high-quality, lightweight, and versatile nonwoven fabrics. This guide delves into the specifics of airlaid nonwovens, explaining the process, applications, benefits, and key industries where this technology is making a significant impact.

1. What is Airlaid Nonwoven Technology?

Airlaid nonwoven technology is a specialized manufacturing process used to create nonwoven fabrics by dispersing short fibers (pulp, synthetic fibers, or natural fibers) into an airstream and then bonding them together. Unlike traditional methods, airlaid does not require water or a liquid medium for fiber formation, making it an energy-efficient and environmentally friendly process.

The key characteristic of airlaid nonwoven fabrics is their high absorbency, softness, and ability to be engineered for various applications. This technology is widely used in hygiene products, medical applications, and industrial uses due to the unique texture and functionality of the resulting fabrics.

2. Airlaid Nonwoven Manufacturing Process

The airlaid process can be broken down into the following steps:

Fiber Preparation: Short fibers such as pulp or synthetic materials are first prepared. These fibers are cut to the required length and treated to enhance their bonding properties.

Fiber Dispersion: The prepared fibers are dispersed into an airstream, which evenly distributes them across a moving belt or forming screen. This airstream helps control the density and structure of the fabric.

Web Formation: As the fibers settle on the forming screen, they begin to create a uniform web. The web's density and thickness can be adjusted based on the intended application.

Bonding: The loose fibers are bonded together to form a coherent fabric. There are several bonding methods:

Thermal Bonding: Heat is applied to activate the binding agent or melt certain fibers.

Resin Bonding: Adhesive resins are added to hold the fibers together.

Hydrogen Bonding: In some cases, the fibers themselves may bond through natural attraction.

Finishing: The bonded fabric is then finished by calendering, coating, or printing, depending on the desired end-use specifications.

3. Types of Fibers Used in Airlaid Nonwoven Fabrics

Airlaid nonwovens are versatile because they can incorporate various fiber types. Some common fibers include:

Cellulose Pulp: The most common material, known for its absorbency, softness, and biodegradability.

Polypropylene (PP): Adds strength and durability to the fabric.

Viscose or Rayon: Offers softness and high absorbency, often used in wipes.

Cotton: Used in eco-friendly airlaid products due to its natural and biodegradable properties.

4. Key Applications of Airlaid Nonwoven Fabrics

Airlaid nonwoven fabrics have broad applications across several industries due to their absorbency, softness, and versatility. Some of the major uses include:

Hygiene Products: Airlaid fabrics are extensively used in disposable diapers, sanitary pads, and incontinence products for their absorbency and softness.

Medical Products: Used in surgical drapes, disposable gowns, wound care products, and absorbent pads.

Wipes: Airlaid technology is preferred for producing wet and dry wipes due to its strength, softness, and ability to retain liquids.

Industrial Absorbents: Used in oil spill clean-up materials, industrial wiping cloths, and chemical absorbents.

Tabletop Products: Airlaid nonwoven fabrics are used in disposable napkins, tablecloths, and placemats for the hospitality industry.

5. Advantages of Airlaid Nonwoven Technology

Airlaid nonwoven technology offers several benefits that make it a popular choice for a range of applications:

High Absorbency: Airlaid fabrics have excellent liquid absorption and retention properties, making them ideal for hygiene and medical applications.

Softness and Flexibility: The fabric is soft and gentle on the skin, which is essential for products like diapers, feminine hygiene products, and wipes.

Customizability: The process allows for control over thickness, density, and bonding, enabling manufacturers to customize the fabric for specific needs.

Sustainable Options: Many airlaid fabrics are biodegradable, especially those made with cellulose pulp, cotton, or other natural fibers, contributing to sustainability efforts.

Cost-Effective: The energy-efficient process of airlaid technology reduces production costs, especially compared to water-intensive traditional methods.

6. Industries Benefiting from Airlaid Nonwovens

Several industries benefit from the unique properties of airlaid nonwoven fabrics:

Hygiene and Personal Care: Airlaid fabrics dominate the hygiene sector, where absorbency and skin-friendliness are critical, particularly in products like diapers, sanitary napkins, and adult incontinence products.

Healthcare: The medical field uses airlaid fabrics for disposable gowns, wound dressings, and other absorbent materials due to their sterility, strength, and absorbent nature.

Food Service: Tabletop products like napkins and disposable table covers benefit from the aesthetic appeal and durability of airlaid nonwovens.

Industrial Cleaning: Industrial-grade airlaid wipes are valued for their durability, absorbency, and ability to withstand tough environments.

7. Sustainability in Airlaid Nonwoven Fabrics

With growing concerns over environmental sustainability, the airlaid nonwoven industry is shifting toward eco-friendly options. Manufacturers are increasingly using biodegradable fibers, such as cellulose pulp, cotton, and bamboo, to produce compostable airlaid fabrics.

The energy-efficient airlaid process, which eliminates the need for water, also reduces environmental impact, making it a preferred method for sustainable nonwoven production.

8. Challenges in Airlaid Nonwoven Technology

Despite its many advantages, airlaid nonwoven technology also faces a few challenges:

Limited Strength: Airlaid fabrics may not have the same tensile strength as other nonwoven fabrics, especially those produced using methods like spunbond or meltblown.

Higher Raw Material Costs: The use of natural fibers such as pulp or cotton can increase raw material costs, impacting the overall price of the product.

Processing Complexity: Maintaining uniformity and consistency in fiber dispersion can be challenging, particularly when using a blend of natural and synthetic fibers.

9. Future Trends in Airlaid Nonwoven Technology

The airlaid nonwoven market is expected to grow significantly due to the increasing demand for sustainable, high-performance fabrics. Innovations in fiber technology, bonding methods, and eco-friendly materials will likely lead to the development of more advanced airlaid products.

Some emerging trends include:

Use of Biodegradable Polymers: Manufacturers are looking for biodegradable alternatives to synthetic fibers to reduce the environmental footprint of airlaid fabrics.

Enhanced Functionality: New bonding methods and additives may enhance the functionality of airlaid fabrics, such as antibacterial or moisture-wicking properties.

Conclusion

Airlaid nonwoven technology has revolutionized the fabric industry by providing a versatile, high-performance, and eco-friendly alternative to traditional textiles. Its wide range of applications, coupled with the ability to produce custom, absorbent, and soft fabrics, makes airlaid a crucial technology in many industries. As the demand for sustainable solutions grows, airlaid nonwovens are poised to play an even greater role in the future of fabric manufacturing.

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