#embroidery cut work fabric

[indianlacesandfabricsupplier]

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[contraspem--spero]

Been meaning to hem my jeans for over two weeks now somebody give me the push

[heartyearning]

handsewing button holes through 6 layers of fabric is an unfortunately huge pain in the ass and tragically i have to do 18 of them

[thecassafrasstree]

Had a few folks interested in how I made the patches I posted for Solarpunk Aesthetic Week, so I thought I'd give y'all my step-by-step process for making hand-embroidered patches!

First, choose your fabric and draw on your design. You can use basically any fabric for this - for this project I'm using some felt I've had lying around in my stash for ages.

Next, choose your embroidery floss. For my patches I split my embroidery floss into two threads with 3 strands each, as pictured. You can use as many strands in your thread as you prefer, but for the main body of my patches I prefer 3 strands.

Next you're going to start filling your design using a back stitch.

First, put in a single stitch where you want your row to start.

Poke your needle up through the fabric 1 stitch-length away from your first stitch.

Poke your needle back down the same hole your last stitch went into so they line up end-to-end.

Repeat until you have a row of your desired length (usually the length of that colour section from one end to the other). Once you have your first row, you're going to do your next row slightly offset from your first row so that your stitches lay together in a brick pattern like this:

Make sure your rows of stitches are tight together, or you'll get gaps where the fabric shows through.

Rinse and repeat with rows of back stitch to fill in your patch design.

When you're almost to the end of your thread, poke your needle through to the back of the fabric and pull the thread under the back part of the stitching to tuck in the end. Don't worry if it looks messy - no one's gonna see the back anyway.

This next step is fully optional, but I think it makes the patch design really pop. Once your patch is filled in, you can use black embroidery floss to outline your design (or whatever colour you want to outline with - it's your patch, do what you want). I use the full thread (6 strands, not split) of embroidery floss to make a thicker outline.

I use the same back stitch I used to fill the piece to make an outline that adds some separation and detail. You could use most any 'outlining' stitch for this, but I just use back stitch because it's just easier for me to do.

Once you're finished embroidering your patch, it's time to cut it out!

Make sure to leave a little border around the edge to use for sewing your patch on your jacket/bag/blanket/whatever, and be careful not to accidentally cut through the stitches on the back of the patch.

If you have a sturdy enough fabric that isn't going to fray, you can just leave it like this. If not, I recommend using a whip stitch/satin stitch to seal in the exposed edges (I find that splitting your embroidery floss into 3-strand threads works best for this).

And then you're done! At this point you can put on iron-on backing if you want, or just sew it on whatever you wanna put it on. Making patches this way does take a long time, but I feel that the results are worth it.

Thanks for reading this tutorial! I hope it was helpful. If anyone makes patches using this method, I'd love to see them! 😁

[wolfies-toys]

I've been sitting on this pattern and tutorial for a while now! so time to finally share it with you! I was lamenting that the jellycat pip and sugar mice were long retired and difficult to get your hands on unless you are willing to pay much more than they retailed for each mouse, so i decided to try and eyeball a pattern and make some myself! they're not exact as i only used constructed visual references but they're close! please note that this pattern set is intended for personal use only. Rough tutorial under the cut!

This pattern is for printing onto A4 but you can check your scale with the measurements I've provided or just play around with how big or small you want to try and make them! i didn't really get any wip photos of pip mouse but it's method is largely the same with the nose being the major change, which i will detail in text in the instructions below.

for sugar mouse i would recommend using polar fleece as it will act the right way for the ears to do their squishy marshmallow looking thing. but minky should also work or other similar fabrics! for pip mouse if you can find a similar curly looking fabric with a thin backing that'll be ideal but fleece will also work well, you just wont get the furry texture, you want a fabric with a little bit of stretch to it. i however would not recommend fabrics like felt or non stretch cotton for these guys as it's likely to not take shape the same as there's no give to the fabric.

once you have printed out the pattern and cut the pieces in your fabric, you'll want to sew the ears up and turn them inside out, then put them aside for later. just leave them as is for now but here you can see i was playing around with pinching the turned through ear into shape.

Then moving on, sew the back pieces together along the spine and front of face. you then want pull the bottom open ends apart gently and place the open sides flat up against the base piece so that they're aligned, it can be good to pin this in place so it doesn't shift.

then, get your tail rope, and tie a knot at either end, placing the base of it inbetween the seam at the butt so that it'll sit in the right place, then sew the seam up directly with the tail in place, make sure you sew through the rope to secure it and make sure it doesnt shift. Sew around the bases seam leaving a hole in one side so that you can then turn your mouse through.

once turned through you will want to stuff your mouse with polyfill quite a bit so it takes shape! i like to put weighted beans in mine for extra effect, you can use dried rice or wheat too, just sew a little circle pouch a bit smaller that the mouses base with scrap fabric and fill and seal! then insert into the turning hole while you stuff. once stuffing is done you can sew the hole up with a ladder stitch. the weight from the beads will allow your mouse to sit up quite well.

next you will want to get those ears you put aside, take each corner and bring the ends together in the middle. then sew them gently together at the ends with one or two stitches in about the same spot. you want them to look 3d so dont sew the ends to the back of the ear, just end to end so they meet in the center.

Then pin the ears in place on the head

then you need to ladder stitch the ears in place while they're pinned so they dont shift around, go all the way around the outside edge of each.

now you're almost done! next they just need a face! sugar mouse only needs embroidery by way of a french knot for both the eyes and nose (you can find good video tutorials on how to sew a french knot online), pip mouse will also need a french knot for the eyes but has a separate process for it's nose. (for the pip mouses nose you will need to leave the marked nose hole open and then stitch the nose fabric to the square nose backing in line with the dotted direction on the pattern, (it should look kind of baggy when it's unstuffed) sew it up completley with no hole, then cut a tiny slit in the backing and add polyfill there before closing with a basic stitch, then you ladder stitch the nose directly to the marked nose hole)

in order to hide the embroidery anchor knots i find the best way is to start by going down through the middle of the ears and then coming back up where you want the eye to be, and then going back down and up through the ear for the finishing knot, as it creates a very easy cover for them and looks nice and clean!

then you have yourself a little buddy!

haha they're great to squish! if you use this pattern i'd love to see your results!

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[emjayewrites]

The First Monday in May | LH44

SUMMARY: Lewis Hamilton and his girlfriend have too much fun at the Met Gala.

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Black Fem! Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI/18+

TAGLIST: @cocobutterqwueen @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @galatially @pausmoon @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @weetjy @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @planetmimi @woderfulkawaii @d3kstar @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @blveeeeeee @sugardontbesweet @omgsuperstarg @bluesole16 @serpenttines-library @peyiswriting @jasmindaughteroftheworld @motheroffae @hrlzy @xoscar03 @xsweetdellzx

A/N: I had to! Lewis was looking too good! The hold he has on me is crazy!! Please comment and reblog!! The headers/dividers are by @inklore

The luxurious suite at The Mark Hotel was a whirlwind of activity as you and Lewis prepared for fashion's biggest night - the Met Gala. Seated at the vanity, you watched in the mirror's reflection as your makeup artist meticulously applied the finishing touches to your glamorous look, but despite her artistry, you found your gaze continuously drifting, utterly entranced by the vision that was your boyfriend. He was an absolute vision as he prepared for fashion's biggest night.

Instead of the typical tuxedo, Lewis had chosen an exquisite all-black ensemble from Burberry to pay homage to the Welsh gardener John Ystumllyn. The intricate floral embroidery that adorned the long overcoat was a true work of art, a delicate stitching of daffodil motifs.

Watching as Lewis moved with that athletic grace of his, you felt a familiar heat unfurling low in your belly. Even three deliriously blissful months into this relationship, the man still managed to render you utterly breathless with desire.

"Easy there, gorgeous," your makeup artist chuckled, having caught your hooded gaze locked on Lewis. "We've still got some work to do before you can jump his bones."

You didn't even attempt to hide your shameless ogling as Lewis's own makeup artist leaned in to meticulously groom and sculpt his already perfect brows. The man's cheekbones could slice diamonds, you were certain.

"I can't help it," you murmured, shamelessly drinking in every sinewy line and angle of his body beneath the tailored lines of the all-black ensemble. "He's too much."

As if sensing your rapt regard, Lewis turned to catch your eye in the mirror. His full and bitable lips - a true pout that would make any sane woman melt - curved into a wolfish grin that did absolutely indecent things to your insides. The man was a walking orgasm without even seeming to try.

"See something you like over there, baby?" His tone was pure liquid sex, that deep baritone seeming to caress you from across the room.

Rather than answer verbally, you held his heated stare and slowly, deliberately dragged your gaze over his form in a full-body rake. Only when you'd visually mapped every hard plane and sinuous curve did you meet his darkened eyes once more.

The heavy silence that stretched between you thrummed with smoldering tension and the sort of electric chemistry that you somehow never seemed to run out of these days. You were well and truly still drowning in the depths of that delirious honeymoon phase.

Clearing his throat, Lewis broke the thick moment by unfastening his wristwatch and handing it off to his assistant. As he fastened an assortment of jewelry to his wrists and fingers, you admired how the gleaming metal accents played against his burnished skin like molten sunlight.

Lewis seemed to fill every inch of his look with that potent masculinity of his. Raw, unapologetic virility in its most delicious form. He certainly cut an impressive figure, yet somehow your gown managed to visually complement his rather than compete. An exquisite confection of black and white fabric, delicate floral embroidery across the bodice, and gossamer tulle layers underneath for a more puffy skirt, it was a study in ornate romance. As a playful wink to your boyfriend's look, you'd requested a spray of lush John Ystumllyn roses to be artfully woven into your elaborate upswept braid.

The overall effect was absolute decadent glamour, blending seamlessly with Lewis's darker, more understated Ystumllyn homage. You were in perfect stylistic alignment, two halves of a striking whole.

As you rose to join him for a few final touchup photos before the grand arrival at the Met, Lewis's molten gaze raked over you with naked hunger.

"Good god, you're exquisite," he rasped, reaching out to ghost his fingers over the delicately embroidered skirt. "Perfect in every way."

Leaning in, you pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of his jaw, inhaling the heady scent of his cologne.

"You keep kissing me like that and we'll never make it out of this hotel room," Lewis rumbled, his large hands settling possessively at your ass.

You let out a breathless laugh, feeling deliciously giddy in a way that never seemed to fade these days, not when you were around him. "And that would be such a tragedy?" you countered playfully, rising on your tiptoes to feather a string of teasing kisses along the strong column of his neck. "Think of all the headlines - 'Hamilton a No-Show At Big Fashion Event, Too Busy Wifing Up Boo.'"

The growl that rolled through Lewis's broad chest could only be described as primal. "Cheeky girl."

With some reluctance, you forced yourself to take a step back, smoothing the lapels of his ensemble as you drank in every last detail that would soon have the world's photographers in a frenzy.

"Tonight's the night, babe," you murmured, unable to resist running an admiring palm over the solid plane of his chest. "Ready for your close-up with me by your side?"

Lewis's whiskey-brown gaze burned molten with certainty and desire. "More than ready. It's you and me, baby. We got this."

Offering his arm in that genteel way of his, Lewis ushered you from the hotel suite to begin your grand debut as an official couple. As you rode the elevator to the lobby, butterflies took fluttering flight in your belly, not from nerves but pure, unbridled excitement.

This relationship was still so new, so wholly unexpected and whirlwind and earth-shatteringly right, that tonight felt profoundly momentous. Your first time facing the glaring scrutiny of the world's media and paparazzi as Lewis Hamilton's date - his woman to put it simply.

Yet gazing up at the achingly handsome man by your side, you felt nothing but calm certainty and devotion unfurling within you. This was your reality now, this charmed existence where you were cherished and adored by one of the most famous and talented men in the world.

The roar from the crowds outside was deafening as the hotel doors parted. Lewis held onto your hand tightly as the two of you made a dash to the awaiting black SUV.

When the two of you finally arrived at the Met Gala carpet, the roar from the crowds gathered outside reached fever pitch as your driver opened the door, a solid wall of camera flashes and shouted greetings assaulting you.

As you emerged onto the frenetic Met Gala carpet, the roar of the crowds and paparazzi reached deafening levels. Lewis kept you tucked securely against his side, his large hand a scorching brand at the small of your back as you blinked against the blinding flashes.

"Just keep those gorgeous eyes on me, baby," he murmured, lips brushing your temple. "You've got this."

Your arms instinctively banded around his trim waist as you took his scorching weight, nodding wordlessly. This entire event was Madison Square Garden levels of sensory overload and spectacle. Despite Lewis's easy confidence and the steadying weight of his arm around you, nerves fluttered wildly in your belly. This was your official debut to the world as his girlfriend, after all.

As if sensing your slight trepidation, Lewis leaned in closer, stealing a series of soft, reassuring kisses along your cheekbone. "Be a good girl and stay calm for me," he rumbled in that sinfully delicious baritone, "and I'll make sure you get a very…special reward later tonight."

You shivered at the heated promise in his words, the suggestive waggle of those thick brows that never failed to turn your insides to molten lava. "What kind of reward?" you couldn't resist asking coyly.

Lewis simply flashed you a wicked grin before turning his magnetic presence on the press line.

"Lewis! Lewis, over here!"

Posing effortlessly with that second skin of charisma and charm, he graciously accepted the mic from the smiling Ashley Graham. "Looking like an absolute dream tonight, my friend. And who is this vision on your arm?"

With a possessive sweep of his free hand down the embroidered curve of your waist, Lewis reeled you in closer until you were melded against the scorching line of his body. "This remarkable woman is the love of my life," he proclaimed boldly, his honeyed gaze of pure devotion blazing into yours.

Ashley let out a delighted laugh. "So this is the official hard launch of your relationship then? Out and proud for all the world to see."

Lewis's chuckle was rich with satisfied masculine pride as he nuzzled a kiss to your temple, his nose nuzzling the sweetly fragrant blooms woven through your braid. "I guess you can say that, yeah. No point in hiding the way I feel about this one anymore."

Flushed and giddy with glee, you somehow made it up the iconic Met steps in a blissful daze, secured to Lewis's side and feeling utterly invincible in his steadfast presence. Once inside the grand venue, your vision was awash with dazzling lights, priceless gowns and dapper tuxedos, a truly who's who of Hollywood and fashion royalty.

At your secluded table, Lewis introduced you to his fellow guests - songstress Raye, actors Jodie Turner, Colman Domingo, and Charlie Hunnam. The group instantly folded you in with warm smiles and enthusiastic conversation as Lewis's large hand found its way to your thigh beneath the tablecloth.

A jolt of pure sin shot through you at the blazing path his fingers traced over your bare skin, squeezing and caressing with casual possessiveness. He was permanently branded into your nerve endings at this point, able to ignite you with even the simplest of touches.

Across the table, Colman leaned over with a twinkle in his eye. "Seems our Lewis found himself quite the stunner. You'd better keep that man on a leash."

"Oh trust me," you managed to rasp out around the lump in your throat, "I fully intend to."

A fresh roar rose from the crowd as some of the evening's co-chairs - none other than Zendaya and Bad Bunny - took the stage to kick off the night's festivities and programming. Ariana Grande herself soon serenaded the event as Lewis's fingers continued their torturously delightful ministrations beneath the table, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping your expression impassive.

Just as the first strains of one of Ariana's biggest hits reached a crescendo, Lewis suddenly stood and grasped your hand. Throwing him a questioning look, you allowed him to tug you up beside him.

"Do you trust me?" The words were a low, heated rasp meant only for your ears.

Your answering nod was instant, unhesitating. At this point, you would likely follow this man into the flames if he asked.

Slipping his palm against the small of your back once more, Lewis guided you from the grand auditorium and out into the dimly lit corridor, somewhere quieter and more private. You let out a startled gasp as he abruptly tugged you into what appeared to be a utility closet, shutting and locking the door behind your bodies.

"Lewis, what are you - mmph!"

His lips crashed over yours with bruising, devouring force, swallowing your words and sending an electric jolt straight to your core. The enclosed space was immediately suffused with the heady scent of his cologne and the unique, musky aroma that was simply him - dangerously virile, achingly male.

Pinning you to the wall, Lewis plundered your mouth with that wicked, talented tongue, his hands shamelessly roaming every curve and dip of your body. When you instinctively arched into his solid frame with a desperate whimper, he let out a guttural groan of approval.

"Wanted you the second I saw you in that fucking dress," he rasped harshly against the swollen seam of your lips. "Christ, I can't get enough of you, baby. Can't ever get close enough."

Spreading his large palms over the flare of your hips, he tugged your lower bodies flush in a deliriously sinful grind. His eyes were fever-bright and blown wide in the dim closet, a maelstrom of possessive hunger.

"All night, I wanted you just like this," he commanded in that rough, wrecked tone that obliterated your higher reasoning. "Writhing on my dick, my name falling from those pretty lips…I can't wait to fuck you senseless later, but first I'm gonna do it with my hands."

The world could have fallen away in that heated moment, and you wouldn't have noticed or cared - not when Lewis was kissing you breathless, reducing you to a devastated puddle of want in the circle of his scorching embrace.

Feverishly tugging at his tuxedo jacket and shirt, you finally managed to spread your palms over that broad, powerful expanse of bare chest. God, the man was sculpted perfection, every striated muscle and sinew begging to be mapped and worshipped with your mouth.

You latched on with your mouth in a filthy, open-mouthed trail of nips and kisses, laving the heated skin with your tongue.

"Christ..." His head fell back with a ragged groan. "That mouth, baby...gonna fuckin' ruin me."

You blazed a messy path of worship over every glorious inch of bared flesh, nipping and swirling your tongue until his strangled curses spurred you onward. His hands continued to roam wildly, locating the zipper at the back of your gown and dragging it down in one long pull until you were exposed from shoulders to waist. The entire upper portion slithered free, puddling at your feet and leaving you bared from the waist up. Lewis's shredded grunt seemed to vibrate through your very nerve endings.

"Fuckin' stunning..." he husked, drinking in every newly revealed inch of your skin with undisguised want. "So gorgeous, baby."

Any sense of inhibition or location abandoned you as Lewis sealed his mouth over yours once more. You arched wantonly into his hardness, fingernails scoring lines down his powerful back as your lower bodies ground together in a maddening spiral of friction.

He broke away with a guttural rumble, latching onto your pulse point and sucking hard enough to leave a mark for all the world to see. A harsh tug followed, that broad palm closing around your thigh beneath the frothy skirt layers to hitch your leg over his powerful hip.

"Gonna make you mine now, girl," he growled against your damp skin. "No more waitin', no more teasin'..."

His free fingers sought the sleek juncture of your thighs, skimming along searing flesh, past your lace thong, and coaxing a litany of shameless moans past your parted lips. "This pretty pussy is mine."

The sheer possession in his lust-roughed baritone sent shockwaves of electric heat arrowing through you. He cupped you, skilled fingertips finding your slick, aching core as you canted your hips with a choked cry.

"Yes, Lewis...God yes!"

Rewarding your eager surrender with a harsh nip to the swell of your breast, he coaxed your other leg up and around his narrow waist. Pinning you to the wall fully, he slid two thick fingers into your dripping channel as his palm ground against your throbbing pearl in delicious torment.

"Fuckin' drenched for me," he commented with clear masculine satisfaction. "This what you want, baby girl? My fingers splitting you wide and fuckin' open..."

If he kept up that whiskey-rough filth while working you apart so skillfully, you were sure to detonate within seconds. Hips circling mindlessly, you chased the rapidly cresting highs, trusting him completely to send you plummeting over that euphoric edge.

"Please..." you sobbed, legs quaking where they were hooked around his lean hips. "Please, Lewis...I need..."

Whatever pleas remained caught in your throat as he claimed your lips again, swallowing your hoarse cries and whimpers. The built-in shelving at your back served as convenient leverage as he fingers pumped in a steady, owning cadence while his palm continued kneading at your sensitive bud with perfect pressure.

You tore your mouth away to gasp against his stubbled jaw, tingles of electricity licking along every nerve ending like wildfire. "I'm gonna...oh God, Lewis, I'm gonna..."

"That's it, baby." His answering rasp was shredded and dark, wreathed in blatant carnal pride at your wanton surrender. "Let it go for me...drench my fuckin' hand with it."

His vulgar praise was the final push you needed. With a drawn-out keening cry, your spine arched into an almost painful bow as you released in spectacular, obliterating waves of screaming pleasure. Lewis held you pinned as shockwave after shockwave washed over you, prolonging and intensifying your euphoric high.

At some point, you found yourself draped over him bonelessly, panting in great heaving gulps while he nuzzled your hairline and trailed hot, worshipful kisses over your face and throat. Though satisfyingly sated for the moment, an ember of longing still throbbed molten and low, awaiting his final searing brand.

"Goddamn, you're exquisite," Lewis breathed against your sweat-dampened skin. "I'll never get enough of you, baby girl. Not in this life or the next..."

As he shifted to mouth along the shuddering column of your exposed throat, those talented fingers still worked your flushed, sensitized flesh in tiny pulses and caresses, sending aftershocks of delicious torment skating through your limbs. Overwhelmed anew, you could only cling to him, this remarkable man whom you'd fallen so hopelessly in love with.

After sharing a lingering kiss that left you both slightly breathless, you reluctantly disentangled yourselves and began straightening rumpled attire. Lewis shot you a roguish wink as he smoothed the lapels of his immaculate tuxedo jacket. You bit your lip to stifle a giddy giggle, feeling deliriously happy despite the slight flush of embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position.

Squaring your shoulders, you emerged from the utility closet trying your best to exude nonchalance. Lewis followed closely behind, his large palm skating across the small of your back in a reassuring caress. Immediately, you nearly walked straight into the grinning form of none other than Bad Bunny himself.

"Ay yi yi...." The Puerto Rican rapper's eyes danced with mischief as he took in your flustered appearances. "If I had known the closets were available, I would have brought someone myself."

Lewis just laughed, slinging an arm around your waist. "What can I say? She's irresistible."

You ducked your head shyly as Bad Bunny chuckled. After exchanging some playful banter, you and Lewis headed back to the Gala's main venue - hands intertwined, beaming unabashedly. Despite the brief embarrassment, your shared smiles spoke of an unbreakable partnership built on deep adoration. In Lewis's eyes, you were his unstoppable equal, his everything. And he was undeniably yours.

[kenzumekodma]

the nervous energy created today by finding out my contacts are on hold and are supposed to arrive three days before i leave for the convention akshabsbs

[sometimesanalice]

Wildest Dreams (Part 2)

Summary: After meeting Bradley during Fleet Week, he shows you whether he is more of an officer or a gentleman in the bedroom. And while you haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night, you also hope he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, and Bradley in Summer Whites (minors dni)

(Author’s note: this was written as part of @laracrofted’s 1989(TV) Challenge! This a 2 Part series.)

You don’t remember finding your keys in your clutch.

Or the elevator ride up to your floor.

Or the winding hallway to reach your apartment.

What you do remember is the way his fingers toyed with the flimsy strings of the bows tied at the nape of your neck as you searched for your keys. You remember the heat in his eyes and the way they trailed over every inch of you as the too small lift climbed to your floor. You remember his lips on your neck and the way the embossed wallpaper that lined your hallway felt against your back.

And you already know you’ll never forget what it feels like to be pressed up against your door by Bradley Bradshaw and the way your world explodes into technicolor at the easy slide of his tongue against yours.

His hands can’t seem to stay in one place very long, like he wants to commit the shape of you to memory. You grip his shirt tightly as you try to pull his body even closer to yours. He moans his approval when you rock against his thigh, the thick fabric dragging against the soft skin between your legs.

His uniform has been driving you wild all night. And for as good as he looks in it you want it off. You want him naked. You want to know if he got his callsign for the reason you think he did.

Your hands trail down his chest, down his abs on a mission. You can feel the way he tenses under your palms as they move lower, lower. There’s no hesitation in the way you grasp and stroke him with one hand as you work to unbuckle his polished belt with the other.

Rooster groans into your mouth, the brim of his hat just grazing your temple, “You didn’t have me fooled for a second, I knew you weren’t a good girl.”

The way he says it makes it sound like it’s the best compliment in the world.

You feel his smile against your lips before he moves to take advantage of your amused laugh by dipping down and licking a line up your neck in a what that had your knees threatening to give out in your tall, sparkly heels.

Rooster’s hand slips under the short hem of your shiny dress. His mouth finds a spot underneath your ear that has you gasping as his thumbs slide under the waistband of your panties. He pulls away only to work them down your legs and watch as they puddle at your feet-

“What the fuck are those?” 

“U-underwear?” The word comes out a stutter the moment Bradley starts moving his big hand slowly, purposely up, up, up the inside of your thigh. 

The high-cut thong was something you’d purchased on a whim. The floral embroidery on the barely-there sheer mesh contrasted with the thin silky straps of the bright pink panties that had caught your eye right before you’d gone to check out with the set you’d bought as a gift for your friend’s Bachelorette party. 

You always did enjoy a theme. 

You’d barely felt them all night. That is, until you’d gotten in the cab with him, and then you were almost hyperaware of them and how wet they were getting. But pooled on the floor of your entryway, they look almost indecent.

“That’s some damn dental floss and you know it,” he rasps as his fingers find your clit. You suck in a sharp breath at the contact. His hot mouth returns back to that spot under your ear, “Now I’m mad at myself for not getting to see them on you.”

Your body erupts in goosebumps at the way the coarse hairs of his mustache feel against your skin. You’re so wet that his fingers have no problem sliding and circling and gliding over that sensitive part of you.

“You want me to put them back on for you?” you offer breathily, hips tilting forward trying to seek more of his touch.

“Don’t even think about it,” he states heatedly. Like he is personally victimized by even the idea of you putting a layer back on.

And then he sinks two thick fingers into you.

“Bradley,” you gasp, your hands flying up to clutch his biceps.

“Mhmm?”

“I-” Your words are lost to a keen when he flicks a thumbnail over your clit. It’s a little mean, but it has your toes curling and tensing in the most delicious way.  

His firm thigh keeps you pinned open as he works you. His lips and tongue mapping out the areas that make you squirm and pant. Your whole body seizes when he teases you with the possibility of another one of his fingers.

“You what, pretty girl?” You can feel his smirk against your neck.

Oh, fuck him. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. You’d be more annoyed at him if he wasn’t so good at it.

“I-I,” you try again, “I had-oh god, that feels good. Your hands.”

“Hands of a pilot,” he says, satisfied and smug, “I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments to the Department of Defense.”

Rooster’s eyes are molten with pride as he takes you in, from your kiss swollen lips to where the tendons of his forearm are shifting and flexing beneath sunkissed skin half hidden under the hem of your skirt. 

He is frustratingly still so put together while you’re quaking against the door like a leaf in the breeze. You want to make him just as needy for your touch as you are for his, you can feel how hard he is pressed against you.

Your hand goes for his zipper, you’re only able to tug it down half way before Bradley catches you by the wrist and pins it above your head with a tsk.

“I had plans, Rooster,” you pant, finally are able to get out the words.  You’ve never had a man make you feel this good this quickly, he’s picked up on every cue your body has given him. He’s got you teetering along that edge, but he’s still toying with you rather than sending you over it.

“And what were those again?” he hums teasingly, his thumb making infuriatingly featherlight circles against you, “Remind me what was on your agenda.”

Bradley doesn’t give you the chance to reply because he’s hooking his fingertips against you and dragging them against that spot inside of you that causes your head to fall back against your door with a gasp. He shows you just how well practiced in giving pleasure he is as he does it again and again and again.

You try to arch into his touch but his strong body pressed against you so securely that you can’t do anything more than take what he gives you. The short hem of your skirt is riding dangerously high, gathered and bunched between the two of you.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whine as he runs his teeth along the tendon of your neck, “I was going to suck your cock.”

“It’s all yours, baby. You just need to come for me first. I’ll even let you wear my cap as a reward.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Damn straight,” he says before licking deep into your waiting mouth, “Now show me you can be a good girl and come on my fingers.”

You don’t get a chance to reply because Bradley’s thumb changes up the patterns it’s making on your clit making you cry out. There’s nothing teasing about his touch, he’s playing your body to pull exactly what he wants from it. His movements are controlled and precise even as you writhe against his hand.

When you come it’s with his name in your mouth as your orgasm coasts over you in a whiskey wave. The heat and force of it radiating through your whole body from your fingertips to your toes. Bradley murmurs sweet words into your ear as shivers work their way down through your spine.

You’re still breathing hard when you flutter open your eyes just in time to see him pulling his shiny spit-slicked fingers from his mouth with a devastating smirk.

So pleased with himself, so damn handsome.

Not to be out done you kick away that hot pink thong and pull his face to yours seeking the taste of yourself from his mouth. He welcomes your tongue with a satisfied moan, his hungry hands running up your back to tug at one of the sets of ties on your dress.

“Nuh-uh,” you tut against his mouth as you push him up against your door, “It’s your turn, Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw.”

You’ve only managed to undo two of the little white buttons on his uniform, and while you’re dying to see more of his skin, the hard length of him against your stomach has your full attention.

Your knees only just skim the floor before he’s hauling you back up.

“Wait, wait. C’mere, baby,” Bradley says, his hands on your elbows, “Show me your bedroom and then I’ll let you have my cock.”

“‘Come on my fingers’, ‘show me your bedroom’,” you parrot back to him, stroking him through his pants, “You’re going to give me a complex if you don’t let me give you a blow job. I have a theory about your callsign and I need answers, Rooster.”

“You can, I promise,” he huffs a laugh, running his thumb under your bottom lip, “We’re skipping over a few things, let me be a little romantic with you before we smudge that lipstick up.”

You try to ignore the way your heart somersaults at his words and the affection in his eyes.

“It’s longwear,” you reply, with a cheeky half shrug,  “But you’re certainly welcome to try.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, dipping down a bit to get an arm underneath you and picking you up like it’s nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you from your entryway and past your kitchen towards the open door on the right where your bedroom is, the lamp on your nightstand that you’d left on before leaving for the evening guiding the way.

“How is your hat still on?” you mutter before laving at the scars on his neck that had caught your eye earlier at the bar.

“How is your tiara still on?” he tosses back, leaning his head to the side to give you more access to the skin at the base of his throat.

“It’s a headband.”

“It’s cute.”

You pull away with a grin, “I knew you wanted to try it on. Big, strong, Naval aviator has an affinity for pretty shiny things.”

“Guilty as charged,” Rooster agrees. His hands run down the sides of your waist as he sets you down, his fingers stroking the material of your sparkling pink dress. “Where do you want me, baby?”

You don’t answer him, instead you press him back lightly until he takes the hint and sits on the side of your bed, legs wide so that you can step into the space between his thighs. He makes an enticing contrast of tan skin and white uniform against the pale blue of your comforter.

Holding Bradley’s heated gaze, you take the pristine white hat off of his head and set it on the nightstand next to you. The sight of his sunkissed curls is a treat you weren’t expecting to see and you can’t help but run your hands through his hair.

You take a minute to indulge in the feeling of his soft strands between your fingers as he leans into your touch. There’s a ribbon of desire that is still wrapped around the two of you, one that pulls tighter with every pass of your hands.

“Take your cock out,” you murmur.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a wink, his voice like rich espresso.

He’d gotten his way, now it was your turn.

You lean forward to kiss him, wet and deep, before finallyfinallyfinally sinking to your knees in front of him.

Rooster is all efficient hands and fingers as he unzips those dizzyingly snug pants the rest of the way down. You swear that smirk of his gets a little wider as he pulls his cock out for you. 

You’re almost annoyed at how perfect it looks, at how big it is. But that feeling fades quicker than it came on at the pretty way his large hand fists and pumps himself. It makes your breath get caught in your throat as you watch.

And then he’s holding it out for you like an offering, “This what you wanted, sweetheart?”

You don’t shy away from his intense gaze as you flatten your tongue underneath him and obscenely lick up the length of him.

“Goddamn,” he says hoarsely, as he throws his head back.

You beam, pleased and preening, before you pull him fully into your mouth. That smirk is entirely wiped off his face and you can see the way his jaw is clenching and releasing as his face is angled up towards the ceiling. Your hand replaces his on his cock to stroke him in time with the bob of your head. He groans low and ragged at the twist of your wrist at the base of him as you swirl your tongue right underneath the firm ridge of his head.

You feel your Bridesmaid headband slide back on your head with all your enthusiastic movements, and it falls to the floor with a metallic clatter. You wait until he’s looking back at you before you hollow your cheeks as you draw his cock further into your mouth.

“Knew that smart mouth of yours was going to look so good around my cock. God, you’re so fucking pretty,” he says, running his thumb along your jaw, “That little pink dress of yours did a number on me, I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Bradley’s pretty praise and compliments goes straight to your head, like a rush of bubbles from a freshly popped bottle of champagne. You like the way he is gazing at you- his eyelids heavy but his eyes greedy- and the way he looks sitting on your bed, his presence filling the space of your room.

“If you like it so much I can tell you where I got it from,” you tease, “Don’t think they’d have your size though.” You treat him with another long lick, taking a moment to catch your breath to work him in your hand. It slides easily over him with the mix of your spit and his pre-cum.

“We both know how much I like pretty shiny things. I like seeing them on pretty girls, but I think I like seeing them on the floor even more.”

Rooster reaches out to slide his hand up the valley of your breasts and up around your neck to the back of your dress where the duo of bows of the halter top are still tied and starts tug on the ends of them.

You run your fingernail gently along the underside of his cock, smirking to yourself when it jerks in your hand. You take the tip of him between your lips, flicking him with your tongue as you let him work on the bows.

“Jesus, what kind of knots did you tie on this thing,” he grunts, still pulling on the thin pink strings.  

“I thought you Navy men were supposed to be excellent with knots,” you say with a laugh, moving your hair aside so that he can see better.

“I fly planes that land on ships, the only knots I’m tying are the ones on my boots.”

“Well now, that’s a shame,” you say with a sigh, blinking up at him with your best doe eyes. You give him a couple more slow pumps and watch with pleasure as his eyes flare with heat as he catches on to your meaning.

The way he moans your name sounds like both a curse and a prayer.

You pull away from him and sit back on your knees reaching up behind your neck. He watches you with rapt attention as you untie one and then the other. You hold it up with one hand at your collarbone and run the fingers of your other hand over the swells of your breasts before sliding it behind your back to release the final bow dancing along your mid-back.

And then you let go of the top.

It flutters down to your waist and you’re bared before him.

“Fuck me, knew you couldn’t be wearing a bra with that sexy little dress,” he groans as you pull him back into your mouth.

His fingers fly to your hair as you work to take him further and further into your mouth. It’s impossible to look away or close your eyes when his heady gaze is trained on you so intensely. He goes slack-jawed as you swallow around him, humming your approval to his reaction around his cock.

It’s easy to lose yourself to the rhythm of it. Of the staccato of his breath and sounds of satisfaction coming from in his broad chest. Of the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue.

Bradley’s thigh is taut and tense under your other hand with the strain of holding himself back. You are almost tempted to tell him to use your mouth how he wants, but there is something so exciting about having this man wrapped around your finger and at your mercy. He’s looking at you with such open want in his eyes that it makes that place low in your stomach spark with desire.

You pull off of him to drop a few open mouth kisses to the length of him. You look up at him from under your eyelashes, making sure you have his full attention when you use your tongue to trace along the thick vein on his shaft.

“How’s my lipstick holding up, Rooster?”

He barks a laugh, his smile wide and broad with amusement, “Hasn’t budged. Guess I’ll have to work harder to make a mess out of you then, huh?”

“I guess you will.” You shift forward like you mean to brush a kiss to his lips, but pull away with a mischievous smile right before his lips could meet yours. He groans and leans forward chasing after your mouth.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” Bradley says, hauling you up off of the cream-colored carpet of your floor. He hastily shoves your dress down the rest of the way down your hips and onto the floor before pulling you into his lap.

“But-” The words die in your throat as you whimper at the contact of your soaked cunt as it rubs up against his thick cock. Rooster runs his nose along the line of your neck as your hands tangle in his curls. He squeezes your ass with his hands encouraging you to continue your rock and grind against him.

When you tug him back up to your mouth, he goes willingly with a self-satisfied smile. You keen when your nipples catch against his nametag and the ribbons decorating his chest and you’re reminded that he’s not nearly naked enough for your liking.

“Why are you still dressed?” you huff, your insatiable hands roughly pulling at the buttons of his shirt, “If you were as interested in furthering those civilian-military relations as you claimed to be earlier, Sailor, you’d take that uniform off.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” he drawls, not sounding the least bit sorry, “Please allow me to show you just how committed I am to cultivating strong bonds with the local community at hand.”

And in a move so smooth and powerful, Bradley’s got you pinned to the bed. It doesn’t even register to you until he’s crowding into you, his head dipping down to drag his teeth over your peaked nipple. His large hand comes up to cup and massage your other one as he laves over you in broad and long strokes of his tongue.

He rolls against you teasingly and the way your thighs come up to bracket his hips is almost instinctive as you sink further into the cloud of your bed under his sturdy weight.

That mustache feels even better against your chest as it did against your neck when he had you pressed against your front door. But the drag of those damn buttons is impossible to ignore even as his hot mouth works its way down your sternum and stomach.

“Bradley.”

“Yeah, baby?” He nips at your hipbone as he strong-arms your thighs open further for his wide shoulders to settle under.

You’re so tired of feeling that sure-to-be-well-made fabric under your hands and against your body. You want to feel his skin against yours. You want his heat. You want to smell like the cedar and spearmint scent of his cologne.

He’s been derailing your plans since the moment you saw him enter the bar, but in this you will not be swayed, “If you’re not naked in the next ninety seconds, I swear I’m going to kick you out.”

“I can work with ninety,” he says with a toe curling glint in his eyes right before he licks into you.

The coarse hairs of his mustache against that most intimate part of you has you seeing not only stars, but entire galaxies. He slides his hand under your back to get you to arch further towards him. His tongue is relentless against your needy clit and when he sucks it has your hips canting right into his charming mouth.

“Can’t keep those hips on the bed, can you? Keep tryin’ to chase my mouth,” he smirks at your frustrated whine when he pulls away from you all too soon. He’s all lithe grace as he moves and stands up at the end of your bed.

You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. There’s no reason to be when he shoots you a wink so easy and playful and so endearingly cocky that you think you might just melt on the spot.

“Tick-tock, Lieutenant,” you say breathily as you sit up and lean back on your elbows.

“Now you’re just being difficult on purpose. That ok, baby, I think you’ll enjoy it when I fuck that attitude right out of you.”

“Promises, promises.”

You already know that lazy smile he’s wearing is going to take you down as he starts to undo the buttons of his uniform. He’s definitely past the ninety seconds you’d threatened him with, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to kick him out now.

Rooster does it slowly. One by one until he is shrugging it off his frame. He looks like sin standing there tall and broad with his belt dangling open and his cock hanging out proudly from the open fly of his formfitting pants.

“Oh, this is getting good now,” you muse, not unaffected by the increasingly unclothed man in front of you.

Feeling brave you bring your fingers down to your clit, teasing yourself lightly as he pulls his thin undershirt up and over his head. And finally, you get to see all of that bronzed skin on display. The sight of the smattering of chest hair between his full pecs and the ridges of his abs in the soft light of your nightstand lamp has your mouth watering at the sight in front of you.

“That’s it,” Bradley says lowly, his eyes glued to the shiny, slick part of you, “Show me how you like to touch yourself.”

You let your legs fall open wider for his gaze as you continue to touch yourself. Your heart hammers against your chest as you put yourself on display for him. As you show off for him. With every passing second your need for him ratchets up even higher. He gives himself a few pumps, his cock still shiny and wet from your mouth and pussy, before he’s shoving his pants down his thick thighs and kicking them off.

He works his way back up your bed and props himself against your tufted headboard and pulls you back into his lap. You sigh as you lean into him, your bare skin against his. At last. He feeds you his tongue as he tips up your head for a fevered kiss, his hands skimming up the length of your spine and into your hair as he commands your mouth with his.

“What’s it going to be, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your lips, “Do you want to be fucked by an officer? Or do you want me to be sweet with you? I’ll show you just how much of a gentleman I can be.”

A shiver works its way through your body and you feel the way his lips pull up at your response to his raspy voice and the sultry promise laced in his words. The night has been building up to this, the feeling of his hands in your hair and having his clothes on the floor in your room shouldn’t feel so right. But it does.

And if you’re only going to have this one night with him, you already know what you want. You knew it from the second he kissed you back at the bar.

You pull back just enough to lean over him to grab his hat off your nightstand. His hands flex on your hips when you set it on your own head. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be and it tilts down your forehead a bit. Rooster tips it up for you and adjusts it, his eyes seeking an answer you have yet to give him.

“I want to be fucked by an officer, Lieutenant Commander,” you say, running your thumb down the divot of his chin.

You’ve never felt more powerful than you do at the sound of his wrecked groan.

“Grab that condom, baby,” Bradley’s voice is thick with need.

“Yes, sir,” you say cheekily, pulling open the drawer next to the bed.

You aren’t expecting the hand that connects with your ass or the sound of the sharp slap that seems to reverberate throughout your bedroom or the way it makes you even wetter than you already are.

The tequila and champagne from earlier wore off long ago, now you’re just drunk on him.

You pass him one of the gold foiled squares and watch as he rolls it on with ease as you hover above him on your knees. He’s got you so spun up in such a short amount of time, you’d know from the moment you saw him that he was trouble, you just didn’t realize at the time that he was going to be your kind of trouble.

He holds his cock in one hand and guides you onto it with his other hand heavy on your hip. You expect him to rock up into you, to give you both that air stealing bliss, instead your jaw drops open at the way he’s coaching you to sink onto him slowly, slowly, so so slowly.

It’s been awhile since you’ve taken something other than your fingers or one of the toys discreetly hidden in your bedside drawer and he has you whimpering as you stretch and spread around him. You can feel his want in every devastating touch, in every heated kiss. You cling to his shoulders to keep you from floating away.

“There we go. Nice and easy,” Rooster murmurs, watching the way his cock disappears into you, “Felt how tight you were around my fingers. I know ‘m big. You’re doing so good for me.”

He’s got a hand wrapped around the base of your neck and around your waist holding you there when your hips finally connect, keeping you from squirming as your body works to relax around him. Your pussy flutters around him at the sheer size of him.

You gasp in surprise as a shiver of an orgasm flurries through you unexpectedly. 

“Goddamn,” he grunts, you can hear the relief in his voice as he continues to rock up into you gently pulling out more of those ripples from you.

He’s still holding you in place, controlling just how much of him you’re getting, his fingers are pressed tightly into your hipbones. His hair is a mess and his eyes are hungry. Bradley is flushed the prettiest shade of pink along his cheekbones and across his chest.

You’re about to tell him so when your eyes snag on a patch of scarred skin on his shoulder and you suddenly must know what it feels like under your tongue.

The second your seeking tongue glides over it Rooster’s hips jerk into you in a way that steals all the air from your lungs. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck as he does it again and again in smooth, measured strokes.

But it’s not enough. That whisper of an orgasm was nothing like you know it could be. It did nothing to take the edge off, all it did was make you more desperate for him. 

He feels so solid beneath you that you need more of him. You start to roll your hips against him trying to get him to move faster, to fuck you in the way he promised he would.

“Oh, you wanna take the lead, huh? By all means,” Bradley says, putting his hands behind his head in a way that makes his biceps look massive, “C’mon, pretty girl, show me what you got.”

Not one to turn down a challenge, you reach behind you to brace your hands on his thick thighs and lean back. You’d show him alright.

Show him just how good you look wearing his hat. Show him just how good he looks buried in your cunt. Show him just how good he looks covered in your arousal. Show him just how good you look working his cock as you roll your hip and raise yourself up and down on him.

“Jesus, fuck. Look at you. Good girls don’t ride cock like that. Shit, you look so damn pretty. You feel so good like this, you’re taking me so well.”

His eyes are torn between watching your face and the way your breasts bounce and the way his hat on your head bobs in time with the rhythm you’ve set. The new angle has the pressure building up swiftly in your lower stomach. And it’s so good, but it’s not what you want. It’s not what you need.

“Stop being such a gentleman, Rooster. I thought you were going to fuck me,” you say, leaning forward and nipping at his bottom lip.

“Pretty sure I told you I was both,” he says tracing a finger down your soft stomach to your pussy, you shiver as he starts making tight circles on your clit, “But if you wanna be fucked, then you’re going to be fucked.”

Bradley shows you just how honed his body is in the way he pulls you off of him and onto your hands and knees in front of him. Your arms never had a chance at keeping you up when he roughly pushes into you. He grips your hips tightly forcing you to bend and arch up further to meet his powerful thrusts.

His hat topples off your head and onto the edge of the bed, where his next drive of him into you sends it dropping onto the floor.

“Tell me how much you like getting fucked by an officer, sweetheart, I want to hear it.”

“It’s good,” you moan into the crevice of your elbow, trying to muffle some of your whimpers.

“Just good? The way your pretty pussy is clinging to be, I’d say you’re feeling more than ‘good’,” he taunts, slapping your ass for good measure in a way that makes you jerk back against him.

“Just think there’s room for improvement, you’re so chatty for someone who could be fucking me harder.”

“Had to work you open before I could fuck you. This how you want it?” he snaps his hips harder and faster into you. You gasp at the sensation and clutch at the comforter beneath your hands.

“Yes, yes.”

The pace he sets is desperate, hungry, and unrelenting. When he skims a hand up your back, tangling it in your hair and tugs, you swear you’ve never made the sound that he pulls from you before.

Every time you adapt to rock and grind of his hips and start to thrust yourself back to meet him, to take him deeper, he changes up his tempo forcing you to only take what you’re given. His touch is so electric you feel like you could light up a whole city.

Your room is filled with the sounds of skin connecting on skin, of sharp breaths and shattered sighs and pitchy keens. The angle he pounding into you has the ridge of his cock rubbing against that spot that has you trembling and writhing beneath him.

“Oh fuck, fuck. Bradley. Please.” You’re babbling nonsense now and you know it, but you’re so, so close.

He knows it too because when he slides his hand around you to run his thumb over your aching clit you shatter around him with a choked sob into your arm. You don’t fight the waves of pleasure crashing over you, you let them pull you under.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he rasps as you quake under his touch, “Good girl.”

His own hips start to stutter against you and his breathing starts to run ragged as he fucks into you. He is clutching your hips so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if you were wearing his fingerprints tomorrow. His groan as he comes is the best sound you’ve ever heard.

Somehow through the haze you realize that you’re not just smiling, you’re beaming.

Bradley is so perfectly heavy on top of you and so warm. You’re so thoroughly worn out and well fucked it’s all you can do to lay there with your eyes closed as you float in that post-orgasm bliss. You make a noise of disapproval when he pulls out of you.

“Gotta get rid of the condom, baby,” he says with a little laugh. You feel the bed shift as he makes his way to your bathroom, already missing the feeling of his body against you.

You know you should get up. Maybe take your makeup off or get some water, but you’re just so content. So satisfied. You’ve had a few one night stands before, but you’ve never felt so comfortable with someone before.

You hear Bradley’s steps get closer as he comes back into your bedroom, but the feel of a damp washcloth gliding up your thigh to the center of you takes you by surprise, “Oh, that’s warm.”

“Is it too warm?” he asks, pausing. You were lucky if your ex would hand you a tissue, so Bradley’s thoughtfulness makes something in your stomach flutter.

“’s nice. Thank you,” you sigh, arching into his tender touch.

You know you should take over, it’s too intimate of a gesture. You should, you should, you should. But you don’t. You let him clean you up while you will your heart to stop fluttering behind your ribs.

You’re pliant and boneless as he climbs back into your bed and pulls you against his chest. Your body shouldn’t fit so perfectly against his. It shouldn’t, it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t. But it does.

“You still with me?” Rooster teases lightly, brushing back some of the sweaty strands of your hair that were clinging to your forehead.

“Just resting up for round two.”

You feel his smile as he presses a kiss to your cheek, “Mmhm.”

Time slips away under the gentleness of his warm hands. Your breathing slows down to match the way he smooths his palm up and down along your spine. You don’t realize how close you are to sleep until he’s pulling you back from the wisps of slumber that were rising up to meet you.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks quietly. You think you hear a string of hope threaded through his words.

It’s late, but not too late that he’d have a hard time finding an Uber or a cab to take him back to wherever home is for him, but you’re not quite ready to let go of him just yet.

“Yeah, you should stay,” you murmur into his chest.

You feel as he pulls up your comforter around the two of you. You nestle in even closer to him, draping your arm over his stomach and tucking your head under his chin. He reaches over you carefully and turns off the little lamp on your nightstand.

“Ok, I’ll stay.”

It doesn’t take long until the sound of Bradley’s steady breathing lulls you to sleep.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the way your body aches in the most pleasant of ways. You allow yourself to stretch luxuriously, your high thread count sheets skimming against your still naked body.

The second thing you notice is the sound of the shower running in your bathroom.

You’re glad to have this moment to yourself to grin madly into your pillow.

Because he stayed. He’s still here.

Once that rush of giddy energy works its way through the rest of your body, you get up to find your clutch with your phone in it and bring it back to bed with you. You shoot a text off to your best friend so that she doesn’t worry and get caught up on all the things you missed in the chaos that is the group chat. The amount of missed notifications are in the triple digits, you love to see girls supporting girls.

A few minutes later Rooster comes out of the bathroom with one of your fluffy white towels wrapped low around his hips. There’s still a part of you that still can’t believe last night even happened even as he stands in front of you, giving you a wide grin when he sees that you’re awake. 

His hair is damp and the sight of those curls make you want to run your fingers through them again. Those muscles of his look even better in the morning light that is filtering through your blinds, you’re getting more than an eyeful of him.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Bradley says gesturing to the open bathroom door, “I wanted to sneak in a quick shower just in case. You seem like the type of girl who would know about her Third Amendment rights.”

“You never know, there’s still time,” you say with a coquettish little shrug and a Cheshire cat smile, “Although it seems rude to kick someone who made me come three times last night.”

“Four,” he says, the left side of his mouth ticking up a bit as he leans a hand on your dresser.

“Four?”

“Mmhm, four. I know what I felt.”

“Would you be up for reminding me how that fourth one went?” you ask, teasingly pulling the soft sheet down your body to sit up on your knees at the edge of your bed.

“Sure would, ma’am. Anything to solidify those civilian-military bonds,” Rooster says, strutting towards you.

He’s ducking down to greet you with a kiss when you stop him with a hand on his chest, “Wait, what time do you have to be back?”

You see that easy smile of his falter for just a moment, “18:30. Sorry that’s-”

“I know military time, Bradley,” you say with a smirk, toying with the loose knot of the towel. You do the math in your head, there’s still almost seven hours before he has to go. It’s an easy decision when you offer, “What do you say, Lieutenant, you want to spend the day with me?”

Rooster answers with an enthusiastic kiss and greedy hands that tell you everything you need to know. It doesn’t take long before you’re pushing off his towel, pulling him on top of you and getting  tangled up with him again.

It only took you a few passes of his tongue to realize what he was spelling against your clit before he had you coming on his mouth. 

L-I-E-U-T-E-N-A-N-T-C-O-M-M-A-N-D-E-R

And then after he reminds you of just how that fourth orgasm went, you set him up with some coffee in your kitchen as you go take a shower and get ready feeling entirely too weak in the knees for a man you’d just met.

You opt to skip the make-up and go fresh faced to have those extra minutes with him instead. Although you do end up finding a spot beneath your ear, a remnant from his mouth last night, that you do have to take a minute to conceal.

Swathed up in your silky robe, you sift through your closet looking for something to wear when your eyes catch on a different pink dress. There are other comfier, easier things you could wearbut it’s the tie on the mostly open back that seals the deal for you. You grin to yourself as you tug open the bow before pulling it on.

He lets out a low whistle when you emerge from your bedroom.

“I know it’s not sparkly, but I think it’ll do,” you joke, twisting your hips a bit so the material of your floral print ruffle sundress floats around your calves.

“It’ll more than do,” Bradley says, staring at you with the same open desire as you’d probably given him when he’d emerged from your bathroom wrapped in that towel.

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, “Do you mind tying this for me?”

You could easily tie it yourself, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as having him do it for you.

“That ok?” he asks, his voice dropping a few notes lower as he fiddles with tying the flimsy straps in the back for you.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Rooster.”

He drops a kiss to your shoulder when he’s done and then spins you so that you’re facing him.

“What about me? How do the Summer Whites measure up?” he asks, clearly fishing as he gestures to his uniform. It’s still white and pristine and surprisingly devoid of any wrinkles from the night it spent on the floor of your bedroom.

You give him a contemplative once over taking him in, “It’ll more than do. Although, you’re missing a little something.” 

You walk over the island where you’d set his hat earlier so that it wasn’t forgotten on the floor in your bedroom and pick it up. He bends a little for your benefit as you place it on his head. 

“Cute,” you say, adjusting it so it sits just right, “But I think I wore it better.”

“I think you did too,” Bradley says, tugging you in for a thorough kiss before he laces your fingers together, “You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s get this show on the road,” you say with a wink, repeating the same thing that you said back at the bar when you decided to take him home with you.

The first stop is to your favorite little café not too far away from your apartment. Coffee and food were very necessary after the way the two of you had worked each other out the night before.

Bradley had looked so cramped in your little VW Golf on the way over that you decided to ditch it there and walk around the area instead. The two of you popped in and out of the bookshops and plant shops and record stores that dotted the area. You were surprised to learn he had really great taste in music and ended up picking out a few new vinyl records to take home with you.

In line at the checkout, he’d plucked your credit card from your hand, nodding to the sign advertising the store’s military discount and whispered into your ear, “I won’t tell Uncle Sam if you don’t.”

A ten percent discount never felt so thrilling.

You caught more than a few men and women checking him out in his Summer Whites as you walked around. But you couldn’t blame them because he’d caught you checking him out more than once. But it wasn’t your fault that his ass was a revelation in those tight pants. And he clearly knew it.

When you see the marquee for the small theatre on this side of town that is known for playing the classics and art house films advertising a showing for State Fair you offhandedly mention how much you like that movie as you peek in the widow of one of the antique shops, and then next thing you know he checking his watch and pulling you with him to the box office window for tickets.

“If you don’t let me pay for something here soon, you’re going to give me a complex,” he complains when you stop him from pulling out the credit card that he has tucked in the pocket of his uniform.

“Sorry, Rooster, it’s still Fleet Week and rules are rules,” you joke, bumping him out of the way with your hip sliding your card to the attendant before he can argue with you any further.

“Baby, I need you to stop Richard Gere-ing me,” he says, taking the tickets and wrapping an arm around your waist then leading you in the building.

“Alas, they’re playing Pretty Woman today, but I think you have the potential to make a pretty Julia Roberts,” you tease him, “I’d bet red would look very fetching on you with those undertones.”

The pinch on your right butt cheek makes you jump, startled. You whirl to see if anyone caught him, but the lobby is fairly empty. You turn to send him a heatless glare, but his face is the picture of innocence.

You shake your head at him amused, “Ok, fine. Just for that I will allow you to buy me a small soda from the concession stand, Bradley.”

He looks very pleased ten minutes later when he’s carrying a large bucket of popcorn, three types of candy, and two giant cups of fizzing soda as you go to find your seats.

“So much for free Fleet Week drinks,” you tut, taking a sip of your drink.

“But I did get laid today, so I’ll call it a win,” he winks.

The two of you trade whispers as the lights go down and the music of the opening credits starts to play. You grin as you reach over for some popcorn and hear him humming along.

Just as Vivian Blaine starts strutting away from Dana Andrews, her hair bouncing vivaciously with each step, Rooster angles over, “Hey, that’s how your friend looked last night walking away from Hangman. He’s been harassing me all day to get you to give me your number so he can call her.” 

You hold back the snicker that tries to escape your throat when he gets shushed by someone a few rows back, whispering even louder, “Sorry!”

You lean in closer, admiring the way half of his face is illuminated from the screen and confide, “Where do you think she learned it from?”

You and your best friend had taken the same film studies class in college and she tested out the move that night at the bars near campus with an almost perfect success rate. It’s been her go-to move ever since.

“No shit?”

“I’m serious,” you say with a giggle.

The shusher makes their displeasure known again and this time the both of you burst out laughing.

“We should probably go before they start throwing popcorn at us. I don’t think even with military grade detergent that you’d be able to get butter-flavored oil out of those Summer Whites.”

Bradley agrees readily and your heart flip-flops knowing that he’d rather be talking with you than sitting silently for the next two hours. He even tosses one of the boxes of candy to the shusher on the way out as an apology.

The two of you head to the beach instead, sitting on the sand and watching the waves. Tossing some of the popcorn kernels to hungry seagulls who approach. The two of you are both a little overdressed for it, but if anything, that makes it more fun.

You’re surprised at how easy it is to talk to him, to tease him. Surprised that he’s more than just a pretty face with a good body. The way he is so at-home and comfortable in his own skin makes you feel like you don’t have to try to be impressive, you can just be yourself. 

As the sun sinks lower in the sky, you’re both increasingly aware there’s a ticking clock above your heads and that this has to come to an end soon. And far too soon you end up making your way back together to where you’d left your car a few blocks away from the café you’d taken him to for brunch.

“Do you need to drop by your place for your things?” you ask Rooster, toying with your car keys.

“I packed last night. I asked a friend who is shipping out with me to grab them for me,” he says, scrubbing a hand down the side of his face.

“Not Hangman?” You wonder fleetingly if your friend ended up caving and giving him her number or not.

“Not this time. Which I’m not too mad about since he snores.” You know he is trying to make you laugh, but you just press your lips together and nod.

“So I should head there.” It’s not a question. You know your time is up.

“You probably should,” he says, with a sigh and a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

It’s a quiet ride as he directs you to a public lot near the Naval Air Station where he says his friend Bob is going to meet the two of you, explaining that he doesn’t have the pass that would allow you to drop him off inside the gates.

There are a few cars in the lot, but he points out where you should park near an older, but well maintained Chevy truck. When you look over as you pull into the space a couple spots away a man in glasses waves, you don’t miss the two duffle bags that are in the second row of his cab.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t leave yet, please,” Rooster says, unbuckling and getting out of your car. And for whatever reason, you do too.

You linger in front of your car as you wait for him to come back to you. You watch as his friend Bob passes him a pen and some paper, you can tell he’s trying to fill it out quickly based on the way his hand seems to be flying over it.

There’s an intensity to the way that Bradley walks back to you. Your feet are pinned to the asphalt beneath you as his eyes stay trained on you.

You both stand there nearly chest to chest just taking the other in. 

He’s still too breathtaking for words in his uniform as the golden hour light makes the sun-streaked strand of his hair gleam like threads of gold. His eyes slowly run over your face and down the dress he’d carefully tied you in this morning.

If this is it, if this is all you’re ever going to get with him, this is how you want him to remember you. Standing in a nice dress and staring at the sunset.

He reaches out and cups your face in his warm hand.

“Say you’ll see me again,” he says, holding your gaze. You can see every color of brown reflected in his pretty eyes.

Your heart seizes in your chest, “Bradley, I-”

He lightly puts his thumb over your lips to stop you before you can finish.

“Listen, I really like you. But it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to wait for me, so I’m not going to.” You’re unprepared for the rock that sinks to the pit of your stomach. “What I’m going to do is give you this,” he says handing you the thin paper packet, “This has all the information you need to get on base if you wanted to meet me there in two months when I get back. They give it to all of us when we get our deployment papers mailed to us, I’ve just never had a reason to fill one out for anyone before.”

You hold it in your hands and look at it. The letters are slightly sloppy in that way that men seem to have. The sheet is filled out his full name, Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw, as well as what you assume is his military I.D. number and other crumbs of information about the handsome man standing in front of you.

And you’re reminded again, that you’ve only gotten to see just the tiniest sliver of him.

“Say you’ll see me again,” he repeats, quieter this time, “Even if it’s just pretend.”

You hear what he is really saying: lie to me, please.

His friend is waiting for him in his idling truck.

And Bradley is waiting on you.

But you feel like you’re out of time.

This was supposed to be one night.

One night, one moment.

So why does this feel so big? Like you were on the precipice of something monumental.

You haven’t even known him for twenty-four hours and yet you’ve never felt like this about anyone else before. The potential of him and of what this seemed like it could be was too good, too perfect. And it scares you. Because the reality of it could crush you if you let yourself give into it and he changed his mind. You don’t want to get swept up in a daydream or a flight of fancy.

What-ifs are just heart aches, not heart breaks.

You can’t give him what he wants, not right now. But you can’t lie to him either.

Even if you want to. Even if you’re dying to.

“Stay safe, Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw,” you say, softly not trusting your voice.

Bradley leans in and tips your chin up with a finger under your chin, your eyes flutter close and your breath catches in your chest when you feel his warm breath ghosting over your face. He brushes the softest kiss you’ve ever been given against your cheek. The sweetness of it melts against your skin like a snowflake, like a wish.

“I hope I see you again,” he murmurs, lips lingering.

And then he’s gone, taken away on a summer breeze.

Those two months had moved slower than you thought possible.

You’d learned that your best friend hadn’t been able to give Hangman her number when she’d ended up being the one to try and corral the gaggle of drunken bridesmaids at last call and shepherd them into the waiting cabs. Apparently, she’d tried to look for him but by the time she’d had a moment he’d already left.

That packet of paper you’d kept on your island had taken on a life of its own.

At your friend’s wedding, you’d stood off to the side in your intricately beaded bridesmaid dress watching on with a glass of champagne in your hand as she had her first dance with her new husband. And let yourself imagine what it might have felt like if he’d have been there too. The next day as you had nursed your hangover, you’d regretted indulging those thoughts in addition to drinking the full bottle of champagne you’d snuck away with.

It felt like you were just going through the motions. Like your head was somewhere else, with someone else.

The more you tried to talk yourself out of it and forget about how he’d made you feel, the more he chased you in your dreams.

All the hours you’d spent wondering about what-if you went, what-if you waited, what-if you met him there had led you to this moment here and now. 

The drive had been made, the papers had been handed over and you were approved for entry, it was all happening.

You at Naval Air Station North Island wearing the same pink floral ruffle sundress that you had dropped him off in two months ago.

The smell of jet fuel and rubber mix with the ocean air as the planes start to land one by one and make the slow taxi along the long airstrip that leads to the ramp where they are to park. The perfect lines of them were just as immaculate on the ground as they were in the sky.

As more and more of them make their final descent, the more antsy the crowd of friends and families of the squadron members get. There’s an excited tension steadily building as they wait for the go-ahead to leave the hanger to greet the people they’ve been missing.

You can hear your heartbeat beating in your ears like a drum.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

You hope you’re not making an idiot of yourself. You hope that he hasn’t forgotten you. You hope he remembers why he wanted you here in the first place. You hope he still wants you.

When the final engine of the final plane is turned off, the officer in charge announces that everyone is free to exit the hanger and another cheer goes out. This one much louder than before when the aviators had done the flyover in their faultless formations.

It’s a rush of people as they stream around you out of the domed arch of the hanger and onto the open tarmac under the cloudless blue sky.

The names on the planes had been clocked well in advance by their keen, anticipatory eyes. They know exactly which aircraft they’re heading to and who is going to be climbing out of that cockpit to greet them with equal enthusiasm.

You can see the beaming smiles, you can hear the giddy laughter.

Yet your feet stay stuck on that line between the cracked industrial cement floor and the sundrenched tarmac as you watch all those happy moments happen around you.

It’s the sound of a raspy, full bodied laugh that catches your ear and has your head whirling to the left.

And there he is.

Even from a distance the sight of Bradley Bradshaw has your heart fluttering in your chest.

You see him meeting up with a couple of other pilots with his helmet in hands. You recognized Bob by his glasses, but they’re joined by a fierce looking woman. Rooster is all smiles as she gives him a friendly, playful shove before slipping her hand into Bob’s.

There is nothing you want more than that smile of his to be directed at you.

You catch the way he seems to be checking over his shoulders and looking around to observe the joyful homecoming scenes unfolding around him.

It feels like half hope, half agony when you take that first step out of the shady hanger, onto the tarmac, and into the bright San Diego sun. There were still more than a few warm summer days to look forward to.

Summoning more courage, you take a few more tentative steps in Rooster’s direction. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waitingwaitingwaiting for him to look over and see you.

You’re noticed by his dark-haired female friend first, who nods her chin in your direction. You see the rise and fall of his shoulders as he takes a deep breath before he turns towards your direction and sees you for the first time in two months.

And for a moment, it’s just you and Bradley.

Across a crowded bar. Across a teeming tarmac.  

His eyes locked on yours and yours locked on his.

That easy smile he’d already been wearing is transformed into a wide grin that lights up his whole face.

Your stomach swoops and your feet start moving like they have a mind of their own towards him. He hands his helmet to Bob before he’s taking long strides to meet you halfway. You’re almost toe-to-toe with him, but you stop a respectable half-step further away than you’d like to be.

The two of you are a little greedy in the way you take in the other up close.

You can almost feel the warmth of his brown eyes on your skin, he’s looking at you like he is trying to soak up every inch of you. He has a heart-fluttering crinkle around his eyes as his gaze sweeps over your dress. And you know you’ve made the right choice by wearing it.

Rooster is more tan than the last time you saw him. Sweat dots his temples and his pretty curls are a little flat, no doubt from the shiny red and yellow helmet he’d all but blindly shoved into poor Bob’s hands. You notice that his lips are chapped and his nose a little sunburnt.

He’s still handsome as hell. Maybe even more so now.

“Hey, Sailor,” you greet him, giving him a grin of your own. “You look awfully familiar. Although I think the flight suit is throwing me off, maybe if you put those Summer Whites back on it’ll help jog my memory.”

He laughs and slides a finger under the thin strap of your dress and gently tugs you in even closer.

“Huh, that’s funny because I definitely remember you,” Bradley says, scooping you up with one arm, “Pretty sure you’re the girl of my dreams.”

And then he’s kissing you in a way that you’re pretty sure is going to screw you up forever.

Your wildest dreams never could have prepared you for the reminder of how good it feels to be held in his arms.

Your wildest dreams never could have prepared you for how good it feels to have his lips sliding against yours again.

Your wildest dreams never could have prepared you for a man like Bradley Bradshaw.

He was real and he was in front of you and he wanted you.

“I need you to stop smiling so much, sweetheart, so I can kiss you properly,” he says, pulling back to nudge your nose with his.

“My apologies, I’ll try to take this more seriously,” you tease, still smiling as you pull his face back to yours.

As Bradley presses you even closer, you realize this might not be a bad idea at all, but possibly the best one you’ve ever had.

There's no man quite like Bradley Bradshaw! Whether he is in his Summer Whites or in a Flight Suit he's That Man™️!

Many, many, MANY thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse for her support and endless cheerleading! He's finally got his pants off, Jordan, we did it!

If you missed Part 1 you can read it HERE! Or if you haven't read the story that started it all check out Hey, Sailor!

Moodboards: One || Two

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

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[reiding-writing]

Spencer who learned like a whole sss language or something niche like knitting, so he can teach it to reader cause he heard her talking about how hard it is to find a good teacher???

acts of service [ s.r ]

Summary:

Hobbies are supposed to be relaxing. So when Spencer sees you dwindle into frustration at your newfound hobby of embroidery, he takes it upon himself to teach you better than any low quality youtube tutorial would.

WARNINGS: unserious threat of self-induced harm, lots of mentions of needles and piercing things, horrible description of how to do a chain stitch 😭

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: fluff

wc: 2.0k

masterlist!!

a/n: i genuinely spent about 15 minutes trying to figure out how to do a goddamn chain stitch because lo and behold, the internet sucks when it comes to tutorials 😭

Spencer watches from across his desk as you re-attempt a stitch in your embroidery hoop for the sixth time before giving up and throwing the hoop down on your desk with a huff and leaving to get a cup of coffee, muttering something under your breath about “Stupid stitches,”

He’d been watching you try in vain to learn to embroider for almost three weeks, and it was getting to the point where he was frustrated for you.

You’d picked it up as a way to relieve your stress whilst working, and instead you’ve manged to frustrate yourself to the point where you’re literally having to remove yourself from your desk to calm yourself down.

“Are you alright?” Spencer raises his eyebrow at you as you return to your desk with a cup of coffee cupped in your hands, and you sigh as you take a seat.

“I’m two minutes away from sticking my embroidery needle in my eye so I don’t have to look at this monstrosity anymore-” You place your mug down on your desk, holding the embroidery hoop to your face to judge your own creation.

“Please don’t,” Spencer’s tone carries genuine care for your well being, but its also followed by a laugh on the back end which indicates he knows you’re not serious.

“Why do I do this to myself?” You ask the question to no one in particular as you lean your head over the back of your chair, swivelling it back and forth with your foot as a pivot and leaving your hand to fall into your lap.

“Studies have shown that having hobbies, particularly creative ones, can decrease the amount of cortisol produced in our bodies over time, leading to an overall more relaxed state of being,” Spencer mirrors the way you turn in your chair as he watches you, answering your rhetorical question as if it were completely serious.

“I can tell you right now that I am the exact opposite of relaxed,” You exhale through your nose, joined by a shake of your head as you straighten your posture once more. “I think its time I cut my losses and give up,”

“No you should keep up with it, it’ll be much easier once you’ve got the hang of things,” He tilted his head slightly at you as he voiced his encouragement.

“Easy for you to say Mr. ‘I have an 187 IQ and an eidetic memory’,” You roll your eyes at him, although your expression betrays the fact that you’re not truly antagonistic towards his intelligence. “Half of the tutorials i’m watching don’t even actually show how to do anything,”

Spencer chuckles as your eyes examine the three straight lines of red stitching in the fabric like you were trying to incinerate them with your mind before discarding the hoop to the corner of your desk to actually get some work done.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’s two weeks before the topic of embroidery comes up again, you sat cross-legged and hunched over in your jet seat on the way back from a case in Montana, eyes boring into the fabric as you tried to create a shape vaguely resembling a circle.

“You shouldn’t hunch over like that you know,” Spencer sat down in the seat next to you with a yawn, leaning back against the padding of the leather chair with his head tilted in your direction. “It’ll tighten the muscles in your neck and give you a tension headache,”

You huff at his chastising of your posture considering his own but straighten your back nonetheless, holding your embroidery hoop at eye-level as you carefully puncture the fabric.

He’s glad to see that you haven’t given up on embroidery yet. Partly because it’s good for you to have a hobby that had zero relation to your job and partly because it meant that his 18 hours of research over the last ten days hadn’t been in vain.

“If you’re going in a circle it’s better to use a chain stitch,”

Your eyes flicker upwards at Spencer’s suggestion, wonky thread oval forgotten about as you narrow your eyes at him slightly in an accusatory fashion. “How do you know that?”

“I uh-” Spencer blinked a few times, eyes flickering across the jet’s cabin as he tried to find a reasonable explanation for his sudden knowledge in embroidery that wasn’t because he wanted to be able to teach it to you. “I know a lot of things,”

His intelligence was usually a valid excuse for whatever niche bit of information would come out of his mouth, but you knew for a fact that he had no prior knowledge on how to embroider something. He might have known the history of it at a stretch, but how to physically embroider something? Absolutely not.

If he had he would have told you weeks ago. So this was definitely something new.

“Mhmm, apparently so,” You nod with clear suspicion riddling your expression, but you weren’t about the turn away his help just because you were suspicious of the origins of his newfound expertise in embroidery. “Alright genius, show me then,”

You hold out the hoop in his direction and he takes it from you with an awkwardly endearing smile, un-stitching your botched attempt at a circle and turning the hoop at an angle so that you could see what he was doing.

It was only six stitches, but the way he passed the needle through the fabric was effortless, and it left a perfectly symmetrical blue circle in it’s wake.

“Chain stitching is much easier to curve than straight stitching due to the nature of how the needle passes through the fabric,”

If you weren’t so beholden to his ability to be good at absolutely everything he does you’re sure you’d be a little jealous. Or maybe it was the way his eyes glistened as he looked at you. No. It definitely wasn’t that. You were just grateful he was willing to help you, that’s all.

“Show me how to do it then if it’s so easy,” You shift yourself towards the leather arm that’s separating the two of you, leaning your elbows on it to watch him more closely as your eyes locked on the way the pads of his fingers held the needle.

“Here,” He held it out towards you, blunt side up, as an indication for you to take it. “I’ll walk you through it,”

You take the needle from him with a raised eyebrow, one that only continued to rise as he passed you back your embroidery hoop as well and leaned towards to to angle the fabric at a 45 degree angle towards himself so that he could see what you were doing.

“Alright, so first you want to pierce the needle through the back of the fabric towards you and pull all of the thread through,” You follow his instructions as he speaks, nodding once you’ve garnered yourself a big loop of thread that’s connected under the fabric at one end and your needle at the other.

“Alright?”

“Alright, now go back through that same hole from the top, and bring the needle back up through the fabric about a centimetre downwards, only half pulling the needle through,” You furrow your eyebrow slightly but try to follow him, although he stops you as you attempt to pull the needle all the way through with his hand on top of yours.

“Don’t pull it all the way back through,” He adjusts his body to face a similar direction to yours. “Here, let me help,”

His hands brush the tops of yours as one comes to assist you in holding up the hoop of fabric and the other guides your fingers in holding the needle. His skin is frigidly cold against your own, although whether that’s just because you run hotter than him or the fact that he’s so close to you you feel like you’re internally harbouring volcano you’re unsure.

With his hand guiding your own, you reinsert your needle back through the original hole you’d made from the top down and pierce it upwards through the fabric a little further across, leaving both the tip and the end of the needle above the fabric with the middle underneath.

“Good yeah, now this is the complicated bit, you need to get the rest of your thread,” He loops his ring finger around the excess thread, and makes an effort to move his fingers as slowly as possible so that you can see exactly what he’s doing. “and wrap the start of it underneath the tip of your needle,”

He demonstrates his words as he speaks, pulling the beginning of the loop of thread tight underneath the tip of the needle before slowly pushing the needle all the way through the fabric until it’s free once more, and there’s a small looped stitch in the fabric.

“And then to create your next stitch you do the same steps, but start inside of the first loop,” He again demonstrates his words as he uses your hands to make a second stitch that, like the name suggests’ creates a two-stitch chain from where the stitches are connected.

“See, really simple, just a little convoluted in terms of instructions,” His eyes turn away from the fabric and back towards yours once he’s finished his explanation, although yours remain on your needle. “Think you can do it on your own?”

It takes you a second to come back to your senses, and you blink up at him blankly for a moment before nodding, a soft “yeah I think so…” echoing from your throat.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were to distracted by the way his hands moved against yours to listen to a single thing he said.

“Let me know if you need any more help okay?” He gave you that awkwardly endearing smile that reached his eyes and made you want to scream into your hands at the prospect of being so perfect.

You return it with a half-stunted nod as you desperately turn your eyes downwards to your fabric again, unable to look at him any longer without flushing red light a traffic light. “Yeah thanks-”

“I’ll teach you how to do a running whipped stitch next, it uses two different colours of thread,”

Whipped is right-

Spencer’s tone held all the enthusiasm of a child who’d just learned that you could mix multiple colours to create a new one, and it easily rubs off on you as you resign yourself to actually listening to what he’s trying to teach you instead of just fawning over how it feels when he touches you.

“Can you- show me how to do a chain stitch one more time?”

“Of course!”

The minute his hands touch yours again you know you’re done for.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Purpose: knight!price x princess!reader

Warnings: talk of pregnancy, medieval standards for women

You sat in the solar near the window with your embroidery on your lap. Your attention was on the fabric and thread while your mother sat across the room near the fire place, doing the same as you.

"...the prince is kind. He's about your age too." She said and you had to suppress a sigh.

"It's only been a week, mother." You pointed out and she gave you a look. "If you're that worried about there not being a successor after me, perhaps you can give the throne to my cousin. She has plenty of children."

"She's fickle. She'd run the kingdom into the grave and our lineage would be the laughing stock for generations."

You frowned.

"This is your responsibility as a princess, to run the kingdom after me and secure our throne." She explained as if this was the first time you had been told this in your life. "You can't keep throwing away our options."

"If they truly liked me then perhaps I wouldn't." You retorted and she shook her head.

"That's because you aren't supposed to like each other. It's nothing more than politics, but you could always befriend him later on after children."

You sighed heavily and stopped sewing. You tried your hardest to hold in your emotions as they weighed heavy on your chest.

You suspected that before end of next week you’d be surrounded by other lords or princes vying for your hand again.

You glanced out the window and your attention immediately went to Sir John Price.

He stood in a makeshift ring with a wooded sword in his hand. In front of him was a scrawny new squire who had yet to prove he had enough potential to even be considered to be a royal knight.

Price stood in front of the squire as he prepared for a spar. His knights gathered around to watch and the squire looked as if he’d throw up.

“Alright, lad?” He wondered when he noticed his shaking legs. He sent a quick look to Simon who snickered.

“Aye, sir.” The squire lied and he hummed. “But perhaps I should spar with someone else. In account that you must have better things to do.”

Price sucked in his lips to hide his smile.

“Perhaps Sir Simon Riley will be a better fit then.” He couldn’t contain his chuckle when the squire paled. “I assure you that I will spar fairly. It’s only wood.”

It didn’t take long for the spar to start. Price was fair but he was quick. He struck the squire more than once, knocking him into the dirt and bruising his skin.

It was a spectacle without him trying. Price moved like the wind and cut with precision, his focus making it so he became practically unstoppable. Every swing had intention, every slash had a purpose.

There were tales that Price might be something more than human. Perhaps he was the spirit of heroism reborn, a warrior who lived thousands of lifetimes before this moment, a not a man but some higher being of chivalry.

Price would deny every single one of them.

He had worked hard. He practiced until his hands bled and until he nearly collapsed with exhaustion to get to this point. He worked hard to fulfill his purpose and it was him who made it happen, not some other worldly spirit or higher being.

The spar was done before long. Sweat dripped down Price’s temple while he stood over the squire who looked defeated.

He hardly put up a worthy fight and if Price were any different he would’ve turned him away. Yet he could see the potential he had and maybe he was sentimental, but he could almost see his younger self in the squire.

He helped the kid up and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

“Practice more and you’ll get better.” He gave him a quick smile before he waved him away.

The squire limped away to the barracks with a smile on his face.

“You’ve gone soft, Cap.” Kyle scoffed and he raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you want to spar as well. I know you can handle me at my best.” He offered but Kyle shook his head.

“I’d not like to wake up sore, sir.”

Price chuckled but let it rest. He wiped the sweat from his brow and massaged a knot in his shoulder.

He was only so good because he had to be. This was his entire life, the rest of his life, and one slip up meant life and death.

He looked up at the castle and caught you staring at him in the window.

For a moment you two stared at each other, unable to see the details but he knew you were looking, and time seemed to stop.

Price felt heat rise across his face and he was sure he had turned pink. He swallowed hard, nervous that you of all people had watched him spar, he was not fond of anyone but his knights watching him, and struggled to control himself.

He bowed to you before he made his way out of your sight.

You watched him leave with a similar heat spread across your face. Your heart raced just a little faster and you began to embroider again to avoid any questions from your mother.

As much as you hated to admit you understood now why your ladies in waiting would watch him when he trained.

You stubbornly told yourself you were just in awe by his skill and nothing more.

A/n: all he’s gotta do is just hold a sword and I’m over the edge

Tags: @deadbranch @makayla-666 @glitterypirateduck @dumbbitchgalore @m0chac0ffee @dragonbe-writing @sleepyoriana @twismare @blush-haze @waiting-so-long @rmikaelson01

[indianlacesandfabricsupplier]

Discover the allure of luxurious black and gold tassel earrings and exquisite embroidery cut work fabric, elevating your style to new heights.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied kidnapping, possessive behavior, slight stalking, delusional thoughts.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

Like most tailors, Chiori often finds herself preoccupied with the concept of preservation.

It’s as inevitable as it is unreasonable, for those who work through mediums as impermanent as fabric and textile. To make a piece of clothing is to make something that, by its very definition, cannot last. No matter how fine the silk, no matter how strong the thread, no matter how sturdy her design – colors will fade and stitches will run and eventually, the only thing left of her masterpiece will be a pile of scraps left to rot underneath a bed or among the cobwebs in a forgotten attic corner. Fashion is an even more unforgiving mistress. What does it mean to try and capture the beauty of a single moment in a world that stood for a thousand years before she ever thought to pick up a needle and will stand for a thousand more, when she’s no longer able to? What does it mean that she keeps trying, regardless?

Inevitably, when Chriori thinks about herself and her craft, she thinks about preservation. And, when she thinks about preservation, she thinks about you.

You, in the most generous of sentiments, are the enemy of permanence. Her designs may eventually fall apart, but you seem to tear and shatter all that you touch, to rend the very fabric of reality without ever dropping that achingly oblivious smile. Your first visit to her shop ended with a shattered teacup, your second with a chip to the blade of her favorite pair of sheers, your tenth with a pot of her darkest, blackest dye splattered across an otherwise untouched skein of dove-white silk. Calling you clumsy would be an understatement – you’re a vehicle of pure destruction, an entity of the type of chaos that so often reduces her finest creations to rags. If it wasn’t for the way you apologize so wholeheartedly after each and every offense, the bright optimism written across your expression each time you step through the door of her boutique, she might mistake your drastic lack of coordination for a deliberate act of sabotage. At least, if that were the case, she may be able to find the strength to banish you entirely from her domain.

Her frequent gifts to you – unpaid orders, she assures, items that would just go to waste if left to gather dust on her shelves – are demolished with a similar haste. That, you can blame on the needs of your trade, claim that the clothes of the noble class don’t mix with the work of laborers, but as often as she tries, she fails to see what’s so dangerous about hauling spools of ribbon and crates of lace from one boutique to another. You do your best to mend torn sleeves, to find replacements for missing buttons, but she almost wishes you wouldn’t – that you’d let her claims to you die a swift death rather than defacing them so humiliatingly. In her weakest moments, she considers that being more blatant with her intentions, speaking to you in something other than cutting innuendo and being more transparent in her attempts to carve her name into you, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Your nature, so quick and brash and thoughtless, is contradictory to hers. No number of signatures stitched into the hems of undercollars and lipstick stains pressed into the lining between layers of material can change that.

Certainly, none of it can change the trait Chiori finds most troubling in you – your willing inability to preserve even the most precious of things, yourself. Fontaine is a much more gentle land than Inazuma, but no part of Teyvat is completely free from risk. You brag worryingly often about your run-ins with local monsters, go on at length about having to guard the embroideries she had commissioned from the finest thread-painters in Liyue from fabric-eating slimes and especially fashionable thieves, but all your levity can’t seem to draw your attention from the bruises blossoming upward from your shirt collar, the bandages so often wrapped around knuckles and plastered over your cheeks. Mortality is a concept you seemed to have considered briefly and ultimately discarded, leaving Chiori to try to make something redeemable out of the scraps. It’d be enough to drive anyone mad. It’d be enough to drive any good tailor to extremes.

You are not a delicate fabric. Satin can be properly hemmed and handled with gloves, embroidery glazed over with perfumes and resins, lace held to a candle and burnt into a more sustainable form, but you are not so easily changed. Gowns have no regard for safety or the lack thereof, but you – frustrating, impossible you – seem to actively detest the very idea of it.

You are the enemy of permeance. It’s a thought Chiori often considers, lingers on, obsess over, as she would the safe keeping of any of her proudest works.

But, she finds herself thinking, as she feels the reassuring chill of iron chains again her palm and weighs it against two matching twin cuffs, there’s a chance she may just be pairing you with the wrong materials.

[sassypossumm]

Answers

Who In their right mind would ever want to marry Tywin Lannister....

The tittering of the ladies around her had bled into a monotonous sort of scrabbled noise, as she ran her needle through the fabric on her embroidery hoop one more time. Why Margery insisted on dragging her to these sewing circles, she'd never understand. Slipping into the recesses of her mind, she turned to glance out the window.

How she'd love to be anywhere else besides this stuffy room. 

Tyrion was late for a meeting of the small council. In and of itself that fact wouldn't be terribly important. It wasn't as if his punctuality would have caused his father to look at him with any less disdain than he did on a daily basis. He shook his head and quickened his pace as he passed by the solar, currently spilling over with the eligible young hens of the Seven Kingdoms. 

"Oh, naturally Jaime Lannister." A feminine voice whispered with a giggle.

Tyrion paused and raised a brow. Taking several steps backwards, he leaned closer to the door curious as to the contents of this particular conversation. 

"And you, Lady Lorena?" 

"Oh, your own brother, my lady." Another higher pitched voice offered. Tyrion leaned against the wall and folded his arms. 

"And you, cousin?" Margery's eyes flit to her cousin and she sighed when she saw her looking longingly out the window. "Cousin!" Margery said more firmly, causing the woman to stiffen slightly before turning her head. 

"Yes, Margery? What is it?" She glanced around the circle and raised a brow at the conspiratorial looks many were giving each other, as if they'd traded secrets of a life-or-death magnitude. 

"I'm asking each lady," Margery shifted on her stool to better engage her cousin in conversation. "If they had the freedom to choose, of all the eligible men in Westeros, who would they take as husband." Her eyes danced mischievously. Her cousin looked unimpressed and hummed before returning to her embroidery. 

"That seems an exercise in futility, Margery." She said dryly, all the while never taking her eyes off of her needlework. 

Tyrion stifled a chuckle. The girl certainly had cheek. Something he appreciated in a woman. He sensed, however, that as reticent as this mysterious woman might be to answer her cousin's question, she'd likely cave under the hounding looks of those chattery hens. 

"Oh, come cousin. Everyone else has answered. Come now, you wouldn't want to spoil our fun, would you?" Margery coaxed softly, looking at her cousin encouragingly. She looked up at Margery skeptically for a moment before returning her attention back to her needlework. 

"Very well." She said simply. The very atmosphere seemed to be holding its breath waiting for her answer. Even Tyrion had to admit he was more than a little curious. No doubt she'd say Jaime or Loras as the other ladies had. "If given my choice, I'd wed a Lannister." 

Jaime. Tyrion thought to himself with a smirk. He raised a brow, amused at the image of all these noble women desperately chasing his brother, demanding his hand. 

"Come cousin, you can be specific. There are more than just one Lannister." Margery leaned forward on her stool and gave her cousin a knowing look. 

"Well, we can't very well all marry Jaime Lannister." One of the more garishly dressed ladies cut in swiftly. Keeping her eyes on her work, she refused to rise to that bate. 

"You may keep Jaime Lannister." The threaded needle ran through the material once more, distracting her attention. 

"That only leaves the imp and the father." The young lady scoffed. She hummed and cut off a thread to knot it. 

"Given my choice, I'd wed Tywin Lannister." The air seemed to freeze and shudder. Tyrion's eyebrows seemed determined to raise so far that they disappeared into his scalp.

"Tywin Lannister? He's practically old enough to be your father!" She merely shrugged and flipped over her needlework. 

"I believe I answered the question." Rising from the couch, she gathered her needlework and gave Margery a nod of her head. "If you'll excuse me, Margery. Ladies." She addressed the dumbstruck women, still reeling from her recent admission. No sooner had her skirts swished out of the solar, when the brood descended on Margery in a chattering, nosy huddle. 

Tyrion stayed pressed against the wall. He was dying to see what sort of woman would be so bold as to suggest that she wanted... well, his father. Her shoes made a quiet sound, and he was pulled from his revelry to see the backside of her as she began walking down the hallway. Sensing she was being watched, she turned to see Tyrion in the torch light. 

"Lord Tyrion?" She raised a brow and inched closer to him, tucking her needlework into her bag. Slowly Tyrion's eyes trailed up her form, studying her as if he were taking in her measure, which he was doing. She dressed well, but certainly not in a display of money as so many women seem fond of these days. 

"Lady Tyrell." He dipped his head. She responded in kind and glanced from him to the open door and back. 

"Were you spying on us, Lord Tyrion?" She blinked and affected a dethatched attitude. 

You two might be perfect for each other. He thought sarcastically to himself. 

"On the contrary, my lady, I merely passed by at an opportune moment and heard some rather... enlightening opinions." He looked up at her intently, curious as to what might be swirling around in that brain of hers. She merely smirked and met his eyes with unwavering certainty. 

She chuckled, a rusty sound. 

"Good day, Lord Tyrion." She turned to go. 

"Good day, Lady Tyrell." 

And with that, she rounded one of the corners in the halls. Standing for a moment longer, he was driven out of his thoughts by the sounds of the ladies gathering their things. Tyrion quickly hobbled down the other hall, hurrying to at least make an appearance at the meeting. Climbing the stairs to the Hand's Tower, he ran over Lady Tyrell's answer in his mind, and he still had no reasonable reason for why on earth such a woman would speak about his father with such a casual air. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and swung the doors open.

"Tyrion." His father's only word in his direction before he turned back to council discussions. Tyrion stared singularly at his father, taking every in every line on his face, curiosity still swirling around his mind. 

Why on earth would she want to marry Tywin Lannister?

[shadowdemon101]

I've shared these on my Instagram, but I also wanna share them here b/c I'm pretty proud of my plushies and I spent a lot of time on them at the end of last year! More pictures of the details n words below the cut!!!

Okay last one promise! This was for a friend, but also a good test of Cholyknight's chibi doll patterns for myself! (That one costs money but it's well worth it!!!) The embroidery for the face came out really good!!! I think the ears were initially bigger than I intended and I was at a point where I couldn't undo them, but it worked out really well in the end! A lot of the base clothes and hair all came with the patterns, but I adjusted the mohawk to fit his face better, using a darker grey to show it was shaved, and I tried to detail his shoes a little more to look like sneakers. The horns I took an existing horn pattern and adjusted it to be Mallek's, though the piercings I struggled for a time before settling on stitched pieces of fabric. The piercings above the eye on the brow are hand down embroidery, which works well enough!

I'm actually super proud of the hoodie; the symbol is embroidered!!!! I made it into an embroidery design and did that myself!!!! With like, a free to use program but STILL!!! And then the hood can go on his head bc there's holes for horns!!! Actually incredibly tricky for a first attempt of that hood, but I got it!!! Also all the clothes? Easy to slip on and off! Though maybe I should've sewn the shoes in bc they fall a little too easy… but my friend really likes it so that's what counts ❤

Also it's also completely made of fleece! Minus the lining in the hood of course; since it's fleece though, there's no shirt under the hoodie bc it wouldn't fit right, but I sewed in a little bit of blue to give the illusion of a shirt xD

[clown-bastard-man]

It’s the MLP battle vest!! UPDATE

Please feel free to ask me about it if you have any Qs, theres some more info about its creation under the cut!

I’ve had this idea for a while, ever since I bought the plain vest. But I was also super inspired by many creators on tumblr!!

Everything I put on the vest and where I got it:

Pins: I made five pins for this vest, I painted three cutie mark pins for Vinyl Scratch, Octavia, and the WoodenToaster. I painted a large pin with the Anarchy symbol in the FIM font, and I made a very large pin from a can top with my mlp color-picked pride flags. The other anarchy pin as well as the He-Man pin were ones I made before. The only two I didn’t make were the trans flag pin and the rainbow flag heart pin. The first I got at a con a few years ago, and the other was a gift.

Panels: I hand painted these starting with a white base, all acrylic paint. I tried to make sure the lines were symmetrical on each side. This is probably my favorite part of the vest and the one I had the most fun working on!!

Studs and safety pins: the safety pins I got at walmart a while back and the studs I got from TreeChild1 on Etsy!

Patches!!: I’ve made 5 patches for this vest so far, my favorite is def the “Blue Hair and Pronounce” one. Most of the patches are used to voice my beliefs, or I just thought they were funny or cool. The other iron-on patches I got from a craft store way before I started working on the vest. I used both embroidery thread and floss to see which one I liked more. I secured knots and loose ends with fabric glue.