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#sorry for the quality it was very fuzzy
kenobion · 1 year
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Andrew Garfield for SAG-AFTRA Conversations at Home
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lyinginthesnow · 1 year
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Greta and Michael | The Swan Riders by Erin Bow
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tangointhenight
pairing: harry styles x reader (au)
warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)
word count: 13.3k
synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener
author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)
tags: @victoria-styles
masterlist
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Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.
Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.
She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.
There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.
She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.
She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.
It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.
She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.
“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”
His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.
At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.
“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.
There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.
“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”
Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.
“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.
“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”
She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.
“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.
“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”
She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.
He chuckles suddenly.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”
His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.
“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”
She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.
Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.
“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.
“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.
She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.
This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.
“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”
His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.
No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.
“Please,” she whispers faintly.
“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”
Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.
“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”
She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.
She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.
She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.
He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.
“Can you take another?”
A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.
“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.
“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”
Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.
His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.
“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.
He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply <i>her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.
“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”
She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.
“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.
“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”
“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.
“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.
“Get on top.”
She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.
He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.
She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.
“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.
“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.
“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.
“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”
She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.
“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.
She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.
She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.
Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.
She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.
She sends him a message.
Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.
His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.
She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.
Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)
Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.
Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.
I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.
Most people assume it’s a sex thing.
I wonder why.
He laughs a little at the dry comment.
So, what are the other two in your top three albums?
Pre or post Stevie Nicks?
Post, of course. What kind of question is that?
That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.
I think so, too, Honey.
Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.
She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.
He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.
The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.
However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,
She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.
After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.
When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.
“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.
“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”
“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”
Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.
“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”
“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”
And so, she does.
A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).
“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.
“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.
“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”
Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.
“I—uh—sure?”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”
“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”
Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.
“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.
“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a <i>little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.
“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”
She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.
“Thank you,” he says.
“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”
“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.
“Shut up,” she scoffs.
“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”
“Please, stop talking.”
“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.
Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?
Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.
What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?
She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.
Oh, what a mess.
She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.
She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.
“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.
“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”
Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.
“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.
“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.
“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.
Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.
She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.
Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.
She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.
“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”
Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.
She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.
“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.
She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.
“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”
She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.
“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”
She can’t decide, either.
Then again, they could always have both.
“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.
“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”
His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.
“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.
“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”
For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.
His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.
“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.
“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.
“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she returns weakly.
“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”
In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.
Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he <i>knows</i> that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.
“That couldn’t have been all of it.”
“Well, hello to you, too—”
“I didn’t get to hear you come.”
“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”
“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.
“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”
“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”
“How do you think it should end?”
There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.
“Where would you come?”
Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.
Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.
“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”
But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?
Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.
“Everywhere.”
He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.
“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”
After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.
God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.
“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”
He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.
“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”
The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.
“Or I could come inside you.”
That’s the last thing she needed to hear.
Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and <i>fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.
“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”
She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.
She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.
God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.
“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.
“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”
“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.
“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”
It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.
“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”
“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.
“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”
It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.
“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.
“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”
“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”
“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.
“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.
“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”
She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.
“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.
“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”
She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.
“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.
“You flatter me.”
“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”
And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.
“What does this mean for us, Honey?”
As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.
“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”
Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?
“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?
“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”
She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.
“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”
“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.
“Good night, babylove.”
“Good night.”
She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.
Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.
Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.
“Are you ready to admit defeat?”
Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.
She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.
Friends? Definitely.
Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.
This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.
He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.
“Are you gonna come again, honey?”
“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”
“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.
“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”
“I might have to.”
She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.
“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.
“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.
“Would you wear your rings?”
“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.
“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”
He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.
“It’s so far away,” she whines.
“Go grab it, love,”
Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.
He thinks differently.
“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?
“I dunno—”
“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”
The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.
“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.
“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”
She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.
“Feel good?”
“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”
She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.
“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”
His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.
“Please—”
She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.
“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”
It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.
“Such a good girl f’me.”
As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.
She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.
“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.
“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.
“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”
His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.
“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”
The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.
She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.
He hums appreciatively.
“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.
“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”
She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.
This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.
“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.
“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”
She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.
“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”
A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.
She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.
What’s that ache in her chest?
“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”
She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.
“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”
She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.
“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.
“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”
“What do you need from me, honey?”
She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.
“Just talk to me,” she says.
“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”
He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.
She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.
“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”
He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.
Harry.
His name is Harry.
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alexawynters · 28 days
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Mommy Knows Best - w.m x r blurb
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Summary: Wanda convincing R to let her to all the thinking for her
Warnings: Ehhh... allusions to manipulation, kidnapping, stalking.
A/N: So ahhh... I wrote this in 15 minutes while at work in a part of the office I very much didn't want to be in. This isn't connected to anything. I don't intend on expanding this bc I have no spoons and the plot bunnies won't settle on anything definitively. But if anybody wants to take a crack at it, pleeeeaaase do! Just like.. link me so I can read it because I am thirsty. Also all of this was typed up on my phone so sorry for any typos, or formatting issues. I left my laptop at home today like a dumbass..
Wanda's hand cradled your face with a gentle yet possessive grip. "I knew that you needed me the moment I laid eyes on you in that coffee shop."
Your eyes widened at the older woman's confession. Out of all the times you had met up with Wanda, it had never been at a coffee shop. Her implication that she had been watching you sent a bolt of fear down your spine.
"Such a sweet little thing, so easily flustered." She appraised you with a keen eye, searching for any hint that you might try to run. "You were just trying to substitute the milk in your coffee order, yet you couldn't even do that without nearly breaking out into tears. Poor thing. You just needed your Mommy to do all your difficult thinking for you, huh?"
The older woman's voice had taken on an almost saccharine quality, while simultaneously dripping with condescension. You couldn't have explained it if you tried, but something about her tone, her words, turned your head all fuzzy.
Alarm bells that should have been clanging loudly were but a distant detail in your peripheral, not worthy of your attention when the alternative was listening to Wanda's honeyed voice. You should be concerned. A normal person would be leaving this crazy woman as fast as their legs could carry them. Yet instead, you practically meted into Wanda's touch, almost craving it.
The witch gave a subtle smirk at the way your eyes glossed over when she talked down to you. This was going to be even easier than Wanda had thought. She might not even need to use her magic if you were already this responsive to her. Frankly, Wanda was delighted.
"Use your words, kotenok. I know you're just a dumb baby, and words are hard, but when Mommy asks you a question, I expect an answer."
Her grip turned firm, border lining on painful. Glassy eyes snapped open.
"Y-yes, Mommy. I just needed you to do all the thinking for me."
Your face flushed bright red as you spoke the words, but you couldn't bring yourself to take them back. Now that they had been released into the universe, the words rang true for you. They simply felt... right. Your trusting gaze met Wanda's domineering one, seeking any sign of her approval.
The older woman gave a salacious grin, very much reminiscent of a cat who caught the canary. "There's my good girl," she cooed, caressing the apple of your cheek with her thumb.
Lulled into a false sense of safety and security, you tilted your head. Leaning into her touch, you were practically simpering from her praise and touch. Why had you ever been concerned, you wondered? This was Wanda. She would always take care of you. She would never even dream of harming you. If only you knew the extent of the very real danger you were in, you might have tried to run. Not that you would have gotten far, but Wanda might have enjoyed the thrill of the chase.
Nevertheless, she had you right where she wanted you and why make it unpleasant when you were so... willing? The witch reveled in how pliant you were. Like putty in her hands, ready to be shaped and molded into the perfect plaything for her.
"Now kotenok," she said softly. "Why don't you go get changed into something comfortable and we can watch movies? I took the liberty of bringing over some of your clothes from your apartment as you won't be staying there anymore."
The former Avenger patted your cheek gently, sending you off on your way. It was only a few feet you had made before hesitating, turning to look at the older woman.
"Mommy...." You tried the title, and it rolled off your tongue surprisingly easily. "Why. won't I be staying at my apartment anymore? I'm still paying rent on it for another seven months." Uncertainty rolled off of you in waves.
Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, reigning her temper in. She needed to be understanding, but firm with you if she planned to get you completely under her thumb without scaring you off.
"You let Mommy worry about all of that. Those are big girl thoughts, and you wanted Mommy to do all the thinking for you, isn't that right?" Her voice was filled with exaggerated patience and condescension.
Part of you wanted to push the question. If you weren't going to be staying at your flat anymore then Wanda must mean for you to stay with her. Unfortunately, you couldn't afford rent in both places, so if you needed to sublet your flat, the sooner you knew for sure, the better. Not once did you question how, when, or why the redhead had picked up your clothes, being so focused about this rent situation.
Still, as you caught Wanda's steadily hardening gaze due to your lack of immediate cooperation, you could have sworn you almost saw a subtle flash of scarlet in her eyes. Opting not to upset the woman you were quickly falling for, you promptly turned on your heel, intent on doing as she had asked.
Unbeknownst to you, Wanda Maximoff was observing your trailing form with a razor-sharp gaze. She felt triumphant, everything was going according to plan, and you were honestly making it too easy on her. Soon you would belong to her, and by the time you realized, it would be too late.
A/N 2: What are we thinking? Bin it? Try to write it from the beginning? Or maybe keep going and only have the beginning appear in flashback format? I know I need to update Scarlet Whispers and I'm gonna, I swear! Just... effort. lol
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milla984 · 10 months
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It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid
Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween
Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader
Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)
TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)
Word Count: 5.4k
This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved
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“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”
You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”
She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions. 
“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”
You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.
“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.” 
Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”
“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.
The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.
“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”
Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.
“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”
This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.
“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. 
“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”
“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”
Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.
“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”
You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”
Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back. 
You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant. 
Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.
Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.
“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.
You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.
“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.
A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack. 
His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”
“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.
Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.
“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”
“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”
The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.
“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”
He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.
You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”
Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome. 
He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.
“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”
“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”
“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.
His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”
“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words. 
“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”
“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”
He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”
“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”
Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”
“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume. 
Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.
Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.
“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble. 
Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment. 
You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.
You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.
Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you. 
He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.
He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.
You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”
“Y– yes…” he muttered.
His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper. 
For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.
You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task. 
You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—
“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”
You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”
The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted. 
“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.
You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”
Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it. 
You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.
You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.
You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.
When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.
“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.
“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”
You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”
“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.
You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.
You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.
He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close. 
Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.
You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.
The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.
“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”
Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”
“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.
You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom. 
You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin. 
You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?
Your brain was going in severe overdrive. 
You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.
“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.
He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”
His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.
“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.
Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before. 
“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”
Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.
You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”
“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”
In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.
“Spencer…”
“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication. 
“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”
Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”
He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.
If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”
“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”
You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”
The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.
You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”
“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.
He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots. 
You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”
He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.
“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.
You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.
He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”
“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him. 
“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off. 
His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”
You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.
“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.
You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.
You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”
Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.
He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.
“How do I feel? Spence...?”
Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”  
“You like it?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement. 
All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!” 
Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.
He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.
“Spence, I need more…” 
He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.
When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.
“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”
He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”
“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.
He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.
You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded. 
He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected. 
Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.
“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor. 
He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls. 
“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”
He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”
“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”
“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”
“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”
“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”
He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”
This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.
“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”
“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."
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NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can use the taglist form (remember to write your username correctly, otherwise the tag won't work) or you can either send me an ask/leave a comment below with the request to be added.
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janitorhutcherson · 4 months
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hi! can you do a fluff piece with Mike where he expresses his love to the reader through the different love languages? (like words of affirmation, gift giving, physical touch, acts of kindness, and quality time?) I feel like he would be especially great at acts of kindness with cooking :) thanks!
hii omg this is such a cute idea. this is gonna be quickish i’m sorry, i’ll totally do a longer one later. if y’all like it i’ll maybe make a series?!? but for now just a silly little blurb.
i feel like mike would be very loving and showing his love to you would be extremely important. like, extremely important. so he’d def be the kind of guy to take all of these seriously, even if they weren’t… easy… for him since expressing emotions doesn’t come as natural.
words of affirmation: words of affirmation is one of my favorite love languages. this is one that doesn’t come easy for mike — and not because he doesn’t love you, but just because he can’t really express himself well. if you’re like me, being reassured, told you’re doing great, etc, is important to you. mike would do his very best to remind you every day how important you are to him, leaving the occasional note in the morning before you head to work. it may say something like, “Reminder I am so proud of you for everything you do. I love you, baby!” he’s also ramble to you at night sometimes, just telling you how much he loves you. if you were ever down, he’d make sure to sit you down and point out all of the things he loves about you, physically and mentally.
gift giving: okay i feel like this is a big one. money doesn’t come very easily for mike. after he got “fired” (that’s what he pretends happened!😜), he had to find another job that still had shitty pay. his resume didn’t make him a great candidate for anything high quality. with that being said, every month he attempts to scrape up enough money to make you a little gift basket. it varies from month to month, depending on how much he was able to save. sometimes they’d be big baskets he’d have abby help him pick stuff out for. there may be a fuzzy blanket, some candies, face masks, maybe a candle. sometimes they’d be smaller, just a little note and some candy, maybe a stuffed animal from the dollar store. regardless of how big or small, you always appreciated it when you’d walk into your shared home and see it sitting on the table.
physical touch: oh my god i think this one is a huge one for mike. given his past, he is so touch starved. every second he gets, his hands are on you. of course, at night he loves to curl up with you in bed. he’ll have his arms tightly wrapped around you, playing with your hair or maybe rubbing your back. even when he dips down on the bed to tie his shoes in the morning, he keeps his hand on your sleeping shoulder until he absolutely has to move it. he’s the same way out in public. at the supermarket, he’ll hold your hand, he’ll wrap his arm around your waist when you’re standing in line for something. when you’re out to eat, his hand will be on your knee underneath the table. when you’re cooking at home, he will always come and wrap himself up behind you, moving with you to the point that it’s slightly obnoxious, but you don’t mind. as long as he’s with you.
acts of kindness: i so agree that this would be a big one for him that he’d be good at. before you, mike was a one trick pony when it came to cooking, and for that, he could barely do it. he could make something that was edible enough to be spaghetti. once you two started dating, he learned for you. he wanted to be able to make your favorite dishes and desserts. he surprises you all the time when he’s off of work or if he gets off before you, making your favorite dish and having it served up on the table with candles when you walk in the door after work. he’s also big on doing things like running you baths, putting the bubbles in and the epsom salts in. sometimes he’d get into it with you, holding you. i also think he’d like to take showers with you. if you struggle with mental health at all, i think he’d be the type of partner to help you wash your hair. of course he’d do chores for you sometimes, knocking out necessary errands. overall he’s a very loving partner who will do anything to make you smile.
quality time: quality time is something that isn’t easy to get. as much as you love abby, alone time is especially hard to come by. since mike is working day shifts now, you two will do your best to have a late night together at least once a week. you’re both usually pretty exhausted, taking care of abby, working, running errands. but once a week, usually on a friday night, you both stay up until 3am/4am, just talking, snacking, maybe watching a movie. otherwise, for quality time, he makes sure to sneak some time in with you here in there. he’d make sure to run simple errands with you, maybe even to sit with you at the nail salon. i also think he’d love to help you cook, go shopping. any chance he’d get to spend time with you, he’d take it.
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milkweedman · 5 months
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NEED TO MAKE RENT SALE
As you may have seen I'm selling some of my handspun yarn, along with some fleece, batts, rolags, and other odds and ends. I'm really short on rent this month, largely due to having so many flare up days that working was almost impossible. So, I'm selling some of my work in the hopes that I can still make rent somehow. I need over $500.
Im also linking to my kofi. If you don't wish to buy anything but still want to help me make rent--which I would appreciate so much <3
I'll be updating this post as I sell things so please make sure to click back to my original post to check if it's still available. First come first serve. Unless otherwise stated, all shipping is $5 USD to within the USA. If you're outside of the USA please let me know--shipping will likely be between $30-50 USD depending on to where, but I am happy to work with you if you're interested.
PLEASE DM ME IF YOU WANT TO BUY SOMETHING <3
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YARNS (please ignore the slips of paper, ive given everything a nice label now)
A: 572 yards/ 480 meters. 5.75 oz/ 165 grams. 2 ply, approximately DK weight. Silk and merino blend assembled by myself. There are stripes of different greens which are arranged to be bigger at one end than the other, so a triangle shawl (working from the correct end of yarn) will have stripes that are more or less even instead of getting thicker near the narrow end of the shawl. I don't know how noticeable the effect will be, though. Silky soft and shines beautifully in the sun. $100 USD or best offer.
B: 175 yards/160 meters. 2 oz/ 57 grams. 2 ply, light fingering weight to sport weight. Luxury blend of alpaca, cormo, debouillet, silk, silk noil, angora, and cashmere. Very textured due to how I plied it and some noils, but also extremely soft and with lovely drape. Next to skin soft. $60 USD or best offer. SOLD
C: 176 yards/160 meters. 2.25 oz/64 grams. 2 ply, light worsted. Merino, silk, silk noil, angora, and mystery wool blend. Next to skin soft, lots of different colors, and good drape. $50 USD or best offer. SOLD
D: 152 yards/130 meters. 2 oz/57 grams. 3 ply, light worsted. Cormo, alpaca, and merino blend. This yarn was arranged into a stripey gradient--white stripes separating a light purple to dark purple gradient. 3 ply. Incredibly soft--would be perfect for a hat or cowl. $55 USD or best offer.
E: 100 yards/91 meters. 2.5 oz/71 grams. Traditional 3 ply, aran/bulky weight. Romney 3 ply. Durable, squishy, and warm, but not particularly soft. Would make a great hat or gloves. $35 USD or best offer SOLD
F: 140 yards/128 meters. 1.75 oz/50 grams. Traditional 3 ply, fingering weight. Beautiful BFL yarn in autumn colors. Due to the traditional 3 ply the colors constantly shift and change. Very soft and with good drape. $45 USD or best offer. SOLD
G: 325 yards/300 meters. 4 oz/115 grams. 2 ply, fingering weight. Wool, silk, silk noil, alpaca, and Angelina blend. Very textured but soft and drapey. $80 USD or best offer.
H: 166 yards/145 meters. 2 oz/57 grams. 2 ply worsted weight. Targhee, BFL, Angelina blend. Incredibly soft and drapey. Fuzzy and lightly underplied for maximum softness (so a little delicate). Next to skin quality. $45 USD or best offer.
(I'll accept the highest offer I get in a timely manner, so if you really want something and think other people also want to buy it, you can offer more to potentially guarantee you get it. Or offer less, and get it for cheaper if nobody else wants it. Although I wont accept very low offers, sorry.)
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BATTS AND ROLAGS. These all contain several large handfuls of milkweed floss, because why not. Very fun and soft to spin.
A. 0.75 oz/21 grams. Romney, BFL, silk, bamboo, Targhee, milkweed floss. Somewhat soft, would be very soft if plied with a fine fiber. Lots of purples and blues, with small amounts of rainbow. Should yield a heathered, smooth yarn except for bumps of milkweed floss. $15 USD or best offer. SOLD
B. 0.75 ounces/21 grams. Naturally dyed Shetland combing waste (yellow), BFL, silk merino, milkweed floss. Many different colors arranged in stripes--yellow and blue primarily. Should yield a textured yarn due to the combing waste, but also lofty and colorful. Fairly soft and very squishy. $15 USD or best offer.
C: 0.5 oz/14 grams. Tussah silk, BFL, merino, merino combing waste, milkweed floss. Very soft. Majority tussah silk which is charcoal black. The other colors are dark purple, a few streaks of red, and the shining white from the milkweed floss. Should spin up to a fine and soft yarn. I am also able to make more of these, which would be the same weight and price and matching the original as closely as possible. Let me know if you want several. $12 USD or best offer. SOLD -- but i can make more, if youre interested !
D: 0.5 oz/14 grams. Merino combing waste, merino, BFL, silk, milkweed floss. Buttery soft. Mostly dark brown with purple, blue, and white streaks. I can make several identical ones if desired, for the same price each. $12 USD or best offer. SOLD -- but i can more, if you're interested !
E: 0.5 oz/14 grams. BFL merino, mystery wool and milkweed floss blend. This has stripes of purple and blue, suspended a squishy mystery combing waste. Should yield a fine but squishy yarn. $10 USD or best offer. SOLD
If I sell all or most of these I will make some more !
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FLEECE. I am selling by the ounce (28 grams). I'm also willing to process these into fluffy hand carded rolags or fine hand combed top as desired, which will cost extra depending on how difficult the fiber is to process.
A. Jacob lambswool. Very soft but lots of large vm (so, easy to pick out) and nepps/noils. Those will stay in the fiber unless combed, so this tends to produce a very soft, bumpy yarn. I love this fleece but I just can't seem to use it up. Primarily dark brown, but I also have some white and mixed as well. I have about 8 ounces. Washed but still a tiny bit greasy (just to my preference). $3 an ounce.
B: Rambouillet. I have almost a pound of this stuff. Incredibly buttery soft. Like touching seafoam. But it has a ton of fine VM, so it can only be cleaned either lock by lock on hand cards or combed. I am willing to clean it for you. Takes a long time to get into a spinnable state but it is SO worth it. $2 an ounce. SOLD
C: Breed unknown. Some sections are salmon pink, others closer to hot pink. Not much vm, can be combed open lock by lock on hand cards or combed into top. Yields a silky, strong, hairy yarn. Willing to process for you (this would be one of the cheaper ones to do, it's very easy). I have 5 ounces. $2 an ounce. SOLD
D & E: These are both rya lambswool, naturally dyed with yellow onion skin (the bright yellow one with alum, the copper one with copper). Very soft and silky, spins up to a surprisingly robust yarn. Absolute treat to work with. Some vm but the nature of this fleece causes the vm to fall out pretty easily. I have about a pound total. Will process for you. Washed and dyed by myself. $5 an ounce. D IS SOLD, E IS STILL AVAILABLE
F: Sunshine Shetland. Very soft and fine. Naturally dyed, again with onion skins. The tips are somewhat felted and need to be pulled off, which is quick and easy. If combed lock by lock and then spun that way you can get a subtle gradient of orange to yellow with each lock... absolutely gorgeous. Will process for you. I have about 10 ounces. Washed and dyed by myself. $5 per ounce. SOLD
G: Red Hampshire. Not neon red like in the picture, more of a brick red. Very soft and foamy. Some vm. Easy to process on hand cards by combing lock by lock or turning into a rolag. Washed and dyed (using food coloring) by myself. I only have an ounce and a quarter--which is $6 for all of it. SOLD
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COMBING WASTE GRAB BAGS
These are 1 ounce bags of primarily combing waste (so, short fibers and likely some vm) along with other interesting scrap such as mohair locks, colorful merino, and sometimes the occasional single rolag. Lots of the colors are naturally dyed by myself. Great for turning into rolags or using for batt fodder. These are $5 USD if you're buying more than one item (that could be yarn, another grab bag, some fleece, etc) or $10 USD each if you are only buying a single grab bag.
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SPINDLES
Lastly, I'm also selling some spindles. A-C are whittled and decorated by myself. D is a beautiful Dealgan which I never could figure out how to use.
A. Supported spindle carved from a fruit tree. I gave it a steeple shape, which does make it slow to spin with. Really enjoyable for special spins that you want to do slowly and thoughtfully. Small spindle, about the length of my hand. $55 USD or best offer.
B. Onion dome supported spindle. Very light for its size, so it can hold a decent cop on it. Small spindle--about the length of my hand. $50 USD or best offer. SOLD ! thank you 🩵🩵🩵
C: Larch spindle. This one has lots of beautiful spalting, as well as being woodburned. Also the length of my hand. Has a very distinct feel to it, sort of in an alive way. $90 USD or best offer.
D: Lightning Dealgan. I got it for $50 and it's basically unused, so reselling for $50 USD. Very heavy and smooth.
And thats it ! If you don't want to buy anything but still wish to help me make rent, you can also donate to my kofi, which would mean the world to me <3
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harrysthighertat · 1 year
Text
Valentine’s Day
summary: you come home from a long, shitty day of work to a Valentine's Day surprise from Harry.
warnings: fluff and implied smut
word count: 2.3k
a/n: I'm a little nervous to post this cause this is the first blurb I've ever written. I really enjoyed writing it tho and I can definitely see myself writing more of them in the future, so I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback. sorry if it ends a little abruptly, it's way past midnight and my brain was fried by the end of this. but I hope you still enjoy it! :)
It's 7.30PM when you finally park your car in front of you and Harry's shared apartment. You let out a sigh while turning the engine off. No matter how much you love your job, the extra work, stress and having to stay at the office late to cover for your coworker's maternity leave, was wearing you out and you felt incredibly guilty towards Harry for coming home so late and going to bed so soon after arriving home from work. The past few months have been a constant cycle of waking up at 5AM, being at the office until at least 7PM, having dinner with Harry while trying very hard to keep your eyes open and hold a conversation with him then going to bed straight after dinner and repeat.
Thus, you were incredibly grateful when Harry offered to not do anything special for Valentine's Day and make up for it when work wasn't so busy. It meant that you wouldn't have to lose any of your much needed sleep on getting him a gift or preparing a surprise for him. And Harry deserved better than getting a half assed gift after how much he's been there for you during this stressful time. Every evening he insists on packing your lunch for the next day, he wakes up at the crack of dawn with you just so he can kiss you goodbye and wish you luck at work and he leaves sweet little handwritten notes everywhere saying how much he loves you and how proud he is of you, just to name a few out of a million things he does for you. You wanted to show him your gratitude with the most special surprise because he deserved nothing less, but unfortunately it had to wait.
Although Harry missed spending quality time with you, especially on a day such as Valentine's Day, he knew that it was only a couple of days until your coworker was back at the office and he would get to spend his evenings loving on you again.
Earlier that day you had texted Harry notifying him that you'd have to stay at the office late again. You offered to grab some takeout on the way home, which had become a habit of yours over the past couple of months because of how bad you felt that Harry had to do the daily household chores and cook for both of you while also having work of his own and barely getting to spend time with you, but he told you not to worry about it.
You grab your stuff from the passenger seat and step out of your car onto the sidewalk. You walk up the couple of steps to your front door, unlock it and push the door open. As you enter the apartment, you're welcomed by the smell of homemade food and your body immediately relaxes. You put your keys in the basket on the side table in the hallway and place your bag underneath it. Then you shrug off your coat, put it on the hanger and change from your boots to a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers.
Once you've checked yourself in the mirror, you walk towards the noises coming from the kitchen. In the doorway to the kitchen you stop yourself and look at the scene in front of you in awe. Not only do you see your boyfriend, who’s putting away the kitchenware that he’s used while wearing a pink and red polka dot apron that his mom gifted him for Christmas last year with a nice, lightish green dress shirt and fitted dark green trousers underneath, but the dinner table is beautifully decorated with bordeaux red table runners, pink lit candles and a bottle of your favorite red wine.
The smell of food is even stronger here and you notice the tray in the oven. Homemade vegan lasagna. Your favorite. In the background Dreams by Fleetwood Mac is softly playing. The soothing music, comforting smell of your favorite homemade meal and the sight of the love of your life standing right in front of you is a heavenly combination and you feel tears welling up in your eyes from how good it feels to be home, especially after the long, shitty day you had at work.
You quickly blink the tears away and walk over to your boyfriend. As Harry hears you coming up from behind, he turns around. As soon as his eyes land on his lovie's face, a smile grows on his own. “Hi baby, I didn’t hear you come home. How was work? I missed you.” He grabs your hands, pulls you closer and softly pecks your lips.  
You return the favor and say “Hi bub, work wasn't too great today." Harry can tell you've had a stressful day and you don't feel like talking about it, so he doesn't press on the topic. "I'm starting to understand my coworker." You say though. "If these were my usual tasks I would also get someone to impregnate me just to have an excuse to get a couple of months off." Harry bursts out laughing and your heart flutters in your chest at the sound of it.
You almost tear up again when you say "It feels good to be home. With you. Sorry I couldn't get home sooner." Harry squeezes your hand to reassure you that it's okay.
Then you gesture to the scene behind you. "What’s all this for though?” Harry turns around to see what you mean as if he hasn't spent half of the day in the kitchen to decorate and cook and make sure everything was perfect for when you got home.
“Well, I couldn’t not treat my girl on Valentine’s Day, so I thought I’d cook you your favorite meal and decorate the table so we can have a romantic candle lit dinner tonight and celebrate Valentine's Day just a bit.”
He then remembers the other surprise he got you that morning. “Oh and I got you something else, wait here…”. He walks out of the kitchen to where he hid his surprise from you, leaving you alone in the kitchen.
A few seconds later Harry returns with a gorgeous bouquet of red, pink and white tulips. He hands them to you as he says “Happy Valentine’s day, baby.” You hesitantly accept the bouquet. When you slowly bring the flowers to your nose and inhale, the flowers smell fresh, and soothing and heavenly and remind you of a warm, sunny day in spring. Then a frown grows on your face.
“What’s wrong? Do they smell bad?” Harry asks concerned.
“No, they smell lovely.” You answer, frown still present on your face.
“Do you not like tulips? Shit, I thought tulips were your favorite. But I should’ve listened to the sweet old man at the flower shop and got you the roses that he recommended for Valentine's Day. I’m really sorry, I can go back tomorrow and get you those.” He says, panic in his voice.
Your features soften a little. “No, they are my favorite and they’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“What’s got you frowning then?”  
You look down as you fumble with the flowers in your hand. “I- I just feel so bad. Everyone's out today celebrating their relationship, showering their partner with love while you barely even get to spend time with me because I leave for work so early and don't come home until the evening hours when I'm too tired to stay up for longer than an hour. I feel like such a bad partner. I didn’t even get you anything today."
"Hey, look at me." Harry says, as he grabs your hand with one of his and places the other on your chin to gently lift it so that you're looking at him. He moves his face a little closer to yours and kisses the place between your brows before moving down to your lips, placing a kiss on both of the corners of your mouth in hopes of removing the frown from your face.
"None of that. Of course I miss you, but I know how much you care about your work and I know that this is not forever. You've been working your ass off and I'm so proud of you. And I don't mind at all that you didn't get me anything today, baby. After all we said we weren’t going to do anything special today. We've got to feed ourselves wether you're busy or not and you know I love cooking, especially when it's for you. So I figured I'd cook you your favorite dinner just to make today a little more special. Plus you didn't think I made all of that lasagna just for you, right? I'm treating myself to a lovely dinner with the best company I could ever wish for too. Although if you did want to have the whole tray to yourself, I wouldn't mind either. Anything to make my baby happy. I just wanna take care of you and show you how proud I am of you for working so hard.” He rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand and kisses tip of your nose, then your left cheek, your right cheek and finally your mouth.
Then he pulls back to look at you again and you notice a smirk appear on Harry's face. "Besides, you didn't think I didn't notice my favorite lingerie set being gone from our underwear drawer this morning, did you?"
You try to suppress a smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He's right though. You are wearing a red, lace lingerie set underneath your outfit that you specifically decided to wear today. It's the matching lingerie set that Harry got you on his birthday as he claimed it was more a present for himself. You'd been so tired and stressed it lately that your sex drive was low and it had been a while since you and Harry had been intimate with each other. Therefore you also hadn't been able to show Harry the lingerie set in action yet, but you had secretly been hoping to change that tonight.
When you were getting dressed this morning, Harry had pretended to still be asleep while peeking at you through his eyelashes.
Harry smiles and kisses your lips. Then he leaves a trail of soft little kissen from your mouth to your neck where he stays for a few seconds while his hands roam your body until he leans back to look at you with a teasing expression on his face. "Right, so you're not wearing anything special underneath this?"
You notice Harry's eyes have turned a darker shade of green. You look behind Harry at the timer on the oven to see how much time is left before the lasagna is ready. Enough time for a little teasing.
“Want to check for yourself?” You say as seductively as possible. Harry kisses you hard and you laugh into his mouth at how fast he moves to unbutton your top and almost gets his ring stuck on it in the process. As he's working on the last button of your blouse, a loud beeping noise startles both of you. The lasagna is ready. Harry drops his head to your shoulder and sighs in frustration.
You laugh at his dramatic reaction and pat him on his back. "Come on pretty boy, if we don't eat soon I will actually eat the whole tray myself 'cause I'm starving."  
During dinner you catch Harry staring at your exposed cleavage a couple of times. You hadn't bothered buttoning your blouse again because you knew it would only be a matter of time until you wouldn't be wearing a top at all.
When Harry said he was too full for desert, which you knew was only an excuse to continue what you started right before dinner because desert was his favorite and he would always leave room for it, you decided to be an even bigger tease by insisting on having a piece of the cheesecake Harry bought for desert. 
The second you finish your last bite, Harry's on your side of the table. He grabs your face in both hands and presses your lips together hard. He moves one hand down to the side of your ass and taps it to signal you to get up. Once you're up he guides you to sit at the edge of the table all while kissing you passionately. He keeps one hand on the back of your head while he unbuttons the last button on your blouse, revealing the red, lace bra. He momentarily pulls back from kissing you to admire how stunning you look in his now new favorite lingerie set on you until he reattaches his lips to yours and lets his hand explore your body. After some time he starts kissing and sucking on your neck, leaving marks in different places. Harry hasn’t even touched you and you’re already a moaning mess for him. Finally he leaves a trail of kisses from your chest down to the top of your skirt. He uses his hands to bunch up your skirt around your waist and looks at you to check if you’re really okay with this. When you push his head back to your skin he laughs at your impatience and takes that as his cue to continue. He gives you one final look before his face disappears under your skirt. 
It’s safe to say the lasagna wasn't the only thing that was eaten on that dinner table that night.
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somebluemelodies · 4 months
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DAY SEVEN OF SPIDERBIT THEME WEEK STARTED BY @anonymous-dentist! :D SELECTED THEME: SOULMATES sorry for the delay!! the end of the week-long journey <3 and what better prompt to end it with than this? who knew doodling could lead to such good things :>
It technically starts when they're in Cellbit's office.
Roier doesn't mind keeping Cellbit company in his office. Someone has to watch the investigator, after all, and make sure he takes at least somewhat decent care of himself. That someone may as well be him, with how often they're together already.
(It's totally not an excuse for more quality time - just them. Nothing like that.)
The spider-hybrid likes exploring, though. He likes being out and about, not cooped up in a small office. He doesn't understand how Cellbit can spend hours at a time in here, pouring over pages and pages and staring at a computer screen and corkboard with more questions than answers.
His intelligence is admirable, though. Roier's never met someone quite like him. Very admirable.
In due time, however, he starts to get, admittedly, very bored. His best friend has already explained what he's trying to decipher and has since gone silent, and Roier isn't going to bother asking him to go over it again because he knows full well he isn't going to understand it any better than the first time around.
(In other words, not at all.)
Instead, Roier picks up a stray pen on Cellbit's desk as an idea enters his head. Rather than pushing up his own sleeve, though, he takes the other's left arm with its rolled-up sleeve, maneuvering it gently so he can start doodling on it.
Cellbit pauses briefly, but he doesn't pull his arm away, only quirking a brow. "What are you doing?"
"Making art," Roier answers simply. "I let you work, you let me work?"
The investigator chuckles, a layer of fondness to it that makes the spider-hybrid feel awfully fuzzy, and nods in acceptance. "Okay."
(Neither of them seem to notice the lack of distance between them.)
(Or they simply don't care.)
When Roier finally caps the pen again, there's a plethora of little doodles on Cellbit's arm. Little versions of them as well as Bobby and Richas, a dog, some silly faces. Random flora.
Cellbit's clearly amused, but his voice and smile are warm. "Gracias, guapito."
He smiles brightly back, and the investigator's heart flutters. "De nada, gatinho."
And it's only that night at home does Roier see it, pulling off his sweatshirt while getting ready for bed.
The same exact doodles in the same exact spot, on his own left arm.
His eyes widen, mind suddenly filling with a thousand thoughts. But there's only one conclusion in mind, and he's... incredulous.
(Overjoyed.)
He debates messaging Cellbit right here and now; the investigator would certainly be awake. But he ultimately decides against it. The man has practically been waist-deep in Federation investigation work, and he doesn’t need to add anything else on that plate.
(Because what if he isn’t happy about it?)
Cellbit has his agenda. Roier can wait a while, however many days, until things calm down. Until the stress lessens.
Right?
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adelarsims · 1 month
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OC QUESTIONNAIRE: IVO
thank you @simarcana for the tag :)
if any of you wanted to know ivo a little better, here's your chance.
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hello, my dear. i believe we never met... i'm the spellweaver here at the Academia, and a substitute librarian for the time being, until they find someone else for the job. so... in which capacity i may be of help?
NAME: that would depend on who you see in front of you right now, me or the... oh. then just ivo is more than enough, there is no need to stand on ceremony ~
NICKNAME: with such a short name as mine, no one really called me anything else. if you don’t count common words of endearment, but i don't think that counts.
GENDER: ...hmm. that made me think. i’m used to think of myself as a man, but when i imagine being offered a different opinion, it doesn’t feel alien or make me uncomfortable either... there's always something yet to be discovered about ourselves, isn't it.
STAR SIGN: Pisces, but you might not find it very fitting anymore, now that i... oh, apologies, i got a little distracted for a moment.
HEIGHT: i never bothered measuring my own height exactly. probably a little over 180 barefoot, a little under 190 on heels... why would that be important? i assure you, 171-cm-on-heels worth of the Grand Sage in a bad mood can be much scarier. ah, you want me to get you this book from the upper shelf? in that case, my dear, how about i teach you a little beckoning spell if you have the time? it will come in handy when i’m not around to help. ~
ORIENTATION: there was a time when i preferred one gender over all others. now i prefer not to prefer either. that is just for the best for everyone. i’m truly sorry if you asked out of... personal interest, my dear.
NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: i’m afraid even i don't have the answer. i was here for as long as i can recall, but my childhood memories are rather... hazy. it was definitely warmer than here though, that much i remember.
FAVORITE FRUIT: peach, the juicier the better. even imagining it in my hand, its fuzzy skin is warm from the sun, juice streaming down my fingers and palm and staining my sleeve... ah, it almost makes me feel the taste in my mouth.
FAVORITE SEASON: summer. cold and damp weather can be very hard to endure, it takes a huge toll on my mind and body alike.
FAVORITE FLOWER: a whole field of forget-me-nots. and the apple tree blossoming in the warmest month of spring. it’s not something you could pluck for your amusement and put in a vase... you can only appreciate it and step away, carrying this moment of peace in your heart.
FAVORITE SCENT: oh, you know these thick, spicy scents that are an essential part of every tiny store that sells all kinds of fake occult knick-knacks impressionable young humans are so obsessed with? yeah, this scent. it’s just... so nostalgic for some reason.
COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: i much prefer pomegranate wine, my dear, but alas, now that i’m not allowed to drink alcohol anymore... it would be linden and melissa herbal tea. aside from its mild taste and soothing qualities, another great thing about it is that it never becomes tart even if you forget about it for a long time... however, i would also never say no to a cup of hot chocolate in a pleasant company ~
AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: more than nine, preferably. sadly, i’m rarely given that luxury. everyone always needs something here, and you can't really say no when it's the Grand Sage who's asking, now can you?
DOGS or CATS: neither, my... guest doesn’t like animals. or, rather, they do not like to be in my presence anymore. why are you looking at me like that? i thought professor Ember warned you about... i see. apologies for confusing you then. at any rate, if i have to choose, then cats. a cat sleeps for twenty hours a day and wouldn't give me any trouble, while having a dog demands too much physical activity for my taste.
DREAM TRIP: anywhere warm, my dear. (...where i really want to go is to go back in time and make a different decision, one i won’t be regretting for the rest of my days, but...) oh, i look sad? these cold stones just aren’t good for my morale. winter this year was awfully long.
NUMBER OF BLANKETS: indefinite. nothing better for the night than making a warm cozy nest out of thick fluffy blankets. the flip side is that the warmer and cozier your blanket nest is, the more heartbreaking it is to leave it in the morning.
RANDOM FACT: there’s a belief among academia students that if you jump across the hall all the way to the statue of the First Sage on just one leg the day before the exam, and throw the note with your request, and the note stays in the statue’s hands, you will get an A+ without trying. no, no, not lazy, most of them prepare for exams anyway... it’s more of a tradition now. sometimes they write completely unrelated things. poems, love confessions to each other... someone even begged the statue to make professor Ember have a crush on them, poor soul. how do i know all that? whose responsibility it is to retrieve all these notes from the statue, you think?
--
tagging @kisica-plays, @pralinesims for OC you didn't answer this for, @agena87, @adoringsentiment, @kri-babe, @puppycheesecake and anyone who sees this and suddenly wants to hop on that train
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saturnianprincess · 1 year
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[pick a card] love messages
A short pick-a-card where I channel messages from your current lover/future lover/soulmate or just anyone with who you are or will be romantically involved.
Choose any group group from 1-4 or whichever bear you feel drawn to the most. As always take what resonates and let the rest fly! Hope you enjoy this reading :)
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[Group 1] blue bear
Hey sunshine,
I know you are manifesting me and guess what even I am manifesting you! Life has just been about surviving for you lately and trust me I can feel that you have gone through a lot. I am proud of you for being a survivor but please don't feel hopeless, the skies get sunny and clear after the storm. I promise to be the light at the end of your tunnel. You don't have to do this alone, I am always there supporting you (even if I may not be there physically). Please don't dwell on what happened, I know I can't erase that but I promise you wouldn't have to deal with such a thing ever again. I will protect you!
Yours truly
[Some of you who chose this pile have been dwelling a lot about the past. Your future lover/person is saying that you need to heal yourself and let go of the past so that there is space for them to be a part of your life. Keep manifesting the qualities you want your future person to have and try to embody those qualities yourself as well. I am also sensing that some of you have detached yourself from your emotions due to some trauma you may have experienced (i am sorry you had to go through that) but, it's now time to heal it. Also, be open to change don't resist it! Trust the universe, it has some beautiful things planned for you.]
a song from them:
[Group 2] pink bear
hey lover,
How are you? Have you been getting those messages I keep sending you? Yes, it's me trying to connect with you. I am currently working on myself, I might have come across as too arrogant but I swear it's just a facade to protect myself. I have learned a lot of lessons that life has taught me and I am practicing to become the best version of myself for you. I want to build a home with you. A cute family where there's so much love flowing amongst us. I really just want to hold you so tight and give you all my love. I want to be able to give you everything you desire and even more.
Always and forever yours
[Omg, so much lovey-dovey energy in this reading it's so cute! For some of your future lover's higher self is trying to connect with you they are referring to signs or symbols you may see repetitively. Some of you may have met this person recently or you do not know them that well. They have this provider energy, and they really want to fill your cup with love!! Connect to your subconscious to connect with their energy. They are sending you loads and loads of love!]
a song from them:
[Group 3] purple bear
Hey soulmate,
Yeah, I just can't believe that you are real. Damn, I never thought an angel like you could even exist. you are truly my wish come true and I'm so grateful to have you in my life. We really are meant to be. I feel like if I wasn't there at that place that day I might not have ever met you and ngl this does scare me a bit. But I also know your soul has been intertwined with mine for eons and eons. I'm sorry that I have been so impulsive lately but I swear I want to experience life to the fullest with you so I just cannot stay still with you around! My heart gets all fuzzy when I am with you. I can't wait to see the world with you!!!
your fav boy/girl/person,
[Your future lover/spouse is giving me a golden retriever type of energy they are just buzzing with excitement when you are with them. Very wholesome energy! You both meet in a divinely orchestrated manner, it is a fated union of two souls. You might meet them soon or have seen them in your dreams or heard of them through other people. They are mesmerized by your presence.]
a song from them:
[Group 4] yellow bear
Hi y/n,
Life has been shitty to me. This turmoil that I am going through has made me feel like I am incapable of love. I don't know why but I don't have the courage to open my heart again. I have spent sleepless nights thinking about why did I go through that, I did my best but I guess I didn't deserve that. I know you are out there and I know you would never do such a thing but it's hard to keep hope when I see it being taken away from me day by day. But I am thankful for you, I really am. You have taught me that I can heal my heart and trust you to keep it safe. I love you!
Love,
[Your future spouse has been going through a tower moment. They are stressed and anxious about their future. Some of them have been betrayed by a person they trusted dearly while for others they are dealing with their own shadow. All in all a bit of heavy energy for this pile. You are the universe's gift to them and they feel blessed for you.]
a song from them:
©️2022 saturnianprincess | home
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onenicebugperday · 5 months
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@darth-moth submitted: I have a jumping spider ( P. Regius bahamas), they are the only arthropods i can touch outside of moths
Sorry for the poor quality, i was afraid that if i move my camera closer they get scared and run away
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And can i get a ID on photos 5-9? Thank you
Photos taken by me in Hungary (summer)
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Jumpers are a great gateway bug! Very cute. I'm afraid I'd need clearer photos to ID the jumper in photos 5 and 6. The next friend, though, is a European nursery web spider. and the VERY cute and fuzzy friend in the next photo is an antlion :)
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banjjakz · 3 months
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➡ Fall asleep.
When you blink back into consciousness, a gentle warmth welcomes you to the land of the living. At some point in your slumber, you pitched sideways to huddle your achingly cold bones in a fetal position. Now, you find yourself struggling to activate your joints after succumbing to a slumber so deep it’s seemed to have left you with rigor mortis.
As you sit up, an unfamiliar layer of fuzzy fabric slides from your shoulders. A blanket! Ah, that explains the extra warmth. But you don’t remember bringing a blanket with you… and you’ve never seen this particular blanket in your entire life. Sure, it’s cozy and high-quality, but the pattern of wide-open eyes littered across the black cloth is off-putting – although, not entirely unpleasant.
Oh shoot, did someone put this on you? Have you been discovered?
“Hello.”
Spooked, you whip your head to the side, where you had not even registered the presence of another living being. “Ahh!!!”
“I did not mean to frighten you. I apologize.”
Are you – are you dreaming?
You must be dreaming. They term isn’t “yumejoshi” for no reason. There is no way Choso squats in front of you, less than a meter away, so close that you can smell his earthy, metallic fragrance. He hasn’t even changed out of his stage costume: his customary white robes are still soaked through with sweat from the earlier performance, gracing the pale fabric a tantalizing semi-translucence. His purple gi is nowhere to be found, which exposes the unholy caverns of his collarbones, the inviting jut of his skeletal sternum. The signature pigtails are also undone, leaving his stringy black hair to metastasize down the sides of his gaunt face, across the barren valley of his jagged shoulder blades. And yet, that solid bar of black remains perfectly applied across the center of his face.
“…Nn?”
“Are you alright?”
Choso stays where he is, head cocked in concern. Quickly, you realize you have two options.
You can tell the truth and admit that you’d been waiting outside just to see him walk a few paces before getting into a nondescript vehicle. Totally normal fan behavior that will definitely go over well.
Or, you can lie.
“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you demure, casting your eyes down in false bashfulness. You would feel bad about this if you were a better person.  “And the memories from ShinShow’s performances always sustain me…I just thought, if I could enjoy the positive energy for a little while longer…I would be sustained. I’m sorry…”
“Why do you apologize?”
One of Choso’s most appealing charming points is his overly formal, somewhat antiquated manner of speaking. He sounds like a historical figure who has been yanked from the past, inserted haphazardly into contemporary pop culture. Very fitting for his lore. But you’d also been under the assumption that this was merely a stage act – is he that committed to his image? Or is it innate?
The thought of Choso simply being Like That is too endearing to bear. You hide your face behind your palms, concealing the tremulous smile that possesses your lips.
“It’s embarrassing… and I’ve troubled Choso-nii…”
The last thing you expect are cold, impossibly cold, hands to wrap around your wrists, kindly (but firmly) uncovering your face. Choso has drawn closer to you, so close that when he breathes, it brushes the bridge of your nose.
His face is impassive, as usual – but upon closer inspection, you notice a strange, wavering quality in his eyes, a slight tremor in his lips. There might actually be color on the tips of his ears. Usually, he appears as though he is so pale there is no blood coursing through his veins that could produce a blush.
Evidently, this is not the case.
“Choso-nii is not troubled,” he states plainly, leaving no room for argument. “The night is no place for a little one to be sleeping unguarded.”
Oh, you could faint here and now. It’s an active choice on your part to remain conscious. “Mn…”
“You will come with me now.”
And so you do.
This is how you find yourself in the back of an unmarked, utilitarian white van. To anyone else the vehicle would appear as little more than a maintenance truck. But you know better.
Inside the living-quarters is a mish-mash of discarded clothing items in varying degrees of cleanliness; discarded guitar picks; empty takeout containers; and a random jumble of electronic chargers. Inexplicably, there is also an abundance of first-aid supplies, with over half of it apparently already used. As he sits you down on one of the distressed leather seats, Choso uses the medical kit to tend to a few scrapes on your legs and arms earned from your impromptu nap on the concrete.
“It’s really not that bad…You don’t have to—”
“Enough.”
Embarrassed, you shut your mouth. How do you even cope with this situation? Here you are, in the back of your oshi’s travel van, as he sits on his knees in front of you, hands impatiently pushing your clothes away to reveal your bare skin. His touch leeches the body heat out of you like a parasite. You want to be sucked dry.
“This will sting.” That’s all the warning you get before hydrogen peroxide is unceremoniously dumped on your fresh scrapes.
Unbidden, you let out a strangled whine, hands flying to the closest part of him you can reach – which happens to be his head. You clutch at his hair to absolve you of your suffering. “Choso-nii! It hurts!”
Ker-thlunk. Glug… glug… glug…
Fuck! Your spasming must have knocked over the hydrogen peroxide…. the upended bottle spills its guts across the floor, drenching the air in an oppressively medicinal stink.
Oddly, no irritancy mars Choso’s features. If anything, he looks more flustered than you feel, which doesn’t make much sense to you.
“I’m so sorry! I c-can clean it up, I promise---”
“Leave it.” He speaks without meeting your eyes. “You are injured.”
Barely, you want to retort. But acknowledging the fact that your so-called “injuries” are very minor surface scrapes would shatter the illusory bubble of realized fantasy into which you have miraculously stumbled.
Before you can reply, Choso continues: “The human mouth is the fastest-healing part of the body. Saliva heals.”
“Okay,” you say, because there is nothing else you could possibly respond with. He can’t mean—surely, he doesn’t—
But there he goes, leaning in close to the supple flesh of your bared leg, breath ghosting along the very surface, raising the hairs that quiver in eager anticipation. “I said I would help you feel better. Please allow me this. It is my duty.”
And then he begins to suck on your wounds.
“Oh-kay,” you squeal, entirely convinced that you have begun to astral project. The scrape on the inside of your knee is laved over by his tongue, which is, strangely, just as chilled as the rest of him. When his eyes flick up at your exclamation, you realize that you have yet to release his hair.
Nor do you want to.
“B-be gentle, please…” You’re laying it on thick. You know it. How could you resist? He’s eating it up – literally – mouthing repeatedly over the sensitive area as though he is spiritually compelled to do so. And just because you’re a little too observant, a little too greedy for your own good, you decide to push your luck: “Will Choso-nii make me feel better everywhere?”
With a wet pop, he unleashes your leg from his wet, red mouth. “Where does it hurt,” he asks, pupils blown wide, nothing more than a twin pair of black holes.
“Mn…all over…I’m sore, from sleeping on the ground…”
Choso rises from his knees to crowd you into the back of the seat. Of course, you willingly melt back, pliant in the wake of his potent desire.
“Do you need Choso-nii to make it better?”
“Please,” you whimper, peering up at him through your dewy, tear-damp lashes.
Holy shit, you can’t believe this actually worked. Two hours ago, you were just one of hundreds of faceless, sweaty fans, screaming their hearts out to some of the most hauntingly morbid lyrics.
And now, you are caged in the unforgiving embrace of your oshi, completely at his mercy, littered in hickeys and lovebites and bruises as he has his way with you. Your sharp cries of pain do the opposite of dissuade him; with each groan and plea for him to slow down, take a pause, ow, ow, it hurts Choso-nii--, he grows all the more impassioned, all the more frantic.
He only pulls away from you when there is not a single inch of exposed skin left for him to mark. The sound of your comingled pants fill the van, fogging the windows with physical evidence of your salacious tryst.
Neither of you speak for a moment, content to simply gaze into each other’s eyes. His hair is frazzled every which way, due in no small part to your rough handling. Is it normal to be turned on by such a trainwreck of a human? Should you really be wet between the thighs at being mauled?
“Do—” his voice cracks in a way you have never heard before, not on any livestream, not in any video, not on any stage. “Do you feel better, now?”
Maybe it’s fate…maybe, somewhere out there, far, far away, there is a benevolent being who wants nothing but the best for you. Maybe they concentrated their divine powers into finding you, in this moment, and directing your gaze to the loose pocketknife innocently resting on the grimy floor next to his clunky black platforms. In this moment, as you pick up the blade, unsheathing it without breaking eye contact with the ghoulish specter hovering above you, an inexplicable wave of love and appreciation washes over you, bathing your half-dressed body in the warm waters of some distant, far-off shore.
It's almost too easy to slice a surface wound – a cat-scratch, really – into the plush swell of your upper thigh.
“What about here, Choso-nii?” You ask, enraptured by the peculiar twitching of his facial muscles. “Can you kiss it better right here?”
Once again, you are right on the money.
Choso dives to chase the rivulet of blood running down your leg like a man stumbling across an oasis in the desert. Devotionally, he tongues at the gory slit, sucking more blood from your self-inflicted wound, moaning as if he is the one being pleasured right now. In a strange way, you think he might be.
Your initial quick-thinking unleashes an outlandish chain reaction which finds you, inevitably, entirely unclothed with a not-insignificant amount of reddening slashes across your naked form. When it’s all said and done, Choso will tend to each and every cut, diligently disinfecting and dressing the disrupted flesh, allowing you to weakly tug at his hair (now pulled back from his face into two twin pigtails) when it burns.
Upon the final swipe of antibacterial ointment, you are halfway in dreamland, barely cognizant enough to recognize that you should probably be getting the hell out of here, at this point. However, shunning reason and common sense is the exact behavior that’s gotten you this far – so you decide to stick to what you know.
“Choso-nii,” you murmur groggily into the leather seat. “Blanket?”
“What blanket?”
His confusion is confusing you. “The one you gave me… ‘s cold…”
“…I did not give you a blanket.” For the first time since he’d picked you up behind the venue, Choso’s voice sounds grounded in reality. Released from the shackles of lust and taboo desire, he speaks with lucid candor. “Was that blanket not yours?”
“Nope,” you hum, blissfully dazed. “Where ‘s ‘t?”
Sleep descends upon your worn, battered form before you hear his answer.
Oh well. As long as Choso-nii is nearby, you have nothing to worry about.
[ROUTE CLEAR.]
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next suggested route: okkotsu yuuta
> main menu > prologue > guide
> report an issue
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omgreally · 1 year
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It’s Okay - Joel Miller/You - E 18+ - idk how many words, warnings: angst, established relationship, smut, unsafe sex, warm fuzzies.
Joel Miller has a bad dream.
Joel shivers from the memory of ghost fingertips cool on his brow. He wakes in a sweat, gasping - “Tess.”
Then, the pause. The one where he collects himself - remembers where he is. Who he’s with. He mutters, “Shit.”
“It’s okay,” you murmur back, sighing as you shift on the thin pillow. “I always know when she’s back in your dreams.”
“I’m sorry,” he offers after a moment, his hand heavy on your hip. Sheets still rucked down to your waist from last night. “I-“
“Joel.” You shut him down. “Stop. I already said it’s okay.” You rest your hand over his. “Now relax. You don’t have to talk about it. You can go back to sleep.”
He isn’t sure what he did to deserve you. It’s not the first time he’s woken up like this in the middle of the night. It’s worse when the dreams are of Sarah. But you’ve never blamed him for it, or judged. Offered an ear and a shoulder and, eventually, a bed. It happened with such swift intensity that only Ellie saw it coming, and would laugh at you both.
“Darlin’, I…” He gets extra Texan when he starts feeling things. And his voice gets deeper. He presses the line of his nose against the side of your neck. “Thanks.”
“Night, Joel,” you murmur fondly.
“Night.”
You wake to the feel of his breath on your neck, warm and even and deep. Fast asleep. You’re notched up against him now, back pulled to his chest, his arm across your ribs.
“Joel.” You shift your hips to try and wake him. It works - but only in a very localised way. “Joel,” you try again, as his hand shifts, slides downward.
“Mornin’,” he rumbles, the thickened quality to his voice lifting the hairs on your nape. “Sleep well?”
“Eventually.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he sighs, and so do you as the pads of his fingertips crest your clitoris. “Lemme make it up to you.”
“You better,” you manage just as coherent thought leaves you the same time two of Joel’s fingers enter you, slow and deep. You gasp, contracting. He grunts distantly and you feel the slide of warm, hard flesh against your ass. You arch back toward him.
“Shit,” Joel says again, in a different tone of voice this time, an almost reverent one. He slides his fingers out of you to down and angles his dick into the space between your thighs, the thick head pressing against the slick notch of your pussy, squeezing in slow.
“Language,” you chide distantly as your nerves light up like a Christmas Tree on the Fourth of July. “Oh - don’t stop,” you add, toes curling.
“What, the language?” Joel teases, infuriatingly - perfectly. “Or this?” He grabs your hip and pulls you in close, lodges all the way inside you, forcing an expletive out of you that makes you hope your voice won’t carry. “Now who’s talkin’,” he adds on a chuckle and you nudge him with your elbow, hissing when he angles his hips in a particular way and shifts inside you.
“Shut up and fuck me, Joel Miller.”
He covers your mouth before he obliges, driving you down hard against the mattress. Your breath leaves you as he thrusts in deep and holds his cock there, keeping you pinned, squirming like a caught butterfly.
You grab his wrist for grip on the next devastating withdrawal and equally punishing heave of his hips. Then he does it again, and again, his fingers pressed tight to your lips, thankfully smothering your more embarrassing sounds. His other hand works you over, two fingertips pinpointed to that spot along the hood of your clit, incessant.
Joel only wavers when you start to get tight, to go quiet and still like you’re about to pounce. Then you release all at once - a jerking, weeping mess as your orgasm rips through you. He groans as you contract around his cock and it doesn’t take long for him to lose his composure - he shoves two fingers in your mouth and slides in deep one final time before his cock starts to throb inside you, filling you with warmth.
“Fuck. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to - “
You reach back and touch your fingers to his lips as his hand lowers gently from yours. “Joel,” you croak, grinning, still panting a little “It’s okay. I mean it.”
And you always do.
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pinkanonwrites · 2 years
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hello! if you're still open to suggestions, may I request an Azul X GN reader where out of nowhere Azul's past self (aka baby octo Azul) appears and the reader is just coddling and cooing at baby Azul while present Azul is just sitting there super embarrassed cause of how reader is treating his past self? sorry if it's too specific you can reject it if you like
。゚(゚´Д`゚)゚。 AHHHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE! I love this prompt, I really hope I did it justice. I get such good prompts for Azul.
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Really, it felt like everything bad that ever happened to Azul nowadays happened while he was in Potionology class. Could he really not make it a day without something going horribly wrong to specifically his detriment? Take today, for example. A simple duplication potion was a difficult brew according to Professor Crewel, but far from impossible. On a normal day Azul would have no trouble concocting this potion to its highest quality, presenting it to the professor and getting the perfect marks he would rightfully deserve.
Unfortunately, today was not, in fact, a normal day. Today the third-years were shadowing a first-year class as a group lesson, and of all people Azul could've possibly ended up with, he ended up with none other than Ace Trappola.
And so, a tablespoon of fresh mandrake leaf was mistakenly replaced by dried mandrake powder, two ounces of violet leaves became a rough fistful of violet heads, and the shimmery grey-blue potion everyone else had in their cauldron looked nothing like the murky purplish sludge in the bottom of theirs.
And then, as if things couldn't have possibly gotten any worse, a puff of noxious-smelling smoke erupted into Azul's face as he tried to stir their caustic brew, and instead of a perfect duplicate of himself he was left with a tiny, squidgy, sobbing child version of himself seated at his feet in a growing puddle of sea water and spilling ink.
Oh Great Seven, please no.
The whispers, he could already hear them. His perfect image, so carefully constructed over his time at the NRC, shattered in an instant by this damnable first-year an his inability to follow simple instructions. Azul could feel the cold drip of anxiety on the back of his neck, that creeping, unavoidable fear, the hot prickle of tears behind his eyes that no matter what, he would not let fall.
"Have none of you ever interacted with a kid like, once in your life? Seriously?"
Azul jolted as you shoved your way through from across the classroom.
"Hey, I've got an older sibling, not younger ones!" Ace snapped back at you as you knelt in the puddle around Azul's younger self (oh no please don't do that) and scooped the child into your arms (definitely please don't do that!)
"A-Ah, Prefect, really you shouldn't pick up that... That." He tried to stammer, hands hovering almost like he's going to take his younger self from your arms but unable to fully commit. Ink and saltwater were running in thick rivulets down your arms and seeping into your uniform, but you didn't seem to be paying it any mind.
"Don't be rude, Azul! He's just a baby. Hi, honey-bunny!" As your attention returned to young Azul your voice dropped into a painfully sweet coo, rubbing the tears off of his chubby cheeks with your thumb. "You're being very brave, aren't you?"
Baby Azul sniffled, nodding silently. His tentacles were coiling all around your arms, gripping tight to you wherever he could reach and leaving messy ink trails in their wake. "Mhm... I'm brave."
"Yes you are! Such a sweet boy, you're being very good. There's nothing to be scared about, I promise." Your voice was so sweet, so gentle as you cradled the little merman in your arms, rocking him slowly back and forth. Azul could feel his cheeks burning as you tickled and coddled his younger self until he burst into tiny giggles. His heart was thundering in his chest and his ears, the sickening feeling of anxiety replaced with this warm, fuzzy crossbreed of affection and embarrassment.
WHAP!
"Alright, whelps! Get back to your stations! And as for you four..." Professor Crewel loomed over Azul and Ace's workstation with a stern expression. "Mr. Trappola and Mr. Ashengrotto can figure out just where their potion went so terribly wrong, while the Prefect here and I attend to our new friend. Come along now, puppy."
"Yes sir." You nodded, giving Azul a final reassuring smile and thumbs-up as you fell in step behind your teacher. You mouthed a silent 'Don't worry!' to him as you went, and that sweet, bubbling feeling in Azul's chest returned with a fiery vengeance.
It seemed like only bad things happened to Azul in his Potionology class lately. But, well, at least this one wasn't quite as bad as he'd been expecting.
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im-sew-curious · 2 months
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Isn't it glorious?
It’s here! I finally tackled my analysis of Key’s gold Gasoline era costume, worn in his music video for the song, photoshoots, a stage performance at the Inkigayo show, and a live performance at SM Town 2022. I’ll discuss everything from the fabrics used, the gloves, the shoes, complain about the zipper, talk about whatever the heck jumps are, break down all of the tiny little types of ornamentation (including the things I don’t actually know the name for) and more.
It’s scary in the best way. Buckle up. Grab some coffee or tea or vodka and a blanket.
I want to preface this by saying that this is going to be VERY long. I’ve polled my followers and nearly everyone said they want me to get as granular as I want. So I’m doing that. If that’s not your thing, here’s your exit ramp now. I get it. This is absurd.
You can also read it on my Twitter here. It actually has a LOT of bonus photos because they only allow me to have 30 on here, if you’re interested in seeing more. It may help clarify some things, as well.
Now then. Welcome to those who are left. Let’s begin!
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Costumes by Dénicheur by Seo Seung Yeon
For his Gasoline era, Key has had four costumes designed and made by Dénicheur by Seo Seung Yeon, a Haute Couture Designer House that, among other things, makes elaborate costumes for Kpop performers. They’ve got an amazing Instagram portfolio to check out. They made him a gold and black costume for his G.O.A.T in the Keyland concert, the blue and white one for the Gasoline MV, this gold one, and a cream and gold beaded jacket for the 2023 SM Town Concert.
This fashion house’s trademark is intricately beaded, appliquéd…encrusted…costumes. I was able to get some high quality photos from some of you (thanks so much!) And the more I looked, the more I discovered.
If this were a piece of art (well, it is, but not in the same way) “Mixed Media” is what I’d call it. There are literally over twenty different types of beading techniques, appliqués, various types of sequins, trims, braids, rhinestones, chains, and more.
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First, I’ll do an overview of the garments themselves, and then I’ll move on to the ornamentation.
The top (it’s not a jacket, it’s not really a shirt, it’s not a tunic. So I’m going with “top”) has a very boxy torso with exaggerated wide, padded shoulders. They’re completely squared. There are straight sleeves—not too slim, not too bulky. There’s a heavily ornamented oversleeve that reaches down to about his elbows and a “nude” colored full length under sleeve. It also has heavily ornamented cuffs at the bottom the sleeve. It has an exposed zipper up the center back that goes up into a short turtleneck collar. The collar and a portion of the lower neck back region are sheer with some beading and appliqués. There are sheer spirals around his arms and in chevrons on his front and scooping around to his back.
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Just LOOK AT that masterpiece
The trousers are closely cut through the waist, hips, and thighs but become a bit wider at the knee. It looks like they were made full length but are always worn bunched up over knee high boots. They close at the center front with a very beautifully set fly zipper and flat trouser hook and bar. It’s so low profile that it wasn’t until I got some 4K images that I was even sure of where they closed. It was like he had been sewn in. I wrote a whole thread about it on Twitter that reads like a mystery novel, though I already spoiled the ending for you. Sorry.
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The top is made of what is probably a “nude” (aka specially dyed to his skin tone) base fabric to hold the structure, with the ornamentation stitched over top. The external stabilizing fabric is what appears to be some sort of jacquard, possibly silk.
Jacquard is a type of weave, where the fabric is made of long and short “up and down” stitches of sorts, to make a pattern. Because some of the time it uses longer “stitches” on top, it becomes more vulnerable to the fiber breaking and makes it become kind of “fuzzy” looking. This can be especially true if it’s a natural fiber that usually has less structural integrity than a synthetic one. I initially thought this had started to happen on Key’s rear, but after a very close zoom in, I think that’s just a bit of appliqué edge pulling up. I think maybe one of his mic packs is down there too, but I’m really not an expert in that. I did the research so you don’t have to, folks.
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Left: A type of jacquard fabric. The shine comes from the longer top threads, contrasting with details of shorter threads. Right: Is it an applique or is it some snagged fibers? Ultimately, I think it's an applique edge.
Perhaps the most interestingly nerdy thing about jacquard is that it was originally made on a loom that led to the creation of computer programming by utilizing a sort of “binary code.” There were punchcards that showed the strands of fibers when to go up and down. Like “holes and not holes” in which to weave.
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A Jacquard Machine Loom with punchcards that create the desired design on the fabric
It’s important to note that this fabric needs to have some stretch because it is also used to make his very tight fitting trousers. If it were not a stretch fabric, he wouldn’t be able to do this like THIS or…most things, really.
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Even though the jacquard is stretchy, it has some structure to it. It’s used as a stabilizer in between the “flesh mesh” on the outer layer. (aka power net, stretch mesh... There are many names!) It forms the base on which the majority of the ornamentation is stitched.
Flesh mesh is a stretchy mesh fabric dyed to the performer’s skin color and is used to give the illusion that you’re seeing their skin, but it gives much more strength than just a cutout. I wrote a thread about flesh mesh and the importance of taking into consideration the performer’s actual skin tone when building them a costume here
In this case, flesh mesh allows for adornment of these areas, as well. It’s important to note that, even though it’s a separate layer over the base, it is “tacked” through all layers in a regular fashion so it doesn’t droop with the weight of all of the ornamentation.
There are also some parts that have metallic gold applied pieces. This was probably made of a beefy metallic spandex applied on top of the base rather than some solid pleather, due to way it behaves on the body. The latter would have been way too rigid in comparison to the rest of the fabrics.
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Heavy gold stretch spandex, forming a chevron on which to affix beads and other trims
Okay. Range of movement time. You know how I love discussing this. That’s because it’s the single most important aspect of costumes for dancers.
Let’s talk armpit gussets. They’re an American football shaped piece of fabric that is stitched in the armpit partially to the sleeve underarm, and partially to the torso underarm. It’s often made of a stretch fabric, but sometimes it’s out of the original “fashion fabric,” which is what we call the main garment fabric.
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Gussets out of different fabrics under each underarm. You can see the gold bunch under his arm when it's at his side
It allows the performer to more easily move their arms above their chest and head to help keep the top from riding up. You can see in this photo, though, that it does bunch up a little when his arm is down, because of the extra fabric. It has to go somewhere when it’s not taut.
With this particular top, it’s interesting to note that, due to the asymmetrical decoration of his arms, one gusset is the gold stretch fabric and the other is the jacquard. That means that, either both fabrics have the exact same stretch, or his arms may be SLIGHTLY more limited on one side than the other. That’s fun! I really geeked out about this observation.
Often with jackets for dancers, they’ll have what are called “commodity pleats” around the center back shoulder area. They’re a sort of sneaky hidden accordion-like bit of fabric that stretches out during movement that may otherwise split the back open. Taemin uses them a LOT. But, since this top is so boxy, Key doesn’t need them in this instance. He already had the room he needed without any other accommodations.
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They put commodity pleats in the back of most of Taemin's closer fitting jackets. I wish they'd make them the same color as his jackets, though!
With Key’s trousers, we’ve already established that they’re made of a fabric with a decent amount of stretch. But since I can’t find many good photos of his bottom half, I’m unsure about if he also has “crotch gussets.”
By this point, I’m kind of notorious as being the “crotch gusset person.”
The following posts explain them in much more detail, but basically, they’re long triangular wedges that start in the trouser crotch and taper down to nothing in the inseam. These are often put in trousers of dancers when people need a better range of movement.
I wrote about this in detail regarding Taemin’s pleather pants he wore in his Metamorph concert, as well as all of SHINee in the Your Number dance video. You can find my posts on the subject here:(Metamorph) (Your Number)
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Jinki rocking a black crotch gusset in SHINee's "Your Number" Performance Video (Black Version)
Gussets allow for extra room and movement when one is trying to do extreme leg movements like squatting. Unfortunately, I don’t have many good photos of his inseam. There’s so much going on with appliqués and piecing of mesh vs jacquard, it’s hard to tell. Part of the front half of his trousers is flesh mesh, swirling around them. The other parts are the jacquard, whereas the back is all jacquard.
I saw one photo which made me begin to wonder if the inseam is a little further forward than it could be, though. That could mean there IS a gusset. I’m really not sure...I don't have official visual confirmation, but now you know more about crotch gussets either way. You’re welcome.
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That seam line is up a bit more forward than usual. It really has me wondering, because that would happen if there was a gusset installed. Hmmmm.
Okay. Zipper education time. I apologize in advance. Things get spicy but I tried to tamp it down. The center back (abbreviated as “CB” in the industry) of the top has an exposed zipper. This means exactly what it sounds like: it’s exposed. You look at it, and it looks like there’s a zipper right there. It’s not hidden. Sometimes it’s a perfect match, and sometimes it’s “featured.” Exposed zippers actually become a trend every once in a while in everyday fashion.
I thought it was extremely interesting that, on this elaborate costume, they chose to use a zipper with metallic teeth on white “tape.” (The fabric on the sides of the teeth.) It was a huge disappointment for me, actually. I would have loved to have seen the zipper more carefully hidden like his fly was.
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Hello, zipper. I see you loud and clear!
I have to comment a bit on what I view as the one flaw in this otherwise perfect costume. I will preface this by saying that I was not in the fitting room where this was conceived, and I don’t know about any extenuating circumstances and the reasoning behind this decision. But there a few things that I would have done differently regarding the zipper and back collar of this top if were to have made it.
But first: some zipper education. Besides exposed, there are center lapped, as well as regular lapped zippers. With the center lap, it’s like the fabric covers your zipper but you can pull the zipper down through it. Your hoodie probably has one. The regular lap zipper is more like your trouser fly in that there is one flap of fabric that covers the whole zipper, hiding it.
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Top: Exposed. (Though it has a matching zipper and zipper tape.) Bottom Left: Center Lapped. Right: Regular Lapped.
Either of those types could have been used to make the zipper more discreet. I personally would have chosen to use a regular lapped zipper, which is less likely to get snagged than a center lapped zipper.
People have defended the exposed zipper by asking if it’s because it’s less likely to get caught. I very much get this argument, and, technically it’s right.
But, in my extensive experience, I don’t think I can recall a case of an exposed zipper in the back of a costume, quick change or no. It’s unattractive. (Not to mention a dead giveaway in a period garment!)
If it’s sewn well and tested, with the correct size lap and no loose fabric, it will work just fine. There should be a hook and eye at the top to make sure that it stays secure while dancing.
Part of being a good dresser is being methodical and purposeful, not frantically zipping something up in a way that is more prone to snagging. They keep their cool, perhaps taking a couple more seconds but ensuring that they pull it up smoothly. They use their fingers to block the overlap as they guide the zipper up.
(Random side note: I met a dresser once who preferred zippers be installed upside down for their quick changes. Hey, whatever works best for them! I wonder how they discovered that…)
I will also note that, as far as I’m aware, the only times he’s worn this costume, he didn’t need to get in or out of it quickly. I know that he wore it in the MV, the Inkigayo performance, and the photoshoot. He also performed at SM Town Tokyo 2022, though he had 11 songs during which to change between Bad Love and this. He never wore this look at his G.O.A.T. in the Keyland concert. Oh, and the collab with the Jinro frog. I’ll talk about that later.
So ultimately, all of the zipper quick change talk is for nothing. There COULD have been a chance that this was going to be worn during his concert, I suppose. But if not, in the end, I can find no reason that there needed to be an exposed zipper other than: they wanted it that way.
Sorry for that rant. I know that it was intense. I just…wish it were pretty. That’s all. I know it wouldn’t have bothered most people, but I personally think that the costume deserved better!
Well then. They arranged the symmetrical beaded appliqué motifs so they didn’t interfere with the center back line, so it wasn’t an issue being all chonky around the zipper.
Unfortunately, since the zipper was built into the neck with just the “stretch mesh,” it moves very differently than the rest of the top. It has a substantially weaker structural makeup and it can’t support itself the same, so it stretched at a different rate than the zipper on the solid fabric on the bottom. It kind of “bubbled” when he moved and it rode up.
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Showing the neck bubbling, and, on the bottom left photo, you can see that there is some sheer stabilizer to ensure that the zipper doesn't just tear out of the sheer net.
It couldn’t have been helped unless that whole back neck area had been backed with the solid nude base fabric. That’s what I would have done, personally. But using the stabilizer helped a bit. Without it, it may have not lasted a performance.
I don’t know why they did it that way, but the result was rather disappointing to me, especially considering the care that was taken with the rest of the garment.
Okay. End rant. The rest of the costume is EXQUISITE.
One more thing to note is that the zipper terminates about 4” above the top’s bottom hem. It is right around where his waist is. It was built that way to ensure that he was able to move his legs and hips comfortably without getting hung up anywhere.
His knee high boots were covered with the same peach jacquard as his top, as well as utilizing the gold fabric to serve as ornamental buckled straps.
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The stretch element of the jacquard is further showcased by the fact that it pulls over the boot toe smoothly, with little issue. A completely stable fabric wouldn’t be able to do that.
Now for the ornamentation. Oooooh boy. There are around twenty types of various adornments on this costume, and I thought I’d highlight some of them.
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I can spy about 15 different types of ornamentation here alone.
Beaded appliques at the neckline
Heavy chains
Rhinestone appliques and/or individual rhinestone pieces
Bugle bead chevrons
Gold round beads
Yellow individual small rhinestones
Grey beads in between bugle beads
Gold and silver flat braid trim
Gold stretch fabric
Round flat decorative chain
Hanging paillettes
Dark seed beads with some of the paillettes
Gold dangling lil dudes
A sequined applique peeking out from behind a chain
Utilizing the main fabric as a chevon stabilizer as a design detail
About paillettes: these might actually be my favorites. They’re like “floppy sequins” that only have one hole at an edge. They’re made of a very lightweight plastic, so they’re virtually silent. If you wear a dress completely covered in paillettes, you’ll just hear a little rustle. In this case, his were mainly attached via dangly wires as fringe around the upper sleeves. There are a few other random instances throughout the garment where they’re stitched on individually. You can read more about paillettes in my post here.
Appliqués: There are at least three different types of appliqués in this costume:
Beaded
Lace
Sequined
Rhinestone
Appliqués are premade decorative pieces. It looks like someone hand beaded everything on the costume, but they were able to take a shortcut by using these. So no, contrary to what you might believe, there wasn't someone laboriously hand beading every single thing on to this costume.
It still takes FOREVER to invisibly stitch each motif on to the costume as well as, in this case, sometimes layer upon layer. A lot of them are attached to a net base, and in closeups, I saw how they trimmed the net away closely around the motifs.
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On the top, we have the gold paisley sequined appliques. On his trousers, you can see the low profile lurex embroidered lace appliques. Bottom left, you can see the beaded and rhinestone applique. And on the right, beaded appliques. You can see that they're over flesh mesh so, when it's on Key, it just looks like he has a beaded collar.
The sequined, beaded paisley motifs are the most prominent and plentiful form of appliqués, focusing around the top’s cuffs and lower edge. They’re also heavily featured spiraling around the trousers. There are even some appliqués stitched across the seams of the trousers and top.
There are some huge, gorgeous bead and rhinestone appliqués, like this one on his right bicep that you can see in the photo above.
There’s also the Lurex lace (metallic threaded) embroidered appliqués that concentrate mostly on his trousers' waist and hips. It’s low profile without any bits that might snag the top while moving. They added a few jewels to it further down once it was no longer posing any danger to snags. There are also a few flat appliqués on his rear, so as to not make sitting uncomfortable but still be adorned.
Beads and gemstones: There are also individual beads and jewels both sewn and what appears to be discreetly glued on as accents. A popular adhesive we use for that sort of application is called E6000. It bonds pretty much everything from plastic, leather, metal, rubber, and wood. It’s like a slower acting super glue, but is more flexible.
You definitely need to use this in a ventilated area or, ideally, with a respirator. The fumes are no joke! There are little chevrons made out of long tubular metallic bugle beads that were probably glued instead of stitched on. There are also round bronze beads and gold rhinestones glued to the edges of the metallic fabric.
There are little dangling gold dudes, though I don’t know what they’re officially called. There are individual sew on rhinestones. There are circular decorative flat chains. There is gold beaded fringe at the wrists of the sleeves.
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Top left: gold braid, beads and chains are heavily featured. Top right: the dangling gold dudes. I don't know what to call them. Bottom left: Paillettes, hanging on gold wires on the upper sleeve hem. Bottom right: Gemstones highlighting the center of the chest, with a whole organized, beautiful mess of braid, beads, etc.
There’s gold flat “braid” trim that also looks like it has a bit of silver in it to add dimension. It’s basically like a braided ribbon, often in metallic colors. It’s used a lot in military uniforms.
And there are a few other various random beads and trims that show up amongst the circus of adornment.
The layout of the overall design is asymmetrical, with left and right arms and legs that don’t match. However, the front of the top is completely symmetrical (which is extremely impressive) except for a few rampant rhinestones that intentionally deviate a bit. Here’s an abomination I made of the sleeves next to each other to see the asymmetry more clearly.
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I THINK (not based on this photo but others that aren't Frankensteined together with different perspectives) that the sleeves are actually different lengths as well.
Something that I should cover is that with garments made out of a stretch fabric, like Key’s trousers in this case, stitching on something non-stretchy (like some appliqués) can be fraught. The appliqué can keep the fabric from stretching as much as it needs to accommodate a body in it, and it might tear off.
Sometimes, we need to stretch the fabric a bit as we sew on the motif so it will look normal when a leg is in it. It may look a bit puckered when it’s not being worn. The good news is that it appears that most of the motifs in this costume are on what is most likely a mesh backing, so they probably didn’t have to deal with that headache here!
Since the motif on the Jacquard fabric is pretty small, as well as the fact that some of the appliqués wrapped across the side seams, “pattern matching” wasn’t a big priority on this. However, it’s always preferable to keep the motifs at the same horizontal height. This is a REALLY small pattern, so it wouldn't matter terribly, plus the fact that it was so covered it can hardly be seen. There WAS a point on the right side seam where the pattern did match, but the fabric slightly torqued on the left so it didn’t. All in all, it wasn’t a big deal whatsoever. If it were a bigger print though, it could have been. I made a thread about pattern matching here. It's a subject I'm pretty passionate about!
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This side seam was cut so that, at a fixed point, the motif was all at the same level horizonatally at there was a part where the motif perfectly matched up to create one complete one. Because there are curves in the seam, it can't do that everywhere.
Now for a bit of a departure: SHINee and its members have done a few collabs over the years, dancing with the frog mascot from Jinro soju. SHINee did one for Don’t Call Me, Taemin did one for Move, and Key did one for Gasoline.
They dressed the frog up like Key, complete with jewels and chains! It was precious. SO GOOD. Watch it now. I also bring this up because that video was the resource I used to figure out where the gold chains on Key’s top were “tacked” (AKA stitched to keep it held down strategically.) It was a nice close-up view. Thanks, Jinro frog!
(Side note: I have made mascots before and it's ironic because they freak me out. I also refurbished a hot dog mascot that had gotten too gross after public appearances over a decade. My life is weird.)
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I love how scaled-back but accurate the frog's costume was.
Through the magic of the Jinro frog, I found the answer to the question “where were the chains tacked?” Here. Enough that they still have independent swing and look natural, but frequent enough to keep them from smacking him in the face. Based on the way they move, I think that is metallic coated plastic and not actual metal. Also, for safety's/comfortability's sake! You don't want to be thumped in the chest with every move.
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Here's where the chains were tacked
Someone asked me how much they thought this costume weighed. My answer?
I really have no idea…but probably not NEARLY as much as it looks? I'm like 99.9% sure the chains aren't actual metal. I’m not sure if the “jewels” are glass or plastic. The tiiiiiny “seed beads” and "bugle beads" are glass, but there aren’t enough that they would weigh a significant amount. There's a lot of gold braid on there that's very lightweight. A lot of what you see are layered appliqués with sequins and seed beads, which weigh nearly nothing. The dangling paillettes are just a light plastic.
For the garments themselves, as we’ve established, the are a few layers of fabric and mesh, which aren’t very heavy. Because of the “encrusted” nature of the ornamentation, of course, it still weighs a bit more than just a regular top, and is probably kind of rigid on the front. However, it’s not like he’s dancing around in chainmail.
Lastly, there are his gloves. His left one is made out of that heavy gold stretch fabric that was incorporated into the rest of his costume, and his right was also made out of a flesh mesh. From the way it behaves in this photo, it appears to be a much heavier mesh than the top and trousers.
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The right glove has thicker mesh that almost appears to have a natural fiber content that is getting snagged. It doesn't completely conform to the skin like a tight flesh mesh would.
The gloves are heavily ornamented with appliqués and beads. I’m going to guess that these were actually custom made for him, which is a big deal. I know very little about glove making, except it involves a TON of pieces to be done right. Gussets in between the fingers to make them slim and elegant and such. No Mickey Mouse hands here.
Stitching the ornamentation on to gloves is pretty difficult work. You either need a hand form and a curved needle or a very brave stitcher who uses their own hand as a form (palm up.) I haven’t done that for gloves, specifically, but I have been a “sacrificial hand” for other situations. I’m so calloused in most places, I don’t really feel much anymore!
There’s one more aspect to this costume that was seen in the intro for his Gasoline Inkigayo performance: the cloak. He didn’t wear it for very long, but it appears to button across his chest to the other shoulder with snaps underneath. The snaps keep the underlap from peeking out from…under the lap.
It looks like they might have had a wardrobe emergency here, because you can see that two of the three snaps were hastily stitched on with red thread. The ornamentation is asymmetrical, mostly focused on his right side. On his left shoulder, there is a decorative beaded “epaulette.” Those are the ornamental shoulder pieces you often see on military dress uniforms.
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Left: The full cloak. You can see the facing on the inside edges, made of the same fabric as the outside. I'll write about that in a bit, and I'll show you a closer view later. Top right: The red thread holding on the upper snaps. Bottom right: Metallic epaulette.
It’s hooded and made out of the same jacquard fabric as the rest of his costume, and it has a satin lining the same color as the “fashion fabric.” It appears to be about calf length. One of the photos I found actually has a shot that shows the facing, the lining, and how the hem is done. Of course, I nerded out. It’s “self faced,” which means that there’s the same fabric that’s on the outside making up the “facing.” The facing is the first ten inches or so of the inside edge of the cloak. It makes a pretty transition from the outside to the inside, without a harsh switch to lining.
Then, there’s the hem.
While attached at the top, the hem of the lining and the outer fashion fabrics are allowed to “hang out” separately while on a dress form. Because fabrics stretch out at different rates (and it also changes by the direction they’re cut from the fabric, but that’s a whole different lesson…) it’s ideal for something like this to hang on a dress form and do its thing for a day or so.
In an ideal world, you’d have a fitting with your performer and you would mark a “level line” on them while they’re wearing the cloak (and also the shoes they will be wearing. Different shoes can change a lot!)
There are several different ways you can mark a hem. You can safety pin it up the way you want it, using a ruler measuring up from the floor to keep it even. But this can be awkward and clunky.
Or you can safety pin a “level line” and say that it’s, for instance, 18” off the ground, and you’d like the hem to be 16” off the ground. You’d draw a new hemline 2” down from the pins. It's the easiest way to know what's level and then decide exactly what you want to do later.
OR you can use what I call “the poofer” which is a little measuring stick on a tripod with chalk and a rubber squeezy ball that poofs chalk into a line at a set height, instead of dealing with pins. But sometimes the chalk doesn’t like to brush away, so that’s a bit of a risk in exchange for convenience.
First, let’s talk about hemming the outside cloak fabric. Because it may have stretched out unevenly, you may have wildly different hems lengths now that they’ve been “leveled.” Let’s say we’ll leave 6” of “hem allowance” to fold up into the garment so it can be lengthened later if we need to. You’ll trim the rest of it away. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve altered hem lengths on cloaks over the years! I'm always grateful to have extra.
You may want to finish the hem with a “serger” or “overlock” machine, which is the sewing machine that uses 3-4 threads to sew things, often stretch, together and kind of seals off the edges. It’s probably what stitches together the side seams of your t-shirt or hoodie or lounge pants or basically anything stretchy. It’s used to keep hems and the edges of fabrics inside garments from fraying. Sometimes people don’t do it, especially since it's inside, but it’s nice if you’re planning on altering it or if the fabric is really prone to fraying.
The cloak fabric is then thoroughly pinned and hand stitched up. There are many different sneaky stitches which grab a few threads at a time from the front of the fabric and are virtually invisible. Everyone has their favorites. My personal favorite is the “vertical hemming stitch” or “vertical blind hem.” I like it because it holds the inner hem and the outside of the cloak more tightly together than a lot of other styles. The “cross stitch” which is called the “blind catch stitch” here in this diagram is one of the most popular methods. However, I feel it can be a bit too loose some times and is more likely to be caught on something. The one downside of the vertical blind hem is that, if you pull it too tight, it’s more likely to show from the outside. It takes a very sensitive hand to get it right. The lining is usually slip-stitched to the cloak hem.
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Once you’ve got your level line of your fashion fabric, it goes back on the dress form. I’m…not entirely sure I’ll do a good job explaining this because I work best with showing things with points and grunts. My apologies.
You mark the lining to match the level where the hem of the fashion fabric ends. You decide how far up from the bottom of the hem you want the lining to end (in this case, 4”.) So normally, you think you'd fold it up 4", right? Ha! You subtract two inches from that number. This means you’ll be folding up only two inches of lining. But, since we will be stitching it 4” up from the hem, that means there’s a floppy extra two inches. (Cue Advice.) What’s that for? Now I have to tell you about “jumps.”
Jumps are a sneaky trick. This method is used in suit coat hems and sleeve linings as well. Basically, they’re a way to give a little bit of wiggle room with the length of the lining to hem interaction.
After the fashion fabric is hemmed, you hand stitch the lining 4” up from the hem. You have two extra inches of lining. One extra inch of lining is pressed down so there’s an extra inch of “underlap". This photo (top right) showed me that they had done this to Key’s cloak. You can see it stretched out with the pressed line on the left, and it is folded over on the right.
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Left: The "self fabric facing" at the center front inside of the cloak. Top right: The cloak hem showing the underside of the "jump" (left) and it down in its "resting" position (right). Bottom right: the "poofer." They're marking a level line.
If you want to get even MORE granular, that is considered a “soft press”, which means that the iron steams and very lightly rests on the fabric. A “hard press” is what it sounds like. Squish that lil dude and steam the heck out of it. That line is never gonna come out.
Okay. Enough of that. I can’t believe myself.
I could literally discuss this costume inch by inch, but I think I’ve covered it enough that you can peruse it yourself if you’d like and kind of know what you’re looking at.
I deeply admire and respect the, perhaps, 100+ hours of craftspersonship that it took to make this stunning costume. Don’t even ask me what it cost to make!
Do check out the Instagram of @denicheur.official where you can see other costumes they’ve worked on for groups like IVE, Enhypen, Stray Kids and more. They’ve got an amazing portfolio to drool over.
I hope you’ve gained an even greater appreciation for this gorgeous look, and the knowledge you’ve gained here can go forward with you as you enjoy future costumes! And thanks so much for sticking with me. I hope it was worth it!
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