#Types of linen fabric

[livelinestore]

Explore the eco-friendly nature of linen and how it can be a more sustainable option than other materials in fashion. Whether you're a linen lover or just curious about this luxurious fabric, this blog has something for everyone.

[thedivinemechanism]

Hey! Firstly, in my mind I always think of you as 'V' and want to know if you're comfy being called that?

Secondly, illness stuff has recently changed and I'm fucking freezing all the time. It's near impossible to retain heat and I've taken to wearing a mood ring so I can warm up my hands when it turns black. I desperately need advice and/or just solidarity/to complain. But blegh. Also do you like sweaters? You'd definitely look cute in them.

V is alright, as far as nicknames go, but it's quite casual. Vitya is another option, but I prefer to save it for er.. closer relationships.

As far as dealing with the cold goes, I can relate. My body runs cold quite regularly, to the point that my hands are considerably frigid.

I would recommend hot drinks and warm food, blankets when appropriate, heating packs/pads, pocket warmers (you can get reusable ones), or just more clothes.

The electrical bills for the lab were funded by the council, so I was always able to keep it as warm as I wanted, but that's not possible for everyone. I also keep a set of leather gloves on my person in case my hands get stiff, but that may not be necessary in your situation.

And yes, I do like sweaters. In my opinion, they are equally as lazy as sweatshirts, but far classier. Thus, superior in every way.

[connormoving]

how it feels to want to dress very fancy and accessoried but unfortunately have the autism where i think im supposed to just be lounging in a field naked or in like. a plain linen dress. and any accessory or makeup or nail polish or ehat have you makes me want to rip my skin off

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

Cas would not wear jorts

ok he would but only to turn Dean on

Dean sucks

yeah sucks cas good and hard through his jorts

[emiliaoleary]

Hooking rugs that look like dogs

Here's how I do it:

The process I use is called rug hooking (not latch hook or punch needle or tufting, though it is the forerunner of the latter two techniques). Rugs are hooked by pulling loops of fabric strips or yarn through the holes of a base fabric with a coarse open weave, like burlap, or linen, or rug warp. The loops are pulled through the fabric with a squat-handled hook whose business end is shaped like a crochet hook.  There are no knots and the loops aren't sewed down in any way.  The whole thing stays put just by the tension of all those loops packed together in the weave of the foundation fabric.

This isn't a true detailed tutorial but a walk-through of my particular process. The same information is on my web page, emilyoleary.com .

I hook with yarn, rather than with cut strips of wool fabric, which is what many rug hookers use.  I can get a looser, more organic distribution of loops with yarn than I could with wool strips, which are hooked in neat lines. 

Mostly I use wool yarn. In terms of yarn weight, I can use DK, worsted, or Aran.  If I'm using thicker yarn, I leave more holes un-hooked; if I'm using finer yarn, I hook more densely or double up lengths of it.  I particularly like using single ply yarns (like Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride or Malabrigo Worsted).  I don't keep count, but I think I usually use around two dozen types and colors of yarn per dog.  

This is my yarn wall in my apartment. Mostly brown and gray yarn!

I start from a small drawing in my sketchbook, then I head to FedEx office to use a copy machine, blowing up the drawing repeatedly and experimenting with how big the dog rug should be. 

After transferring the image onto my linen, I immediately go over it with Sharpie, because the Saral is really difficult to see and really easy to rub off.

The rug is held taut by a PVC quilting frame that I set on my lap.

I push my hook down through the fabric with my right hand and my left hand stays below the fabric and guides the yarn while I pull it up and through with the hook. Not every hole in the fabric is hooked. Hooking every hole would make the rug too dense. I do hook pretty densely, though-- If you pick up one of my rugs you’ll see they have a slight curl to them, which is because they’re hooked pretty tight. I'm using all different weights and types of yarn, so it's a challenge to keep the overall tension even.

I hook my loops at varying heights to create a very low relief. Sometimes I trim the loops to make them fluffier or wispier or to shape a particular part. I look at a reference photo while I work and pull out and redo sections a lot.

My q-snap frame can accommodate the growing dog rug. I have extenders to make it bigger and I can clamp around my hooking.

The back of a rug looks like lines of little stitches. The lines are little worm trails snaking around because lines of hooking are not supposed to cross over each other. It's important to start a new length of yarn rather than cross over a stitch you already made! I read this when I first started and took it to heart. It makes it much easier to undo and redo hooking if you have to (and I redo sections A Lot). It also keeps the back from getting too bulky and resulting in uneven wear on the back of a functional rug that gets floor use.

When I’m done hooking everything I turn the rug over and brush watered-down Sobo glue on the edges of the dog, making sure to get one or two of the outermost lines of hooking. I do a couple coats of this thinned out glue. I'm careful not to use so much that it seeps to the front of the rug. When the glue is dry I cut the rug out, but I don't cut so close that the loops don't have any linen to keep them in.

​ It generally takes me at least several months to finish one dog rug. My hooking frame and yarn bag are very portable (though bulky) so I can hook out and about at coffee shops or the library or a brewery if there's enough space and light.

Hooking in the wild makes me an ambassador for making things in general and rug hooking in particular. I answer people's questions and always emphasize how relatively easy it is to get started hooking. Sometimes I get anxious that other people will hook rugs that look like mine but better, but I think that working in a traditional medium means you should share your knowledge for the good of the craft.

[aplpaca]

On one hand plastic fiber is bad for the environment and its production should be regulated imo but also like the way most of the posts talking about the issue are framed is really tiring and doen't sit super well with me bc theyre all "these fabrics are horrible and feel bad and we should only ever use natural fibers and nothing else and in a better society polyester wouldn't exist."

but like. I'm autistic and my main sensory issues are with touch and texture. I can't wear like 98% of clothes sold in stores bc the styles and fabrics set off my sensory issues and make me feel like I have to rip my skin off and break my skull against a wall. And a solid 75-90% of what I'm actually able to wear is polyester bc of how it stretches (for reference, polyester clothing is about 50-60% of the market). Pretty much everything I can wear that's not a generic cotton t shirt is largely polyester, and I have not found any natural fibers that are wearable for me without also incorporating polyester. Like I can honestly make an argument that access to polyester clothing is an accessibility issue for me. And there's no way I'm the only person this applies to.

So like. the framing of "and it's such a shitty bad-feeling fabric" as a reason to limit its use is just. literally not true for a lot of people (even those who don't have sensory issues. If no one thought it was comfortable, it wouldn't sell, my man). and also completely irrelevant to the actually important environmental issues.

also like. With addressing the environmental issues of polyester and other synthetic fibers, it should also come with consideration of like, either finding an environmentally friendly alternative that's *actually* a valid alternative in terms of texture, stretch/behavior, and utility. or, in the absence of an alternative, finding a way to reduce the production of and reliance on polyester without making it impossible for those who can't tolerate other options to find clothing that works for them and doesn't make them feel like they're physically combusting

And "polyester bad shitty fabric and I hate it i love you linen uwu" does neither of those things (also I fucking hate you linen). like. If I could wear 100% natural fiber pants, I would. But I literally can't do that without having a meltdown. So until that issue is addressed, the "just wear natural fibers"/"we need to only use natural fibers" type of clothing sustainability campaigning unfortunately isn't accessible to me and others with similar issues

[dresshistorynerd]

After looking up where this gorgeous box of New Kingdom linen from 3 500 years ago is held, I read further in the MET's online collection of these linens, and it's fascinating so I decided to share it with you. Apparently earliest known Egyptian funerary texts list linen cloth among important offerings for burials. Fabric was very expensive and viewed as an asset. Fine linens were increadibly expensive, so it's no wonder tombs of kings and queens would include boxes of fine linens as treasures for the royal's after-life journey.

And the linens the Egyptians produce were absolutely amazing. This linen from a chest in the tomb of Hatnefer and Ramose is mindblowing.

It's incredibly sheer, made from extremely fine thread and woven densely, which must have required expert skill and huge amount of labour. It's roughly 5 meters long and 1,6 meters wide, so it's absolutely massive, making it even more mind boggling how much work has gone to it. From the MET collection listing:

This sheet was woven of superfine thread that must have been spun from flax harvested when the plants were very young. The length of cloth would have taken months of constant industry to weave. [...] This cloth must be that described by the Egyptians as "royal linen," the highest quality. The sheerness of the featherweight fabric and its silken softness lend credence to New Kingdom representations of elaborately pleated garments that allow the contours of the body and even the color of the skin to show through. The cloth was repaired and laundered in ancient times.

It's fascinating, I didn't know you could get extremely fine thread by harvesting linen very young! This type of extremely fine linen simply is not made today and probably requires skills that are long lost. And it's incredible that it has survived more than 3 500 years after being used. The text of the MET listing implies that it was used as a clothing. The measurements of the cloth do lend itself for draping an elaborate pleated dress. It would've looked likely something like this.

Here's a modern interpretation on how this kind of long cloth in roughly these dimensions would have been draped.

Another incredible thing I found in the MET collection was this piece of linen.

It's not nearly as impressive as a textile as the royal linen, but this small (25.5 x 17.5 cm) folded piece of linen was found from a mass grave of soldiers from ca. 1961–1917 BC. That was almost 4 000 years ago. A 4 000 year old fabric. That is insane. Imagine the hands of a weaver weaving these specific threads into this specific fabric 4 000 years ago. Imagine touching the same threads a regular unknown weaver touched 4 000 year ago.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 12/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : SMUT (MDNI)

CHAPTER 12 :

Serie Masterlist

After the sun-drenched beach day, the golden glow of Brazil shifted into dusky pastels, warm oranges melting into lavender skies, soft shadows stretching over cobblestones. The group had retreated to the villa just long enough to shower off the salt, toss on some linen and perfume, and reemerge looking like they belonged in a vacation ad. 

They were headed out for dinner, not just any dinner, but the kind of magical, open-air seaside restaurant that only existed in memories and movie scenes. The table was long and candlelit, the ocean close enough to hear, and the air still smelled like coconut and sea salt. 

Lando was the first to walk down the cobbled street, flanked by the guys. 

He wore a white linen shirt, open just enough to show his chest, light-wash jeans slung low on his hips, a couple of chains glinting around his neck. He looked tanned, confident, and completely relaxed, until the moment she stepped out. 

Ariana wore a flowing, blush pink halter dress that danced around her ankles with every step. The fabric floated like air, cinched just slightly beneath her chest with a silver brooch. Her hair was down in loose waves, a single flower tucked behind her ear. 

And when she looked at him, cheeks a little flushed from the heat, barefoot sandals on her injured foot, Lando felt like the entire world tilted toward her. 

“You,” he said under his breath, barely audible. 

Ariana smiled softly. “Me?” 

“You’re not real.” 

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t start. I’ll blush.” 

“You already are.” 

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Let’s go, love.” 

The restaurant was alive with music and laughter. 

Everyone ordered cocktails, too many, probably. Max started a round of shots before the appetizers even landed. Kika and Pietra shared a fruit bowl cocktail so huge it came with a ladle. Charles insisted on picking the wine and somehow mispronounced the name so dramatically it became the night’s running joke. 

“Did you say Pinot Grisssssio?” Alexandra asked, laughing so hard she spilled her drink. 

Carlos leaned toward Ariana. “You know, Lando hasn’t stopped talking about you.” 

Lando gave him a death glare across the table. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Carlos grinned. “The man’s been walking around like a puppy with your name on his collar.” 

Ariana chuckled, eyes flicking to Lando’s. “That true?” 

Lando raised his glass. “No comment.” 

Pietra winked at her. “I’ve never seen him like this. It’s disgustingly adorable.” 

Eventually, full of food and warmth and far too many sugary drinks, they left the restaurant and wandered toward the beach. 

The group splintered, some skipping ahead, some linking arms, others leaning on each other. The moon had risen, casting silver across the dark waves, and the sand was soft beneath their feet. 

Lando stayed behind with Ariana. 

She walked slowly, barefoot, dress trailing along the sand, her arm looped around his for balance. 

“You okay?” he asked, watching her carefully. 

She nodded. “I’m great. Just… tired.” 

He smiled, shifting their pace. “Let’s take our time.” 

The others were distant shadows ahead, laughter echoing faintly. For a long while, they walked in quiet, only the hush of waves and the breeze in her hair between them. 

Ariana looked up at the stars. “Do you ever think about how lucky we are?” 

“All the time,” he said. “Especially right now.” 

She paused. “I was really scared, you know.” 

“When you got hurt?” 

She nodded. “It felt like everything I was built around disappeared. I didn’t know who I was anymore. And then… you answer my call.” 

He stopped walking. 

Turned to face her. 

“I didn’t just answer your call.” 

She looked up at him. 

“I answer because I missed you,” he continued, voice quieter now. “Because nothing felt the same after I left. I kept hearing your voice in my head. Seeing your face. I didn’t want this to be some short thing that ends with a flight.” 

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. 

“I know we didn’t define it,” he added. “But I want to. I want us to mean something. Even if we’re in different countries. Even if life gets messy. I’ll figure it out. If you want me to.” 

Ariana blinked once. Twice. 

Then said, almost whispering, “I want that too.” 

A soft smile grew on his lips. 

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m completely, stupidly, utterly into you.” 

She laughed, stepping forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

And under the stars, toes in the sand, she kissed him. 

Not like the other kisses. 

This one was slow, reverent. Like she was thanking the universe. Like she was finally allowing herself to fall. 

His hands found her waist, then her back, then her jaw, tugging her closer with the kind of desperation that came from days of restraint. Her body pressed into his, the cool breeze brushing between them, the sea singing its soft lullaby. 

When they broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead to hers. 

“I love this dress,” he whispered. 

She smiled. “You should see what’s under it.” 

He growled softly, half-laughing. “That’s dangerous talk.” 

“Walk me back?” she asked. 

“Anywhere.” 

And together, hand in hand, they walked slowly back along the moonlit shore, the others still distant ahead of them, their world tucked inside one quiet, perfect night. 

They didn’t speak the whole way back. 

They didn’t need to. 

Lando carried her in his back for the last few metters after she loose balance too many time on her injured feet. Ariana curled up against him, her cheek tucked into his shoulder, the blush pink dress whispering against his skin with every step. The sand clung to their feet, and the humid Brazilian night made her skin warm and soft in his arms. 

When they reached the villa’s gates, a few of the others were still lingering on the patio, Kika and Pierre tangled in a chair, Max nursing a beer and a sunburn, Carlos and Charles deep in some chaotic debate about who finished the shots first. 

The second Lando stepped through the garden path, with Ariana in his arms, the noise shifted. 

“Ayyyyy,” Max called, raising his bottle. “Here they are!” 

Pierre laughed. “He’s literally carrying her. Are you kidding me?” 

Rebecca clutched her chest dramatically. “True romance.” 

Kika grinned. “Don’t drop her, Norris.” 

“Shut up,” Lando said, but he was smiling, because he didn’t care. Not one bit. 

He didn’t pause. Just walked right past them all, Ariana tucked in his arms like she belonged there, her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. 

When they reached their room, someone whistled low behind them. 

“I hope the walls are thick!” Charles shouted. 

The moment the door slammed behind them, Lando caught her against it, mouth crashing into hers in a kiss that was more hunger than grace. Hands roamed wildly, her waist, her back, his fingers tangled in her hair, like he couldn’t decide what he needed to touch first. 

He kissed her hard, reckless, pulling breathless moans from her throat as he ground her body to the wall, his cock already straining desperately against the denim of his jeans. 

“God, I missed you,” he groaned against her lips, biting gently at her jaw. 

"Show me," she whispered, voice already shaking. 

Lando practically lifted her off her feet, carrying her the few stumbling steps to the bed. He set her down at the edge, but didn’t back off. His hands were already at the knot of her dress, yanking at the silky fabric like it offended him. 

“Is this okay?” he panted, breathless. 

“Yes," she gasped. "Please, Lando." 

The dress hit the floor in seconds, leaving her in just a wisp of lace panties, flushed and trembling, already breathless. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, falling to his knees between her thighs without hesitation. 

He didn't tease. Didn't waste a second. 

His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her open. He buried his face in her pussy, licking one long, filthy stripe through her folds before sealing his mouth around her clit. 

Ariana let out a broken cry, her head falling back, fists tangling in his curls. 

He groaned into her, the vibrations making her hips buck, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. 

"You taste so good, my love," he murmured against her, then dove back in — lapping at her like he was starving, like nothing else existed but her. 

He slid two fingers inside her at the same time, pumping them deep, curling up into the perfect spot, while his tongue flicked relentlessly over her clit. 

It was overwhelming. 

She was already soaked, trembling, helpless against the onslaught. 

“Lando—fuck—I’m—” she sobbed, thighs squeezing around his head. 

He grunted and sucked harder, fingers working faster. 

She shattered, loud, wild, crying his name as she came on his tongue, thighs quivering, pulling his hair so hard he moaned against her. 

He didn’t stop. 

He worked her through it, drawing every last spasm from her until she collapsed back onto the bed, panting, too sensitive and dizzy to think. 

Only then did he finally lift his head, chin shiny, eyes dark and wrecked. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning darkly. 

He stripped fast, shirt, jeans, boxers, his cock flushed and thick, slapping against his stomach. 

Ariana reached for him, wrapping her hand around him, and he hissed, hips jerking forward into her palm. 

"You're trying to kill me," he muttered, grabbing her wrist and pushing her back onto the bed. 

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, ripped it open with trembling fingers, and rolled it on fast. 

Then he was on top of her, body heavy and solid and hot against hers, kissing her hard again as he lined himself up and pushed inside in one brutal, perfect thrust. 

They both cried out, Ariana clawing at his shoulders, Lando gasping like he was drowning. 

He set a hard, punishing rhythm, fucking her deep and fast, grinding into her clit every time he slammed back. The bed rocked, the headboard slammed rhythmically into the wall, and neither of them cared. 

"Harder," she begged, nails raking down his back. 

Lando growled and pinned her wrists above her head, thrusting even deeper, until her breath was ripped from her lungs with every movement. 

But after a while, she shoved at his chest, panting, desperate. 

"Let me," she gasped. "I want to ride you." 

His eyes went wide, feral. He flipped them instantly, collapsing onto his back and dragging her on top of him. 

Ariana wasted no time, grabbing his cock, lining herself up, and sinking down onto him in one slow, devastating slide. 

Lando howled, a raw, broken sound, hands flying to her hips, grabbing hard enough to bruise. 

"Fuck, Ari—" he choked out, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. 

She started moving, slow, grinding rolls of her hips, dragging her clit perfectly against his pelvis. 

Lando’s hands flexed on her hips, trying to stay still, trying not to lose it. 

"You like this?" she teased, voice wrecked and breathless. 

He just groaned, loud, desperate, the sound tearing straight from his chest. 

He thrust up into her involuntarily, hips jerking, chasing her heat like he couldn’t help himself. 

"You’re so fucking good," he gasped. "Gonna fucking come if you keep doing that." 

Ariana laughed breathlessly, riding him harder — bouncing in messy, frantic thrusts that had Lando clawing at her waist, totally wrecked under her. 

But her thighs started shaking, muscles burning, her rhythm faltering. 

"Lando—my legs—" 

He kept his hands tight on her hips but didn’t flip her again. 

Instead, he thrust up into her, hard, deep strokes from underneath, slamming into her again and again. 

Ariana sobbed, body rocking helplessly, her hands grabbing at his chest for balance. 

He pounded into her, panting against her skin, whispering her name like a prayer. 

“Come for me, love,” he gasped. “Come with me.” 

And she did, hard, clenching around him with a cry, body locking up, eyes squeezed shut. 

Lando followed almost instantly a wrecked, desperate groan tearing from his throat, thrusting deep and grinding hard as he spilled into the condom, body trembling under hers. 

They collapsed into a sweaty, tangled heap, Ariana sprawled over his chest, both of them gasping like they’d run a marathon. 

Lando’s arms wrapped tight around her, holding her against him like he physically couldn’t let go. 

He kissed her hair, her shoulder, the side of her neck, small, dazed kisses between every ragged breath. 

"You okay?" she asked, teasing gently, still panting. 

He just moaned weakly against her neck. 

"Lando," she teased, laughing softly. "You’re suffocate me right now." 

He groaned again, louder this time and flipped them onto their sides, tucking her under his chin like a blanket he refused to give up. 

"Can't’ help myself," he mumbled against her hair. "M’serious. You’re perfect." 

Ariana curled into his chest, her fingers drawing soft patterns over his heart. 

Lando kissed the top of her head. 

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she whispered. 

“Me neither.” 

“I think I’m in love with you.” she confess. 

His arms tightened. 

“I know I’m in love with you.” Lando answers. 

And beneath the stars still shining through the window, they held each other. 

Not just after sex. 

Not just after the high. 

But after the start of something real. 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[writerthreads]

Fabrics types: a list of words

By Writerthreads on Instagram

Hopefully these descriptors can help with making your writing more detailed!

Natural Fabrics

Plant-Based

Cotton

Linen

Hemp

Jute

Bamboo

Animal-Based

Wool (e.g., Merino, Cashmere, Mohair, Alpaca)

Silk

Leather

Suede

Fur

Synthetic Fabrics

Polyester

Nylon

Acrylic

Spandex (Elastane, Lycra)

Rayon (Viscose, Modal, Lyocell)

Neoprene

Polypropylene

Knitted Fabrics

Jersey

Rib Knit

Pique Knit

Sweater Knit

Woven Fabrics

Plain Weave

Poplin

Muslin

Broadcloth

Canvas

Chambray

Twill Weave

Denim

Tweed

Herringbone

Gabardine

Satin Weave

Satin

Charmeuse

Crepe-back Satin

Luxury Fabrics

Velvet

Silk

Brocade

Damask

Organza

Taffeta

Lightweight Fabrics

Chiffon

Georgette

Organza

Voile

Tulle

Lawn

Heavyweight Fabrics

Denim

Corduroy

Canvas

Tweed

Wool

Textured Fabrics

Corduroy

Seersucker

Crêpe

Bouclé

Terrycloth

Sheer Fabrics

Chiffon

Lace

Organza

Mesh

Tulle

Durable Fabrics

Denim

Canvas

Twill

Leather

Eco-Friendly Fabrics

Organic Cotton

Hemp

Bamboo

Tencel (Lyocell)

Recycled Polyester

Some of these are duplicated, but just help with organising the fabrics depending on what you're looking for! Hope this helps!

[mcyt-couture-zine]

To celebrate the up coming release of the MCYT Couture Zine, the mods have organized an event week for everyone to participate in!

Each day corresponds with a different aspect of fashion! Any fan content is welcomed. Please use #MCZFashionWeek25 to tag your posts (we will not be tracking the tag).

Fabrics — Explore different fabrics types, learn how the weave could affect luster or the stiffness of the fabric. Silk, linen, fleece, leather await you!

Accessories — Anything that you can add on to tie together your desired look; ranging from shoes, jewelry, purses, canes, belts, and everything else you use to make a statement.

Needlework — The eye of detail; bold embroidery, delicate beadwork, intricate lace, thick knits.

Tailoring — Half of what makes fashion so eye catching is tailoring; the cut of the collar, where the sleeves fall to on the arm, how the fabric sits against the body. Each detail matters.

Patterns — From the wax prints of West Africa to the silk dying of East Asia and the modern tie dying practices of America the world is filled with so much color and design!

Alternative Materials/Mediums — Go avant garde! Play around with what you can push the limits of fashion to become. Cardboard, metal, plastic are a good place to start.

[a018233]

ೀ Identity v men with a s/o that sleeps naked.

Characters: , Eli Clark, Norton Campbell, Naib Subedar. Edgar Valden

content warnings: gn!reader, mostly sfw. Not really yandere, but can be read as one. Established relationships. Cockwarming in Norton's but it's not really sexual.

A/N: almost at 100 followers so I kinda wanna do a special. Someone should commission me and I'll write you whatever you want, give me sanrio photographer or buffy and my life is yours‼️‼️

Eli was surprised after finding out, he's a little traditional and modest when it came to clothes, but oddly enough, he wasn't against it. Eli can't help but think it's a little cute and endearing, though. Mainly because he thinks he's at the point of your relationship where you're comfortable doing 'weird' things with him. His biggest concern is you catching a cold. Eli prefers to keep his sleepwear on, so he won't join you in sleeping naked. Though, maybe on a hot summer night, he'd strip down to his boxers just so he can spoon you comfortably without overheating the both of you. Eli likes having you relying on him whether you realize it or not, so he prefers to stay up until you've fallen asleep so he can cover you with a blanket, it's more an act of love and reassurance that you won't accidentally catch a cold.

After you started doing it, It didn't take Norton too long to follow. He likes the close intimacy he gets from cuddling nude with you. Norton is aware he's high maintenance as a lover, to him, it's total reassurance that he's the only one for you. Reassurance that you love and trust him no matter what. The type of intimacy only he and he alone can have with you. It gives him a little pep in his step the next day. It's something looks forward to each night. He looks forward to your shared nightly routine just as much as waking up with you. I'd think at some point you two decide to kick it up a notch with cockwarming, something to keep you two locked in place together. He finds nothing as relaxing than burying himself nice and deep inside you while his arms keep you in a tight embrace.

Naib already likes sleeping in his boxers, so he doesn't really have a reaction. At least, that's what you think when you go under the covers on your shared bed. He's internally questioning himself. Is it okay to hold you? Where does he even put his hands without it being weird? Is he even allowed to look? For the first couple nights, he doesn't hold you like he usually does. But after a while, he gets used to it. Although, he won't join you in going full comando unless he just got out of the shower and dried himself fully, but he's keeping his boxers on when it comes to sleep. Naib isn't one for opening up or heart to heart conversations but having your head against his chest, and your limbs entangled with his provides comfort for him. He's a mercenary, someone who has killed for his own benefit. So it's complete solace when you ramble in a sleepy voice about your day knowing you trust him wholeheartedly.

Edgar can't help but scoff when you join him nude under the covers, he's seen your nude form before. You're his lover and muse, of course he'd seen every inch of you. As much as you're breathtaking, he's annoyed. He bought you a whole collection of all sorts of sleepwear made from the most richest material money can buy. Only the best for his lover, he can't have his muse wearing cheap clothing. Linen, silk, cotton, satin, and chiffon. With all sorts of designs he commissioned personally. Tailored to your exact size, some with your favorite colour's, colour's that match you. He even made sure the fabrics were light and breathable, and yet you choose to sleep naked? When the initial annoyance settles, he begins to feel a little flustered, yes he's seen you naked before, he has done full body portraits of you. But somehow this feels different. He can't explain why, but it feels more intimate than any canvas he's painted of you. Now, to him, it cements your love for him. That in the dead of the night, that you aren't his muse right now. But his lover. The one you love the most.

[genderlessghoul]

I've been wanting to do this post for a while now so here is EVERYTHING I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT THE GHOULS' IMPERA COSTUMES.

Buckle up because I have a LOT to say about those, this is gonna be a very long one.

The costumes were designed by B Åkerlund, a Swedish costume designer who's worked with Ghost since at least Meliora (that's as far back as I was willing to scroll on her Instagram page lol). B Åkerlund has also worked for many other musical artists such as Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osborne, Blink 182 and Hollywood Undead (information from her own website)

The masks were made by Bob Basset, a visual artists who works a lot with leather. I find his work fascinating, you can look him up on Instagram (nsfw warning, there's a few naked ladies).

Fun fact! The horns are real cow horns. That's the reason some of them have gold tips, to hide the imperfections that come with working with actual horns.

He does have a shop where he sells his items, there's a mask there very similar to the Impera ones. You can also buy Papa's batwings if you happen to have 2500$ lying around!

The jackets are made on the same model as one of Papa's. The back is decorated with a spine-like design made from leather and cording. It's adorned with a few of our classic Impera buttons. Some of the hems were left raw and some deliberate weathering was done to make it look old and worn.

Fun fact! The shoulder pieces are not sewn into the garment, I would assume for easier cleaning. I don't know if they're held by strong magnets or snap buttons.

The vest (my beloved 😩) is made from flocked velvet in a paisley pattern, the front hems embellished with satin piping. It closes in the front with custom metal clasps that are riveted into the garment. The D parts are attached with what seems to me like wide elastic, which would lessen the pression on the clasps when moving around a lot. The back is made from two different types of fabric, I'd have to touch it to be able to tell you what they are. I assume the panels closer to the sides have some mild stretch to them. The top of the shoulders are decorated with Impera grucifix patches.

The shirts were not custom made for the ghouls, altho they were altered. The original shirt in the vintage painter linen shirt from Punk Rave and it is still being sold. Some of the cuffs were altered, removing the ruffles for some of the ghouls, but not all. They were removed for Dew, Mountain and Phantom, Aether's didn't have them either. As far as I can tell, all the ghoulettes still have them.

An unfinished piece of linen serves as an ascot, that piece is decorated with a metal devil skull. The colour of the skull doesn't appear to be consistent between each ghoul, Dew's looks gold almost bronze while Phantom's is a silver-like colour.

Another modification is the buttons, a small portion of them were removed in favor of our Impera buttons. Some of the ghouls have more buttons replaced than others, which is still a mystery to me.

The pants are called Jodhpurs, they were invented in the 1800s as horse riding pants. The wide part at the hips and thighs allowing for better movement. The ones the ghouls wear don't reach all the way to their ankles, they stop a bit past the calf muscle, hidden by the boots. (Yes, the ghouls are effectively wearing capri pants)

The boots are motorcycle riding boots, decorated by a grucifix. Like the shirt, they can still be bought online through the All American Boots website, altho the price tag is... Headache inducing to say the least.

The cape is a piece of costume that was only briefly worn on stage by the ghouls, Aurora being the only one who still wears one. I would assume it gets in the way of playing very easily. The cape itself is made of two fabrics, a light blue satin and a dark grey suede. The two pieces are not sewn together at the bottom, they move freely from each other. The cape is attached on the left shoulder with a harness piece that has one strap across the chest, decorated with a metal buckle, and one under the armpit.

Aight that's it for me, have a nice day byyyyye!!

[vorfreudevortex]

Fake It 'Til We Make It

-`♡´- 11. Made It!

-`♡´- a chaptered smau series featuring: editorial assistant!ino x copy editor!fem!reader

warnings // 3.3k words/12 min. read - cussing, mentions of drinking alcohol, angst, your toxic ex tries to freak you out again, mentions of fighting and arguing, crying, confessions, uhhh lmk if i missed anything!!

author's notes // well damn. i guess that's all folks! thank you all SO much for reading my silly little self-indulgent series!!! might write an epilogue? or something spicy/18+? haven't decided yet, all i know is that i love my lover boy ino and he deserves the entire world.

stay tuned for my next smau/written series starring mafia!toji x sweet!fem!reader :) let me know if you want to be on the taglist for it!! i also have some yuta and noritoshi smau ideas floating around in my brain so please feel free to recommend tropes or anything else you want to see!! love you all and thank you so much for reading!!

10 // series masterlist // my masterlist // epilogue

Takuma cocks a brow when the large, tattooed man pulls out and sits in the linen-covered chair next to him. He figures right away that he wouldn’t ever be friends with the man as he takes in his appalling salmon-colored hair and the treacherously thick tattoos that cover his face and wrists.

The man doesn’t seem to be able to shop properly either, considering the pearly buttons on his white dress shirt seem to be precariously stretched to their fullest extent to keep the fabric together.

“I fucking hate weddings,” the man says with a grimace. Takuma casually shrugs and offers him a polite smile as takes another sip from the cup of beer in his hand.

“Meh, I kind of like ‘em,” Takuma responds politely.

The man scoffs. “What’s your name?”

“Ino. You?”

“Sukuna.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Takuma smiles.

“How do you know the couple?”

“Oh, I don’t,” Takuma shakes his head. “I’m here with my girlfriend. She’s old friends with the bride.”

“Your girlfriend?” The corners of Sukuna’s lips twitch up. “Where is she? Maybe I know her.”

“Hah, probably. She’s been talking it up with old friends all night,” He quickly scans the room for your figure, but doesn’t spot you anywhere. So, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text while he continues. “She’s probably still in the bathroom.”

“Maybe she’s hiding from me.”

Takuma glances at Sukuna with a wry smile, just to see him wearing his own smug grin. Okay… he’s weird, Takuma thinks. They offer each other a dry chuckle before Sukuna moves on. He lazily points to the white shoulder bag Takuma holds in his lap, the straps wrapped around one wrist.

“Cute,” He sneers. Dickhead, Takuma thinks. With a little bit of alcohol in his system, he has no problem giving the guy a little flak.

“I agree,” Takuma smiles sarcastically. “It matches her dress perfectly. Plus, I need to make sure she doesn’t lose anything while she dances.”

“Hm…” He responds. “Are you from this area?”

“Nah, I’ve lived around Tokyo for pretty much my whole life.” Takuma sends you another text before continuing the conversation. The last thing he’d ever want to be to a large man with face tattoos, is rude. “What about you?”

“I live in Tokyo, too. But I grew up around here.” Takuma just nods. “You know, I’m starting to think your little girlfriend left you here.”

“Nah, she would never,” Takuma laughs. Another text sent. “The line for the bathroom is long.”

“She seems like the type that would try to up and leave.”

Takuma gives the man a confused side eye, paired with an awkward smile of disbelief. What the fuck is his problem? “…You don’t even know her, man.”

Sukuna just laughs, loud and raspy, as he slaps a hand down on Takuma’s shoulder. “Relax, kid. What’s your deal?”

Your boyfriend doesn’t return the laugh, but holds his uneasy smile as he glances back and forth from the hand on his shoulder and the pink-haired man. Sukuna quiets and his eyes lock on something beyond Takuma with a smug glimmer.

“Hey there, princess.”

Confused, Takuma turns his head to find you standing just a few feet away. You look beautiful as ever, but your shoulders are tense and your lips are parted in disbelief. Your eyes don’t fall on Takuma, much to his disappointment, but to the man next to him. The alcohol in your boyfriend’s system delays the realization that there is nothing but fear in your eyes.

You turn and rush away. Sukuna rises from his seat and follows, Takuma does the same. He grabs a handful of Sukuna’s dress shirt, which is promptly slapped away. “Get off me, boy,” he snarls.

“What did you do?” Takuma spits out, yanking on his arm to slow his hasty strides.

“That’s my girl, you little fucker,” Sukuna growls back. “Know your place and—”

“—Ryomen.”

It’s the groom, with angry eyes but a warm smile. He pulls Sukuna away. “—I thought you promised not to—”

Takuma doesn’t hear or care about the rest, he’s already hurrying after you. He sees you push your way into one of the bathrooms and quickly lock the door. Takuma jiggles the knob and gently knocks.

“Hey, pretty? You in there?”

No response. He hears the soft sound of your whimpers and sniffles and Takuma feels a foreign feeling of hurt course through his chest. As different thoughts fill his mind, he realizes that Sukuna had to be your ex boyfriend. The unsettling way he spoke, the way he reacted, the way you reacted? There was just no other explanation.

“Let me in, please? That guy is gone now.”

“I’m fine, Takuma,” your muffled voice responds. It’s shaky and small.

Takuma remembers the discussion in the groupchat from long ago, about the guy that barged into the office and dragged you out. He suddenly notices that you’ve never spoken about Sukuna to him before, and even diverted conversation away from the topic during the few times it was brought up. It must have been…awful, Takuma thinks.

“Please?” Takuma asks. It comes out as more of a desperate plea.

There’s movement behind the door before the lock quietly clicks open. Takuma immediately slips inside to see you sit back down on the toilet and bury your face in your hands. He locks the door behind him. The bathroom is quite small, with just enough room for a toilet, sink, and a small stool.

You’re humiliated, trying to hide your tears from Takuma as he sits on the stool and gently wraps a hand around your calf.

“Are you alright?” He delicately asks. “That was your ex, wasn’t it?”

You say nothing and avoid his gaze. After a quiet moment of attempting to wipe away your tears, you offer him a small nod.

“I’m so sorry…” Takuma nervously chews on his bottom lip. He looks up at you from the tiny stool, his fingers unconsciously kneading your leg. If you weren’t so distraught, you may have even giggled at the way his long legs awkwardly bent up to fit in this space. “If I’d known, I would have never kept talking to him.”

You let out a sniffling sigh as you shake your head. “Not your fault,” you croak out.

Takuma stands, sets your purse on the sink, and gets a handful of paper towels. He takes your hands from your face and starts to blot away your tears as he awkwardly bends over you.

“God, please don’t cry,” He says with worried eyes and a slight grimace. His face is just inches away from yours. “You’re making my heart break, pretty. I have no idea what to do when people cry.”

You’ve never been so embarrassed, never felt so vulnerable. At the end of the day, Takuma is just your coworker. Technically, your boss. Someone you see 5 days a week, 8 hours a day. Who reads your writing, gives you a stamp of approval, and sends it to Nanami. And here he is, wiping your tears in a tiny bathroom as you sit on a dirty toilet with a lump in your throat and hurt in your heart.

“I was certain he wouldn’t come,” You sniffle, still avoiding eye contact with Takuma. “He doesn’t come to these types of things.”

Takuma, on the other hand, is a bit distracted. He stares at your swollen lips and ruddy cheeks as he carefully wipes away each teardrop that spills from your eyes. The mascara smudged around your lashes makes his heart leap a little. His eyes travel down to your hands in your lap, which fiddle and fumble with the hem of your dress. The dress that he bought for you, the one that made him blush when you first tried it on. To Takuma, you’re just simply beautiful.

“You think he came because he knew you’d be here?”

You nod. His soft finger swipes a hair from your face. “I think he’s been chasing me down for a while.”

Takuma’s movements still. “Chasing you? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug. “He just always seems to be everywhere I am. Even everywhere I’m not.”

“So he’s stalking you?”

With a small scoff, you shake your head. “I don’t know.”

Takuma sits back down on the stool, eyes filled with concern. “What do you mean?” He repeats. No response. He takes a hold of your hands with his, both of them now a warm bundle in your lap.

“Hey, I’m serious,” He says softly. “Is this Sukuna guy stalking you?”

You finally turn to look at him. The odd intimacy of direct eye contact feels suffocating for a moment. You’ve never seen Takuma so stressed as his big, brown eyes stare back at you. He doesn’t break away while he takes in the exhaustion and pain in your face.

The moment feels like a lifetime before you take out your phone and show him the texts you’ve received from your ex boyfriend throughout the past few months, before you finally blocked him. Takuma reads them in silence. There’s no movement or sound in the bathroom aside from his thumb scrolling and thick swallows as he reads the worst of it.

“This is insane���” He mutters with a disgusting face when he’s finished. “How long were you with this guy?”

“…Three? Four years?” You mumble, ashamed once more. “If you add everything between breakups together.”

“And you kept going back?”

“I…” A small, weird surge of irritation and helplessness courses through you. You pull your hands away from Takuma’s. “Do you really think I wanted to?”

“No!” Takuma’s eyes widen with guilt as he scrambles to find your hands again. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

In a second of silence, he realizes your face is turned to the wall again, and he’s lost a piece of the trust he’d built with you. A pit forms in his stomach. “What I meant is…” Takuma clears his throat. “…You deserve better.”

“Yeah, sure,” You respond dryly. A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I’m serious,” He presses. “You’re just so kind and considerate. Don’t you think you deserve that, too?”

“But I’m really not,” You scoff. “I’d scream and yell at him. I’d call him names, too. I would just up and leave in the middle of the night when I knew he’d find me anyways.”

“Yeah, well, from what I’ve seen, the fucker deserved it.”

“So, you’re saying we both deserved what we got?”

“No.” Takuma stands, gently pulling you up with him. Warm hands delicately hold your arms. “You never deserved any of the shit that Sukuna guy did and said to you, or any guy for that matter.”

“Hey,” He quietly calls when you don’t respond. When you still don’t meet his eyes, he delicately takes a hold of your face in his hands. “That asshole deserved every argument and name you called him, because I know for a fact that he was the one that started everything and drove you to the edge.”

“Just because you fought back, it doesn’t mean you’re a shitty person,” He continues. “You’re intelligent, kind, thoughtful and… you’re so beautiful. You deserve someone that actually likes you, and loves you. Someone that shows it all the time, not just when they feel like it.”

More tears fall down your cheeks, which Takuma catches with his thumbs every time. “Aw, please don’t cry? Please…” He mumbles. He looks exasperated and… desperate? The guilt and exhaustion of the situation bubbles up in your stomach once again.

“Takuma, he’s said it himself,” Your breath catches in your throat as another sharp sob escapes. It feels like you’ll never escape Sukuna. You’ll never be able to rid your life of his hurtful words or his dangerous presence. You’re exhausted. Although he may not be the first thought in your mind anymore, his existence still persists in the back of your head. He almost haunts you. “There’s no one like that left for me. I-I’m… ruined.”

“W-what?” Takuma sputters. “That’s just—that’s not true!” Another raspy sob bubbles out from your throat, and you bury your face in his chest. With furrowed brows, he instantly wraps his arms around you. He pulls you in tight with one hand in your hair and the other on your back, desperate to comfort you. “You know… I’m here.”

You don’t respond. You can’t, not through the painful cries you’re sending into his sternum.

“I’m here,” Takuma swallows. He hopes to God you can’t feel his heart relentlessly pounding in his chest. “I like you.”

“But you don’t like me, Takuma,” you hiccup, voice muffled in his shirt. “You don’t love me.”

“I…I’m pretty sure I’m in the process of it.”

You snap your head up, both of you staring at each other with racing pulses and bewildered eyes.

You’d be utterly lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel the same. How could you not? It became harder and harder throughout the past few months to not look at Takuma with something that bordered on genuine affection when he complimented you, cooked you dinner, or simply asked about your day.

You remember just a few days ago, after he cooked you your favorite meal and watched your favorite movie with you on his couch. Takuma never checked his phone once, even though it was a cringe rom-com that you had “forced” upon him. As the night wore on, you went from sitting beside him with his arm resting on the back of the couch, to having your slouched body pressed into his side as he scratched your scalp and played with your hair.

It was the first time you had ever let yourself get that intimate with Takuma. You were half-asleep by the time the movie ended and he woke you up. When you had raised your head, you were met with his face just inches from yours. You hadn’t said anything, only a long silent stare at the shape of his eyes and the curve of his lips.

In a sleepy daze, you leaned in. But as soon as Takuma started to do the same, something in your head clicked, and you backed away. You remember the heart-racing confusion as you quietly stared at each other once again. You remembered his disbelieving wide eyes, lit up by the glow of the TV. Your gut had tumbled and turned.

“I better head home,” You had whispered. He had put on a warm smile and nodded. When you got home later, you could only pretend you didn’t know what he was asking about. Laying in bed for the night, you could’ve sworn you felt those all-too-familiar butterflies in your stomach— The same ones you felt when Sukuna kissed you for the first time.

But each time that fleeting feeling of affection would float through your mind or heart, you’d dismiss it immediately, reminding yourself that it was just pretend. It was for the sake of a good article. A promotion. It was for the sake of saving face at this wedding. It was for the sake of a ongoing office prank.

It’s all fake.

“Takuma,” You blink. “Don’t—Don’t say that.”

“I’m not,” He replies with a wry smile. “…This is really not how I wanted this to happen.”

“Don’t say that,” You persist, your grip on his dress shirt tightening. “It doesn’t mean anything. We’ve just spent a lot of time together and we’re confused.”

“We?”

Your mouth snaps shut. Takuma just looks at you with hopeful eyes. You realize you’re both still holding each other, his large hands around your nape and lower back, but neither of you dare to separate. “No—I—okay,” You sputter. “Yes, we. We are confused.”

“I’m not confused, though,” Deep brown eyes dart around your face as he gnaws nervously on his lip. “I’m certain that I’m not. Are you?”

A long, stretching silence follows his question. Every interaction, every word and memory you’ve shared with Takuma spins through your mind. You remember all the innocent touches, accidental or not, that sent shivers up your spine or a heat across your cheeks.

You have no idea that Takuma is remembering, too. All the times he hyped himself up before sending a flirty text, the giddiness he felt dropping you off after a date, the fluttering feeling in his heart when you flashed him a genuine smile, the raging jealousy that ran through his blood when he met that random dickhead date of yours— Takuma remembers everything.

“I just… want you to be happy,” He hesitantly continues with a sheepish smile. “…Preferably with me—”

“—No.”

Oh.

Takuma’s face falls the smallest bit before he recovers himself. “That’s alright,” He begins to remove his hand from your waist. “I completely underst—”

“—No! I mean I’m not confused.”

“You’re not?” His face is full of uncertainty.

It makes you wants to slap yourself for making him feel this way. You’ve felt it boiling in your bones for weeks now. You wanted to tell him, or at least accept it, that you wanted him. You wanted Takuma to look at you, to sit next to you during meetings, to text you even if it meant you would be too scared to flirt back. You wanted him to keep remembering your coffee orders, be your partner on work assignments, to ask you to proofread his articles.

You wanted him to touch you, but not like that. You wanted the innocent ways like a protective hand on your back, an arm around your shoulders during a movie, or how he’d fix your hair when something was off. God, you even want him to kiss you. Just once, to know what it’s like. You’ve thought about it over and over, but it’s only in this moment right now where you’re allowing these amassing feelings to finally settle.

“I’m not,” You whisper. “I’ve just been denying it. Attempting to, at least.”

“Yeah… I gave up on that like two months ago,” Takuma cracks a smile.

“2 months ago?” Your heart skips a beat. It never really occurred to you that he was having the same thoughts. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Eventually. Were you?”

“Eventually,” You can’t help but smile back. “…I knew all of this was a bad idea.”

“But you did it anyways,” He swipes away a stray tear that remained on your splotchy cheek as you both let out nervous giggles.

“…What do we do now?” You whisper.

“I always imagined that after months of pathetically yearning,” He starts playfully, “I’d finally get the courage to confess, you’d feel the same and be so smitten and overcome with emotion that you’d jump into my arms. I would finally kiss the fuck out of you, then we would ride off into the sunset in a cool car or something, leaving Nanami and Yuji to fend for themselves at work.”

“Then… what are you waiting for?” You blurt with a laugh. Takuma’s eyes widen.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Oh, God,” You mutter, shaking your head with a smile. You look up at his sweet, brown eyes, and sigh in relief. “I’m tired of denying it. Please, just kiss me, Takuma.”

With a fiery blush on his cheeks, Takuma pulls your body in flush with his and lifts your jaw with a gentle hand. The warmth of his hand on the small of your back and his breathe against your lips leaves you reeling in anticipation. You wrap an arm tightly around his neck as the other still grips his shirt. The tip of his nose nudges against yours and you both smile.

“Pretty girl,” The tip of his nose nudges yours, you both smile. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that.”

10 // series masterlist // my masterlist // epilogue

notes & fun facts! //

i'm kind depressed that this is over but i hope you all enjoyed the fluff and slow burn!!

i wanted to add more drama with sukuna but i ultimately decided against it because y'all have been through enough 😭

lowkey how do i write x reader without saying "you" all the time LMAO i fucking struggle everytime

if i wrote an epilogue it would delve more into their future at jj&k, they'd live together, and just be super fluffy and happy. idk if that's something people would care about tho but lmk and i'd be happy to write something out hehehe

thank you all again for reading :') i love you so much

taglist // @jayathelostdragon @vesserz @loveyislost @grierpilots @shokosbunny @darkstudentsaladbakery @rieamena @yourhornysister @emlient @shutuppeter @90s-belladonna @sttaejoon-blog @fuckisthatahotghost @aldebrana

banner from pinterest (help me credit the artist!) // divider by @/kodaswrld <3

© vorfreudevortex // all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, or repost my work.

[badassindistress]

Chemise Sewalong January 2025

Step Zero: Materials

Here's a list of materials in advance to give people the time to find fabric. We’ll do some measurements so we know how much fabric we need and get the preliminaries out of the way.

What you are definitely going to need:

Fabric

Thread

Needles

Fabric scissors

Pins

A measuring tape

A ruler or flat edge to draw straight lines

What will make this project a lot easier:

Tailor’s chalk or other method to mark lines on your fabric

A safety pin, loop turner, lacing needle or other method to get a thread through a channel

An iron and ironing board  - I would say this is a necessity but not everyone has one and you can make a chemise without, it will just be harder and won’t look as crisp.

A thimble - in the long run it will make you sew quicker and be better for your hands

A sewing machine (I am intending to handsew this because not everyone has a sewing machine, but if you do have access to one and want to be done quickly, do the long seams on a sewing machine and glory in the speed of modern technology)

A cutting mat, quilting ruler and rotary cutter – This thing is all squares and triangles and quilters have got squares and triangles figured out

If you’re used to inches, keep a converter handy because my brain is used to centimeters

How much fabric do I need?

A lot. The chemise panels use the full width of the fabric. Decide if you want your chemise to knee length, to the floor or something in between. Then decide if you want full length sleeves or half sleeves.

I’m making long poofy sleeves but a kneelength skirt.

The calculation: my neck to knee is 120cm, my full arm length is 60cm shoulder to wrist (including 5cm extra for poof), so the length of fabric needed is 120+120+60=3 meters exactly.

What kind of fabric?

For the type of fabric I’d recommend cotton or linen for the historic feeling, but go with whatever brings you joy and isn’t stretchy. It needs to be light enough you can gather it up without it getting bulky and not terribly prone to fraying so you won’t go insane while sewing

Go with what is available and sparks joy as long as it’s a light fabric that gathers down nicely. (Thin sheets or table cloths can definitely be used for this). I’m going to use a fuchsia silk I’ve been saving for the airiest dress in existence.

tl:dr – procure 3 to 4 meters (145/150cm wide) of non-stretchy fabric of a lightness and colour that you would like to wear. Wash it, iron it and congratulate yourself on being super productive.

[motherismotheringggg]

Hi, I really do love your stories and all that you give, I hope you have a fabulous day or evening. But I did have a request where you had Nicholas and maybe Cooper(or the readers' friend male or female) trying to fight for your love idk or something, and it turns into this mess where you all end having a three-way with each other and the reader can't up their mind and just wants both of them. Also, it would be cool if the setting was a 90s luxury vibe. But again, do have a good day, evening or night.✨️

crystal decadence 💎

summary: this lovely anon request; reader is the daughter of a wealthy family in beverly hills and her family is throwing a dinner party. when her mom invites the two guys she’s been seeing to the party, it open the reader’s mind to a world where she can have it all

type: post grad rich female reader x post grad rich nicholas x post grad rich cooper; set in the 90s in beverly hills

warnings/tags: masturbation (f!), face sitting (f! on m!), there’s more world building than anything

author’s note: IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO DO THIS 😭 little fact about me, i love a period piece!! anything from the 60s - 90s i just ADORE so this was so much fun to write. admittedly there’s more world building than smut but I'll probably do a part 2 and 3 to have individual smuts with both of them - anywho, hope you enjoy!!

word count: ~9783

taglist: @blackynsupremacy ,@emluvsuxo , @hoffmansgirl , @godzillawillsaveus , @purple-1995 , @ilovecheetahchrome , @nicholaslut

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The Beverly Hills sun poured in through the boutique’s tall windows, hitting the glossy tile floors with a golden glow that felt almost tangible. The air smelled of fresh leather, high-end perfume, and a faint hint of gardenia from the floral arrangements that flanked the entrance. Rows of designer dresses shimmered like liquid gems, the silk, satin, and sequins catching the light with every slight sway. Each display felt more like a gallery exhibit than a store, each piece deserving of admiration and awe.

You sat in the swivel barrel chair behind your best friend, Dionne, as she twirled in front of an oversized gilded mirror, her chocolate brown curls bouncing in sync with her movements. The mirror’s ornate frame, covered in gold leaf, practically glowed under the natural light. Dionne’s face was scrunched in disapproval as she examined herself from every angle.

“I like this one, but it does nothing for my figure,” she pouted, tilting her head. Her delicate fingers brushed over the fabric of a soft blush-colored wrap dress that, while gorgeous, wasn’t quite up to her standards.

She turned to you for commentary, something that either agreed with her sentiments or changed her mind, but her face was more pouty than hopeful, there was no changing her mind.

“I think you’ll look great no matter what but we can always go see what they have at Guess,” you suggested, giving her a hopeful look with a reassuring smile.

“They just got a new shipment, and you’d look good in literally everything they make.”

Minutes later, the two of you strolled down the sunlit promenade, every step a subtle strut. The sidewalk’s terrazzo design gleamed under your designer heels, and the rhythmic clack of Dionne’s shiny loafers echoed like a soundtrack to your own personal runway show. The air buzzed with the soft hum of luxury cars idling at the curb, their drivers patiently waiting for their impeccably dressed clients to emerge with shopping bags in hand.

The Guess storefront came into view, its iconic black-and-white logo framed by lush green hedges. The moment you stepped inside, the air conditioning hit you with a refreshing burst, carrying the scent of new denim and crisp linen. A sales associate—all sharp cheekbones and impeccable tailoring—approached with a silver tray of champagne flutes.

“Welcome in, ladies,” he said, his smile as polished as his cufflinks. “Champagne?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dionne grinned, plucking a glass from the tray with a practiced elegance that could’ve put an heiress to shame. You followed suit, taking a delicate sip. The bubbles fizzed on your tongue, cool and crisp, just indulgent enough to remind you that you were exactly where you belonged.

Dionne darted off toward the dresses, her eyes sharp and focused like a predator stalking prey. You’d seen her shop a million times before, but every outing was its own spectacle—the slow, intentional grazing of fingertips across fabrics, the sharp “no” she’d mutter to anything less than perfect. You were mid-sip when your phone buzzed in your Fendi baguette bag. With a sigh, you fished it out, glancing at the screen.

Mom flashed across the display.

“Hey, Mom,” you said, balancing the champagne flute in one hand while holding the phone to your ear.

“Hi, sweetheart,” her voice was honey-smooth but edged with the brisk efficiency of a woman accustomed to getting things done. “Are you still out shopping?”

“Yes ma’am, I’m at Guess with Dionne. What’s up?”

“Perfect,” she said, her tone lifting like she’d just solved a puzzle. “I need you to pick up a few things for the party tonight. Just some last-minute items. You know how your father gets about everything being 'just right.'”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Sure, I’ll grab them.”

“Also,” her voice grew lighter, playful even, “I know you always get bored at these dinner parties so I made sure to invite more people your age tonight. I thought you’d like that.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed, eyes wandering to where Dionne was now holding up a silky champagne-colored slip dress. She held it against herself, giving you an expectant look.

“You know, Michelle’s son Ethan will be there. And Janine’s daughter, Ashley, you two did cotillian classes together in middle school. Oh! And two of those handsome boys you’ve been seeing lately…”

Your attention snapped back to the call. “Who?”

“Cooper and… Nicholas,” she said matter of factly. “I’ve seen them around you a few times and I know their families so I figured you’d appreciate them being here too.”

Your heart did a double beat almost falling out of your chest. Cooper and Nicholas. Cooper AND Nicholas. The two names bounced in your mind like a neon marquee.

“Are you still there, darling?” your mom’s voice pulled you back to reality.

“Yeah..yeah. I’m here,” you said, fighting to sound nonchalant. You glanced at Dionne, who’d lowered the slip dress and was watching you now with raised brows, her curiosity clearly piqued. “I’ll get everything on your list. I gotta go.”

You ended the call and slipped the phone back into your bag with hands that felt just a little too warm. Dionne’s eyes hadn’t left you.

“What was that about?” she asked, suspicion and delight mixing in her tone.

“Cooper and Nicholas are coming to the party tonight,” you muttered, finishing the rest of your champagne in one long, unbothered sip.

Dionne’s eyes went wide, then her grin stretched slow and wicked. “Both of them?”

“Yes.” You placed your empty glass on a nearby counter, grabbing another from the silver tray like it owed you money.

Her face lit up like she’d just been gifted a Birkin bag. “Oh, girl, you’re in trouble.”

She wasn’t wrong. You’d been seeing both of them—flirtations, lingering touches, stolen kisses, heavy petting in the back seat of their respective BMWs fresh off the lot —but nothing official. And now they’d both be at the same party, breathing the same air, under the same glittering chandeliers.

“You know what?” Dionne’s tone had the same decisive finality as a stylist’s finishing touch. “We’re gonna make sure you’re the most stunning thing at that party tonight. If Cooper and Nicholas want to compete, they’re gonna have to fight over a goddess.”

She yanked a sleek black mini-dress off the rack and held it up to you like she’d just discovered a gold mine. The silk fabric draped like molten lava, daring yet elegant.

“This. This is the one,” she said, eyes practically glittering.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror. The dress’s sharp lines and bold color did something to you, something powerful. Your reflection wasn’t just you. It was her. It was the girl who walked into a party and owned it.

————

The driveway to your home was already lined with sleek black sedans and luxury SUVs, a telltale sign that the party prep was well underway. As you stepped inside, the familiar symphony of controlled chaos greeted you. Maids buzzed about, fluffing cushions, arranging floral centerpieces, and wiping already spotless surfaces. The chefs moved with precision in the kitchen, their crisp white uniforms stark against the warmth of the marble countertops as the aroma of hors d’oeuvres drifted through the air.

When you reached the kitchen, you found your parents deep in conversation. The room was immaculate, bathed in the golden glow of a chandelier overhead that refracted light across the glossy marble countertops. The air carried a faint mix of roasted rosemary and aged wine, a scent that instantly evoked a sense of affluence and occasion.

Your father’s voice carried with its usual self-assured timbre, smooth as the leather of his oxblood loafers, a tone he reserved for strategizing. He stood by the kitchen island, one hand loosely gripping a crystal tumbler of scotch.

“This party will show him everything he needs to see,” he declared to your mother, his other hand gesturing with purpose. The sharp lines of his tailored pinstripe suit caught the light as he moved. “Once he sees my connections, he’ll have no choice but to promote me.”

Your mother stood nearby, her posture perfect, the pearls around her neck gleaming like tiny orbs of moonlight. Her nails—painted a classic red—tapped rhythmically against the stem of her wine glass. She listened intently, her expression serene but her eyes sharp, showing just how much this evening meant to her too.

It was your father who noticed you first, his face breaking into a grin that softened the otherwise calculated air about him. “And if all else fails,” he began, a touch of warmth entering his voice, “the fact that my daughter has joined my boss among the ranks of Stanford grads will seal the deal.” He opened his arms wide in invitation.

You stepped forward, letting yourself be enveloped in his cologne—a heady mix of cedarwood and power—before moving to embrace your mother. “You know I’m not a fan of using my education as a bargaining chip,” you teased, your lips curving into a small smile as you pulled back.

Your mother placed a manicured hand on your shoulder, her touch both tender and commanding. “It wouldn’t hurt,” she replied with an indulgent smile, her tone as polished as the sterling silver trays being carried past by staff. Then, her demeanor shifted, her voice taking on that quiet authority you’d grown up respecting. “Now, I need you to look over the seating arrangements before the guests arrive. There’s assigned seating for dinner, and I’d like your eyes on it to make sure it’s perfect.”

“Got it,” you replied, already glancing toward the dining room. From where you stood, you could see the flicker of candlelight bouncing off the long, polished mahogany table.

The place settings were immaculate: fine bone china with intricate gold detailing, crystal water goblets arranged like jewels, and name cards written in calligraphy so precise it could only have been commissioned. The centerpiece—a sprawling arrangement of deep red roses and soft white lilies—sat elegantly beneath another grand chandelier, a testament to your mother’s exacting standards.

“Don’t forget,” your mother added as she lifted her glass to her lips, “your uncle will be sitting next to Mr. Whitmore. Keep their egos balanced, darling.”

With a soft laugh, you nodded, stepping toward the dining room to inspect the scene. The sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoed faintly as you moved, the weight of the evening settling on your shoulders.

The dining room greeted you with the soft glow of candlelight, casting a golden hue over the sprawling mahogany table. The pristine white tablecloth looked almost too perfect to touch, and every detail, from the gold-embossed place settings to the hand-folded linen napkins, screamed elegance. The centerpiece—a lush arrangement of red roses and white lilies—stretched nearly the length of the table, its fragrance subtle but ever-present.

You ran your fingers lightly over the place cards, each bearing names written in delicate calligraphy. You knew your mother well enough to expect near-perfection, but there was always room for a few tweaks, and this was your chance to ensure things aligned with your vision. As your eyes scanned the arrangement, you found your name near the middle of the table, right next to Jason Mitchell, one of your mom’s friend’s sons. An Ivy League basketball player, Jason was pleasant enough, but you couldn’t imagine a night of forced small talk with him.

Just across the table, you spotted Dionne’s name. A smile tugged at your lips—at least your mother had the sense to seat her close. But across the table wasn’t close enough. You quickly slipped Jason’s card out of its holder and replaced it with your own, moving him to the other side. That was better. You and Dionne would have the whole evening to share knowing looks, inside jokes, and quiet commentary about the spectacle unfolding around you.

Satisfied, you continued down the table. Your mother’s place was naturally toward the head, right next to Nicholas Whitmore, a family acquaintance who always managed to dominate the conversation. A few seats down from them, you spotted another familiar name: Cooper. You paused, fingers hovering over his card. Something about seeing his name there sent a jolt of nervous energy through you.

For a moment, you hesitated, chewing lightly on your lip. Cooper was already close enough, but a small part of you—the part that couldn’t resist the chance to tilt the night in your favor—wanted to shake things up. You plucked Cooper’s card from its spot and swapped it with the one next to Dionne, biting back a grin as you imagined her teasing you later. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for Nicholas’s card.

Sliding it into place beside yours, you felt a rush of something you couldn’t quite name—excitement, nerves, or maybe a bit of both. You stared at the new arrangement for a moment, the butterflies in your stomach stirring. Should you change it back? This has the potential to blow up in your face.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned on your heel, grabbing a small bowl of fruit from the sideboard on your way out. The quiet clink of your heels against the marble was drowned out by the pounding of your heartbeat as you hurried upstairs.

Your bedroom awaited, a sanctuary fit for a young socialite. The space was expansive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a stunning view of the city skyline. Plush cream carpets covered the floor, so soft you’d forgone wearing slippers long ago. A canopy bed draped with sheer white fabric stood as the centerpiece, its silk bedding in soft blush and ivory tones. A vintage vanity, lined with your collection of luxury perfumes and makeup, sat to the side, while a wall of custom closets held the curated wardrobe that your stylist loved to call “your personal archive.”

But it wasn’t any of that that caught your attention this time. It was the bouquet of pink tulips on your bed. The sight of them stopped you in your tracks. They were vibrant, freshly cut, and tied with a delicate ribbon. Resting against them was a small handwritten note. You picked it up, the paper soft and expensive beneath your fingertips.

“Can’t wait to see you tonight and make you mine.”

The signature at the bottom was unmistakable: CH, followed by a small heart. Your heart fluttered in response. Cooper. Of course it was him. He always knew exactly what to do. He remembered that tulips were your favorite — a detail Nicholas never seemed to catch on to, despite how many times he’d brought you roses. Roses were lovely, but tulips? Tulips felt personal to you, especially since Cooper knew why you liked them so much.

One sunny morning, a breakfast date with Cooper led to a stroll through the park. The air was crisp, the kind that made everything feel lighter, and the vibrant bed of tulips in bloom instantly caught your eye. You paused, pulling out your sleek Contax G2 to snap a photo, then another, and another.

Cooper chuckled, hands tucked into his pockets as he watched you. “Why so many?” he asked, his tone warm and teasing.

You smiled, lowering your camera. “When I was little, my grandmother used to sit me in her garden while she planted tulips. She was this elegant, no-nonsense woman, but in the garden, she was different. Softer. Tending to her flowers was her favorite kind of hard work. It always felt like our secret world, just the two of us.”

As you spoke, your voice softened with nostalgia, and Cooper listened intently. His usual playful demeanor shifted; the teasing glint in his hazel eyes was replaced by something deeper. He wasn’t just hearing your story—he was falling for you with every word.

The way you spoke about your grandmother, the light in your eyes as you shared this piece of yourself—it was mesmerizing. Cooper’s gaze lingered on you, filled with a quiet adoration that made the moment feel suspended in time.

From that day on, he made a silent promise to himself. Every time he saw you, he’d show up with a single tulip in hand. The first time, he offered it with a shy grin. “One for now,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “and maybe a bouquet later.”

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from the memory. Fully expecting it to be Cooper calling to see if you’d gotten the flowers, you smiled as you reached for your phone. But when you glanced at the screen, your breath caught.

Nicholas.

You hesitated for half a second before answering. “Hey, Nicky.”

“Hey,” his voice was warm, that lazy, playful drawl he always had when he was in a good mood. “Just wanted to say I’m really looking forward to seeing you tonight. I know you’re gonna look amazing. You always do.”

“Thanks,” you said, leaning back against your pillows. Your tone was sweet but eyes drifted to the tulips again, their petals catching the golden hour light filtering through your window.

“And listen,” Nicholas continued, his voice dipping into a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve got something planned for after the party -- If you’re up for it, of course. I’m pretty sure this will make things a little easier for you.”

You let out a breathy giggle. Nicholas knew his spontaneity and charm, aside from his good looks, could win you over. His voice blurred as your thoughts floated back to a different time, another moment when he’d swept you off your feet with his easy charisma and his knack for pulling you out of the whirlwind.

The summer after you graduated college was relentless—interviews and expectations piling on, leaving you breathless. You’d stood Nicholas up that week, overwhelmed by the chaos, but he didn’t seem to mind. He showed up at your door, calm and sure.

“You need a break,” he said, his brown eyes steady and warm. “Pack a bag. Just a change of clothes and a bathing suit.”

You didn’t argue. Moments later, you were in his car, the city fading behind he as Sinatra played softly through the speakers. The scent of saltwater greeted you long before Nicholas turned off the road onto a secluded beach.

The ocean stretched endlessly before you, sparkling under the sun. Without hesitation, you kicked off your shoes and ran toward the waves, laughing freely for the first time in weeks.

Nicholas followed at his own pace, watching you with a soft smile. “Don’t forget to breathe!” he teased, his voice light.

When you ran back, drenched and beaming, he wrapped a towel around you, pulling you close. “You’ve been carrying so much,” he said, his hand brushing your cheek. “But you don’t have to have it all figured out. Life is still beautiful, still yours to enjoy.”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you whispered, “Thank you, Nicky.”

“Always,” he murmured, his fingers lacing with yours as the waves rolled in behind you.

“Y/N…hello, are you still there?”

Nicholas’s voice pulled you back to the present. His tone was gentle but curious, a soft nudge to bring you back. “You okay? You got quiet on me for a second there.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, blinking away the memory. “I’m here. Sorry, I was listening… I think the red turtle neck would look nice, trust me.”

“I’d wear one of those rainbow umbrella hats if you told me to”, Nicholas replied with coyness, you could tell came with a snide smirk on the other end.

Your lips curved into a smile. “And I’m sure you’d look great regardless,” you checked the time on your side table alarm clock, “And if I don’t start getting ready now, you’ll show up looking better than me at my own party. I’ll see you tonight”

“See you tonight beautiful,” Nicholas said hanging up the phone.

Your phone slipped from your hands onto the bed, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It wasn’t lost on you how complicated things had become. Nicholas and Cooper had despised each other long before you’d come into the picture. Their families had always been at odds, but the animosity had only grown after the tennis match.

You’d gone to support Cooper, not realizing Nicholas was his opponent. The tension in the air that day had been palpable, charged with more than just competitive energy. When the match ended and they’d both approached you simultaneously, their expressions a mix of confusion and hurt, it all unraveled.

They’d each thought you were there for them. Words were exchanged, chests puffed, and if one of their coaches hadn’t intervened, fists might have flown. It was messy, a little brutish, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t kind of hot.

The memory replayed in your mind, and your breath hitched as the details sharpened. You remembered the way Nicholas’s strong hands curled into tight fists, veins bulging along his forearms, his usually calm demeanor flickering with fiery intensity. Then there was Cooper, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jump, his sharp blue eyes boring into Nicholas like he was daring him to make a move.

Both men had staked their claim over you in no uncertain terms. Nicholas, his deep, steady voice, a calming but commanding presence, telling Cooper to back off because you’d come to see him. Cooper, refusing to yield, had stepped forward, his broad chest rising and falling as he fired back with his own confident assertion that you’d made it clear who you were there for.

The more you remembered, the hotter you felt, a warm tingle blooming low in your belly. You couldn’t stop your mind from drifting to the way they’d looked in that moment—two powerhouses, their towering frames practically vibrating with restrained aggression, both ready to fight for you. The thought sent a spark straight through you, and you instinctively squeezed your thighs together, desperate to quell the growing ache.

But it wasn’t enough.

You pushed yourself off the bed, deciding a cold shower would help clear your head. Your bathroom was an opulent retreat, the centerpiece of your suite. Marble countertops gleamed under the soft glow of chandelier lighting, and the oversized walk-in shower, enclosed in glass, boasted multiple showerheads and a luxurious rainfall feature. You turned the water on, adjusting it to a cool but comfortable temperature, and stepped inside, the mist already softening the tension in your muscles.

Still, as the water cascaded over your skin, you couldn’t shake the thoughts from your mind. The memory of Nicholas and Cooper’s heated argument twisted into something darker, more intoxicating. You imagined them in a different setting, their rivalry spilling into the bedroom. Instead of fighting with words, they’d use their bodies to prove who could claim you more thoroughly, more passionately.

The vivid thought sent your pulse racing. You pictured Nicholas, his strong hands gripping your thighs as he whispered in your ear, his usually composed demeanor unraveling as he sought to make you lose control. Then Cooper, not to be outdone, trailing heated kisses down your neck, his cocky smirk melting into something desperate as he worked to outdo Nicholas, both of them vying for your moans, your gasps, your finish.

The ache between your legs became unbearable. Almost on autopilot, you reached for the detachable showerhead. You adjusted the settings, angling it just right as the water pressure hit your throbbing self. A gasp escaped your lips, and your knees buckled slightly, your free hand bracing against the cool marble wall.

You let your eyes flutter shut, the fantasy playing out behind your lids as the water pulsed against you. The imagined sounds of their voices—Nicholas’s deep, breathy whispers and Cooper’s rough, low groans—mingled with the steady rhythm of the shower. Your hips moved instinctively, chasing the sensation as you rode the wave of pleasure building within you.

The cool tile of the shower wall met your back as you slammed against it, your body arching with the building tension. The relentless spray of the shower head pulsed against you, sending waves of heat coursing through your body. Your hand instinctively reached up, cupping your breast as your fingers found your nipple, squeezing and pinching in rhythm with your escalating pleasure.

Breathy moans slipped from your lips, the sound mingling with the soft hiss of water against the tile. Each whimper was sharp and unrestrained, your breaths hitching as the pressure built higher and higher. Your eyes clenched shut, a desperate attempt to ground yourself, but the name that spilled from your mouth was entirely unexpected.

“Nicholas…” you moaned, the sound raw and unfiltered.

Your eyes snapped open, startled by how naturally it had slipped from your lips as if your subconscious had been holding onto it all along. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through you, tightening the coil low in your belly.

Your free hand shot out to steady yourself against the opposite wall, your body trembling as the fantasy took hold. “Cooper…” you whimpered, voice laced with yearning. The thought of both men worshiping your body pushed you closer to the edge. Your lips parted, a soft cry spilling out. “That feels so good, baby…”

The vivid image filled your mind—Nicholas’s boyish grin turned wicked with desire, Cooper’s hands firm yet tender against your skin. The imagined weight of their attention, their touch, tipped you over.

Your body tensed, a shuddering gasp escaping you as the release swept through, leaving your legs weak and trembling. You clung to the wall for support, your breath stuttering in the aftermath. The tension slowly ebbed away, the pulsing water washing over you, grounding you back in reality.

A quiet laugh bubbled up as you ran a hand through your wet hair, shaking your head at yourself. “Get it together,” you muttered with a wry smile, reaching for the towel hanging nearby. Wrapping it snugly around your body, you stepped out of the shower, cheeks still flushed and thoughts lingering far longer than you intended.

----

You and Dionne lingered in the backyard’s conversation pit, the kind of luxurious setup that made you feel like you were in the pages of an interior design magazine. The space was undeniably chic—a sunken circular area surrounded by sleek stone walls, with plush cream-upholstered seating that invited you to sink in and stay a while. Overhead, string lights crisscrossed in delicate patterns, casting a warm, golden glow over the backyard. The faint scent of jasmine mixed with the lingering aroma of grilled vegetables and rosemary from dinner, while the hum of crickets filled the gaps in your conversation.

You’d both done your due diligence, making just enough small talk with the party guests to keep your mom off your back. Now, the two of you finally had a moment to yourselves. Dionne, dressed impeccably in a silky lavender blouse that shimmered in the light, swirled the champagne in her glass, watching the bubbles rise before taking a sip.

“Cooper’s family came in right behind mine,” she began casually, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. “And get this—he had a Van Cleef bag in his hand. When I asked him about it, he didn’t say much, but he did mention that he knew you’d love it.”

You inhaled sharply, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips. “It’s probably the Alhambra butterfly necklace. I pointed it out on our last date,” you said, leaning back against the cushioned seat. “I could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes.”

Dionne laughed, her voice a warm melody against the night air. “Girl, you are so lucky. I mean, seriously. The two hottest guys from our prep school—not to mention they’ve only gotten hotter—chasing after you like this?” She gave you a playful nudge with her elbow. “I love this for you.”

You tilted your head, a wistful smile creeping across your face as you exhaled. “Yeah… it’s a lot to think about.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly with mock seriousness. “So, what are you gonna do? You’ve got to choose one eventually.”

You chuckled softly, taking a sip of your own champagne. “I don’t know, Dee.”

With a grin, she leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, I say you pick whoever’s better in bed.”

You shot her a look, one eyebrow raised, and her mouth fell open. “Oh my God, wait—you didn’t!” She set her glass down on the low table in front of you, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned closer. “Spill! I thought for sure, with all those drives up to the mountains with Nicholas and Cooper, you’d—”

You cut her off, laughing as you waved a hand dismissively. “No, no! Part of the fun is keeping them waiting. You know me—I like a little suspense.”

Her jaw dropped in exaggerated shock, and she gasped. “You’re telling me… you’ve gone all this time and haven’t…?”

You grinned slyly, lowering your voice just enough to make her lean in further. “Kissed them enough to fog up car windows? Sure. Teased them with neck kisses and… other things during movie nights? Of course.” You paused, watching her expression as she hung on your every word. “But I’ve been keeping them on their toes. The tension? The chase? It makes everything so much hotter.”

Dionne burst into laughter, throwing her head back. “You are such a tease,” she said, still laughing. “Pure agonizing tease. But I’m here for it. Whoever you pick tonight is gonna be the luckiest man alive.”

You shrugged with a playful smirk, murmuring under your breath but loud enough for her to catch, “Maybe I’m considering both.”

Her gasp turned into a shocked laugh, loud and unabashed. “You didn’t just say that!”

Before you could reply, the patio door creaked open, and your mom’s voice rang out, cheerful but commanding. “Dinner’s ready, girls!”

The two of you exchanged a look, Dionne biting her lip to keep from giggling as you grabbed your glass. “Coming!” you called back, your voice perfectly composed.

As you stood to head inside, Dionne leaned close and whispered with a wicked grin, “I’m sure you will be.”

----

The dining room was a masterpiece of luxury, with its vaulted ceilings and gilded accents that sparkled under the glow of cascading crystal chandeliers. The table stretched nearly the entire length of the room, draped in an ivory cloth embroidered with golden threads, each place setting carefully arranged with fine china and polished silverware. The scent of freshly cut roses mingled with the faint aroma of roasted vegetables drifting in from the kitchen.

You had nearly forgot that you fixed the seating arrangement; Nicholas next to you, Dionne across from you, and Cooper next her, across from Nicholas.

You were deep in conversation with a family friend about your post-college job search, nodding thoughtfully as you explained your next steps and goals. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses from the party faded into the background, your focus entirely on the discussion. You hadn’t even noticed Nicholas and Cooper making their way toward the table.

Before you realized what was happening, Nicholas was at your side, effortlessly pulling out your chair. His hand—large and warm—found its place on your waist, guiding you gently but firmly back to your seat. The subtle pressure of his touch sent a shiver up your spine, but you maintained your composure, offering a polite smile as you wrapped up the conversation.

His gesture wasn’t just polite—it was deliberate, designed to be noticed. A murmur of approval rippled through the room, subtle but unmistakable. You caught the small smile tugging at your mother’s lips from across the table, her eyes glinting with pride at the display of gentlemanly behavior.

You murmured your thanks as you sat, letting him slide your chair in. His cologne, an enticing blend of cedar and spice, lingered faintly in the air as he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“My pleasure,” he said, the words brushing against your ear like a secret meant only for you.

Across the table, Cooper’s reaction was immediate and impossible to miss. His jaw tightened, his hand gripping the back of his chair as he glared at Nicholas with barely concealed irritation. The muscle in his cheek twitched, and his eyes flicked back to you, darkened by an emotion you could only describe as possessive.

Despite his simmering frustration, Cooper stayed seated, refusing to make a scene. Dionne flashed you a look of saucy approval, you hid your smirk before the server came over to take your order.

As Nicholas returned to his seat, Cooper’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat longer, his eyes tracing your features before he finally turned his attention to the wine list in front of him.

You sat there, calm and poised on the outside, but your heart was pounding.

The servers moved seamlessly around the table, placing delicate plates of appetizers before each guest. The room was alive with the clink of silverware and soft murmurs of conversation, but your focus wavered as your father stood from his seat, raising his glass with an air of practiced authority.

“To community,” he began, his voice steady and commanding as it carried across the room. “To connections that bring us together and strengthen us—personally, professionally, and beyond.” He gestured toward his boss with a respectful nod, his smile warm but calculated.

He turned to you next, his eyes softening. “To my brilliant daughter, whose success continues to amaze us all.” His glass tilted toward your mom as his smile widened. “And to my wife, the love of my life, whose support has made all of this possible.”

The table erupted in polite applause and scattered cheers, and your mom lifted her glass with an appreciative smile. “To family,” she said, her voice bright and sincere. “And to the man who keeps ours grounded and inspired every day.”

The momentum of the toasts carried on as others chimed in. Your uncle stood to wish everyone health and wealth, and a few other family friends added their sentiments about the joys of togetherness and new opportunities. You thought the flurry of toasts had finally come to a close when a brief silence settled over the room.

But then, a low screech of wood against polished floors cut through the quiet as Cooper rose from his seat.

“And a toast,” he began, his voice clear and bold, the room instantly drawn to him. His gaze was locked on you, his hazel eyes shimmering with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “To Y/N, for her beauty and grace.”

The air seemed to still as the words left his lips, his tone brimming with sincerity. “Since the day I met her, she’s done nothing but charm me and challenge me to be a better man.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as every eye turned toward you. You managed a smile—tongue-in-cheek, though your cheeks burned with heat. You could feel Dionne nearly vibrating across from you, barely able to contain her giddy excitement as she pressed her lips tightly together to suppress a grin.

Next to you, Nicholas’s expression darkened like a brewing storm. His fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass with such force you thought it might snap. His jaw clenched visibly, the muscle ticking with restrained fury as his eyes shot daggers at Cooper.

Your mom, ever the master of social nuance, caught your eye with a subtle nod and an intrigued glint in her gaze. Whatever this was, she seemed to think it was not only entertaining but possibly advantageous. Your dad, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered, his brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced between you and Cooper.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, Dionne, raised her glass high, her voice ringing out cheerfully. “To everyone here tonight!”

The collective relief after Dionne’s toast was nearly tangible as glasses were raised, and the murmur of polite conversation began to hum around the table once more. Everyone seemed eager to let the tension dissipate—everyone except for Nicholas, who still hadn’t lifted his glass.

His knuckles were white as they gripped the base of the wine glass, the sharp angles of his jaw working overtime as he stared daggers at Cooper. It was a standoff only the two of them seemed to be fully aware of, the air between them crackling with silent hostility.

Cooper, ever the opportunist, didn’t let the moment pass unnoticed. “Come on, Nicholas,” he said with a sly grin, his voice just loud enough to draw a few curious glances. “Don’t be a barbarian—it’s a wine glass. You just grab it and raise it when everyone else does.”

The jab was subtle but sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. Nicholas’s jaw clenched so tightly you wondered if he might crack a tooth. His eyes burned with a fury that would have sent most people scrambling, but Cooper only leaned back slightly in his chair, his confidence brimming.

Cooper cocked his shoulders with an ease that was almost infuriating, a smirk tugging at his lips as he shot Nicholas a wink. It was the kind of victorious, self-assured gesture that screamed I’ve won this round, and it left no doubt in anyone’s mind about who had taken control of the moment.

Nicholas finally, begrudgingly, raised his glass, his movements slow and deliberate as if every second of compliance was a battle. His dark eyes flicked back to you briefly, the intensity in them leaving a shiver down your spine.

Dinner had gone smoothly, though the charged undercurrent of tension was unmistakable. The low murmur of conversation, the clinking of silverware against fine china, and the occasional burst of laughter from the adults filled the air.

The dining room was grand, with soft golden light spilling from an ornate chandelier above the long table, casting a warm glow over the elegant table settings and half-empty glasses of wine. Cooper and Nicholas, seated strategically to keep you in their orbit, continued their subtle battle for your attention.

You maintained a composed and neutral demeanor, responding with polite smiles and light conversation. Internally, though, you were keenly aware of their every move. Dionne, sitting opposite you, occasionally met your eye with a knowing smirk, clearly enjoying the game unfolding before her.

She couldn’t resist adding fuel to the fire. Between bites of her crème brûlée, she tossed out quips like, “Y/N needs a man who’s not intimidated by success. Nicholas, are you intimidated by women with success?” Her tone was teasing, but the twinkle in her eye left little doubt she was having fun watching them squirm.

Nicholas smirked, tapping the rim of his glass. “Oh, I’m more than capable of keeping up, Coop. It’s just a matter of knowing how to play the game.” His eyes never left you, the unspoken message clear.

Cooper leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s not about playing the game, Nick. It’s about winning it.” He raised an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air as he slid a teasing glance in your direction. "And trust me, I know how to win."

Nicholas chuckled again, the sound low and confident. “Winning isn’t always about being first. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to take your time.” His voice dropped a notch, a subtle invitation lingering in his words.

Cooper wasn’t backing down. “Taking your time? I guess we’ll see how far that gets you when the clock’s ticking.” He gave you a wink, his tone playful yet laden with challenge. “I work better under pressure, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Nicholas quipped, his gaze sharp. “But we all know who’s got the stamina for the long haul.” His lips curled into a knowing smile as he leaned forward, his voice a bit lower. "Some things can’t be rushed."

Cooper’s grin widened, the tension crackling in the air. “Maybe. But there’s a difference between stamina and strategy. And I’ve got both on my side.” He turned toward you with a knowing look, making sure to catch your eye before adding, “You’ll see what I mean.”

Nicholas shot him a sly glance, clearly not phased. “I think she already has, Coop.” He met your gaze, the connection undeniable, before turning back to Cooper. “But we’ll see how the game plays out.”

You and Dionne could hardly contain yourselves, struggling to stifle chuckles and your face getting hot from tension from the boys but trying to withstand the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

-----

The party had gradually wound down, the lively buzz of conversation and laughter from earlier now replaced by a soft hum of voices in the backyard. A few remaining guests lingered with your parents, gathered in the cozy conversation pit beneath the glow of string lights. The gentle rustle of the breeze carried snippets of their relaxed chatter, the occasional clink of glasses punctuating the calm atmosphere. The backyard was a picture of tranquility, the perfect wind-down to an otherwise bustling evening.

You, with a gentle nudge from Dionne, signaling that with everyone outside it’s the perfect time for you to get away with Nicholas and Cooper to your room. You put your hand on Nicholas’ thigh at the dinner table, speaking just above a whisper for him to join you in your room. You see the excitement bubbling in him, but it quickly diminished when you invited Cooper as well.

What had started as a laid-back conversation about clothes and music had spiraled into a heated argument between the two -- it was loud and abrasive but exactly your plan.

You sat on the edge of the bed while they stood on either side of you and argued.

“God, everything about you is so trite,” Nicholas scoffed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Cooper’s lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “Trite? Coming from you?” He gestured toward Nicholas, his voice steady but biting. “That’s rich coming from like the Ivy league frat trash."

Cooper’s gaze darkened. “Everyone knows how many times you got arrested for disorderlies, daddy came and bailed you out each and every time and now you have a cushy job at his firm because no one would hire your ass! ”

Nicholas straightened, stepping forward, his voice low and dangerous. “At least I can keep her interested. You? You’d bore her to tears with your lectures about art-house films and overpriced coffee.”

“You think she wants some overgrown frat boy? Grow up. She deserves someone who’ll treat her right, not drag her into your mess.”

“Oh, because you’re the knight in shining armor?” Nicholas sneered. “I bring something to the table you never could”

Cooper took a slow breath, his calm exterior fraying. “That explains why you showed up empty-handed tonight, huh? Not even a rose. Thoughtful as ever, I see.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek Van Cleef bag, holding it up for emphasis. “This, at least, shows I care enough to know what she likes.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. “You think gifts are the way to her heart? Please. She can buy that for herself. I give her what she needs.”

Cooper tilted his head, his voice dropping into a low growl. “You don’t even know what she needs.”

As their words grew sharper, the room seemed to heat with tension, and you couldn’t help the twinge deep in your core. Their arguing wasn’t just about their preferences or styles; it was about you. The way they both stared at each other, the venom in their words—it all pointed back to the same thing: they were fighting for you.

“Boys, please,” you interrupted, your voice low but firm, cutting through the heated tension between them. It wasn’t a harsh tone—just commanding enough to grab their attention and stop the bickering. Their arguing immediately ceased, leaving a palpable silence in its wake.

“Claiming you both know what I want without actually asking me? That’s a little ridiculous, don’t you think?” you said, your teasing tone relieving some of the aggressive energy in the room. Though the animosity between Nicholas and Cooper lingered beneath the surface, their eyes were now focused entirely on you, brimming with adoration.

Cooper shifted, sitting down beside you and resting a hand gently on your thigh. “Sorry,” he said, his voice soft and apologetic, but his expression still held a hint of smugness as he flashed you his charming, dimpled smile. “He just brings out the worst in me.”

Nicholas scoffed from across the room before dropping down on your other side with a dramatic plop. “As if you don’t deserve it,” he muttered, but his eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that betrayed his annoyance.

“What can I do for you?” Cooper asked, taking your hands in his, his lips brushing against your knuckles in a gesture that felt as much a declaration of his feelings as it was a jab at Nicholas.

“Relax,” Nicholas cut in, his tone flat and stern, clearly irritated by Cooper’s display. His gaze never left yours as he leaned in closer.

The exchange made you chuckle, and to diffuse the tension, you leaned toward Nicholas and pressed a soft kiss to his jawline. His eyes softened slightly, the hard edge of his frustration melting away under your touch.

You took a steadying breath, your heart thumping in your chest as both sets of eyes bore into you, waiting. “I appreciate the gifts, the dates,” you began, your tone gentle but deliberate, making sure they both felt the weight of your words. “You know I do. But I want—need—more.”

Both of them stilled, their hesitation palpable as they processed your words. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. You met their gazes, your voice calm but dripping with intent as you added, “I want you both to show me.”

Nicholas blinked, his brown eyes wide, stunned into silence for a beat before he managed to stammer, “You mean… both of us? Now?” His voice cracked slightly, a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

You gave him a pointed look, your eyes heavy-lidded and smoldering. Bedroom eyes, they used to call it, and now you wielded them with purpose.

“Like… at the same time?” Cooper’s voice was shaky, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His uncertainty didn’t stop him from leaning forward slightly, his gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of awe and yearning.

Instead of answering, you rose from the bed with a fluid motion, standing in front of them. Slowly, you reached for the zipper of your dress, letting the straps slip down your shoulders with deliberate care. Every movement was intentional, slow and teasing, as you drew the fabric down over your body. Their eyes were glued to you, neither daring to speak as the tension thickened in the air, the anticipation palpable with every second.

When your dress finally pooled at your feet, you stood before them in nothing but the delicate lingerie you’d chosen earlier—an ensemble designed to accentuate every curve, every detail meant to entice. The way their jaws tightened, the way their gazes roamed your figure, drinking you in, was all the confirmation you needed.

Their eyes tracked your every movement as if they couldn’t look away, taking in the way the soft fabric slid from your body and the confident way you climbed onto the bed. Positioned at its center, you gave them both a look that was equal parts commanding and inviting. They remained frozen, caught between anticipation and hesitation, until you broke the silence with a playful challenge.

“Are you going to keep me waiting?” you teased, your tone sultry yet light.

That was all it took. In an instant, both of them sprang into action, fumbling with buttons and pulling at their clothes. Their movements were uncoordinated at first—hands catching on shirt sleeves and belts—but as their layers peeled away, the uncertainty melted into something more primal. Even as they undressed, their eyes never left you, their hunger for you evident in every glance and the way their chests rose and fell with heavy breaths.

Nicholas was the first to make his move. He crossed the mattress with a deliberate pace, crawling toward you with a confidence that sent a shiver down your spine. The way his back muscles rippled with each movement made your pulse quicken, a delicious ache building inside you as you watched him close the gap.

When he reached you, his large hands found your waist, his grip firm but reverent as he gently pulled you closer to him. His lips pressed soft, lingering kisses to your stomach, each touch sending waves of warmth and electricity through your body. The sensation of his breath on your skin, the way his fingers brushed against your sides, left you breathless.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and almost reverent. His hands slid up to cradle your torso, his thumbs tracing lazy circles against your ribs as he kissed his way upward, pausing just below your sternum.

Behind him, Cooper hesitated for a moment, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and determination. Then, as if spurred on by Nicholas’s lead, he climbed onto the bed, his movements slower and more deliberate, but no less intense.

Cooper reached out with a steady hand, his touch on your jaw both tender and possessive as he guided your face to his. His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was deep and consuming, filled with a need that made your breath hitch. His kiss wasn’t just a gesture—it was a declaration, a challenge to Nicholas as much as it was a promise to you.

As your lips moved together, you couldn’t ignore the way Nicholas’s hands continued their deliberate exploration, his mouth now dangerously close to your pantyline. His hot breath against your skin sent shivers racing up your spine, the contrast between his slow, teasing movements and Cooper’s demanding kiss leaving you feeling utterly undone.

Cooper’s grip on your waist tightened as though anchoring you to him, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a fleeting but intimate gesture. Before Nicholas could draw all your attention, Cooper broke the kiss just enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

His words made your heart skip, but before you could respond, Cooper took your hand, guiding it deliberately to him, pressing it against the hardness straining against the fabric of his underwear. The heat of him, the way he swelled and grew under your touch, sent a flush spreading through your body.

Your lips trailed to his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, and you bit down lightly at the juncture of his collarbone. Cooper’s low groan vibrated against your lips, and the way his hips involuntarily bucked against your hand made you smile against his skin.

Nicholas, clearly unwilling to be ignored, let out a soft chuckle against your stomach. “Don’t forget about me,” he teased, his voice thick with heat and a hint of frustration. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above your hip bone before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slightly.

In one smooth motion, Nicholas pulled your panties down and tossed them aside, his movements confident and deliberate. His hands immediately found your most sensitive spot, his thumbs massaging slow, tantalizing circles against your clit, sending sparks shooting through your body. A moan escaped your lips, muffled against the warmth of Cooper’s neck, but the tremble in your breath gave you away.

Nicholas smirked, clearly pleased with your reaction. “You're so wet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. His words only made the fire in your belly burn hotter. “That’s my good, perfect girl.”

The praise sent a wave of heat rushing through you, and before you could catch your breath, Nicholas moved with purpose. He slid down the bed, lying flat on his back, and with a firm but gentle grip, he guided you over him. “Come here,” he commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His strong hands gripped your thighs, and he used his biceps to brace you down onto him, holding you firmly in place.

As soon as his mouth met your core, a shudder of pleasure rippled through you. Nicholas’s tongue moved with expert precision, lapping at you with a hunger that left you breathless. The flat of his tongue pressed against your most sensitive spot before he shifted to flick and swirl, his lips sealing around your clit to suck gently.

You tried to keep your composure, to maintain your focus on Cooper, but it was impossible. Your lips faltered against his skin, your head falling back as a strangled moan tore from your throat. Cooper chuckled softly, his hand coming up to steady you as your body trembled.

“Losing focus already?” Cooper teased, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You tried to respond, but Nicholas’s tongue was relentless, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady as he worked. Your back arched involuntarily, and your hands flew out to brace yourself, one landing on Cooper’s chest while the other tangled in Nicholas’s hair.

Nicholas hummed against you, the vibrations making your thighs quiver. He tilted his head slightly, his tongue diving deeper to explore every inch of you, his pace never faltering. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and your head fell forward, resting on Cooper’s chest as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

Nicholas’s hum of approval sent shockwaves through your body, his tongue moving with precision as if he knew exactly how to unravel you. Cooper’s lips on your neck were hot and insistent, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothed the marks with his tongue. His large hands kneaded your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples, each motion sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your chest.

Your moans filled the room, their names tumbling from your lips in a desperate symphony that seemed to drive them further. Nicholas’s voice rumbled against you, low and commanding. “Good girl,” he praised, his hands tightening their grip on your thighs as he worked his tongue deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive bud in a way that made your toes curl.

Cooper’s hands slid down your sides, grounding you in his touch as his kisses became hungrier, more possessive. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with admiration and arousal.

The idea of them putting their differences aside, silently agreeing to focus on your pleasure, sent a new wave of heat surging through you. The coordinated rhythm of their touches left you completely undone, your body trembling as they spurred you closer and closer to the edge.

Your fingers tangled in Cooper’s hair, pulling him closer as your other hand gripped the sheets beneath you. “I—I’m so close Cooper, I'm gonna cum” you gasped, your body teetering on the brink. Nicholas responded with another hum, his tongue circling your sensitive spot with precision, while Cooper pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as you finally shattered.

Your release washed over you in waves, your body arching as you cried out, their names spilling from your lips like a mantra. Nicholas slowed his pace, helping you ride out the high, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your thighs. Cooper held you steady, his kisses softening as he murmured reassurances against your lips.

When the aftershocks subsided, you slumped against Cooper’s chest, your breathing ragged, your body tingling from head to toe. Nicholas looked up at you with a satisfied smirk, his lips glistening. “Told you I’d make you feel good,” he teased, his voice thick with pride. Before sauntering off to the bathroom, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss that left you breathless. The taste of yourself lingered on his tongue, and when you bit his lip playfully, a low, guttural moan escaped him. He pulled away with a grin that promised more, leaving you flushed and wanting.

Cooper stayed close, his hands gently stroking your sides before he tilted your chin up and kissed you again. His lips were softer, slower, carrying a tenderness that made your heart flutter. As the kiss ended, he pulled back and reached for his jacket, retrieving a sleek Van Cleef bag.

“While he’s away,” Cooper said, his voice low and intimate, “I wanted to give you this.”

From the bag, he pulled out a delicate Alhambra butterfly necklace. The intricate design shimmered in the soft light, the wings adorned with mother-of-pearl framed by gleaming gold. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each detail reflecting thoughtfulness and care.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stepped closer, holding the necklace carefully. “I know this isn’t a deciding factor,” he continued, his tone earnest, “but even if you end up with him, I know how much you wanted this. You deserve it.”

Speechless, you turned your back to him, your hair falling to one side as he clasped the necklace around your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Crossing the room, you stopped in front of the vanity, your reflection glowing. The necklace sat perfectly against your collarbone, a symbol of Cooper’s thoughtfulness and affection.

You ran your fingers over the pendant, a soft smile spreading across your lips. The more you looked in the mirror, the more the reality of your situation sank in. Two incredible men, each devoted to your happiness in their own ways. Nicholas, with his passionate intensity and relentless focus on your pleasure. Cooper, with his tender gestures and unwavering desire to see you smile. How could anyone possibly ask for more?

Your fingers lingered at the base of your throat, tracing the butterfly before letting them trail lower, a coy smile tugging at your lips. “You know,” you said, glancing back at Cooper with a spark in your eye, “if you’re going to spoil me like this, I might just have to make it up to you.”

Cooper chuckled, his gaze darkening with desire as he closed the distance between you. “I think I like the sound of that,” he murmured, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him.