#custom jacket materials

[meelsport]

The Ultimate Guide to Custom Jackets: Easy Tips for Kids

Introduction Imagine wearing a jacket that’s totally unique and all about you! That’s what custom jackets are all about—they show off your personal style and creativity. These special jackets are super popular because they’re like a piece of art you can wear. When I was a kid, I saw my older brother decorate his denim jacket with patches from concerts and cool designs. That jacket became a part…

[astrasdolliriumbadasdollz]

made a small vintage mini keyring jacket into a proper leather jackets as an an option my custom dolls to wear .., cleos waiting for a new face and outfit to match those shoes and jacket or maybe well put them on abby the vampire witch custom ive allready started..🤔

[thomsonsharon347]

This Is How You Should Wear a Men’s Varsity Jacket

Need some tips on how to sport a varsity jacket and attract attention for all the right reasons? Go on, read the blog!

[quarterprioritymidnight]

you should make your own (off brand) bastille merch and sell it 😌

and they can't sue me for it if i sue them first right?

[thresholdbb]

Working on the fine line between not screwing people over and not getting screwed over

I am formally gauging interest in Starfleet uniform commissions. Send me a message for the form link

[foldingfittedsheets]

In general there wasn’t a lot of funny story material when I worked selling jewelry. People were much more formal and serious about dropping thousands of dollars.

But there was one weird thing that absolutely rocked my whole world when I worked there.

So picture this, me, a freshly minted sales associate ready to greet my first customer. In walks the most fashionable old woman you’ve ever seen. Fur jacket, designer clothes, dripping with jewelry.

I chirp a greeting and she tells me she’s in to get her jewelry cleaned. No problem, it’s a free service we offered and I was happy to do it. But she doesn’t reach for the ring, which in case you were wondering houses a diamond worth more than my annual income. She begins to raise her hand.

At first I watched with puzzlement but it soon grew into mounting horror as she inserted her beautifully manicured arthritic finger into her mouth and began sucking. She worked saliva between the fine jewelry and her knuckle and then triumphantly pulled her finger from her mouth, sans ring.

She then spat her glistening ring into her palm and offered it to me with the confidence of someone who knows she won’t be questioned on her manners by a peon like me.

Shivering with unvoiced disgust I held my hand out and tried not to flinch as she dropped it into my palm.

When I’d finished I ran into the diamond room where we all congregated and frantically conveyed the absolutely horrific thing that just happened to me. I was met with the hardened stares of people who dealt with this on the regular.

“All the old ladies do it,” I was informed

I got quicker on the draw to grab a jewelry show pad for them to put their slimy mouth rings into so I didn’t have to touch them, but it was a biweekly occurrence.

[luvnami]

back to my waka obsession (feat. actor au)

“so, what do you think of your co-star?”

cameras flash as a microphone is shoved into your face. you smile politely at the overenthused journalist, taking a few moments to come up with an appropriate answer.

“ushijima wakatoshi is a lovely person to work with. he’s very talented, it was a pleasure.”

ushijima stands next to you with his eyebrows raised slightly, as if he’s surprised. he’s close enough that you can smell the cologne he’s wearing. clean, woody, and with an undertone of spice. god, you would inhale all 192.7cm of him if you could. 

for the awards show tonight, ushijima’s wearing a fitted suit with detailed handiwork on the lapels. you wear a floor-length gown with a thigh slit in similar fashion – matching as co-stars on a recent blockbuster was important for promotion of the film. 

“ushijima, how do you feel about being nominated for best actor? any celebratory plans in mind?”

the journalist turns to ushijima. he straightens his back ever so slightly and immediately commands the attention of the small crowd before him. you take in a sharp breath. he answers the journalist patiently, saying that he feels very flattered and that he’s up against worthy competition, but no, no plans for tonight just yet.

you pretend to pay attention to a few quips that the journalist and ushijima, only tugged back down to earth when his hand touches your lower back. 

“let’s move on,” he murmurs.

your skin prickles. the journalist moves on to the next actor behind you. ushijima guides you on the carpet into the main event hall, where someone directs you to your table. you past by a crowd of celebrities and directors you vaguely recognise. 

ushijima pulls your chair out for you.

“how polite. thank you,” you smile and he pushes your chair in. 

the material of your dress slips off your thigh as you cross one leg over the other.

“you’re welcome. here, take this.” ushijima shrugs off his jacket. he hands it to you, helping you cover your legs with it. 

“you don’t have to, your stylist is going to get mad!” you protest. 

he gives you a quizzical look. “but i wanted to.”

heat rushes to your face when you hear a quiet murmur come from a nearby table, their eyes on your back. ushijima glances over his shoulder and they fall silent.

that night, when he wins the award for best actor, ushijima’s stylist sends him a very angry text about appearing on stage without his ‘custom suit jacket that took him 50 hours of hand embroidery to finish!’.

ushijima just leaves them on read.

[literatooru]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞

pairing: gn!reader x atsumu miya

note: repost from my old blog 𐚁

When Atsumu walks in, his eyes instantly land on you, and the first thing he thinks is “woah… pretty”. He stares for a second—until he realizes what he’s doing and shakes his head to clear his mind. He doesn’t want to come off as a creep, but he can’t stop his eyes from straying back to you. And when he hears your voice when you talk to your coworker? Whew.

He tries his best to behave normally while waiting in line, he really does. He simply fails miserably at it. And it’s not like his usual behavior is what one would consider ‘normal’, being the drama king he is.

Atsumu purses his lips, deep in thought. He’s wondering what the best approach would be. Maybe flash one of his winning smiles at you? Nah, too basic. Or maybe he should make the face. You know the one, eyebrow slightly cocked, head tilted to the side a little, narrowed eyes. Maybe he’d even bite his lip. No, nope. He just remembered someone told him that was a 'fuckboy face'.

Before he even realizes it, you’re staring directly into his eyes. He hesitates, taken aback. They’re so pretty, especially up close. There’s just something about them. Atsumu’s sure they’ll pop up in his dreams once or twice. At least he hopes so.

“Welcome! What can I get you today?” you say, sounding just a little bit tired.

He likes it, in a way. The fact that you don’t hide behind a cheery persona that's obviously fake. Well, technically you should —customer service and all that—, but you still sound nice enough that he doesn’t mind. He likes the sincerity in your voice.

And when you blink up at him, he realizes he’s staring. Again.

Atsumu clears his throat, plastering a bright smile on his face and leaning forward a little, resting his hands on the counter. That just makes him take a closer look at your eyes and — oh, boy. He thinks he might be in love.

“Hi, um… I’d like a Macchiato — medium size, please, and a… Turkey Pesto Panini,” he orders.

You hum, typing on the register and taking an empty medium cup from the small tower of them in front of you.

“Will that be all?” you ask, Sharpie in hand.

“Actually, if you could add your phone number to that, please,” he adds, then smiles innocently. “And thank you.”

Your brow creases lightly, although the amused smile on your lips reassures him that you’re not actually mad.

“You think you’re so smooth, don’t you?” you cock an eyebrow, resting a hand on your hip.

“That’s cuz I am.” He gives a playful shrug, smiling a little brighter at you.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not on the menu, sir.”

Atsumu feels butterflies in his stomach when you call him that. It sounds so good, so sweet… even though you’re looking at him like you want him to leave already. But it’s just that — ugh, your voice. Is he in heaven? He must be.

“Hmm, pity,” he mumbles, pressing his index finger against his lips.

“What’s your name?”

He perks up. Are you flirting with him? Is that what’s— oh. He notices you readying the Sharpie to write his name on the plastic cup. Right. But Atsumu still thinks it’s not too late to shoot his shot.

“You can call me yours.”

You give him a deadpan look.

“Seriously. That’s the best you could come up with?” You grimace a little, lowering the cup.

Atsumu deflates visibly, blowing a puff of air through his lips.

“Hey, c'mon. A guy is trying.”

You raise your eyebrows, almost laughing at his honesty. You can’t deny it, he’s cute. Like, really cute. And he doesn’t seem like a complete jerk, even if his pick up lines certainly aren’t the best.

“Kudos for your effort. I’ll admit your jacket’s pretty cool, though,” you concede, if only to give him something.

Also, you can’t deny you like the way his eyes seem to light up a little after your words.

“Ya like it? It’s made of boyfriend material.” He winks.

Scratch that, his pick up lines suck. But he does manage to make you chuckle with that one, even if the reason is that it’s extremely ridiculous and silly. And Atsumu cheers up a little; he likes the sound of your laugh, and —yup, he’s definitely in heaven.

“Name,” you demand, pursing your lips.

Atsumu’s only thought is that he really wants to kiss you. But he knows a lost battle when he sees one, and he can’t afford to humiliate himself further. Osamu would never let him hear the end of it if he saw how badly he’s being rejected. He cringes at the thought, thanking god he decided to go alone.

“Atsumu,” he sighs in defeat.

“Great. What type of milk would you like for your drink?”

Atsumu wheezes almost inaudibly, averting his gaze as he presses his lips into a thin line. Because it’s a real struggle for him to keep his comments about ‘milk’ to himself. He figures it’s not the best thing to joke about if he hopes to have the slightest chance with you.

“Whole,” he stammers. “No, wait, 'm lactose intolerant. Uh, lactose free.” He grimaces.

“Will that be all?”

And now it’s Atsumu’s turn to purse his lips, thinking. And what he thinks is ‘screw it’.

“I don’t suppose I could add a date to that? You, me, and a delicious home cooked meal. I’m an excellent cook, you won’t regret it. Sounds good, huh?”

He’s lying, of course. He’d ask his brother for help, or maybe buy some take out and pretend he made it himself. It works in movies, surely he can do the same.

“No can do.” You shake your head softly, hiding the fact that you’re fighting a smile by looking down as you scribble his name on the cup. It seems to take you more time than he’d expect. “I could add another drink, though, if you’d like.”

“Okay, how about a Cinnamon Dolce Latte. Make it a large,” he murmurs, resting his elbow on the counter and placing his chin on the palm of his hand. You move to grab a large cup, pausing for a second when he speaks again. “That one’s for you, by the way. On me.”

And Atsumu feels giddy when you actually flash a smile his way. A real smile. You cock your head to the side, peering at him with curiosity.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m just good at reading people, I guess,” he shrugs nonchalantly, his suave demeanor faltering as you simply blink at him, entirely unimpressed. “Alright, fine, I heard you earlier saying you wanted one, I just- what’s- how much is it?”

Your gaze flickers briefly to the register, adding the large Cinnamon Dolce Latte to his tab. You suppress a smile by chewing on your lip, and Atsumu wishes you’d stop doing that because god, he really, really wants to kiss you right now.

“That’ll be $15.55, please,” you inform, swiping his Starbucks card. You take the money he’s offering you —Atsumu makes sure to brush his hand against yours, and you almost scoff because he wasn’t even subtle about it, he might as well just grab your whole hand and declare his undying love to you on the spot—, and you count the change and give it to him with a kind smile. “Here’s your change. Thank you. Your order will be given to you—”

“Be honest, though,” he interrupts you, leaning closer to you. You can feel your face feeling a little warmer at his proximity, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice. He aquints his eyes at you. “Didn’t it work? Like, not even a little bit?” he asks, pinching the air between his forefinger and thumb.

“Sir, you’re holding up the line,” is all you say.

Atsumu groans, throwing his head back in frustration. He actually stomps a little when he walks away, too busy throwing a tantrum that he can’t see nor hear you giggling at the counter. He also doesn’t hear when you ask your coworker to switch places with you so you can make his order.

He stuffs his change inside his wallet, folding his arms across his chest. Waiting for his drink, he stops himself from allowing his eyes to wander back to you. He can’t help it, you’re just… gorgeous. And, to be completely frank, he’s also gorgeous, and he thinks you’d make a great match.

He breathes out softly when you call out his name, biting the inside of his cheek as he walks over to retrieve his order. Muttering a low ‘thanks’, he takes his bagged panini and drink with slumped shoulders, walking out the store with gloomy attitude.

He takes a sip of his drink, coughing a little when he accidentally burns himself. He scowls at the cup — almost like he thinks it’s its fault rather than his. And his eyes widen in disbelief, because right under his name, there’s a phone number and a short note, which reads ‘I get off at 6 :)’

And he hoots in delight with a jump, and his bagged panini falls to the floor —although he picks it up hastily— because you even put a smiley face and everything. And he can’t help but notice that your handwriting is also really pretty, and it fits you. And Atsumu chuckles.

He pulls his phone out, searching for his brother’s contact. Yeah, yeah, Atsumu doesn’t know Osamu’s phone number by heart, but that’s what the contacts app is for, right?

“Samu, I need your help.”

[briorsims]

Kennadi Set

Kennadi Hoodie

25 Swatches

Top Category

Kennadi Jacket

18 Swatches

Bracelet Category

Kennadi Leggings

19 Swatches

Bottom Category

Kennadi Slippers

18 Swatches

Shoes Category

BGC Elevation

Kennadi Socks

18 Swatches

Socks Category

Kennadi Set for Blender

HQ Textures

Separated Materials

Linked Nodes & Materials

Rigged for Sims 4 Female Body

All LODs // Custom Thumbnails // Disallowed for Random // HQ Mod Compatible

Conversion // Do not recolor or convert // Do not re-upload

DOWNLOAD

Download Kennadi Hoodie Sample for FREE

Connect with us at: Patreon I Instagram I Pinterest Board I Tumblr

RC: @saint.wei

Feet & Elevation Credit: @magic-bot & @madlensims

[pickingupmymercedes]

I'm yours, only yours - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

requests: "Something spicy about that GP from Las Vegas and that Versace jacket..." - anon 1; and "they go to party and Lewis is possessive and jealous, because there are guys all over her, so when they go home…. You know what happens hihihi" - anon 2

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities (all sorts), jealous Lewis

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +2K

a/n: I combined two requests because they were pretty similar. Also that Versace jacket really lives rent free in our heads doesn't it?!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

His fingers fiddled with the zipper of your dress as you looked at him in the mirror. His eyes gleaming as he took your full outfit, a black stapple Versace minidress, the perfect pair to his custom Vegas GP jacket.

"We look stunning, love" He stated, his voice rich

“You don’t look so bad yourself. I might have to ask Donatella for a jacket like that though, or steal yours” you pondered, catching his eyes before smirking and winking at him.

“Hamilton written in the back and all?” He smirked as he turned you to him

“Maybe” you whispered, lips close to his, leaning your body into his “but only if it comes with the matching accessory”

His own Versace was nothing short of amazing. The black and red leather shimmered, the shoulders structured yet perfectly fitting for Lewis' broad frame. But the real showstopper was the back. Embroidered in bold letters across, impossible to miss, was his name alongside the famous brand.

The moment Lewis walked into the club, a hush fell over the crowd. Heads snapped in his direction, eyes widening at the jacket, at you, at him. Women practically materialized at his side, batting their eyelashes and giggling inanely.

You watched, initially amused, as Lewis politely deflected their advances. You exchanged knowing glances with Miles and Daniel, silently enjoying the show.

"He's a natural at this, isn't he?" Miles remarked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Born for this." Daniel chimed in, shaking his head with mock seriousness.

But the amusement soon faded, at least yours, as a familiar face pushed its way through the throng, a woman you recognized from Lewis' pre-you days. Someone you knew had been on his rotations.

She sashayed up to the booth, all smiles and swaying hips, greeting Lewis with an overly familiar hug, lingering a beat too long, and then going around the group, doling out air kisses.

It wasn’t until she reached you that her smile turned tight. "So," she purred, leaning in close enough for only you to hear, "you're the one, huh?" Her voice dripped with a condescending tone as she faked a kiss on your cheek.

She managed to linger for a while, grabbing Lewis' attention with a forced intimacy that made your skin crawl. You could practically feel the temperature around you drop as your smile faltered. Daniel noticing the shift in your demeanor.

"Everything alright, (Y/N)?" he asked kindly as you forced him a smile. "Yeah, of course" you muttered, focusing on Miles’ anecdotes as if the whole exchange wasn’t happening in front of your eyes.

But the damage was done. The playful flirting Lewis had been indulging in suddenly felt disrespectful, a blatant disregard for the boundaries of your relationship.

When the woman finally sashayed away, you gave Lewis the silent treatment, the coldness palpable. He looked at you, a frown creasing his forehead, but you turned away, pretending to be engrossed in conversation with anyone else.

The tension simmered as the night wore on. You excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to escape the suffocating stares.

As you emerged back, you bumped into a tall figure coming out of the men's room. A guy you briefly had a fling with, years ago. "Hey (Y/N)! Fancy seeing you here," he exclaimed, a surprised smile lighting up his face.

You made sure the small talk flowed easily, going back to the VIP booth felt like going back to your own version of a gilded cage. Without thinking, you found yourself laughing at one of his jokes and leaning a bit too much into him to hear his voice with the music.

You could feel a searing gaze cutting through the air and as you turned, you saw Lewis standing by the railing of the second floor, his jaw clenched, a familiar, yet unusual, glint of possessiveness in his eyes.

A mischievous glint sparked in your own eyes. Lewis had been playing with fire all night, and now it was your turn. You knew it was petty, childish even, but you wanted him to feel a sliver of the insecurity you'd felt just moments ago.

"So," Alex said, extending his arm, "care to join me for a drink?"

You hesitated for a beat, stealing yet another glance at Lewis. His jaw was even tighter now, and you could practically see the steam rising from his ears. A tiny smile tugged at your lips.

"Sure," you agreed, taking Alex's lead. "I could use another drink."

But as you walked towards the bar, a hand gripped your arm, spinning you around. Lewis stood before you, his brow furrowed and the poker face he carried, but there was a fire in his eyes that you felt almost proud to have ignited.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "we're leaving."

Before you could protest, he shrugged off his custom Versace, draping it over your shoulders, the fabric enveloping you in his scent. The message was clear - you were his.

He took your hand, his grip surprisingly firm, positioning you in front of him to navigate through the throng of people, his broad shoulders parting the crowd like a wave. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his forceful actions, but you allowed him to lead you.

The car lurched out of the club, leaving the neon lights and music behind. Lewis, a volcano on the verge of eruption moments ago, was now a simmering pot. His silence was deafening, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine and the thumping of his thumb on your thigh.

You stole a glance at him, his jaw still clenched, the custom jacket draped carelessly on your lap. A playful smile tugged at your lips. "Feeling a little possessive, are we?" you teased, unable to resist poking the simmering pot.

“Not here, Y/n” He shot you a dark glance, and said nothing after.

"Seems like someone can't handle a little taste of his own medicine," you continued, your voice laced with amusement. He remained brooding, the only response a barely audible "hmmph."

You sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright," you conceded, holding your hands up in mock surrender. "Maybe the next time a pretty face throws themselves at you, you'll think twice before turning on the charm offensive."

Silence. Lewis stared out the window, his expression unreadable, his grip tightening on your flesh the only sign you were getting on his nerves.

As the lights changed with the background Lewis remained stubbornly monosyllabic, his silence a potent counterpoint to your teasing. It was both frustrating and oddly exhilarating.

Finally, reaching the hotel, Lewis thanked the driver and stalked out with a curt, "Come on" leaving you to get out as he took the jacket and your purse in his hands.

Inside the dimly lit hotel room, the tension between you and Lewis was palpable, thickening the air like a heavy fog. He looked at you with a mix of frustration and desire, his eyes dark with possessiveness.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his movements deliberate and confident. His fingers traced the lines of your face as you held his gaze, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you.

“You really thought she was any match for you?” Lewis's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, carrying with it a hint of accusation.

“I know she isn’t. But it’s not about her, it’s about how you led her on,” you replied, your tone tinged with defiance and hurt.

His eyes flickered down to your dress; a fleeting glance filled with desire. “Who’s that guy?” he asked, his voice laced with a quiet intensity.

“Someone I had a thing with, years ago,” you admitted, the memories of the past intertwining with the present moment.

“I hope he knows you’re taken now,” Lewis remarked, a note of possessiveness creeping into his tone.

As the conversation hung in the air like an unspoken promise, he deftly reached behind you, fingers finding the zipper of your dress. With a fluid motion, he unzipped it, the fabric cascading around your feet like a waterfall of silk, leaving you adorned in the delicate black lace set.

His gaze roved over your exposed form, this time shameless, he traced the intricate patterns of lace that barely concealed your curves with his hands. A hunger stirred in his eyes as he reached for the Versace jacket, its luxurious fabric now draped on the bed.

With a deliberate motion, he wrapped it around your shoulders, the embroidery on the leather a stark against the softness of your skin. The sight seemed to soothe something primal within him, a possessive satisfaction settling.

"I want to see my name on you," he murmured, his voice a low, possessive growl.

Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the table in the living room. He set you down gently, his hands firm on your hips as he spread your legs, positioning you exactly how he wanted.

Lewis knelt between your thighs; his breath hot against your most intimate place. His fingers traced the edge of your lace panties before he hooked them aside, exposing you completely.

He didn't dive in immediately, though. Instead, he hovered close, his breath warm and teasing against your core, his lips leaving kisses close enough to your outer lips but still no where you needed him.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice a growl. "You," you breathed, already aching for more.

"Say it again," he commanded, his lips brushing your folds with each word, the featherlight contact driving you wild. "To you, Lewis."

Satisfied, he leaned in, his tongue finally making contact. The first touch was almost too much, a jolt of pleasure that made you gasp. He worked you with expert precision, his tongue and lips coaxing every moan and whimper from your mouth.

But he didn't give you everything all at once. He built you up slowly, teasingly, driving you to the edge and pulling back just enough to make you beg for more.

"Please, Lewis," you whimpered, your hands gripping the edge of the table. "I need you"

"That's better," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin before he resumed, this time with more intensity. He lapped at your whole, eventually licking all the way to your swollen clit.

His fingers joining the motions at some point, stroking and curling inside you just like only he knew how. The sensation overwhelming, your body arching towards him instinctively.

He intensified his movements. His possessiveness was tangible, his need to remind you who you belonged to clear in every movement. You could feel the tension building, the knot in your abdomen ready to snap.

"Who's making you feel like this?" he demanded between strokes, his voice a growl against your sensitive flesh.

"You" you gasped; your mind hazy with pleasure. "Only you."

Your first orgasm washed over you, your cries filling the room as you came undone under his relentless attention. His grip tightened, and he continued his assault, determined to drag every last bit of pleasure from you until you were panting.

When he finally stood up his face was a mixture of satisfaction and raw desire. He leaned over you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the pornographic image making your head spin.

"We can fuck if you want," he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper, "like you fucked that guy once. But I'm the one, the only one, who can make love to you."

His words made your eyes snap open, the sincerity in his eyes akin to when he first told you he loved you, years ago. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then make love to me, Lewis Hamilton" you whispered back, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He wasted no time, guiding you to the sofa and shedding his clothes with swift moves, never once taking his gaze off of you.

He positioned himself at your entrance as you lied on your back, his fingers adjusting your lingerie to the side, his eyes locked on yours as he pushed inside, slowing dragging his length on your walls, filling you completely. The sensation always sure to get you overwhelmed.

He started slow, but once he picked up speed he moved with a deliberate intensity, each thrust deep and controlled. His hands roamed your body, caressing and gripping, leaving no doubt that you were his.

The pace quickened more, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you neared the edge once again, the signs clear as your focus faded and your nails dug deeper into his biceps. "You feel so good," he encouraged you, his lips brushing your ear. "So perfect. Mine."

"Only yours." you moaned, your nails digging into his back.

He smiled against your skin, satisfied smile, and thrust deeper, his pace becoming almost punishing. But you loved it, loved the way he claimed you so completely.

Your second orgasm was intense, more so than the other, your body shaking with the force of it, legs turning to jelly for a few moments. But Lewis didn't stop.

Suddenly he pulled out and you let out a whimper at the loss. He pulled you to his laps, his eyes dark as he sat on the sofa and positioned you over him.

"I want to see you ride me," he said, his voice rough. "Show me how much you want it."

You straddled him, your hands resting on his chest as you lowered yourself onto him. And even though you were already stretched, riding him was always almost too much. You moved slowly at first, panting at how every inch felt raw but also savoring the way he filled you, the way his hands gripped your hips, soothing your skin.

"That's it," he murmured when you bottomed him, his eyes locked on yours. "You look so beautiful. So perfect."

You picked up your pace, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you rode him. His hands moved to your lace covered breasts, squeezing and caressing as he saw you bouncing on his dick still clad in his jacket. You leaned forward, your lips capturing his in a searing kiss, your tongues dancing together as his thrusts matched your movements.

Lewis's grip tightened to move you up and he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your knees. He entered you from behind, his thrusts deep and powerful. You could feel the cool silk of the jacket against your skin, the sensation heightened by the heat of his body.

"That's right," he growled, his thrusts becoming harder, more demanding as he hit your cervix and watched your back with his name on it. "You're mine."

The third orgasm hit you then, the hardest one yet, your mind shutting down with the force of it, your body still going trying to drag the last bits of the ecstasy.

Lewis also didn't stop. He continued to move, his pace relentless, until he reached his own climax, his body shuddering with pleasure, his groans loud in your ear as he leaned forward into your body to fill you up, the aftershocks making him thrust even deeper.

As you lay there, spent, entwined, and a bit sweety in the leather material, Lewis kissed you tenderly, his fingers brushing the hair that clung to your face. "I’m yours, only yours." he whispered, the words a vow and a promise.

"And I’m yours" you replied, your voice soft but resolute.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff

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[phoward89]

Based on this ask

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Coryo x Big Booty!Reader, Smut, p in v, creampie, cussing, breeding kink, Dom!Coriolanus

Coriolanus Snow has classic tastes when it comes to his life. He has a sophisticated image, so of course he wears gold rings on his hands; never silver. Full Windsor knots in his satin ties, custom 3-piece suits made with only the finest material, and fine dress shirts that have to be starched. He wears cufflinks and all of his shoes are floor shines with 3 or 4 inch heels (because Coriolanus' 6ft frame needs to be even more intimidating so he can tower over everyone that's beneath him). His taste in food is classic, but upscale as well.

And when it comes to women, well, his taste is classic when it comes to that as well. T&A does it for him.

Coriolanus Snow’s a tits and ass man. The bigger the better too. And when he started dating you, well his classic tastes were definitely filled.

You're, in his opinion, the whole package. To Coriolanus, you're so beautiful both inside and out. You have a personality that just pulls him in. You keep him engaged and on his toes with conversations. But your physical appearance is what attracted him to you in the first place. Your curves make his mouth water. Nice tits and a nice big ass, just what he likes.

And your big booty is something that he loves. Seriously, Coriolanus can't get enough of it. And watching you sitting at your vanity in nothing but a white bra and panty set, hair up in rollers while doing your makeup for the dinner he's taking you tonight as his plus one makes him grin. Your white lace edged panties cling to your big booty just right and the way your plump ass sits on your vanity bench has Coriolanus mentally swearing to have you fuck him in his favorite position tonight when you get home from the dinner the University’s hosting for the Political Science majors of the Senior Class of 14 ADD (After Dark Days).

“Are you wearing the pearl jewelry set I got you for your birthday, Peaches?” Coriolanus asks you, buttoning up his crisp white dress shirt as he stands by his dresser- which has jewelry box open with his various cuff links (including pearl ones) and his chunky gold rings in it.

“Yes, Coryo.” You nod. Lightly dabbing your blending sponge on your face, you tell your boyfriend, “I’m wearing them; thought they'd look nice with my dress.”

Your dress is a strappy white gown that's form fitting. A dress that's hanging up on the door of your side of the walkin closet.

“I thought they'd pair nicely with your dress as well, my darling.” Coriolanus remarks while grabbing his pearl cuff links from his jewelry box and putting them on. “How much longer til you're ready, Y/N?” Your boyfriend asks, walking into thw walkin closet to grab and put on his dark maroon and white stripe vest and its matching dark maroon dinner jacket.

“Not long; maybe 15-20 minutes.” You assure him as he finishes getting dressed.

Coriolanus loves how sweet your booty looks with your clothes hugging it just right. He's always smacking it or grabbing it- a result of loving that big booty of yours. Whether it's in the privacy of his penthouse, that he moved you into, or out in public. He doesn't care, he just wants to feel your perfectly peachy ass in his hands.

But when he grabs your ass in public it's sometimes embarrassing.

Like tonight, his large hand keeps sliding south off of the small of your back to rest right on your plump ass. An ass that he loves, that he thinks looks perfect in the white dress you're wearing tonight for the formal dinner he's attending with you as his plus one. But it's not appropriate in the pre-dinner party cocktail setting, so you have to keep dragging his hand up and off your ass.

Despite standing around and talking to various people (high ranking people might you add since everyone at this dinner whether they're a professor, student, or plus one is a somebody in Capitolite high society- your own boyfriend included) Coriolanus has no shame and keeps grabbing your ass. It's very annoying. You even give him a slight side-eyed look, silently telling him to stop it. But your boyfriend has not shame; Coriolanus just gives you a loving smirk only to slide his hand back down to grab your ass again.

“You're gonna be my good lil cowgirl tonight, Peaches.” Coriolanus whispers into your ear, his baritone dark and lustful, while giving your butt a light squeeze as his friend Festus Creed along with his longtime girlfriend Persephone Price head their way over to you and your future political star boyfriend.

And you knew what he meant by his remark. He wanted you to fuck him in reverse cowgirl tonight so he can oogle and smack your ass. Oh, how his whispered promise of the night’s future events had your panties dampening.

Damn him.

Now you're stuck with wet panties all throughout tonight's long drawn out dinner. That bastard. Coryo always knows how to get to you.

And he knows the longer you're stuck in wet panties for the more desperate you'll be to fuck yourself on his cock once you get out of those panties.

What Coriolanus loves more then anything in the world is to stare at your plump, perfect ass while you ride him reverse cowgirl when you're fucking. Yep, he loves to watch your ass jiggle as you take him deep while bouncing quickly on his cock. It's one of his favorite positions for you to fuck in.

“Fuck. Your ass is so fine, Peaches.” Coryo groans as you quickly ride him, pushing your body quickly up and down while facing the foot of the bed. You're gripping his thighs in your hands, your nails digging into the skin of his sinewy muscles, as your knees frame his hip bones. “Yea, that's it baby girl, make that big ass jiggle for your man.” The platinum blonde orders, his deep baritone thick and husky, as his icy eyes are glued to your large, sweet ass cheeks as they bounce up and down as your tight cunt quickly takes his large cock in and out, in and out at a pleasurable pace.

Looking over your shoulder at your disheveled boyfriend, you give him a sultry smile. “You never get tired of watching my big booty as I ride you, huh?”

“Oh, Peaches, I told you when we first got together that I'm a tits and ass man; that the bigger the better.” Your boyfriend smirks. Reaching a hand forward, he grabs your ass and groans, “Your ass is perfect and it's all mine.” Giving your ass a hard smack, that echoed throughout the room and mingled with the led wet sound of your pussy fucking Coryo's cock, the platinum blonde orders, “Tell me your ass belongs to me, Y/N. Say it, Peaches, or you're not cumming tonight.”

And you know he means it. If you don't tell your possessive and obsessive boyfriend what he wants to hear that he'll take over, fuck you til he cums, and will leave you high and dry. He's done it before early on on your relationship when you played stubborn and didn't summit to him. But you learned your lesson; now you summit even if you don't want to.

It's all just dirty bedroom talk, right?

Coryo doesn't actually think that your ass belongs to him, does he?

No.

No, he can't.

He can't be that possessive and obsessive towards you, can he?

No, it's just bedroom talk. Dirty talk that gets him off.

“My ass belongs to you and only you, Coryo.” You tell your boyfriend in a high pitch mewl as the tip of his cock bruises your cervix; sending shockwaves of pleasure up and down your spine.

“Goddamnit, I love your ass.” Coriolanus confesses, his tone tight and husky. Smacking your ass again, he orders, “Go on, fuck yourself fast and hard on my cock til we cum.”

Coryo didn't have to tell you twice.

You use the grip on his thighs as leverage, helping your upper body control your faster than lighting movements. Quickly, you impale yourself on your boyfriend's large cock- letting out whines and whimpers every time your special spongy spot deep inside of you gets hit just right by the large cock that's stretching your cunt open wide. Sweat rolls down your brow as mewls of pleasure escape your lips. With every move you make your pussy clenches; pushing you closer to your orgasm.

Coriolanus is loudly groaning out, “Fuck, baby.”, while watching your ass bounce up and down just right. His baby blues are blown black by lust and they're transfixed on your ass jiggling quickly. “Fuck, Peaches, I'm gonna cum soon.” Your boyfriend forewarns you of his upcoming orgasm. Grabbing your ass cheeks in each of his large hands, he uses his strength to slam you up and down his twitching cock at a punishing force.

“Coryo…I'm gonna cum.” You moan, nearly toppling over from the brute force of your boyfriend moving you to fuck his cock as if you're nothing more then his personal fuckdoll. The only reason you're not face first between your boyfriends spread eagle legs is because of the tight hold you have around his thighs- nails digging in so deeply that crimson’s trickling down the pale skin.

“Go on and cum, Peaches.” Coryo orders before groaning, “Cum so I can fill ya up with my seed; knock ya up.”

His husky words sends a jolt right to your aching cunt and suddenly you're cumming with a loud moan that's only one word: Coryo.

Coriolanus doesn't let you ride out your high gracefully. No. I stead, he slams you down even harder on his cock. His cum heavy balls begin to tighten up as he tells you, “You're gonna look so beautiful knocked up with my heir. Can't wait to see your tits and ass grow along with your belly swelling with our child.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your boyfriend curses before shooting a thick rope of his hot seed into your womb. Your name falls from his lips as he cums.

He pushes you forward, causes your butt to jiggle in his hands. Coryo smiles, his eyes shining with lazy lust, as he watches his cum slowly leak from your clenching, tight, abused hole like perfect pearls. Pulling you up to lay next to him, Coriolanus adjusts the two of you to cuddle so that his head rests on your tits while his hand holds your ass.

The two things on you that he absolutely loves; that attracted him to ask you out- causing him to fall obsessively, possessively, and madly in love with you.

Your tits and ass.

But if you ask him what he prefers on you, Coryo will honestly answer that he loves your large ass. Without a doubt, it's your big booty that really does it for him.

After all, he did give you the nickname Peaches because of his undying love for that big booty of yours. An ass that he thinks is the sweetest peach in all of Panem.

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Custom Jacket with Logo Tips

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The Crew Heads with Reader: Suits

G/N. Silly. You wonder about their outfits. (Jake Kim, Eli Jang, Johan Seong, Samuel Seo). Non plot panel spoilers for 505 under cut!

Bro Code | Dinner | Shopping | Television | Gacha | Board Games | Suits

"Why do you always wear suits to fight?" You ask the four men lounging in your living room.

You hold up their dry cleaning. "A. It's costing a fortune to clean and B. Aren't, I dunno, track pants comfier?"

"I don't." Johan pipes up and you get the urge to pat him on the head. His custom God Dog designs are frankly adorable.

It is utterly charming having him show you the latest outfit he has drawn. With a logo and everything. He never explicitly asks what you think, but you know he seeks your approval anyway.

"Not you," you agree, giving Johan a warm smile that makes him avert his eyes and his ears turn pink.

The rest of the guys, Samuel, Jake and Eli exchange shifty glances at your questions.

"And there's no way-" You hold up a rag. You assume it must have been a Big Deal jacket at some point before it was torn up, "-They said they can repair this. They said I was out of my mind."

Jake had surmised it was a long shot. It was technically missing the lapels. And sleeves. And had long gashes down the back so most of it was ripped off and in tatters.

You're not wrong that it's costing a lot and he thought he would chance a repair instead of having to get a new jacket for Lineman.

You're right, unfortunately. He's going to have to look into some tracksuits instead.

"Thanks for trying," he says with a shrug.

The thing is, the Big Deal uniform just looks cool. Men in suits, who doesn't like that?

Samuel pre-Workers and pre-Big Deal also favoured suits because of how it looked. Authoritative. Like he means business. He wasn't a huge fan of the Workers white but the status that came along with it more than compensated for the colour.

Eli was convinced during the Fifth Affiliates when he was provided made-to-measure Workers suits to represent the crew. Warren and Max and Derrick didn't need much convincing after the girls oohed and aahed over it.

Except the Hostel budget didn't stretch to nice tailored suits, so they had to settle for black shirts and pants.

Still. That was cool enough.

But they can't admit that.

It's embarrassing to let you know they base their whole outfit on what looks good because truth be told, they can barely stretch in those things.

The material isn't made for high kicks and full body slams and sudden movements.  One lunge and they risk a split along the asscrack.

It's why their clothes end up torn off so often.

And yes, there has been awkward popped buttons or ripped seams during inopportune moments mid fight when even Gun Park's eyes momentarily flickered down to exposed underwear or an ass cheek hanging out.

But goddamn, the aesthetics.

"It's comfortable," Eli says unconvincingly, as you raise an eyebrow at his answer.

Somewhere to your right, you hear Johan mutter, "Liar."

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

summary: the human custom of sharing clothes had been an unfamiliar one for jade, but he has always been a quick study

pairing: jade leech x gn! reader (both have graduated nrc, but a lot of this is reliving school memories)

warnings: fluff, implied smaller reader; i think it made more sense in my head but have it anyway bc i never wanna shut up about him, please applaud my restraint to not name this ‘boyfriend material’

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It was true that wearing clothes was a foreign feeling when Jade first came to the shore all those years ago. But he had come to like the human custom, no matter how tedious it might seem at times. Not only did he realise the way one dressed held a lot of power in the way one was perceived by others, it had also served him in making some fond memories.

The ones he remembered most vividly, however, were those which featured you at the centre of them. Through various means, like the course they had attended or familiarising himself with different types of media above sea level, Jade had learnt that sharing clothes was a thing done between close friends or romantic partners, often being hailed as a sweet gesture and being positively received by characters and audiences alike. So when you had caught the eel’s interest, he had decided to see what the fuss was all about.

Despite his tendency to curate situations which would bring about whatever outcome he desired, the first time the opportunity arose had been a happy coincidence. That day, it had started raining cats and dogs right as the bell signalling lunch break rang. Luckily, Jade’s last class of the morning had been in the building the cafeteria was in, so he could watch in amusement as students swarmed towards the building with various forms of rain repellent keeping them dry- or not.

You had been one of the poor, unfortunate souls who had left their umbrella at the dorm that day, a point made abundantly clear by the way you had sprinted with your PE uniform jacket held over your head in a feeble attempt of shielding yourself. By the time you had made it into the dry hallway, your jacket had been absolutely drenched, the rest of your clothes not faring much better. Witnessing your predicament and seeing a chance to put his theory to the test, Jade had slinked over to your side.

“Oya, if I had known you were this fond of water, I would have invited you to the Coral Sea before,” the eel had said, startling you with his sudden appearance. Your reaction had only served for the polite smile on his lips to grow a tad bit wider. “Yet, here I was under the impression humans don’t like getting their clothes wet. Perhaps I have been wrong?”

“You know well enough this wasn’t intentional, so drop the oblivious act, Jade,” you had sighed, rustling through your backpack for something and subsequently taking your eyes off him. “So what do you want? If you’re trying to rope me into a deal over a little bit of rain, I’ll have to disappoint–”

Something warm and dry had landed on your shoulders then, your gaze landing on the black fabric draped over your form first and wandering back to the tall student afterwards. With your mouth parted, opening and closing in the search of something to say, you had borne a strong resemblance to a fish out of water.  

“I heard humans get sick easily after walking in the rain,” Jade had mused, tugging at his vest and shirt to make sure they sat correctly without his blazer, “and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“What are you–” You had shaken your head, overcoming your initial confusion as you began shrugging the jacket back off your shoulders. At that point you had been sure he had some ulterior motive and you hadn’t felt like picking up any shifts at Mostro Lounge that week. “I can’t take this from you.”

“Oh, but you can,” he had insisted with a smile, a gloved hand landing on your shoulder to keep the clothing in place. “If you are worried about my health, I am most touched. However, us mers are used to the cold and therefore aren’t as prone to catching one.”

“That wasn’t really what I was concerned about,” you had mumbled, crossing your arms. “I’m more worried about whatever strings come attached with this thing.”

“You wound me. Do you really think I would abuse my fellow student’s misery for personal gain?” Despite his words, he had chuckled at your resolute ‘yes, you would’. The hand on your shoulder had pressed into your upper back then to bring you in closer in order to throw you off with the newfound proximity, disguised as shielding you from the throng of people heading to lunch. “If this is what stands in between you and caring for your health, how about this: In return for accepting my blazer, you accompany me to lunch? I’ll consider us even then, I promise.”

You had studied the vice housewarden more closely, yet, as usual, his expression did not give anything away. Just then a chilly breeze had blown through the corridor, making you tremble as you instinctively pulled the blazer tighter around your body. 

“Fine, I’ll accept,” you had relented through chattering teeth.

“Wonderful,” the eel had beamed down at you before guiding you forward, still with his fingers splayed over your upper spine. Students had parted like the sea when they had seen the second year approaching and it was a welcome change of pace from having to fight your way into a spot in the queue.

By the time you had found a table, you had slipped your arms through the sleeves of Jade’s jacket to better hold your tray. And when you rolled up the excess fabric to properly use your cutlery, Jade finally realised why lending someone your clothes was a popular trope in various media. 

To say the piece was ill-fitting was an obvious remark, with Jade easily being one of the tallest students around, you were practically drowning in his jacket. It had been eye-openingly endearing for him to say the least. And that was even without factoring in the expression on people’s faces when they realised whose clothes you had been wearing, the Octavinelle band around your left arm added to the context of the scene being a dead giveaway. Yes, as a born predator of the sea, a possessive side of him had revelled in the feeling of staking his claim over you in this way.

But he had shoved the notion down as you had asked him if he liked the food that day and how his morning had been. While he had been able to tell you were still a little wary, cautiously phrasing your responses at first, falling into a casual conversation with you was easy enough. When the anecdote of his brother doing something reckless again made you snort before laughing, he had filed it away as something he wanted to see and hear more of, especially when he was the cause for it.

Lunch had passed a little too fast for the moray’s liking but with one glance at his watch and then one at the still pouring rain, he had quickly devised a plan to monopolise your time to the fullest before returning to your classes.

“Allow me to walk you back to your dorm, so you can change before your next lesson,” Jade had smiled as he pulled out his umbrella, his arm hovering around your back as you had exited the cafeteria. “I assure you, this favour comes with no strings attached.”

Looking back at it years later, perhaps that last part had been a lie, though he was sure neither of you minded. Because after that rainy day, you had interacted more frequently with pleasantly changed feelings. 

On Jade’s side of things, he had been more fascinated with you and your reactions than ever and the image of you swaddled in his clothes had managed to stir these newfound emotions in him. You, on the other side, had started considering him as more than a devious loan eel and allowed the normally tightly locked thoughts and feelings for him to come out of their confinement little by little.

After playing cat and mouse for a while, you had taken all your courage, grabbed Jade by the collar and confessed, not able to withstand the tension and anticipation any longer.  Of course, he had reciprocated your feelings in teasing delight, which, as your relationship had become public, had easily catapulted you up the list of the school’s lunatics in the eyes of many. But you couldn’t have been happier and, the initial complexities of navigating a new relationship aside, Jade was a dream of a boyfriend if he wasn’t hellbent on prodding and poking you for his own amusement.

So it came as no surprise that, during your school years, you had spent a lot of time at each other’s dorms when Jade wasn’t dragging you up some mountain with him. At that point, you’d felt as comfortable in his room as in yours, even if half of it was shared with the sentient tornado that was Floyd, leaving one half to be pristine and the other opposingly messy. 

Jade fondly remembered the day you had come over to study for your upcoming potionology exam, your own dorm room too loud to concentrate and hoping to rope the merman into helping you with your prep questions, especially as his brother had been absent from their room that evening. While many regarded him as the sly and conniving one in the relationship, Jade had to admit you were very good at playing your cards right to where he found it increasingly hard to deny you. Perhaps this cheekiness was one of the things that drew him to you.

Considering you had given up on studying in your room pretty much immediately and had only grabbed your books before marching over to Octavinelle, you had still been in uniform when you joined him at his desk. Ever observant, Jade had quickly noticed the way you subconsciously pulled at the clothes or squirmed in your seat trying to get comfortable. 

So being the amazing and reliable boyfriend that he was, he had fished some comfortable loungewear out of his closet; he had initially bought it to round out his collection of essential clothing items, though frankly, he didn’t wear it much himself. With no plans to work at the Lounge that night, he had thought that it might be a good chance to give the comfy clothes another shot.

In retrospect, maybe he should thank your uncomfortable uniform. 

When you had both changed into the loungewear, he had not only been amused by the way the shirt, which was a regular fit for him, engulfed your upper body or how you had rolled up the ends of his sweatpants. With some playful huffs at his teasing, you had gone back to work until you had finished writing your study notes, at which point you had relocated to his bed, Jade joining you soon after.

Sitting side by side, your boyfriend had taken to quizzing you to see how much you had retained until he had felt your head drop against his shoulder, which was the first time he had taken note of how late it had gotten. For a few moments he had done nothing but study the way your chest rose and fell with deep breaths, your slightly parted lips inviting him to trace his thumb over the curve of them in featherlight reverence. To think that he of all morays would ever be treated to such a peaceful fragment of mundanity, it had made a warmth tug at his heart the same way the waves rolled over the shore in a calming rhythm, which persisted to this day.

It had pained him to wake you again, so could get ready for bed, persuading you sweetly into staying the night. Though he regretted neither getting to see your half asleep face while you had brushed your teeth, nor how he had been able to pull you close to him under the covers, curling his arms around you as his fingers had wandered over the warmth of your skin under his clothes. 

In the comfortable darkness of his room, you had exchanged hushed whispers and murmured confessions as you had settled in his embrace, lulled to sleep by the steady beating of his heart and the lips that  had spelled promises of safety and adoration against your skin. And for Jade, tugged deep into the crevice of his heart, there had formed the image of a future where this domesticity was normality. 

Years later, after graduation, Jade could proudly claim that this fantasy now lived at the forefront of his heart, that he could fall asleep and wake up to your body next to his, cradled by the allure of forever. After all, for no one but those closest to him would he be up with the rising sun to prepare breakfast, humming under his breath as he relived those memories. Though he considered all his efforts paid off when he heard you shuffle into the kitchen before two arms wrapped around his middle and your head leaned against his spine. 

“Good morning to you too, pearl,” Jade chuckled as finished plating the eggs on two plates, then knowingly slid a fresh cup of coffee within your reach. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, until someone decided to just leave me all by my lonesome,” you grumbled, detaching yourself from him so you could lean against the counter and take a sip of coffee, prepared perfectly to your liking. “I like seeing my beautiful husband’s face first thing in the morning but alas…”

As you stepped into his field of vision, Jade noticed you had chosen not to wear a piece of clothing of yours, but had instead plucked his black dress shirt from the chair he had draped it over the day prior. His dress shirt and nothing else. While it was long enough on you to hide what was for his eyes only, it still showed off the beautiful curve of your legs, ending tantalisingly around your thighs. The few buttons you had closed still displayed the sharp contrast between your collarbones and the softness of the skin peeking through below. It would be all too easy to slip the garment from your shoulder…

“That does seem rather unfair,” Jade agreed as he stepped in front of you, hands ghosting along the expanse of your thighs to rest at your waist, the look in his eyes reminding you of his origins and sending shivers of excitement down your spine. “If you allow me, I have a few ideas in mind on how to make it up to you.”

Within the blink of an eye, his hands had steeled their grip around your waist and lifted you to sit on the counter as he took the opportunity to stand between your legs. Then, with a gentleness which did not match the show of strength, he carefully cupped the back of your head in his palm and connected your lips in a kiss as light and soft as the golden rays bathing your kitchen in light. Your own hands busied themselves with tousling his bed head once again, slowly sliding his black lock behind his left ear as you parted from one another, like a painter putting the finishing strokes on their magnum opus.

“Hm, I might be able to be convinced about forgiving you,” you teased, the lovestruck look in your eyes mirroring his as you slung your arms over his shoulders and crossed them behind his neck in an effort to be even closer to him. 

“I must be the luckiest man alive,” he mused, meaning every word of his playful response.

Yes, after living on land for so long, Jade had truly taken a liking to the human custom of wearing clothes and all the different possibilities it held. Then again, the fondness those memories held probably had nothing to do with the clothes at all.

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