#mink fur collar

[gadgetsgalaxyz]

2021 New Women Winter Warm Parker Female Detachable Mink Fur Big Fur Collar Korean Extended Imitationfur Chaquetas De Muje

👉 item link : https://s.click.aliexpress.com/e/_olcVC8N 🎉 Product price [$ 61.98] 50% off ⚠️ The discount may vary, please refer to the page display.

Product Overview:

The 2021 New Women Winter Warm Parka is a stylish and functional winter coat designed for warmth and versatility. Featuring a detachable mink fur lining and a luxurious big fur collar, this parka combines comfort with elegance. The extended design provides extra coverage, making it perfect for cold weather. Inspired by Korean fashion, it offers a chic yet practical look, suitable for casual outings or formal occasions.

Key Features:

Premium Material:

High-quality imitation fur lining for warmth and softness.

Durable outer fabric to withstand winter conditions.

Detachable Mink Fur Lining:

Adjustable for different weather conditions.

Easy to remove and clean.

Big Fur Collar:

Luxurious and trendy fur collar adds a touch of elegance.

Provides additional warmth for the neck area.

Extended Length:

Covers more of the body to keep you warm in colder climates.

Offers a flattering silhouette for various body types.

Korean-Inspired Design:

Modern and fashionable, perfect for pairing with winter outfits.

Suitable for both casual and semi-formal occasions.

Practical Features:

Multiple pockets for convenience.

Adjustable drawstrings for a customizable fit.

Available Colors and Sizes:

Comes in a variety of colors to suit different preferences.

Sizes available to fit most body types.

FAQs:

1. Is the fur real or faux?

The parka features high-quality imitation mink fur, ensuring it is cruelty-free while maintaining a luxurious feel.

2. How do I clean the parka?

The detachable fur lining and collar make cleaning easier. Check the care label for instructions, but generally, the outer shell can be spot-cleaned, and the fur parts can be dry-cleaned.

3. Is it suitable for extreme cold?

Yes, the parka is designed to provide excellent warmth, especially with the mink fur lining and extended length.

4. Can I remove the fur collar?

Yes, the big fur collar is detachable for versatility and easier cleaning.

5. What occasions is this parka suitable for?

This parka is versatile and can be worn casually, during outdoor activities, or even for semi-formal events, thanks to its elegant design.

6. Does it have a hood?

Most variations of this parka include a hood, often lined with fur for added warmth.

7. What sizes are available?

Sizes typically range from Small to Extra Large, depending on the retailer. Be sure to consult the size chart for accurate measurements.

See Also:

Women Long Parkas Fur Lined Faux Fur Coat Warm Jacket Hooded Thick Big Size Fox Fur Lining Women Clothing Red Black Fur Coat

[classyinfur]

[furbootandglovelover]

[thesaurus]

// concocting a look for tomorrow’s ballet performance

// very excited to be overdressed on the train for no reason

// the FAQ’s were like “wear jeans or whatever!” And I refuse to take that view of the situation

// give me an excuse to wear a cape

//

// it’s been like a hard two weeks (another death! Another service I will not be attending, etc) and I also will be doing drugs before this outing

[kimludcom]

2023 Winter Fashion Fur Coat Women's High-End Luxury Mid-Length Fox Fur Collar Mink Fur Coats War...

Bundle up in style with our 2023 Winter Fashion Fur Coat! ❄️✨ From the high-end luxury of the mid-length fox fur collar to the warmth and elegance of the mink fur coat, our long fur jackets will keep you looking fierce and fabulous all season long. 💁🏻‍♀️ Don't miss out on this must-have winter essential! #WinterFashion #FurCoat #HighEndLuxury #FoxFur #MinkFur #WarmAndStylish #Elegant #LongFurJackets #StayCozy #FashionForward Shop Now https://www.kimlud.com/products/2023-winter-fashion-fur-coat-womens-high-end-luxury-mid-length-fox-fur-collar-mink-fur-coats-warm-elegant-long-fur-jackets

[yandere-daydreams]

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's introduced to you as the hybrid you'll be taking care. When you found the job listed on some shady, bot-infested site, you figured it was just a temporary gig, that you'd be watching a dog or cat for a few weeks while their owner was away, so imagine your surprise when you pulled up to a reputable mansion a good hour or so out of the city, when an eccentric man with blue hair and an off-putting grin brings you to the lavish enclosure of a hybrid nearly a head taller than you, when you're told that you'll be 'petsitting' his kitten for as long as you care to hold the position. It's weird, but the money's good, and room and board are provided. You can't really afford to turn it down.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's undeniably, unabashedly spoiled. His owner claims that he tried to replicate his natural habitat as closely as possible, but you don't think there's another snow leopard on the planet who prefers mink fur to his own. You spend most of your time waiting on him, running between Pantalone and his legion of personal chefs, holding sapphires and rubies up to the light so he can decide which one he'd rather have studded into his next collar, combing through his thick black hair while he purrs and basks in your attention. It's a surprisingly demanding job, but you don't mind. He's smart for a hybrid, and surprisingly conversational. Honestly, if it wasn't for the thrashing tail that curls around your legs whenever he passes you, the pointed fangs you catch a glimpse of from time to time, you could forget he wasn't human.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who tells you there's been a change in uniform a month after you start. This variation is definitely less conservative than your old scrubs, more in-line with his own blatant aesthetic values, but you don't complain, even when he starts swapping out his crushed velvet pillows for your lap. He's still a hybrid, no matter how human he might act. You're sure he doesn't see your exposed skin as anything but... something warm and soft to rest his head on, when he's looking for someplace to nap.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who grins as he tells you why his owner is always so busy. He's a researcher, he explains, as you file down his claws for the tenth time that week. He studies hybrid mating habits. His tone is enough to make you blush, and he laughs as you stumble over your response. He goes on to talk at length about his owner's particular fascination with snow leopards, how their pickiness when it comes to choosing a partner makes them a point of interest, but you write it off as a lapse in his otherwise perfect etiquette. You manage to do the same when you find out that he's been slipping into your personal room at night, and when he openly sulks in the days leading up to one of your rare vacations. It's not like you have much of a choice, considering none of the other, more legitimate jobs you've applied for have given you so much as a call back. It's not like you have much of a choice, considering how many weeks it's been since you've heard from anyone at all.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's already above you when you woke up strapped to a metal table, your legs spread and your vision dim around the edges.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who smiles as he thrusts into you, his favorite fur coat draped over his shoulders and his expression one of idle amusement. There's a mirror built into one wall (an observational window, obviously), and a heap of silk sheets and fleece piled in a corner, but Pantalone's quick to catch your chin, to draw your attention back to him - to your mate.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's always been so, so spoiled.

Snow Leopard!Pantalone, who's always gotten what he wanted - including his brand new human mate.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 19

Donquixote Doflamingo + Dom/Sub

Readers a snow leopard mink, because ive never ever seen a fic with a mink reader in it. Reader is also 7ft5. I didn’t have too much time to write today, so I did what I could.

2024 kinktober masterlist

Donquixote Doflamingo was not a man who gave up control, be it in business, piracy, or his private life. Or rather, he used to be. There was one person he had let himself submit too, somebody no one would ever suspect. Minks had a tendency to stay away from most of the world, so who would ever come to the conclusion that the one person Doflamingo gave himself up too was a snow leopard mink.

Doflamingo was also not the type to go down without a fight, meaning you two got all battered and bruised before everything was settled. For the most part, the situation was ever only truly settled when you got the seastone cuffs on him, if not the collar you had specially made for someone his size.

The first many times, Doflamingo had panicked when he felt his connection to his powers flicker out as his body grew heavy, weak, and sluggish. As someone who never wanted to be weak in any way, it was scary. The blonde tried his damnest to not let this fear show, but there was a tension to his usual grin and bulging forehead vein.

In the beginning it was a slow process of simply getting comfortable. You were very comfortable for the most part, not even having to undress to spend this time with him. And when he got a bit too worked up, you were always able to calm him with your paws or tail.

Doflamingo didn’t have many enemies that were mink, once again blamed on the fact that mink stayed out of most business outside their own. Which meant that when he started getting antsy and tense, feeling your fur and paws helped settle him again.

Much of the dynamic you two had built, was based on trust, which was in short supply for the both of you, making the process of building what you had even longer. It was especially hard for Doflamingo to trust you to even let you tie him up, much more to put the seastone on him. For a long time, there had to be mechanisms built into the cuffs or collar so that he could pull it off himself.

It took even longer for it to become more, to become hotter and carnal. You two still did it when there wasn’t that heavy dynamic about it, even if it regularly resulted in you two just as bloody and bruised up.

Doflamingo would regularly walk out of your normal get togethers covered in claw marks and bites, his bruises so much clearer than yours, which laid under your fur. He had complained about it multiple times, that Doflamingo couldn’t leave hickeys on you, hed even gone as far as you suck one onto your paw pads, just to return the favour in some way.

But slowly, over time, something fragile but true was built between you. it even reached a point where Doflamingo would contact you when he needed “your assistance”. You had almost felt your heart flutter when Doflamingo even started coming to you, curling his big height down against your side or by your feet, his hands searching out your tail to pet at it for comfort.

Yeah, there were times he needed you to forcefully take control, but there were also those rarer times where the mighty Doflamingo just needed to be held, to be someone not so powerful and important. This was when Doflamingo brought in different toys or items, like a blindfold and earmuffs, even different mittens and leg clamps to leave him completely at your mercy.

He had looked so meek and downright shy the first time he brought out the bit. It looked like the kinda thing you put in a horse’s mouth, even with a lead attached, along with everything else. It had been such a sign of the trust you had been trying to build, that your tail flicked quickly from side to side as your fur puffed up.

It gave you a sense of carnal power, to be able to slowly walk around the room carrying the lead, Doflamingo crawling after you completely blind, deaf, and mute. The bit did nothing to contain his moans and groans, or to stop all the drool and spit dripping from his mouth as he licked at the material, searching for something more.

He was almost sweet as Doflamingo curled up on his giant bed, resting his head on your furry stomach as you ran your paw through his hair. It was endearing in a way, to see how he rubbed his head up and down, trying to smoosh or maybe suffocate himself against you. It left you with a feeling that if he happened to be a mink, he must have been purring.

His drooling was a little out of hand, as it always left your fur soaked, but what could you expect from a man who stuck his tongue out as much as Doflamingo did. It was a no brainer that Doflamingo liked to use his mouth, it was a need that ran deep, he just needed something in his mouth to focus on.

Having paws and fur always made it a little awkward to give him your fingers, even if Doflamingo licked and sucked at them with a happy muffled moan. Having him kiss and pamper your paw pads was a bit easier, since there was actual skin he could lick at and attach himself too, but even they grew raw at times from his insistent need.

You never thought hed actually go along with licking your boots when you ordered him too the first time. Your paw pads were simply suckled raw and aching, as hed been on them for the past hour or two. Some deal must have driven him up into a corner which was why he needed to be taken somewhere else.

Afterwards Doflamingo would deny liking it, gaining faint whisps of red in his cheeks if you as much as mentioned it, but your boots still became a more regular part of your time together. Most of the time what you did together wasn’t even anything too lewd, it was more just leaning into the dynamic you both needed. You needing to feel in control and to care for somebody, and Doflamingo needing to give away responsibility for a while.

Neither of you spoke much about it outside of the bedroom, or wherever you two found yourself this time. You were both your own people with your own business and duties, too busy to let the dynamic play a role in the daily like. Even if Doflamingos zebra print pants were replaced with snow leopard spots, and even if you started keeping a couple of pink feathers in your pocket.

[chic-a-gigot]

L'Art et la mode, no. 42, vol. 15, 20 octobre 1894, Paris. Créations inédites. Dessin de C. Billié. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Toilette de ville en drap mastic, brodé au plumetis sur un dessous de velours hanneton. Corsage de velours garni de bretelles formant choux à la taille. Manches larges, poignets drap brodé. Chapeau 1830, en feutre mastic, garni de velours hanneton.

City ensemble in mastic cloth, embroidered with plumetis on a chafer velvet underside. Velvet bodice trimmed with straps forming cabbages at the waist. Wide sleeves, embroidered cloth cuffs. 1830 hat, in mastic felt, trimmed with chafer velvet.

—

Robe de visites, en velours Parme, brodée de jais, garnie de vison et de velours aubergine. Manches toutes brodées. Chapeau en feutre noir, garni de plumes et de roses de velours aubergine.

Visiting dress, in Parma velvet, embroidered with jet, trimmed with mink and aubergine velvet. Fully embroidered sleeves. Black felt hat, trimmed with feathers and aubergine velvet roses.

—

Collet en fourrure, garni de velours gris mauve rebrodé formant longues pointes devant. Choux aux épaules. Capeline Louis XVI, garnie de plumes noires et de violettes.

Fur collar, trimmed with mauve-gray velvet embroidered into long points at the front. Shoulder puffs. Louis XVI wide-brimmed hat, trimmed with black and violet feathers.

—

Collet en velours noir et moire blanche brodée de jais. Bord de plumes noires, bretelles en velours noir. Chapeau "petit abbé", garni de plumes.

Collar in black velvet and white moire embroidered with jet. Edge of black feathers, straps in black velvet. "Petit abbé" hat, trimmed with feathers.

—

Manteau de voiture, en velours noir et hermine, rattaché aux épaules par des motifs de jais et cabochons; revers en soie vieux rose, avec jais en bas. Toque en plumes noires et velours vieux rose. — Manchon velours.

Car coat, in black velvet and ermine, attached at the shoulders with jet and cabochon motifs; old pink silk lapels, with jet at the bottom. Black feather and old pink velvet toque. — Velvet muff.

[resplendentoutfit]

Mario Reviglione (Italian, 1883-1965) • Portrait in black of Mrs. Levi Muzzani • 1916

Fur was everywhere in the 20s. Both men and women were resplendent in fur. Fur-trimmed collars and cuffs adorned coats and jackets. Full-length all-fur coats of mink or sable were only affordable to the upper classes. People of lesser means made do with squirel or beaver.

Lord & Taylor silk coat, lined with fox fur • 1920s

Wrap coats such as the one above were very popular, both for day and evening. It's not clear if the one above was meant to be worn as an evening coat but I suspect it was.

These fashion plate examples are more accurate examples of fir-trimmed coats worn in daytime.

Fur was popular in previous eras of fashion history as well. And, of course, remained popular for many decades to come. Thankfully, this trend was called to attention in the 1980s for its unnecessary cruelty.

[classyinfur]

Elsa Benitez photographed by Steven Meisel for Vogue US September 1997

[manic-maniac-man]

Rick Owens

Aw07 presentation

"Silhouettes with volume at the neck area, and flared hemlines were the distinguishing feature in this lineup. Coats with mink and fox fur at the collar and coats with down vests worn inside to create a peculiar volume at the neck, were among the sporty details worked into elegant edge/touch." -gap PRESS

[samarqqand]

Hello samarqqand, I love your Maedhros and Maglor fanfictions, I always reread them, I wonder if at some point you will write something about them again, your writing is beautiful and conveys what one feels, I also read one you wrote about Maglor and celegorm, I liked it a lot, there are times when it made me laugh celegorm, greetings.

wow, hello hello!! this is such a pleasant surprise of a message -- thank you so much for reading my fics and for this superbly-kind feedback :] <3 i'm so glad to know they resonated with you-!!

i have one very long Maedhros/Maglor wip, Amon Ereb and Kidnap Dads era -- as is typical of me, it stalled after i wrote myself into a corner and i've been kind of helplessly poking at it ever since, BUT there's more than enough written that i'm delighted to share a hefty snippet -- hopefully gives some idea of what Maedhros and Maglor are up to!! no warnings, except... blood. and blood... licking? tasting. (please excuse any errors in the snippet; it's a draft!!)

thank you very much again-!

*

“No,” Maglor murmurs, the sight of Maedhros donning a wolf fur mantle. Beyond him, the Star, there: past its perihelion it sails on a journey beyond, aloof to the two sons of Feanor. “No, it will not do. A hooded cloak for these climes, I say.”

“My eyes need no veiling,” Maedhros says.

Maglor curves a long, assessing look his way as Maedhros takes his rucksack. He looks beyond Maedhros’ starless eyes: obstinate. “I would remind you,” he clarifies as loftily as any erstwhile High King at Hithlum, “you are no icy tor.” 

He takes his long fingers to the mink at Maedhros’ collar to fluff up what he can. “Could a measure of warmth be so ruinous to you?” Maglor meddles: old, bad habit. Maedhros his bad habit.

“You haven’t recovered from exposure.”

Before Maglor can ask, his head turning hither-thither as if he might find an answer just beyond, show him, show him, Maedhros lifts his chin toward the stooped fortress town beyond the forbidding briarwood. Eyes naturalized to Beleriand’s bosky chaos, he assesses the ferns and woody roots flinging themselves into a silent fervor. It is too wild here for even the dead to lie in wait. “This way.”

Maedhros could sink himself into every grumbling corner, a simmer of potential energy waiting to surge, if not for Maglor’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, recognizing the instinct in Maedhros.

“Oh, but I do,” Maglor contends, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder and wending around the witch-hazel. “And it has compelled me afield, to attend to the honey yet untasted upon the lonely larder shelves; further, to reward our Elrond and Elros for their patience with our monotonous menu of lentils and warg. Lentils and warg. Lentils,” he sighs, "and warg."

“Selfless saint,” Maedhros mutters.

Maglor wants to be close to him. There is no other thing living in Beleriand to want this.

There is no other living thing closer to him than Maglor is now, a veiled smile and his eyes clear, still claiming Light.

Only a fool loves a knife.

Maglor looks. He tilts his head, marking the immethodical snarl of skin flayed and healed, a torn ear nearly looking Secondborn, and the adulterated raptor-yellow coloring his stare when the meager light angles against his irises just so — , the shrug of pauldroned shoulder down to unyielding hand upon the sword pommel. Maedhros in parts.

To live, Maedhros had left some things behind.

But Maglor regards him with whole attention, the same he’d reserve for a tapestry: a story the storyteller would know by heart. 

“Not there,” Maedhros grunts, abruptly. Maglor’s veiled smile dimples his cheeks even as he plays along, a cant of interested eyebrows. “Here.” Maedhros nods toward a trail through the witch hazel and bramble, walked by generations of deer into existence.

“No caltrops to be found,” Maglor supplies.

“Set your watch here.” Maglor parts his lips to protest, though his gaze is perilously soft. “I’ll find them.”

But Maglor ladders himself gingerly into the razorwire foliage. “We muddle through the thorns together,” he announces, the scion of the proud suffering effortless in his role. “I have borne my share of scrapes, Nelyo.”

Better than that, brother: Maglor has borne all his lashes beautifully.

Maedhros joins him in the thick.

Under Maedhros’ hand, an icy splash of lichen laces a stone before abruptly the blue-white erupts with a sunset-orange hue. There is iron in the soil. 

Maedhros halts: aware.

If he were to bore straight on into the wooded depths, hand shoveling past the leafy protests and boots squealing beyond the mud’s warning, the vines might well keep a mind of their own, of their master’s. They might well snap awake. They might ensnare an ankle. Hissing arsenic-green ropes rearing up only to drag him back down to the underworld. 

The rusted metal doors in the earth which he may well have only just escaped might be open and gulping already. 

Drop his broken parts down, down to his darklong origin. 

Welcome back to a prodigal thrall.

– But for Maglor’s scent again. A tap at his shoulder. 

Maglor, the only thing in this world wanting to touch him, is crouched and slotted close to Maedhros at the end of the tree tunnel. Just another step, and they’ll be out. He’ll be out.

With a fond and regretful reach, Maglor plucks a thorn from the palm of Maedhros’ hand, and watches where the skin has broken. A question shadows Maglor’s starry gaze and does not lift.

“It is still red,” Maedhros says. He means to jest. He means to reassure. To be rueful. To wonder for how much longer. 

He does not know what he means by it.

He can smell his own blood, and hear Maglor’s heart, in all its selfless heat.

Maglor guides Maedhros’ palm against his surcoat to wick away the fresh bloom of blood.

Insinuation of ribs caging all Maglor’s soft insides; plane of torso. 

And when Maglor sees the bleeding won’t stop, he brings Maedhros’ palm to his mouth, his lips lavishing comfort on skin. 

Plush of lower lip skims flesh – and then presses flush, as if to accept the edge of a cup. A soft ripple.

Maedhros’ palm feels.

– And then his palm returns to his blade’s pommel.

And Maglor turns away in a show of modesty, letting the arrival of deer on the path interrupt him from what he might do if they were given time.

But not before his tongue has darted out, daring to taste Maedhros at his lips.

[denaliwrites]

Keep You Like An Oath

Cale Erendreich x Fem!Reader

Summary: (18+) Cale doesn't like your gift -- in fact, he hates it in all the right ways.

Soundtrack: Uma Thurman by Fall Out Boy

Requests: Open!

Warnings: It's Cale Erendreich and it's smut. Degradation, CNC, Bondage (?), Fingerfucking, Choking, Squirting, Overstimulation.

"What the fuck is this?" Cale asked, holding up a set of black lace lingerie in one hand. That alone would be nondescript, if he didn't also have, in his other hand, the custom collar you'd had made to your exact specifications as a special gift for his birthday.

It was a beautiful thing -- absolutely luxurious -- made with black lambskin leather, lined with the softest mink fur you'd ever felt, and studded with 24-karat gold. The ring, too, was made of gold, and proudly dangling from it was another custom piece -- a gold tag, shaped like a heart and inlaid with many glittering rubies. Emblazoned in red was the engraving "CE's Bitch."

You were rather proud of it, if you did say so yourself.

"How much did I spend on this?" he asked, tossing the collar in front of you. It landed right at your feet. "The rubies alone must've been worth a fortune."

You swallowed thickly and picked the piece up. You had the good sense to look afraid and ashamed, but internally you couldn't help but admire it.

"Fucking answer me, bitch!" Cale commanded, and your eyes shot up to meet his. He was glowering. In fact, he looked quite ready to kill you.

"T-ten thousand," you whimpered.

"Ten -- ten fucking thousand?"

You should've been running for your life, praying to any and every god you could think of he wouldn't catch you. You should've, at the very least, feared for your life. And maybe you did, a little bit. But mostly, you felt a tightening in your gut and a rush of slick coating your panties.

You could see it in Cale's eyes that he knew -- sometimes you could swear he smelled the arousal on you.

"Fucking hell," he growled, running his recently emptied hand through his hair. "For ten grand, the sex better be fucking incredible." You blinked up at him. "Well? Go put it on," he commanded, throwing the lingerie at you.

You caught it and hurried out of the room.

Cale wasn't known for his patience, so you changed as quickly as was physically possible, secured the collar, and padded out into the sitting room. He watched as you dutifully came to stand in front of him, eyes cast upwards to stare at him longingly.

"Good girl," he told you, and when your lips tilted up for a brief moment, his did the same. "Such an obedient little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes," you answered easily.

Cale lazily looped two fingers through the ring of your collar and waited for you to get complacent before he yanked you forward. You yelped as you were suddenly displaced, though you quickly felt his arms circle your shoulders. Around the same time, his lips crashed into yours.

You moaned into the kiss, all but melting at his touch. You knew he wouldn't stay this gentle, so you happily enjoyed these few tender moments while they lasted.

Which wasn't very long at all.

He pulled away and stoically pulled you by the collar over to the sofa. You knew, generally, what was about to happen, but not enough to prepare yourself to be thrown into the cushions.

You landed with a pitiful squeak, and then Cale was on you. He had one knee between your legs and one at your hip, while his arms further pinned you down. Escape wasn't impossible -- he made sure of that (though not exactly for your benefit) -- but it was unlikely.

"What should I do with you?" he asked himself as one of his hands began roaming across your body.

He teased you mercilessly, making sure to drag his thumb over your nipple, or to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, or to pinch your skin in any place he saw fit. Your body jerked into him each time, trying desperately to fool you, all the while heat pooled in your core and slick gathered in your cunt.

"What do you want?" he asked you only after he'd turned you into a mewling mess, desperate for his cock.

"P-please fuck me," you begged, clutching at him. "I need y-you inside me."

"Need what inside you? Be very specific for me, you fucking whore."

"Your cock -- please, I need your cock!"

For a moment, he looked disarmingly kind. He smiled so sweetly and placed a kiss to your forehead. You blinked up in confusion, just to see him shift back to cold and dangerous.

"No."

"C-Cale, please --"

You yelped at the sudden intrusion of his fingers into your cunt, reflexively grabbing his wrist to stabilize yourself.

"Calm the fuck down," he ordered, though for a second his gaze once again betrayed him -- filled, just for a moment, with genuine concern. When you released his wrist and settled back into the cushions, he continued as if nothing had happened.

"The next time," he started, punctuating his words with a hard thrust of his thumb to your clit, "you feel like spending ten thousand fucking dollars," and this time he withdrew his fingers just to slam them back home, "remember this moment."

You nodded distractedly, hips twitching in a desperate bid for his touch.

He acquiesced, thrusting again and again until he'd found a rhythm that had you moaning his name.

"You're such a goddamn slut. Look at you, you're a fucking mess, just from my fingers." He made sure to drive his point home by driving his fingers into your core. "You're so wet, and for what? Fingerfucking? God, you're such a pathetic little bitch."

You all but wailed as he rammed his fingers into your G-spot and clit simultaneously, cunt clenching for dear life as he brought you closer and closer to orgasm.

"Fuck, you're such a tight little whore. Maybe you do need my cock inside you."

You moaned in response.

He quieted then, focused on bringing you to orgasm. His fingers slammed home again, pressing against your G-spot and clit a few last times to push you over the edge.

You screamed as you unraveled, legs quaking against his from the strain of being held open as your hips jerked to chase that high. His fingers stayed inside you -- hell, continued fucking you -- until you stilled but for your panting breaths.

"Good girl," he murmured against your cheek when he leant down to plant a gentle kiss there. "You're so good for me."

You wordlessly wrapped your arms around his neck and drew him in for an embrace in response. You could feel his breath dance across your skin, could feel his lips press to your shoulder, could feel him nuzzle into your throat. Felt, more than heard, him whisper "I love you."

You froze, and he seemed to realize what he'd done as he froze too. Only for a moment, though -- the next, his hand was wrapped tightly around your throat and he was glaring down at you as if you'd gravely insulted him.

You realized, as you struggled for air, that he'd never taken his fingers out of your cunt. Your walls squeezed around them in anticipation, which only grew as you took in his wicked smirk.

"P-please," you gasped, eyes losing focus from the lack of oxygen. Neither hand let up. If anything, the one at your throat tightened in response, while the one half-buried in your cunt gave a sharp thrust that forced a breathless squeal from you.

"God, you sound like a fucking pig," he spat, twisting his fingers to hit your G-spot roughly. Your whole body twitched aggressively as a jolt of pleasure and pain shot through you. "How pathetic do you have to be to get off to this?"

You started off moaning in reply, but the sound quickly escalated to a shriek as his fingers took up an absolutely brutal pace fucking you.

It wasn't long before you were caught in a silent, air-deprived scream as he brought you to another orgasm, your pussy sorely constricting around his fingers.

And yet, even through and beyond your second orgasm, he didn't let up on fingerfucking you brainless -- though, blessedly, he did release his hold on your throat long enough for you to chase away that dark edge around your vision.

You whimpered as his hand slotted back into place around your bruising neck, whimpered as he brought you to yet another orgasm. There were tears in your eyes as more pain than pleasure built in your core.

"What's your record for consecutive orgasms?" he asked you, as if you had a single functioning brain cell left with which to answer. Luckily, he didn't need you to. "Four? We're just one off now... I think you're desperate enough for more. Think you can take six, you fucking whore? I bet you could take more, you're such a fucking slut."

You wanted to shake your head, considered maybe even asking him to stop -- but all thoughts were forcefully vacated from your mind as he made quick work of your ability to focus with just one dig of his fingers into your G-spot. Another followed, then another, until you were a squealing, shaking mess.

You wriggled in an attempt to escape the oncoming orgasm, but Cale's hand on your throat kept you pinned. Wailing, you came undone with full force, body quaking and fluid gushing from your cunt to coat his fingers and the sofa beneath you.

"Fuck," he grunted, "did you just squirt?" He asked as if you had any ability to answer. "You're cleaning that up."

That would have to be a problem for Later You. The problem for Now You was still ongoing, as Cale was clearly intent on a fifth orgasm despite how overstimulated you were, how bruised you were, how broken you were.

But you couldn't protest -- not because of any physical constraints. The moment you even so much as mouthed your safe word, he'd stop. But despite the pain and bruising and your body begging for relief, you simply didn't want to stop him.

So through tears and bruises he brought you to yet another orgasm that left you screaming.

After that, he withdrew from you, and you thought your ordeal was over. He pulled your limp body up by the ring on your collar and wrapped you in his arms, pressing his lips to your sweat-slicked temple. "One more," he said gently. "Just one more. I know you've got it in you."

Your head rolled as you attempted to nod.

"You're such a good girl, aren't you?"

You rolled your head again.

"You've been so good for me. I think you've more than earned my cock. Wouldn't you agree, my sweet little bunny?"

You felt a rush of arousal in your cunt and forced yourself to really nod.

You were sore -- so very, very sore. Bruised, even. You thought you might die if you came again. But you wanted his cock inside you.

No. You desperately needed it inside you.

He rearranged your bodies so that he was in the place you'd been occupying, with you on top straddling his lap. You were too limp to be much help, little more than a drooling mess on his shoulder, so he did all the work getting his cock out and lining it up with your pussy.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he ran a hand through your hair down to your neck, where he stopped to hold you close and steady. "Are you ready, bunny?" he asked softly. The gaze you lay on him was heavy and hazy, but it came with a nod. Another kiss was planted on your cheek, and then he thrust up.

You mewled as your cunt contracted weakly when it found itself suddenly filled. He gave you a moment to adjust, whispering sweet nothings until your body relaxed around him. Then, slowly, he pulled his hips back, just to thrust up again.

Carefully, after he'd found a slow and steady beat that wasn't too demanding of you, his hand trailed down to your clit and started looping it in lazy circles.

Despite the pain that made you want to sob, you moaned into his shoulder as the muscles in your core began coiling.

But Cale was nothing if not careful, and any time he felt you get too close, he paused his ministrations, letting you come down before starting up again.

It wasn't so much that he didn't want you to cum -- you knew, somewhere in the fog, that he wanted that more than anything. More than that, though, you suspected he probably wanted you to share your last orgasm with him.

You wanted that, too, despite what you had to go through to get there.

He was getting closer, now, though. His slow and steady thrusts were getting harder and more erratic. His fingers on your clit were growing clumsier. And he didn't bother stopping when he could tell you were getting close.

Another minute and he stilled, cock twitching inside you. A moment later and warmth flooded your cunt, pushing you over the edge into your sixth orgasm. You jerked weakly, hips twitching to escape his still circling fingers. They slowed but didn't stop until you'd come all the way down.

"That's it," he cooed into your ear, kissing a spot on your jaw just below it. "That's a good girl. God, you were so good tonight, bunny." Knowing it was over, you flushed at his praise, looking up at him with a hazy gaze and a fuckdumb smile. "Oh, look at you," he said, beaming as he took you in. "You're gorgeous. Perfect, even."

You made tired, indecipherable sounds as he placed a kiss onto your drool-slicked lips. "Let's get you to bed, now," he said softly, carefully moving to a stand and taking you with him. "I'm afraid you might drown or fall if we try to clean you up tonight."

You didn't protest as he carried you through the house, up the stairs, and into his room. Hell, you weren't even awake when he laid you gently on the bed and pulled the covers over you, nor when he slipped in beside you and pulled you flush against his chest.

And you certainly weren't awake when he whispered "I love you" into your ear.

[thebettybook]

Dance with me at the Spider-Society Soirée

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Characters: Miguel O’Hara x Spider-hero!fem!reader. Miguel and reader aren’t in an established romantic relationship but they have a crush on each other.

Part 2 Summary: It’s the night of the Spider-Society Soirée, and Miguel showed up! He can’t seem to find reader anywhere, but when he finally sees reader…well, just read to find out ;)

Warning: ATSV spoilers ahead! Other than that, an all-fluff story

Spanish used: “Qué maravilla” (“How wonderful”), “Por el amor de Dios” (“For the love of God”; I used SpanishDict)

Strawbetty’s notes: I used Miguel’s “Qué maravilla” (“How wonderful”) line from the ATSV movie in my fic because how could I not?? Also, I’ll be releasing Part 3 (the last part) in an hour!! :D

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 {below} | Part 3

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Part 2: The Soirée

7 p.m., June 30.

The gold and lavender rays of the sunset stretched across Nueva York, seeping through the glass panels of the Spider-HQ Lobby.

Hundreds of thousands of Spiders lounged about, decked out in their best formal attire for once rather than their Spider suits, as they filled up the whole lobby with their chatter and laughter.

Despite all their individual formal attire, the accessory almost every attendee had in common was the shock they wore on their faces when they saw their one and only stoic leader in attendance. Some even deigned to check him out.

Miguel was dressed to the nines (or to the 2099’s) in a fitted noir tuxedo that didn’t fail to accentuate his tall stature and bulging muscles. His dark-brown hair kept its usual style of being swept back to both sides of his face with his widow’s peak ever prominent.

A gold bow tie rested comfortably at the bottom of his neck, just a bit above a white dress shirt he wore underneath the tuxedo blazer. Other than his ebony dress shoes, the only accessory Miguel had was his dimension travel watch.

Miguel loomed over most of the Spiders despite standing at the back near the refreshments table, which did have trays of freshly-made empanadas with various fillings (just like you said, much to his discreet pleasure).

It wasn’t even five minutes into the event that he received a boatload of compliments from practically everyone in attendance. While his ears burned at the unwanted attention, Miguel’s brick-like posture and passive expression continued to contrast the lively movements from everyone else.

Miguel wished LEGO Spider-Man—who rested on his shoulder briefly—was still with him. However, the tiny sentient block of a hero already excused himself to socialize with the other Spiders. Miguel even wished he had at least Jessica Drew to talk to about business, but Jess didn’t attend the soirée to rest at home in her dimension for the evening.

Miguel’s crimson orbs sailed the sea of Spiders again—hoping to catch a glimpse of you but to no avail (there were just so many Spiders)—before he fixed his orbs on the left sleeve of his tuxedo jacket just above his dimension travel watch.

He fiddled with his watch, checking if there were any updates that would hopefully allow him to slip away from the soirée.

“Lyla, remember to alert me right away if anything happens,” Miguel’s eyelids fluttered shut for just a nanosecond in annoyance at the fact that some people were still checking him out. He reopened his eyes when a flash of gold greeted him. “Wait, what are you wearing?”.

The AI, who usually appeared in a fur mink coat and collared dress, was now decked out in a fancy white sleeveless floor-length dress. With her signature transparent pink heart sunglasses and a hot pink feather boa around her shoulders, Lyla struck a dramatic pose as if she was walking the red carpet.

“What? You think you’re the only one who gets to dress up for this event?” Lyla fluffed her ginger bob with both hands before taking her phone out. “Say cheeese.”

Miguel didn’t comply, simply turning his face to the other side and pinching the bridge of his nose for the first time that evening at his troublesome AI.

Before he could remind Lyla of the alerts again, arms engulfed Miguel in a hug.

“Miguel! I’m so glad you could make it!” Peter B gave Miguel a squeeze before pulling back with tears pricking his eyes. The look on Peter B’s face was the equivalent of a proud dad seeing their son go to prom for the first time or something.

Out of his usual pink robe and gray dad sweatpants, Peter B was dressed in a blue tuxedo with red lapels. Before Miguel could tell him “Never hug me again,” two little arms and feet belonging to Peter B’s baby daughter Mayday found themselves on Miguel’s head and shoulders.

Miguel let Mayday crawl over him until she reached the edge of his right shoulder, where he picked her off with his other hand. He held the toddler securely in his hands, noticing that she wore a fluffy tulle gown with a blue top and red skirt to match with her dad.

Miguel couldn’t help but have a ghost of a smile on his face when Mayday babbled through her toothy smile and leaned forward in his arms to play with his bow tie.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Miguel turned his attention to Peter B, who turned his back to Miguel in order to take a selfie with Miguel and Mayday after snapping probably ten of the same pictures of Miguel and Mayday.

“Saw Y/N a few minutes ago! She went off to take pictures with the kids,” Peter B held up a peace sign while snapping a selfie with Miguel (who frowned) and Mayday (who grinned).

“Qué maravilla,” Miguel grumbled. “The kids” consisted of Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar, and Hobie Brown. Miguel doubted he would get to see you even once during this soirée if you were surrounded by the energetic and rambunctious younger Spiders.

“C’mon, Miguel, smile a bit,” Peter B urged him. Before Miguel could decide between staying a bit longer or ditching the soirée, his ears picked up on your laughter.

He turned his head to your direction, his lips parting to call you over. Whatever words Miguel planned to say caught in his throat once his eyes landed on you.

Maybe it was Miguel’s point of view or the lighting of the lobby or just you, but to Miguel, you suddenly stood out from the sea of Spiders.

You swayed about in an obsidian sleeveless satin ball gown with a sweetheart neckline as Pavitr and Gwen took turns twirling you around. Your sheer tulle gloves embroidered with lines of gold glitter gradient that grew fainter up your arms resembled the fractal pattern of a spiderweb.

Miguel wasn’t one to care for fashion, usually preferring comfort over couture, but he couldn’t help but be floored.

The epitome of elegance and beauty, you looked every bit the queen Miguel already knew you were.

Shock. If Miguel’s ears weren’t burning before, they were practically on fire now. He thanked whatever higher beings that he was able to maintain his composure.

“Y/N, over here!” Peter B interrupted Miguel’s trance as the former waved to you.

Miguel knew he was a goner the moment you turned your head to Peter B’s direction. Your eyes lit up once they landed on Miguel, and Miguel was rendered powerless when your smile grew at the sight of him.

You excused yourself from the kids, who became preoccupied with their own things. Miles and Gwen, who retreated to one of the many beams above the lobby, sat upside-down next to each other to sketch the people and things at the soirée. Pavitr and Hobie began a game of rating all the party foods. The latter claimed earlier that he’d only show up for a bit but ended up staying longer.

With each step you took towards Peter B, Mayday, and Miguel, Miguel found himself growing more and more self-conscious.

Is my hair alright? Do I smell good? Shock, why am I worrying about all of this?!

Miguel never worried about this stuff before. He felt like a high-school student getting ready to see his date for the first time for prom. And Miguel didn’t even go to prom in high school.

When you were finally standing in front of him, Miguel was cursing and pleading through a flurry of sentences in Spanish in his head to keep his cool.

“Hi, everyone!” You scooped Mayday up from Peter B’s arms, cooing at how adorable she looked while she laughed and patted your face with her tiny hands.

“Hi,” Miguel managed to get out in a croak, followed by a cough. He hoped that you would focus all your attention on Mayday, but then you turned to fix your eyes on him.

“You actually showed up,” your smile turned into a grin as you gave Mayday back to Peter B and nudged Miguel playfully.

Por el amor de Dios. How is it possible that you look even more beautiful up close?

Miguel let out another brief, nervous cough, making Peter B raise an eyebrow. Peter B’s lips then tugged into a fond smile; he recognized that feeling of being flustered when you saw the person you fancied in fancy attire for the first time.

“Mayday and I are gonna go…to the loo,” Peter B said “loo” in a faux British accent, as if influenced by Hobie or something. “Yep, the loo!”

Peter B whisked himself and Mayday away, hoping to give you and Miguel some time alone. Even Lyla didn’t pop up for fun, wanting to give you and Miguel alone time as well.

You continued to grin up at Miguel, waiting for his reply to your comment.

Miguel wracked his brain for a witty answer. Think of something to say, Miguel. Something impressive—

“You said there would be empanadas,” Miguel drawled, his usual sarcasm slipping out. “Just came to check if you were bluffing.”

Empanadas?! Is that the best I could come up with?! Miguel wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose at himself. He wasn’t smooth or good at being romantic, he quickly learned, but being near you (even if you did look like a literal goddess) made Miguel still feel comfortable to be himself.

You snorted at his reply, making a genuine smile crack on Miguel’s face for the first time that evening.

“Why would I bluff about something so important as empanadas?” your usual spunkiness cracking through the air of elegance you exuded with your attire.

Your lively sense of humor always complimented Miguel’s dry sense of humor, making the soirée a whole lot more fun for him.

“I don’t know,” Miguel pursed his lips, feigning a solemn expression. “You’re a lot better at bluffing than sneaking up on people.”

“Please, I could sneak up on a whole army of villains,” You bunched up the sides of your ball gown skirt for good measure. “While wearing a ball gown.”

Miguel held up his palms as if to admit defeat. “Of course. My humblest apologies for underestimating you.” 

Miguel O’Hara? Humble? Apology? In the same sentence?? You couldn’t help but snort even more, before following with a laugh that Miguel found much more pleasant to hear than the chatter around the two of you and the thumping pop music playing throughout the lobby.

Even Miguel chuckled at himself, and the laughter the two of you shared only grew more and more in your shared little bubble.

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Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :)

🕸️ ————————🕷️————————🕸️

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue October 15, 1967

Model :  Jean Shrimpton

Zigzag stripes, left, a young and fresh mink idea, contemporary, spectacular. White and pale brown mink with a narrow shape, hidden buttons, a separate mink scarf muffling the throat. An Emeric Partos design, from natural pale brown Emba Palomino mink and "Jasmine", white Emba mink. Marvella earrings. Pink mink, center, the new heavenly fur like the blush of dawn on fresh snow - a coat with a small plump collar, shirt cuffs, white leather belt through mink belt rings. By J. Weinig, from natural pale pink Glacial Emba mink. Hattie Carnegie earrings. Pale mink in two widths, right, worked in alternating layers for a wonderful light and shadow effect. Notched collar, leather belt. By Betty Yokova for Neustadter, from Breath of Spring variety "Tourmaline", natural pale beige Emba mink. Richelieu Earrings. With the three pale mink coats: Evins boots. Hair: Ara Gallant; Tovar-Tresses hairpieces.

Les rayures en zigzag, à gauche, une idée de vison jeune et fraîche, contemporaine, spectaculaire. Vison blanc et brun pâle avec une forme étroite, des boutons cachés, une écharpe de vison séparée étouffant la gorge. Un design Emeric Partos, de vison brun pâle naturel Emba Palomino et "Jasmine", vison blanc Emba. Boucles d'oreilles Marvella. Vison rose, au centre, la nouvelle fourrure céleste comme le rougissement de l'aube sur la neige fraîche - un manteau avec un petit col dodu, des poignets de chemise, une ceinture en cuir blanc à travers des anneaux de ceinture en vison. Par J. Weinig, de vison rose pâle naturel Glacial Emba. Boucles d'oreilles Hattie Carnegie. Vison pâle en deux largeurs, à droite, travaillé en couches alternées pour un merveilleux effet de lumière et d'ombre. Col cranté, ceinture en cuir. Par Betty Yokova pour Neustadter, de variété Breath of Spring « Tourmaline », vison naturel beige pâle Emba. Boucles d'oreilles Richelieu. Avec les trois manteaux en vison pâle : bottes Evins. Coiffures : Ara Gallant ; postiches Tovar-Tresses.

Photo Richard Avedon vogue archive

[drivinmeinsane]

So I can't stop thinking about when I bought my minx coat Ken and these where the frequently bought together items.

I'm left imagining a Ken left out on a dog tie only being thrown very expensive Pecans as sustenance. It's haunting me and I think someone should write it as a way to exorcise this demon from my mind (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

I now require all requests to be as delightedly weird as this one. Thank you for sending this in and making me get it done. I had a blast writing this. <3

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: He’s got no money. He’s got no car. He’s got no house. He’s got artisanal pecans.

※ Rating: G for generally upsetting all audiences

※ Word count: 853

The screen door creaks obnoxiously as you shove it open and step down onto your back porch. You barely have the time to let it shut behind you before a blond man comes barreling towards you on all fours. Ken all but tackles you in his excitement.

“Easy, Ken, easy,” you admonish.

He settles at your feet, chastised, faux mink coat spilling around him. His glittery blue collar is in sharp contrast to the gray fur. His tag jingles against the clip at the end of his tether. It’s a necessary precaution to keep him from wandering too far. Despite all his protests otherwise, you know he would be liable to set out on a three hour walk to some unknown location and take another three hours to return only with some misguided ideals in his head.

You run a gentle hand through his hair. He leans up into your touch, clearly enjoying the sensation of your nails against his scalp. He would gladly be petted all day if possible.

“I brought you something,” you say with a smile.

You give the bag of expensive pecans that you’re holding in your hand a shake, drawing the blond’s attention to it. After careful research, making sure to do a deep dive on each company, you were sure you had found the best pecans to give your hungry boy as a treat. He was so fond of dried fruit and glazed nuts that you would be shocked if he didn’t like the Sahale Snacks® pecans in the ‘Valdosta’ variety.

Ken puts his hands on your legs, forgetting himself in his delight. He’s almost panting in his eagerness for the treat in your grasp. You can’t allow bad behavior so you step back, dislodging his hold. “Off, Ken. You know better.”

He immediately pulls his hands away. He rests them against the outdoor rug, digging his fingers into short fibers in the effort to contain himself. A wide smile spreads across his face when you praise him for obeying. He loves nothing more than to make you happy. He can’t help the wiggle his body does in excitement as you open the bag and stick your hand in to grab a small handful of the mix. The crinkling noise has his rapt attention. The glaze is sticky on your fingers.

You withdraw your hand and offer him his good boy treat. He props himself on his knees and makes eye contact, he waits patiently for your permission. You give him an encouraging nod. He presses his mouth into your cupped hand and eats the pecans. His lips are soft against your palm and there’s a whiskery hint of his stubble. You feel the wet brush of his tongue as he seeks out every crumb.

He pulls back, a thoughtful look in his usually vacant, blue eyes. “Is it me or do these pecans just get dreamier and dreamier?” he asks, his tone a little congested with emotion.

“That’s because they’re Sahale Snacks® pecans. They’re a nicer brand than you’ve been getting.”

He looks stunned that you upgraded him from the Great Value™ Dried Cranberries & Candied Pecans to this new brand. From a salad topper to an actual glazed nut mix? It’s like you had just given him the world, like you respected him in a way that was beyond ordinary®.

You offer him another small handful and he all but lunges for them. The kneeling man finds a cranberry amongst the nuts and lets out a pleased groan. He vacuums up every morsel. You giggle a little at the way his eager snuffling against your skin tickles. He looks at the bag in your other hand and his eyes inexplicably start to well up with tears. Before you can reach out to give him a soothing pet, he bursts into hysterical sobs.

"Don't look at me!" He's crying. He's actually crying over the pecans.

"That good, huh?" You ask gently.

He nods, sniffling pathetically as he swallows. “They’re sublime.”

You take a seat on the patio and set the bag aside. You give your leg a coaxing pat and suddenly, Ken’s on your lap like an overzealous dog. You take it in stride.

“You’re a good boy, Ken.”

He whines at the praise. You follow up your approval with a scritch under his jaw. He squirms delightedly, almost getting tangled in his tether. He rolls over for a belly scratch and you oblige him. You almost think his foot is going to start kicking, he’s that into it. You let him lay across your legs for a while, letting him enjoy the aftertaste of the glazed mix and your affectionate petting. All things must come to and end though, and before long you’re encouraging the man off of you. He scrambles to his hands and knees and gives you a betrayed look that’s not eased by a smoothed over his head. His coat is slipping down, revealing a bare shoulder. You grasp the material and straighten it before getting ready to go back in the house.

“I’ll see you later. Be good. I know you pecan.”