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avis-writeshq · 8 months ago

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not me asking for it https://www.tumblr.com/avis-writeshq/744966259884556288/if-someone-asks-for-it-ill-write-a-fic-based-on?source=share

pairing: s9!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff, established relationship, SMUT warnings: 18+ CONTENT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !! oral fem receiving, spencer reid is a munch, hair pulling, fingering a/n: a promise is a promise !! based off of this post <3 i hope this lived up to expectations !! first time writing fem oral ha h a ha wc: 1.1k

Honestly, if there’s one person Spencer can blame for the situation he is currently in, he blames himself. After all, he should have known that a ‘gathering’ at Rossi’s house that was planned by Penelope would only call for a lot of teasing, a lot of ‘get to know each other!’ games (despite the fact that he has worked with this same team for more than seven years. What else is there to know?), and a lot of alcohol. He didn’t quite realise that these games would be of the drinking variety. Alas, here he is, sitting on one of Rossi’s incredibly expensive leather couches and cringing at the horrid taste of whiskey.

The game they’re currently playing is an alcoholic’s rendition of ‘who is most likely to?’, involving a thick stack of cards with different topics while each member of the team took turns reading out. Whoever ended up with the most amount fingers pointed in their direction was forced to drink.

Spencer hates this game. He has drank from his cup a grand total of six times, and he is not getting any more used to the spicy-poison-equivalent in his hand.

“Alright, this is a good one,” Derek announces with a manic snigger. “Who here is most likely to be a munch?”

There is no hesitation in anyone’s answers, and all six fingers point into Spencer’s direction. His jaw drops at the betrayal, his head spinning from the sheer amount of shots he had to take but also what the hell is a munch?

“I don’t even know what that means!” He insists.

“Oh–” Penelope wears a half delighted half pitying expression at his words. “We really need to get you onto the internet more. Reddit is probably up your alley.”

“Even Rossi knows what it means,” Emily cackles, gesturing to Rossi who looks all too pleased. “Hotch was my second option though.”

Aaron shrugs, sipping at his drink. “Guilty.”

A chorus of laughs and shrieks erupt from the group, leaving Spencer even more confused. “What?”

“Don’t Google it,” JJ chimes in. “Seriously.”

Spencer nods, and although he knows that he should have taken the warning seriously, the curiosity was getting to him and he had no choice but to search it up as soon as he got home. He gets the usual answers– the etymology of the word, what it means in the Oxford Dictionary, the popularity of the word since the early 1800s, and he really doesn’t understand what the fuss is. Does the team think that he eats loudly? Or that he chews with his mouth open? His brows furrow at the unsightly thought.

His interest soon shifts to a different a different link, namely The Urban Dictionary. He blinks, clicking on the link without much thought and– oh. He does not get much sleep that night.

***

Your relationship with Spencer isn’t a secret. At least, it was never supposed to be classified as such. He is simply an incredibly private person that even his closest friends don’t know that you exist. It simply never popped up in conversation– or so he says.

The relationship isn’t necessarily new either. It’s nearing the one year mark and you have gotten to the point where the two of you have been more ‘experimental’ when it comes to sex. He finds it embarrassing. You find it unsurprising that he would. You find it even more surprising when he breaks a kiss halfway to lower you onto his bed, your head falling to one of his very expensive memory foam pillows.

“I want to try something,” he announces softly into your ear, squeezing gently at your waist and looping his fingers into his shorts. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, body hot with anticipation as he pulls down your shorts. It’s only when he brings his face between your thighs do you realise what he intends to do. “Spence, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he repeats softly, his fingers running up and down the lacy fabric at your slit. “If you want me to stop, you can tell me.”

You shake your head immediately at that, your hands moving to his grip his shoulders. “No, I don’t want you to stop but– but Spence, this is the first time you’ve done this. It’s okay–”

“Let me do this for you,” he says, his breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of your thighs. “I’ve done my research.”

“What–”

You’re silenced as soon as he presses his lips to your cunt, only separated by your pretty lacy underwear. He groans quietly at the taste of your slick seeping through the fabric, and his hands hold onto your thighs to keep them parted. It’s so good, so good, but it just isn’t enough. He pushes the fabric to the side, watching the way it clings and sticks to your skin.

All it takes is one swipe of his tongue on your pretty clit for his brain to grow blank. The grip he has on your thighs grow firmer and his fingers dig in hard enough to leave little marks. His nose bumps against your clit while his tongue travels against your folds.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes against you, lapping at your dripping cunt. “Fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

Then, he’s on you all over again. His lips wrap around your clit and he whines into you as he sucks at the bundle of nerves. Each one of his actions has your back lifting from the bed and your hands tugging at his curls, to which he responds with a quiet moan. Amidst the pleasure, your mind nags you to be gentle, and you loosen your grip despite it taking all of your self control.

“Do that again.” He says it as a demand, guiding your hands back into his hair. “Do it again, angel.”

His head is spinning and he craves for more of you, his tongue flattening against your clit over and over again. He brings his own fingers to brush against your entrance, coating them with your slick before slipping his middle finger inside. It’s only the first knuckle but it’s enough to have you squirming beneath him. He pushes further until it reaches all the way, and Spencer groans at the feeling of you tightening around him. He kisses your clit again at the same time he curls his finger inside you and it’s all too much.

“Spence–”

You gush around his finger and he licks and laps at your pussy like he needs it to breathe. His finger curls open and closed inside you while you rock your hips against his face, your grip on his hair tightening as each second of your high passes.

“So good,” Spencer moans, kissing your clit. “Taste so good. You can do one more, right, angel? Just one more, I promise.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

tagging the people who commented on the original post: @mosaicbrokenherz @doigettokeepyou @goblinintheblog @cassioxpeiaxmgg @daddytenebra @lilliumrorum @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @lightreiding

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hogwartsfirebolt · 9 months ago

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the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

#quidditch rivals but ohh they’re secret lovers bet NOBODY saw that coming #kinda unsure about the tone shift at the end but ITS LATE I’m sorry ok #I just wanted earnest Harry which is MY FAVORITW THING #drarry #drarry fic #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #my writing #mywriting

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mybeingthere · 6 months ago

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My favourite national attire - The Hanbok

Song Seonmin, Freelance Fashion Editor, explains: "What completes a hanbok is not the person who makes it, but the person who wears it. Clothes that are kept close to you and worn for a long time rather than being an object of reverence or appreciation. This clothing, which exists on a two-dimensional surface, comes to life the moment it becomes one with our three-dimensional body. The closer you look, the quieter the chorus of lines and planes that permeates your eyes and mind.

The most important action in wearing hanbok is 'fastening' . It becomes the most beautiful piece of clothing when the front length with pus and the back length on the back meet and fit properly to the body. The structure of clothing also changes depending on how it is fastened. The doryeon, which refers to the bottom of the jeogori, is naturally misaligned, but when the outer layer is properly fastened, it finally takes on a neat appearance. Although they are born through flat cutting, this is because they take into account that their bodies are three-dimensional.

The basic shape of the skirt.

Hanbok follows the upper and lower back. It is a virtue to wear a jeogori that fits tightly and a skirt that is loose. Therefore, you must wear the inner part properly to properly reveal the unique bulging lines of the hanbok skirt.

Unlike Western clothing, the Hanbok skirt can create new silhouettes from time to time, and it is different each time depending on how the back hem is held and wrapped around the body. This is an aesthetic that only a hanbok skirt can express.

Dongdong, collar, and pus.

Hanbok is a clothing in which straight lines and curves freely intersect. You can tell by looking at the harmony between the sharp straight lines of the feather and the collar that gently surrounds it. Also, pus is originally rectangular, but once it is boiled, it creates an infinitely soft curve.

Danghye, a flower shoe, is a shoe worn by women from Yanggat households. It is made by wrapping silk on leather and embroidering arabesque patterns on the toe and heel. These days, they are often called flower shoes. Just like the beoseon, the slightly raised front nose that looks like it will fly is lovely.

Baerae refers to the lower part of the sleeves of a jeogori, and the subtle curves of the hanbok reach their peak. During the Joseon Dynasty, the shape of Baerae differed depending on fashion and social status. In modern times, as the width of the sleeves becomes narrower, a more gently curved back line becomes the trend.

When wearing a skirt-shaped hanbok, you should press the chest area to make it as flat as possible to create a proper shape. The skirt, which has the function of tightening the chest, is sometimes hidden inside a jeogori, but as seen in Shin Yun-bok's 'Beautiful Island', the skirt can be worn with a short jeogori to fully expose the skirt. This is where the understated sensuality of Hanbok is revealed.

The beoseon wrapped around the width of the beoseon

skirt creates a more dizzying and voluptuous curve than any other element of hanbok. In particular, the beoseonko that rises brightly into the sky has an elegance that can never be felt in Western socks or stockings that clearly show the shape of the foot.

By Song Seonmin, Freelance Fashion Editor

Model Kim Wonkyoung

Hair by Han Jisun

Makeup by Ryu Hyunjung

http://www.dongbangyuhaeng.com/easterntrends/view.asp...

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aphrodisiac-siren · 2 years ago

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hi! i hope you’re doing well :)) this isn’t necessarily a request but i saw that you wrote a hogwarts au for aemond and i’ve been searching far and wide for a hufflepuff!reader and slytherin!aemond dynamic, so if you ever feel inspired to write anything with that, please know that i would read tf out of it! have a great day!! 💕

Heyy! I love me a Slytherin-Hufflepuff couple so I’m superrr excited about this one. I hope I did justice to your request.

Slytherin!Aemond X Hufflepuff!Reader

“And then the potion just exploded like boom, right in his his face and I don’t really see how that’s my fault since all I did was..”

Aemond patiently listened to you rant as you both were sat under the large oak tree in the school’s courtyard. The both of you had a free period and had opted to sit by the tree, you leaning against him as he flipped through your notebook, proofreading your essay on sirens while your bags were carelessly pushed toward your left, his green and white scarf tangled with your yellow and black one that were also tossed alongside your bags.

“And then I-“ you paused, taking a moment to look up at him, observing his brows knitted together as he focused on your essay “are you listening Aemond?”

“And then the smoke turned green, a horrible odour followed after.. yes I am listening Y/N, go on” he assured, still not looking up from the book in his hands.

You pouted slightly, wanting all of his attention. So you waited until he was done reading the whole thing and only once he’d looked up from those pages did you smile, ready to start talking again but Aemond beat you to it.

“There’s a mistake in the historical reference of your essay,” he said in his monotonous voice “Homer stated that the sirens are part bird and not-“

“From what I read, in the greek origins of the sirens, they allowed themselves to be prevailed upon by Hera to compete with the muses” you interrupted, quoting something you’d read in a book only the night before “since they lost, their wings were taken from them and they were tossed into the waters to which their bodies adapted and that’s how they’re part fish-“

“But those are called mermaids. The sirens never replicated their appearance” Aemond argued further “when they tried to lure a ship full of sailers who outsmarted the sirens, they threw themselves into the ocean and drowned. Some say they metamorphosed into rocks”

“So you’re claiming sirens to be extinct? That my essay in flawed?” you raised a brow, taking your book from his hand.

“All I’m saying is, perhaps you should read another book or two” he hummed “just to be sure”

A comfortable silence filled between you both. Aemond didn’t talk much unless it was related to academics.

This had always been the dynamic between you both, him being the quiet one and you, the comparatively louder one. You’d befriended him on your very first time aboard the Hogwarts express. He was sat by himself, fidgeting with the hem of his emerald green sweater, his shoulder-length hair pulled back neatly into a half-up, half-down hairstyle. He had a brown leather eye patch that covered his left eye.

Even at the age of eleven, he wasn’t at all talkative and you being you, sat beside him and sort of adopted him.

He seemed to like to hear you ramble about silly things. And even though you both were disappointed about being sorted into different houses, the both of you still stayed friends, growing closer and closer as the years went by.

You became his best friend, always walking around the hallways together, your shoulders bumping together, though as time went by and he grew his height, it was more like your shoulder bumping against his bicep.

You were the one who used to rush to his defence, regardless of the situation just the same as he used to rush to yours. The only difference? Aemond was a calm and collected person, always keeping his cool even when he was filled with rage to the brim meanwhile you were a short-tempered gremlin, quick to give into your anger and throw a punch. Aemond was usually the one who would have to break up the fights and pry you off of the poor student who had taken a good beating from you.

"Why do you always resort to fighting?" he'd ask you with a chuckle as he would come to walk you back to your common room after your detention.

"I can’t help it" you shrugged "he said something about you that I did not appreciate"

There were times when his older brother Aegon used to interrupt your peaceful moments, like the one you were presently having, to boast about how good he was at quidditch compared to his other teammates or sometimes to simply tease the both of you, stating that you lot would make an adorable couple.

You simply laughed along with him, while Aemond’s ears used to turn red.

"What are you lot doing this year for Christmas eve?" Aemond asked "there’s going to be some exchanging of presents in the Slytherin common room once its midnight"

"Oh we're just having the regular hot chocolate counter with cookies" you shrugged "though I'm sure the older students will sneak off for a smoke"

"Us Slytherins just spike the eggnog" he simply said, not giving you any further details.

"I'm going to sneak out too," you told him and that seemed to immediately regain his attention. You didn’t really smoke so it did catch him off-guard so you quickly clarified what your intent was behind sneaking out "not for a smoke. I was hoping to meet you"

"Oh" he simply said and it was hard for you to read his expression. Aemond was rather good at masking his emotions "past curfew"

"Yes past curfew" you giggled "wouldn’t be called sneaking out if it wasn’t"

"What for?" he asked, the corner of his lip curling up into a sly smile.

"Stop smirking Targaryen" you rolled your eyes, playfully punching his arm, that had him chuckling softly "I got you something for Christmas, but one more shit-eating grin and I will gift it to Aegon"

"Right right" he tried his best to suppress the smile "I got you something too, though I was going to wait until Christmas morning"

It was pretty much a ritual for Aemond and you to exchange gifts every Christmas. Unlike the older students, you both always sent each other presents by post. This year, you decided to stay in Hogwarts since your family were busy moving houses and you found that sort of thing boring and tiring. Since you were staying in school for the holidays, Aemond too had decided to wait back to keep you company.

You'd heard, over the years, many students talking about how they sneaked off at night to exchange gifts, taking walks along the grounds where Filch never patrolled, kissing in the silence of the night. It all sounded so sweet yet thrilling.

You too wanted to experience that, though perhaps expecting a kiss was a far fetch.

You wouldn’t say you had a crush on Aemond just the same way you knew Aemond never held any romantic feelings for you but you had thought about it, how the both of you would look walking around hand in hand, him leaning closer to hear your little rant and then letting out that adorable chuckle of his.

You wouldn’t deny that your friend was rather handsome, even though some of the other students made fun of his eye patch behind his back.

You couldn’t disagree more.

Aemond had lost an eye, but you would have to say it was those few others who were more blinded than him. How could someone look at him and not find him attractive?

"I'll see you at midnight then" Aemond stood up, offering his hand for you to take so that he might help you to your feet as well "meet me near the broom cupboard by the trophy room"

"Alright" you smiled as you slipped your hand into his. Aemond seemed to have forgotten that you were lighter than him in weight and tugged at your arm with such ferociousness, it sent you colliding right into his chest, sending the both of you toppling over and crashing right to the ground again.

Aemond grunted, feeling his arse sting from the impact while you broke out into a fit of giggles.

"It's not funny Y/N" Aemond spoke but you could very clearly hear the smile in his voice.

"I'll see you at midnight" you repeated his own statement "I hope you did not over-do it with your gift again this year"

As thrilling as sneaking out was, it was in equal measure, just as scary. Not only because you feared being caught but because you'd seen enough scary movies to make you paranoid.

When you arrived by the decided broom cupboard, you found yourself to be alone. You gently tapped your foot while you awaited Aemond.

The creaking of the cupboard doors caught you off guard as they slowly swung open and you could swear you had a heart attack. A hand immediately reached out to cover your mouth right as you were about to scream before another reached out and pulled you inside the cupboard.

"Shh, quit swatting my arm you- ouch. Lumos"

Your movement seized the moment the inside of the cupboard lit up, to reveal Aemond looking at you with a rather amused expression.

"If you are done being a gremlin, might we move on to the gift-giving, hm?" he said with a playful grin just as he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out a neatly wrapped present.

You too reached beneath your hoodie, retrieving the gift that you had tucked into the waistband of your trousers.

"Merry Christmas Aemond" you smiled as you handed him his gift.

"Merry Christmas Y/N" he returned the smile as he too passed you your gift.

He carefully took apart the wrapping, making sure he didn’t rip it- a habit he'd picked from his mother.

"Woah, where'd you get this" he whisper-yelled excitedly as he admired the book you'd gotten him. Aemond was a lad of many interests but the one thing he was absolutely obsessed with, was dragons. On you visit to Diagon alley, you saw a book on dragonology in the bookstore; it was a signed first copy and even though it was a bit expensive, you didn’t mind spending your allowance on it.

"Open it" you said, just as excited as him.

Aemond did as you instructed, flipping open the cover of the hardbound book to find two tickets to the game of his favourite Quidditch team amidst the pages.

"Y/N how did you get these?" his jaw was hanging open, unable to process all of this "I've been trying to get a hold of these for weeks"

"Oh one of my friend's father is working as security for the venue" you told him with a proud shrug "I asked her if he could manage to get me two tickets. You can take Aegon with you, maybe even a date"

Aemond was smiling from ear to ear, a rare yet adorable occurrence.

"Your turn now" he cleared his throat, pointing to the unwrapped gift in your hands "go on"

You slowly opened your gift, unlike Aemond, you didn’t care if the wrapping ripped a little but you still tried to be careful since the wrapper was a pretty one.

Once the paper was completely off, you were left with a beautiful velvet box in your hand.

"Is there a ring in here, you gonna propose?" you joked with a devilish grin that had Aemond roll his eye.

You gently opened the lid to reveal a beautiful necklace with a dainty topaz pendant. The chain was of a thin band of silver, intertwining with a thin band of the darkest emerald green.

Aemond came from a very rich family and each year he used to bring you rather expensive gifts that you were rather hesitant to accept. This year however, he went way overboard with this expensive piece of jewellery.

"Aemond I can’t accept this" your voice came out as barely a whisper as you eyes the yellow gemstone "this must’ve cost you a fortune"

"Oh hush" he blew a raspberry "I saw it and it reminded me of us. The green in the chain is me, slytherin and the topaz stone is the colour of your house. Open it"

"Huh?"

"It's a locket," he told you as he pointed at the necklace "the gemstone is fused with a small locket"

You careful took the pendant in you hand and turned it to find a thin line running across the sides, indicating that it was indeed a locket. Carefully, you pried it open and the moment you did, it projected a small yet hazy image that began to move.

It was you and Aemond as children. You were on the Hogwarts express, laughing as you both tried Bertie Bott's every flavoured beans.

The image changed.

It was you and him in your third year, hugging him after you both had returned from Christmas break.

The image changed again and again, showing you many glimpses of a few happy moments you'd shared with Aemond.

"These are some of my favourite memories of us" he sheepishly said, looking down at you eagerly to see how you would react "it was a little difficult for me to charm the locket to do it, my uncle Daemon helped me"

"This is so sweet" you threw your arms around him to pull him in for a hug and Aemond instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you closer.

"Need me to help you put it on?" he asked while still being in your embrace.

"mhm I-"

"Oi, who's out here?"

The both of you immediately pulled away, eyes wide as you heard Filch's voice boom across the hallways. Aemond held a finger to his lips, to tell you to remain quiet.

"Nox" he softly whispered and immediately, the cupboard was dark once again.

You both could hear the footsteps getting louder and louder and you held your breath as if that would help. The doors of the cupboard slowly began to move but before Filch could fully open them, Aemond raised his wand and mumbled a spell under his breath.

"Rictumsepra"

Filch immediately stumbled backwards, clutching his stomach as he burst into laughter. He sunk to the floor, rolling as he cackled helplessly.

Aemond caught you by the wrist, dragging you outside the the cupboard as he dashed down the hallway, you following after him. He kept running and running until the both of you had reached the changing rooms near the quidditch pitch.

You were out of breath by the time you'd stopped, leaning against the wall as you panted, Aemond doing the same.

"He doesn’t come this way" he managed to form a sentence "Aegon mentioned it a few times"

You simply nodded, still a bit tired from all that running. Eventually, once you had somewhat caught your breath, you burst into a fit of giggles, Aemond laughing along with you.

"That was fun" you said in between your giggles.

"Yea it wa-" Aemond paused as something else caught his attention. He began to once again chuckle uncontrollably, pointing his finger upward as he looked down at his feet to avoid you seeing the blush rise to his cheeks.

You looked to where he was pointing and immediately looked away, smiling sheepishly.

"Mistletoe" you mumbled.

"Mistletoe" he repeated.

Aemond finally looked up to meet your gaze, drawing a sharp breath.

"Well?" he asked gingerly, awaiting your response.

"Well tradition is tradition" you shrugged, hoping that he couldn’t hear your heart that was beating ferociously in your chest. You took a step closer, him doing the same. His large hand came up to cup the side of your face before he leaned down.

You eyes fluttered shut right before you felt his soft lips against yours.

You expected him to leave you with a simple peck but he tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss. You instinctively hummed into the kiss, gently fisting his warm sweater, pulling him even closer.

It was like fireworks going off inside you. The way his lips moulded against yours, the way his fingers tangled in your hair, the soft whimpers escaping his lips, it was all driving you insane.

You were kissing Aemond Targaryen.

If the both of you weren’t already out of breath from all that running, you would be snogging for a little while longer but you had to break the kiss to catch your breaths.

Aemond rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cupping your face.

"Would've kissed you even without the obligation of tradition" Aemond breathed out, his lips brushing against yours "been wanting to kiss you for a while now"

You only smiled, still taking your time to process all of it.

"You said that I could perhaps take a date with me to that quidditch game" he gave you a boyish grin, playfully bumping his nose with yours "can I maybe take you out?"

You pocketed the box with the necklace and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in for another kiss.

"I'll take that as a yes?" he asked with a chuckle as his lips moved expertly against yours.

"Yes" you confirmed with a hum into the kiss.

#aemond targaryen #aemond smut #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #harry potter #slytherin #hogwarts #slytherin aemond #hufflepuff reader

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snotsloth · 8 months ago

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Orion D'Oschon

— B A S I C S

Name: Orion D'Oschon

Nicknames: Rion (mostly G'raha), Legs or Specs (mostly Kendra)

Age: 30ish

Nameday: 19th Sun of the 5th Astral Moon

Race: Xaela

Gender: Cis Male

Orientation: Bisexual

Profession: Warrior of Light, Aetherologist, part-time Historian, Botanist

— P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Burnt Umber (Very dark reddish brown), kept short except for a section of braids along his right temple. Orion's hair is very thick and dense, giving a matte or velvet effect in the light.

Eyes: Amber with golden limbal rings

Skin: Umber (a bit lighter than his hair but in the same color family)

Tattoos/scars: He's got a pretty big scar running down his left leg from the fight with Zenos in Rhalger's Reach, small surgical scars around his knees from where he had to have reconstructive work done after Endwalker, and a small Mol clan tattoo on his inner wrist.

— F A M I L Y

Parents: Dolgoon Qestir (father) and Odsetseg Mol (mother). Both are alive and well and living in Ul'Dah. They also use the D'OSchon surname in Eorzea.

Siblings: None.

Grandparents: Temulun Mol

In-laws and Other: Cousin - Cirina Mol. Various other cousins, aunts, and uncles within the Mol tribe. No In-laws, Kendra doesn't have any living family.

Pets: Birdlegs (chocobo), Lily (Eos, she's not a pet, but she's important and I wanted to list her), Walpole (a very bitchy Carbuncle).

— S K I L L S

Abilities: SCH main (Scholar questline is canon for him), aetherology (he started his work with the Scions as Y'shtola's personal assistant), experienced and competent field medic, unique echo manifestation gives him the ability to see the flow of aether around him in a synesthesia-like effect.

Hobbies: Reading, astrology (learned from his mom), botany and gardening, botanical drawing, alchemy, helping Kendra in the kitchen, knitting, letter writing.

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Orion has an inquisitive mind. His desire, not only to know but to fully understand phenomena has led him to several ground-breaking discoveries. And he does not hoard knowledge. He'll enthusiastically share his findings with anyone who cares to listen. He is also just as inquisitive and keen to understand in social situations, making him an empathetic and open-minded person in general.

Most Negative Trait: Orion has a deep-seated distrust of governments and other institutions of traditional authority. This is not without reason, or even some merit, but it can make him difficult to work with when it comes to large-scale endeavors. His words or actions have nearly cost the Scions a deal more than once.

— L I K E S

Colors: Blue, especially woad, ink, and rhotano blue / Green / White / Warm browns / Metalics, especially gold.

Smells: Sandalwood, cedar, oolong tea, jasmine (reminds him of Kendra's perfume), libraries and well-preserved old paper, and morning fog in the Dravanian highlands.

Textures: The downy fur of Kendra's ears / yarn spun from the karakul of the Azim Steppe / well-loved leather-bound books / smooth, expertly-blown alchemical glassware.

Drinks: Tea, especially oolong or pu-erh. If Orion does not have access to actual pu-erh, he will make an equivalent with the darkest Sharlayan-style tea blend he can find, a custom blend of additives he will not divulge, and karakul milk. Just tasting it once put Urianger in a sickbed for two days. / Botanical spirits such as gin and aperitifs. He's even made a few himself.

— O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Medicinally smokes whatever variety of moko grass gets you stoned. He will also occasionally smoke tobacco socially, especially cigars.

Drinks: An adventurous but moderate drinker. He'll try anything at least once. He can occasionally be cajoled into heavier indulgence but that's abated as he's gotten older.

Drugs: There have been a few controlled "experiments" over the years.

Mount Issuance: Birdlegs is his primary mount that travels with him almost everywhere. The dusky, gigantic chocobo has become a bit of a legend in her own right. However, he does also technically have a yol as well, but has entrusted Cirina with his care because there's just not enough room on any of his properties for a bird of that size.

Been Arrested: For a mild-mannered professor type, Orion has been arrested so many times.

Tagged by:@ardberts🤍 tyyyy! Tagging: @physicalvocalist@sarenraegalpaladin@janzoo@airis-ray@ae-fond-seeker@captainqster@koijikido@adina--astra@iron-sparrow Sorry if you've already done this or been tagged before! I tried to pick mutuals I hadn't seen this from yet.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #orion d'oschon #wol #ffxiv wol #character profile #oc asks sort of

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leatherrepaircompany · 1 month ago

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Leather vs. Faux: Which Material is Truly Sustainable?

As sustainability continues to influence consumer choices, understanding the environmental impacts of leather and faux (synthetic) leather is vital. Both natural and synthetic materials bring distinct environmental considerations, especially when it comes to greenhouse gas emissions. While methane from animals used in leather production has a notable short-term warming effect, the carbon dioxide emissions from faux leather production can have a more enduring environmental impact. Here, we explore the sustainability debate between leather and faux materials, considering factors such as production impact, biodegradability, and long-term environmental effects.

Understanding Greenhouse Gas Emissions

The greenhouse gases produced in both the leather and faux leather industries have different roles in climate change:

Methane Emissions from Animals: Methane is emitted by livestock as part of their digestive process. Although methane is a potent greenhouse gas, trapping heat 84-87 times more effectively than CO2 over 20 years, it has a relatively short atmospheric lifespan of around 12 years. After this period, methane breaks down into CO2 and water, which plants can absorb through photosynthesis. This natural methane cycle means that, when managed well, methane emissions from animals do not accumulate indefinitely in the atmosphere.

CO2 Emissions from Faux Leather Production: Faux leather, typically made from petroleum-based products such as polyurethane (PU) or polyvinyl chloride (PVC), is more energy-intensive to produce. The extraction, processing, and manufacturing of these materials release significant amounts of CO2, a greenhouse gas that can persist in the atmosphere for centuries. Unlike methane, CO2 from synthetic materials does not break down quickly, leading to a cumulative, long-term effect on global warming.

Biodegradability and Disposal

When it comes to end-of-life disposal, leather and faux leather have contrasting impacts on the environment:

Natural Leather: If produced using eco-friendly tanning methods, such as vegetable tanning, natural leather is biodegradable and can decompose over time. This helps reduce waste in landfills, particularly compared to materials that do not easily break down.

Faux Leather: Synthetic materials used in faux leather are not biodegradable. They persist in landfills, potentially for hundreds of years, and can release microplastics into the environment. This disposal challenge adds to the environmental impact of faux leather, especially in areas where recycling infrastructure for synthetic materials is lacking.

Production and Sustainability Factors

Leather as a By-Product: Natural leather is often a by-product of the meat industry, using hides that would otherwise go to waste. While animal agriculture does contribute to methane emissions, the leather industry utilises resources that are already within the agricultural system, adding value to materials that might otherwise be discarded.

Resource-Intensive Faux Leather Production: Faux leather production relies heavily on fossil fuels, contributing to significant CO2 emissions and non-renewable resource use. While these materials avoid the ethical concerns of animal products, their environmental impact is linked to fossil fuel extraction, greenhouse gas emissions, and persistent waste.

Choosing the Most Sustainable Option

So, how do we choose a sustainable leather option? It’s essential to consider the entire life cycle of the material, from production and use to disposal. Here are some tips for selecting more sustainable leather products:

For Natural Leather: Look for vegetable-tanned, chrome-free, or organic-certified leather products, as these use fewer chemicals and are often biodegradable.

For Faux Leather: Consider bio-based alternatives, such as those made from pineapple leaves, apple peels, or mycelium (mushroom leather), which aim to reduce reliance on fossil fuels and offer lower-carbon, renewable options.

Evaluate Longevity and Purpose: A durable leather product that lasts for years can be more sustainable than low-quality, disposable items, whether natural or synthetic.

Final Thoughts

While natural leather and faux leather both come with environmental impacts, their sustainability largely depends on production practices and material sourcing. Leather’s shorter-lived methane emissions can be managed within a natural cycle, whereas synthetic leather’s CO2 footprint has a lasting effect on global warming. To make the most sustainable choice, look for responsibly produced materials and prioritise long-lasting, high-quality products. Reducing our environmental impact requires careful consideration of every step in a product’s life cycle, from raw material extraction to disposal

#sustainability #sustainablefashion #co2 #co2 emissions #ecofriendly #circular economy #reduce co2 #carbon footprint #leathercare #leathervsfaux #climate action #green products #leather #leather fashion

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