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[avis-writeshq]

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

[hogwartsfirebolt]

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

[dustyrkives]

Savage Needs

PAIRING: Ada Wong x fem reader

WARNINGS: Nemean Lion Alpha Ada, GP Ada because I said so, parents AU, est. relationship (they're mates), tribe AU, omega r, feral Ada, primal Ada, groping, teasing, delayed gratification, spanking, dry humping, anal sex, anal penetration, unprotected sex, raw sex, p0rn without plot, cockwarming, marking and biting.

SYNOPSIS: When your mate returns from scouting, she comes back needy. But when you decide to ignore her, she takes matters in her own hands.

MEN, MINORS DNI

The cubs are out playing, and you're doing chores.

And your mate?

Needy.

She had just returned from doing her rounds with the pack's men. Now she's seated at the straw settee, legs spread, exposing her raging bulge beneath her long loin cloth, sweat coating her torso–highlighting her abs.

Gods, she looks delectable. So delectable, that maybe delayed gratification is the best solution–for now.

So what did you do?

You hand her a cup of water and resume cleaning the hut. Your mate blinks at you, appalled by your choice to ignore the obvious need in between her legs.

"What?" She huffs and pats on her strong thighs. "Mate. Come."

Her call falls on deaf ears while you tidied up. With a low growl she stands in full-height and strides towards you. Your stomach churns as your eyes linger at her domineering stature before you pretend not to see her and clean the makeshift kitchen.

Strong arms wrap around your waist as she pins your front against the clay counter. A sharp gasp leaves your lips when her calloused hands grope your breasts, teasing your nipples, eliciting both a sigh and a moan from you while she grinds her hard cock against your ass. Her breath hot and desperate as she pins her full weight against you.

"Need. Mate." Ada whines, nipping the shell of your ear, her cock needing attention.

However, you continue to play ignorant to her needs. "Ada, my love, I need to clean."

Another whine vibrates from her lips as she humps against you like a needy young lion, her precum is soiling her loin cloth, creating an obvious wet spot against the fabric as she curls her arms tighter and continue fondling your chests, palming and squeezing them with her hands.

Your hands held onto the counter for support as moans and mewls tumble from your lips. Ada's lips morph into a mischievous smirk as she rubs her hips before thrusting her covered, aching member against your clothed ass.

"Dirty," Your mate huffs and spanks your rear before shamelessly rutting against you in abandon. Your cunt flutters and clenches around nothing as a pool of wetness stains the rear of your tribal skirt.

Your head drops as you feel the clothed tip poke against your covered folds, wetness seeping through the fabric and all you can think of is how her cock would feel inside your walls again–but not now.

Her lips press against the muscles at the back of your neck, leaving a trail of saliva, matching the way her cock is dribbling with precum; you both can hear the way your clothes rub against each other before your inhibitions are thrown out of the window and turn around, pulling the savage for a wet, sloppy kiss.

Ada pushes you to sit against the counter, her hands guiding your hips to rub against hers as muffled grunts reverberate from her chest as she rubs her hips against you. Your lungs burned for oxygen as you continue to kiss her before pulling back, leaving a string of saliva before she kisses it away and hides her face in the crook of your neck, her soft, whiny moans vibrating against your skin.

Her hands snake to your ass, grabbing and squeezing it before landing a soft spank. Your eyes roll back as she fastens the face, her hips not leaving yours as she continues to gyrate, creating a sweet, eye-rolling friction as your hand grabs onto her leather tunic, slipping into the gaps where her skin is exposed and touching, scratching her there.

The short-haired brute groans, her cock stands proud as it rubs against yours clothed pussy, veins throbbing and balls pressed against the shaft as she humps against you, heavy with fertile seed.

She removes her face from your neck and kisses you again, wet, needy and sloppy. Your wet lip-locking echoes throughout the shared space as you both give into your needs.

Ada guides her cock against the hood your clit, rubbing and plowing against you. You bite your lower lip to prevent a loud moan from erupting as more precum seeps through Ada's loincloth. You press yourself against her, hips shamelessly meeting hers as you hump against each other. Both eyes are closed and jaws slack.

"Ngnn–mpphh" The beast whines before her teeth latch onto your skin, piercing the flesh as her orgasm sweeps through her body and you feel a familiar sensation brewing in your stomach before a gush of wetness spurts from your folds while Ada's knot knot pops out, creating a bigger bulge through her cloth as it spills her seed.

You both stay cuddled while Ada purrs and kisses your scent glands around your neck, licking it flat with her tongue while you play with the ends of her hair.

After a few minutes, Ada's wasted knot loosens and reverts back to normal before she shakes out of her daze and lens down, pecking your lips.

"Me want more," She rumbled, on cue, you feel her harden again. Your chest heaves, still recovering from your orgasm as you look at your mate.

Eyes bright, pleading for more as she moves her hips.

Swallowing, your lips brush against her ear. "Keep the cubs busy first."

With a huff, Ada reluctantly pulls away from you. You nearly whine from the loss of her warmth before you slump against the counter.

From the window, you see Ada approach the twins with her hands on her hips, telling them something.

A small smile graces your lips when the twins eagerly nod and continue playing with the wooden toys that Ada had patiently carved during her spare time.

Ada strides back to the hut and huffs, "Bed. Now." She didn't even wait for you to comply as she grabs your wrist, tugging you to your shared private quarters.

You giggle at her impatience before it gets cut off with a gasp as she effortlessly throws you to the sheets. She quickly disregards her loincloth, powerful arms ripping the leather tunic with little to no effort–you feel yourself get wet at the display of power and savagery displayed by your mate as she gestures a finger for you to lay on your stomach.

Gulping and needy, you obey your mate's silent command as she perched herself on the sheets, stalking towards you like a predator.

You bite your lower lip, seeing her shadow loom above you while her hands make quick work on tearing your skirt, tossing it haphazardly across the room. A gasp falls from your lips as your folds flutter against the air, moist and in need of relief. But Ada's eyes focus onto your ass, grabbing, spanking and kneading.

You're left as a whimpering, moaning mess as her thumb penetrates your ass. Your mate grins and retracts her thumb before pushing her girthy cock inside your rear before thrusting with abandon, each pull and push knocks the breath from your lungs.

She quickly tears your shirt and pushes you into the mattress, fingers sprawled, clawing at the animal hides as she ruts into you.

Ada grits her fangs, hands gripping your hips, dragging you against her cock, using you, holding you.

"Tight." The beast growls, "Warm."

With one hand sliding up your back, pressing you down between your shoulder blades, forcing your arch deeper, making you feel every inch of her splitting you open.

The alpha leans down, whispering against your ear. "Mine."

On cue the muscles inside your anus clenches around her, ripping a pristine moan from the barbarian as she fucks into you. Harder.

The bed creaks, her cum and precum smearing your ass with your slick as she plows her hips savagely; taking you like you're nothing more than a toy for her pleasure.

Ada's pace is simply delicious. Sloppy, rude hips smacking against your ass, your back is arched, hands clawing anything for support as fucks into you.

"A-Ah!" You cry out as she uses her strength against your poor body; her pace unforgiving, propelling herself into your ass. She bites her lower lip from the way your ass contracts against her–so snug. Amber-hued crevices narrow while observing the way your ass quakes from her powerful plows.

She bites into your shoulder again before lapping it clean with her tongue.

Your eyes roll back as you push your ass against her front, chasing your release–both your release, and Ada moans before plowing her cock deep, pumping you full before her knot pops out.

Both if your moans echo in the room as Ada stills her hips while she pumps your ass full of cum.

Your orgasm follows suit, legs trembling as you drip onto the bed, your mixed essence creating a mess on the sheets. Your mate lands lone last spank against your ass before resting against you.

You both pant against each other, Ada's lips press soothing kisses against your nape before kissing your mark. Both mates knowing it won't be long until she decides to impregnate you with a third cub.

[cecilioque]

Other Important Notes about the Hats

These are industry standard uniform hats. They have a thick PU leather sweat band to prevent sweat stains and so it can slide on with more ease. This is especially important for the white hats. As nice as a fabric sweat band might seem, there is no way to clean that and will inevitably stain over time and use. That is why we opted for PU leather that can be wiped off.

You might notice the slight "wavy" look of the sweat band (not all have this). This is because it is a circular shape and has not been worn yet. It also spent a long time on a boat getting here. This should go away with use as the hat forms to your head. The ends of the sweat band are also not stitched together, but the band is attached to the hat with a back stitch to secure it. The slit is a limitation of the material as well as makes it easier to put on or take off the hat without putting stress on the material. Is this a problem? NO. Like a shoe, you have to break in this hat in by wearing it. In short they fit better the more you wear it.

Like all articles of clothing please refrain from pulling off pieces by force, crushing it out of shape, picking at the seams and threads, or exposing to large amounts of water. If you need to treat it for stains, use methods used for polyester materials. This means you cannot use high heat on them. With care these hats should last a long time with occasional cleaning as all cosplay does.

The metal badge was upgraded to a thicker hard enamel badge with a smooth flat finish and black nickel plating. This is fastened/bolted to the hat with a screw that is hidden and cushioned behind interior lining. If you play with the badge and spin it, the badge might become loose. Since the interior is lined to cover the hardware, if you unscrew the badge it will be hard to tighten up again. Minimal adjustments will not affect the badge.

The hats are packaged with all recyclable materials. Instead of using clear plastic tape, we decided to get water activated tape that is more sturdy and can be recycled. Domestic orders will be taped up with this. International orders will have plain water based tape with a strip of the custom tape inside. Why not decorate the international boxes exterior? Since they have to travel much farther, using plain tape brings less attention and makes the packages less of a target of theft. On top of that, not all countries support custom packaging.

If you have any further questions feel free to contact me via asks or emails.

[xxfaithlynxx]

Ironclad Survival

Prologue ~ Chp. 1 ~ Chp. 2 ~ Chp. 3 ~

Word Count: 4k (4007)

Okay- using his Myth: Dragon name! Since we don't know how he actually pronounced it (at least I don't think he pronounced it! Don't come at me!)- I'm going with: 'Stare-us'

NOT PROOFREAD!

Please DO NOT steal or plagiarize my work. Much appreciated! As always.

Ω ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ω

Chapter 2:

I slowly turned, my ears twitching from a heat creeping into them, and as the scrape of metal on stone from his moving chains rattled my nerves. “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice, a hushed baritone, gravelly, and smooth yet seething with something fierce below its surface, seemed curious as he suddenly inhaled loudly.

“You smell wrong, for a grown female.” That little quip made me complete the spiral to face him with the deadliest glare I could muster. What the fuck did that mean? What I came face to face with was beyond anything my imagination could conjure.

What leaned against the bars with thick tree trunk like arms held aloft, covered in leather and belts that only stopped at his shoulders and covered the upper portions of his biceps along one arm, while entirely revealing the other, between were the most chiseled male pectorals I’d ever seen, complete with rosy, pink nipples. This revelation included the males I’d passed coming down here.

A narrow waist, with again, the most defined ab muscles known to man carved in male form. This was the first time the sight of a man’s naval made me want to run my tongue over every bump and crevice, making me catch my breath as my gaze continued its perusal. His lean hips were also adorned in a layer of leather, complete with belts, hung low. Showing off the sinful Apollo’s belt leading down to parts unknown, with just a trail of dusty silver hair leading beneath the waistband of those leather pants of pure unadulterated sin.

“You may not realize this, sweetie… but my eyes are up here.” My trailing vision stop short of his knees, where I’d just started seeing the edges of a pair of, again, leather boots. Slowly, I retraced the trail I’d followed back up, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed grounded me in such a way that it helped me keep my own breathing in check. When I met his visible collarbone, rigid and defined beneath that ruggedly tanned out-in-the-sun-too-long skin, I swallowed darkly at the sight of his muscled neck and prominent adams apple.

This male’s very aura oozed sex… in the purest form of dominance and sensuality. I stopped short at his chin, narrow and cut like a razor’s edge. I felt my own part as my eyes trailed across his smirking lips, the left side pulled further up than the right.

His nose was narrow and straight, with only the slightest of arches at the bridge. On either side of that nose were narrowed eyes of the deepest ruby red, his penetrative stare made my breath catch in my chest. Were those contacts? They had to be, right? Thick dark lashes, long enough to brush against his high cheek bones upon every blink, made him look like—as the walking, talking sex idol he potentially was—like he was wearing eyeliner! His brows were also narrowed over his eyes, darker than the silver white hair that hung low over his forehead. I had the sudden urge to run my fingers through the strands that fell to his shoulders in a wolf cut mullet. Giving him the look of a feral predator as he stared at me, a mouse for his consumption.

One question came to mind as my sight took in the image of him in a whole. “How the fuck did the pathetic excuses of perimeter guards get a hold of you?”

I watched as his eyes widened, only fractionally before resuming their curious narrowed expression, although there was a shallow sign of amusement in the depths of those red eyes now as well.

“They didn’t hold anything, I let them catch me.”

His hands, large and menacing, curled long slender fingers around the bars between us. “Why they put me in here, that I don’t have an answer.” His biceps flexed as he grunted softly, assessing the durability of the bars, which made my body automatically take an unsure half step backwards, giving him pause, before he spoke again, his voice softened. “Seems a little… archaic to say the least.” He made a nod towards something behind me, “But, hey—at least there’s plumbing, right?”

I sighed, lowering my gaze to the floor and crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling a chill run through me. I went straight to the point, “That’s probably because the Alpha of this pack is a brute and bully, entirely unworthy of his position.” I’d never deigned to speak those words aloud, so the clench I felt in my stomach seemed almost unwarranted when the vile man himself had sent me here.

“He also, just happens to be my adoptive father….” I stepped back, expecting a reaction from the caged man before me, when none came- I looked up and met his eyes, his head tilted slightly as he seemed to finally take all of me in. His eyes roaming leisurely over my form much like mine had done to him.

“You are… different.” He sniffed, inching closer to the bars, “Your scent is… different. Yet I can smell an Alpha on you,” I blinked as he sniffed again, “What pack do you originate from?” I felt my heart thump behind my ribs at his first comment, how could he smell an alpha on me?

“I’m wolf-less.” I spat, tucking my hands beneath my armpits before leaning heavily on one foot. “Nor do I have a rank. I never presented. So, clearly I am unmated, but human.” My voice had drifted off to a quiet murmur on the last few words, but unlike me, his senses were heightened, so he heard anyway.

He took a moment to process that information before responding, “As fascinating as that is, sweetie. You didn’t answer my question.” That smirk, that I was now finding both extremely attractive and infuriatingly irritating lifted the corner of his mouth again.

“Right.” I felt the heaviness around my heart as I spoke. “My biological father was the Alpha of the Ashmourn pack.” I heard the swift intake of breath, making me lift my hundred-yard stare up to focus on his shocked face.

“Ashmourn? Alpha Liam Ashmourn?” He surged his form against the bars, making the belts clack against the metal while his eyes went wide, “You are the daughter of Liam Ashmourn?” I felt a petulant pout purse my lips as I felt my annoyance begin to burn hot at the insistence in his tone.

“What does it matter? He’s dead!” The tears I’d forced back over the death of not only my father, but my mother curbed the edges of my eyes. “Why does it matter if I’m his daughter? I’m wolf-less… it shouldn’t matter because I don’t.” I hadn’t meant to spit those words out, not to him, let alone myself. There was suddenly a pain in my chest, a constricting sensation that had my breaths short and a hand coming up to press over my heart, just above the treacherously rapid beats, my eyes losing focus while a buzzing sound swept through my head.

Oh no… not now, not in front of him! I wrapped my arms around my middle and felt the ground meet my knees, sending a warmth of pain shooting through my thighs. I couldn’t see through the thrum around my eyes, a red ring around my vision that matched the erratic rate of my heart.

Slowly, a part of the vignette smoothed over, revealing the slowly kneeling form of the man behind the bars, “Breathe, sweet girl.” His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the bars, but his voice and the rest of his demeanor held strong under the guise of being calm and relaxed. “I….” His expression twitched before he tipped his head forward, meeting one of the bars with his forehead, “I’m… sorry.” Had the man never needed to apologize? Maybe he never had a reason to before. His voice seemed so serious though, or was that just because my head was fuzzy?

When he tipped his head back up so his eyes could meet mine directly, his eyes widened exponentially as he suddenly stretched an arm as far as he could manage between one of the bars. “Hey!” He waved a hand in front of me, the motion making it look like there were multiples of him, my mind felt so numb, and the dizziness was beginning to overwhelm me as my limbs refused to move at my sides. Wait… am I breathing?

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

SYLUS – Earlier….

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

Fucking assholes… locking me in a fucking prison, this place is absurd—and such seventeenth century bullshit. His eyes bore into the wall, concrete mixed with heavy stone, mud, and rooted dirt. It had obviously been built to deter certain scents from lingering, but what scents? He scoffed as he raised an arm from the rough ground beside him. Mechanically curling his fingers into his palm as he felt the metal cuff tighten from the muscle movement in his wrist. “Fuckwits….”He murmured to himself.

He'd maneuvered himself into the furthest corner from the door, through the bars he was able to see the entrance to this archaic-torture-chamber-cave easily. Its door hung awkwardly having been near torn from the upper hinge entirely.

From where he was seated, to the left of the door stood a  small wall atop a dais of concrete and stone. He’d seen a porcelain toilet situated there when the four pitiful excuses of guards hauled him down here. Further down the wall from that was a tiled platform situated in the corner, extended from the toilet dais, on the wall hung a rusted shower head. He’d recalled how far they’d traversed when brought here, this place wasn’t exactly near the surface, how was there plumbing? Strange….

His eyes followed the corner and came upon a small concrete counter, there were dented and handleless pots and pans stacked up against the wall, and closer to his prison’s bars, was a sink. Weirdly domestic, for a prison cell. Tracking his increasingly curious gaze to the ceiling, everything seemed regular to a hole in the ground, jagged pieces of dirt and rock stuck out, but there were portions of the ceiling that seemed too flat. Angling his head, he could see slots in those flat areas. Vents? If they were, it would explain the occasional draft he felt, far be it from the rest of the room to smell like fresh air.

On the opposite side of the room was a small wall sconce, perched above a wooden single bed. The bedding looked like burlap, filled with straw. Same for the single pillow that sat at the head of the bed. Who the fuck is the Alpha of this virtually prehistoric pack? He’d never seen living conditions, prison or otherwise as redundant and frankly, medieval as this. With him in this cage, who was to dwell on the other side of the bars? Who was the one who was free to come and go? Those were the biggest questions he had in that moment, certainly not him. He was the imprisoned, clearly he wouldn’t be getting the… luxury of an actual toilet anytime soon.

A sound drew his wandering attention to the open doorway to the tunnel leading to the surface. He froze, barely daring to breathe as he waited for whomever to appear. At first, all he could hear was the soft shuffling of feet. Tipping his head, he could tell by the footfalls that the owner was on the smaller side. Inhaling slowly through his nose, he tried to ascertain the scent of this potential intruder. What an odd scent… It immediately irritated him that he could neither determine the sex, age, or the rank of whoever it was wandering into his cell.

So, he decided, with bated breath- to wait.

A meager form appeared from around the edge of the doorway. A female? Here? Her hair looked chopped, angling behind her head, heavily to one side, in the dim fluorescent lights that lay sporadically around the room, seeing her in her entirety posed difficult—especially from his currently lower vantage.

He sniffed the air again, she smells… odd. What? How old was she? Shouldn’t she have a scent? The questions racketed through his mind unshackled, bouncing between his ears as quickly as he could think them. She has a faint alpha smell to her, yet she bares no scent of rank. Odd. The urge to move, to get an up-close look at her itched under his skin. His wolf, Stayrus, circled within his mind, warry but also curious, while the little female made her way further into the room. Her eyes flickered on the trivial things he’d been wondering about moments earlier, he watched as one of her brows lifted slowly, it was the most profoundly attractive things he’d ever seen. He was sure she didn’t realize she’d done it, but he would keep that little expression to himself.

As his gaze swept over her as she approached the bars of his prison, he could see she was malnourished, she seemed thin… overly thin. With her mere feet from the bars now, he could see the flare of life within her eyes, and breath nearly left his lungs as she turned slightly, the full view of her eyes now visible from where he sat, the most crystalline blue eyes peered around his new dwellings, twitching every now and again. Was she looking for me?

He admitted, the thought of keeping himself hidden did have its appeal, she was or seemed to be apart of the pack that shoved him in here, so he should be wary about her. Right?

Another idea formed in his head as his mind boiled from the thoughts of having been walking directly where the sentries and males that had lined the walls of this territory guarded, how he’d held his hands up in surrender, simply asking to speak with their Alpha. Only to get cuffed upside the head, shackled by heavy, cumbersome iron manacles, and then dragged down to this cess pit and tossed into this cage. So much for the ‘nice’ route. Stayrus growled low in his head, bringing him back to the present.

 He caught the last remnants of her turning with a shake of her head before deciding to make himself known to her. Shifting he felt the cuffs and the chains embedded into the center of the cage shift alongside him, her now frozen form standing barely a step from where’d she been when she faced the bars. “Oh look, a little bird.” He licked his lips, “Were you sent here to help me? From beyond the cage?” He spied the bag she’d dropped near the entrance; it was nothing more than a potato sack, but it was clear she wasn’t just here to gawk.

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

SYLUS—Present….

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

“Fucking Hell!” He paced the bars, scrubbing his hands through his hair, feeling the tug of a few knots that had formed. If he could only reach her, he’d be able to appease the manic wolf inside his head who had nearly tore through his control to see if she still breathed.

It was no wonder she smelled of Alpha, she was the daughter of one. The one he’d been searching for. Fuck… so he is dead. Fuck! He tried to scare her, but he saw something in her eyes, something not so foreign to himself. Something he felt like I needed to protect. So, the panic attack she’d experienced had driven Stayrus feral when she collapsed when her body refused to breathe.

He looked down at the girl. She was attractive, sure there were freckle marks and acne scars, but to him and his wolf—she was exceptional. He was sure with a little more weight on her too thin limbs, she’d made the perfect ma—He froze. No… I have no mate. I lost my mate. He shook his head free of those sudden affronting thoughts, baring his teeth at the wolf who snarled inside his head. We LOST her, remember? There was no way this wolf-less girl could be his mate.

Stayrus whimpered in his head, recalling all too well how he’d lost his mate, but as his eyes fell to the girl on the floor just out of reach outside these bars, something tugged at him. Something he thought had died with the woman he’d loved. Something clandestine and fettered somewhere dark and forgotten. He’d traveled across the country after losing her, determined to do something to keep himself from simply ending himself and the heartbroken creature inside him, he owed her that much.

So why did this little female seem to have his wolf by the short and curlies? The animal was one a rampage in his head, bouncing from one side to the other as if the bars weren’t there. The creature’s feral need to just be able to touch her was driving him near rabid. Why are you being like this! He clutched his hands against the sides of his head and growled his unease. Opening his eyes, he reached out and positioned himself against the bars, his arms stretched out as his fingers curled around those bars with every ounce of his strength. As the animal inside him sunk his own strength down his arms, he grunted and pulled, with all his might.

Fuck! If I get fucking executed, so be it!

The iron bars groaned under his strength. He could feel the strain that was being fed up his arms from his wrists, feel the baffling desperation rippling off of his wolf in waves. Cutting open his eyes to slits, he stared down at the girl, suddenly hearing the long silent voice of his wolf saying, “Mine.”

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

My head throbbed as wakefulness finally began drawing me in. What the fuck happened? The pressure behind my closed eyes was the first thing, the migraine having settled in like a belligerent child refusing their parents requests. A weight on my chest had me groan, and there was a sound above me—like a sigh.

Where was I again? The smells weren’t of my room. There was something distinctly earthy about where I was, and as my cloudy mind slowly began to clear—I remembered.

“Fuuuuck…” The weight of my limbs came back then, feeling the tension in my muscles as I slowly lifted one arm up, folding it at the elbow even slower before pressing the heel of my hand against the orbit of my right eye, where the pressure in my head sat heaviest. I could feel the hard ground beneath me, cutting into my hips, and my shoulders, my nervous system coming back to the present next.

“Do you often experience attacks such as that?” A deep, worry laden, voice spoke from above me and it froze every muscle, every nerve in my body as I felt what I thought was the hard ground move behind my shoulders. Oh… Goddess. How did—Shit! My eyes snapped open and sure enough, there his face was—tilted and staring down at me. Those red eyes wide while that infuriating mouth was turned down into a frown.

I rolled away from him, hissing a breath as pain lanced down my back after having been still for Goddess knows how long. “How did you get out?” I glanced behind his crouched form, only now realizing he’d separated two bars enough so that a body could fit through—his body. “Fucking Hell.” I swore, as a sharp jab to the side of my head made me see stars. Damned migraine! I saw him move to get closer to me, the chains and belts on his absurd leather outfit jangling together. I held up a hand and he stopped.

“I… uh.” He glanced back at the bars of the cage. “I might’ve pried them apart.” He said it so nonchalantly, and yet… was it possible to do that to pure, thick iron rods like that? I chuffed a breath through my nose and gave my head a small shake, trying to deter the dizziness from running rampant through my skull.

“To answer your question, no… I don’t get panic attacks like that, the few I’ve ever had, well…” my mind went back to the several dozen I’d had growing up. All of which happened where Caleb participated in some way or another; pulling my hair, pushing me… all relatively innocent things at first, but as we got older, things turned from teasing to full on abuse. The memories made my chest tighten, and I cleared my throat, my eyes dropping to the floor. “They’ve never been like this….” It was a half truth, I hadn’t been allowed to think about my parents, so for this Alpha to suddenly ask an onslaught of questions about my father, I supposed it overwhelmed me after years of never thinking about the man, Hell, barely remembering him—just knowing that Ephraim had ended his life, as well as my mother’s in some lame excuse of territory take over—even though, at the age of five, I knew what allies meant and how my father and Ephraim had been that until the, for lack of a better term- mutiny.

“I’ll ignore the blatancy of that lie.” I unconsciously flinched as I heard him move again when I lifted my gaze from the floor to watch him warily. He’d held up both of his hands to me, gesturing surrender as he approached. “Why don’t we start over.” Kneeling in front of me again, our knees just barely touching, he held out a hand to me. My eyes flitted between the appendage and his eyes, watching as a soft smile pulled his lips up at the corners, “My name is Sylus. It’s a pleasure to meet you….”

He let his voice trail off, giving me ample time to either respond or not, swallowing thickly, I tentatively reached out and clasped his hand with mine, watching with mild shock as his fingers enveloped mine, “Uh… I’m Ori.”

A chuckle vibrated down his arm and into mine, my eyes locking on to his ruby gaze as he tipped his head. “Is that short for something?”

I smirked, “Orien.”

Ω    ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶      Ω

[mybeingthere]

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...

[chic-cheapcom]

SweatyRocks Women's Metallic High Waist PU Leather Shorts Wide Leg Stretchy Shorts Hot Pants

[sageceleste]

MUST HAVE TODDLER CC FINDS with LINKS!💕 | Sims 4 Custom Content

In today's video, I went over some of my favorite toddler custom content! You can find the links for all the outfits below ♡

Outfit 1

Sunivaa Sorata Hair Toddler 

Johanna Pinafore Dress

Jius High Top Sneakers 01 Toddler

CeeP Quilted Backpack TV

Outfit 2

QICC Selena Hair for Toddlers 

Cottage Dress

Madlen Bernard Boots

Bear Straw Hat

Outfit 3

Casteru Hair Dusk Hair

Madlen Berta Coat (Toddler)

Madlen Lucille Boots Toddler

Outfit 4

Casteru Laya Hair

Powluna Fullbody Catherine

Jius Mary Jane Flats Toddler

Outfit 5

Casteru Miranda Hair

casteru Body Kiara Dress

Jius Leather High Boots 01 Toddler

Outfit 6

Sunivaa Jenny Hair Toddler

Casteru Boxy Shirt

Casteru Bottom Destroyed Jeans

Madlen Bernard Boots

Outfit 7

QICC Ali Hair for Toddlers

Powluna Fullbody Gloria

Jius Mary Jane Flats Toddler

Outfit 8

Casteru Hair Wednesday Pigtails

Madlen Hania Outfit Toddler

Madlen Ruperto Boots Short Toddler

Outfit 9

Casteru Aria Hair

Layered T-Shirt Overalls

Jius Bow Snow Boots 02 Toddler

Outfit 10 

Casteru Hair Sylvie Hair

Serenity Baby Dream Top

Casteru pu Bottom Ripped Jeans

Jius Low Top Sneakers Toddler

[charlinechristophe]

Osez la séduction avec notre mini short en PU ! **

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Parfait pour les soirées club, les performances ou les looks décalés, ce mini short est un incontournable pour les femmes qui aiment exprimer leur sensualité. Disponible en noir ou blanc, du XS au XL, il s'adapte à toutes les morphologies.

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[melit0n]

Blessed Be

- Synopsis: For the past few weeks, something sanctimonious—blessed and tortured—has been hiding in the corners of my mind. I can't get her out.

- Oneshot // short story

- (unamed) OC work

- Word Count: 1.1k

- Warnings: description of a dead body

There’s a body in my backseat.

She’s–at least, I think it’s a she–been there a while. I can’t remember how long. I don’t know her, I don’t think I ever will, but I feel guilty that her name escapes me. If she ever had one. Sometimes, on my way to work, I wonder if she was a saint. Or, maybe a farmhand that wandered too far from her fields. Perhaps a princess from age-old tales that became nothing other than that. A fairytale.

And now, a body in my backseat.

She has eyes like opalite; misted over and bulging from her head in pus and tears; never looking anywhere, and always seeing everything. Blind, yet omniscient. Straw like, clumps of hair cover her face, limp reeds soaked with a sacrificial lamb’s blood, and I think she may be what those old leather books call an angel.

They always say they’re incomprehensible, but she looks human. Maybe she was one. Maybe she wasn’t. Now, she’s a clump of skin and ligaments; a humanoid, half shaped and forgotten, lying in my car; mumbling stale words in an empyrean tongue–or is it just gibberish?–with every pothole and bump. Seraph or corpse aside, I think she still has a need for the phrase ‘be not afraid’.

Occasionally, when it’s been a long drive with just me and her, I wonder if I’m the only one to see her, but I think my friends can, too. I’m not sure if it’s relief or jealousy that sits at the bottom of my stomach with the thought.

They don’t mention it, but I can see it in their eyes. The way their pupils flick back, or how determined they are to keep them pinned to the road. Sometimes it’s all they do, no matter which song I tune the radio to, or how loud I speak. Other times, she goes ignored; a crumb on the already soiled fabric of the seats.

Maybe they pretend it’s just the shifting of one of our bags. Maybe they don’t.

I think it’s the smell that unnerves them, unnerves me, the most. I can disregard her all I want, but each inhale reminds me she’s still there. I’ve tried to have the windows down, rid the car of the warm musk of rot, maggots and iron, but it never works. No matter how the wind twists and turns and no matter how often I tell myself it’s a holy scent, it still makes me gag.

Regardless, there’s still a body in my backseat, and I hear her whine as I turn into the next lane; her dying mumbles to my friend and I’s silence.

It’s been a long day, though we didn’t mean it to be, and I’m sure she’s angry at me: the quiet is as thick as blood. For a few moments, I wonder if she’s keeping an eye on what’s behind us, but, when I glance over, she’s staring out the window, eyes pinned to synthetic stars that gleam from towering, white mouths that stretch towards the night, howling a colossal augury and screeching memories from yellowed glass teeth at anybody who passes by.

I think they’ve gotten brighter over the years. Everything feels brighter; harsh lights glaring, even in the daytime.

But they’re something to focus on, if nothing. Today is one of the days where I’ve done my best not to look at her. Not to think of her, overheating, shriveling, melting, in my car as I go about my day. Not to hear her, soft murmuring somehow louder than the radio.

She always stays in the car–though she sticks to my thoughts each time I leave–but, one of these days, though, not today, I think she’ll try to follow me out. Crawl with her skeletal mockeries of arms and hands in a slow attempt to accompany me, and I think I’ll wait for her when she does.

I don’t know what type of day it’ll be when she finally climbs out after me. Maybe pouring with rain, maybe beating down with sunlight; rivers dried up and crickets loud. I’ve tried it before. To coax her out. She whines like an animal, a dog left in a too hot car, each time I leave, so I’ve attempted to wheedle her out with me; take her just far enough that she won’t be able to follow me home. But, she never comes, and I wonder if she’s trying to make me feel guilty. I can’t tell if she’s aware of herself, or just something imbued with a target. A mission. An emotion.

That aside, I think she knows that I can’t touch her, too. Or, rather, I won’t. I thought I had the fortitude for it once–to throw her in an unassuming, dank alleyway, or let a river’s ebb and flow eat her whole; let her drift far away from me–but not anymore. I’ve had the notion to ask one of my friends, but, I’d rather her gore didn’t dirty them, too.

A sign passes by in scarlet rot and eggshell white. Gas station–next exit.

I call my friend’s name.

“Hm?”

Is she hungry?

“Uhm…no; I’m okay.”

Is she sure?

“Yeah,” she nods. “Unless you want something?”

My eyes dart to the rearview mirror. Tangled, she has one of her arms wrapped around her neck, head twisted right with another arm, one down by her legs, flexing, as if looking for something to hold.

No.

“Okay.” My friend shrugs, and turns away from me, back towards the sky. I think she wants to talk about something. I already know what, but my tongue is a dry, limp prune in my mouth.

Behind me, the body in my backseat whimpers.

Some days, she’s worse than others. Still a mass, but other days less bloated. Less likely to pop; flesh and puss and excrement. Light and ichor and salvation. On good days, she’s a curled up jumble of limbs, pawing at the seats and silent as the grave. On bad ones, she presses up against every surface; a rotting, swollen collection of skin and eyes with calloused fingers that press against my cheek and cracking bones that make me want to swerve into the other lane.

Quietly, the turn passes us by, and we’re left to another stretch of road.

Today is the former, though, I think it may be a bad day by the time we get home.

My friend coughs beside me, clearing her throat, and the body in my backseat stays noiseless.

A car honks distantly–loud as an air-raid siren, and muffled as next-door chatter.

I think she’s the closest I’ll ever come to touching divinity.

…

I can’t wait to get home.

-------------

Bit different from what/how I usually write, but I quite like it. After writing big chapters end on end for DITF, it's been nice to have a little break and write something short.

This is kind of a culmination of all my feelings over the past two months. I told myself I'd have a good year this time, and, while I have had nice moments, it hasn't really been so. I also talked to someone I used to know from my old Catholic school recently, and had a lot of religious guilt and some not-so-nice memories come back to me, so, I guess this is about that, too.

Thank you to anybody who had a go at reading this! I know it isn't fanfic, so I doubt it'll go anywhere, but I wanted it on here for safekeeping.

[snotsloth]

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.

[leatherrepaircompany]

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

[bygoods9]

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Color:Brown

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[sp4c3-b0y-123]

Can i have a nonhuman/masculine/neutral fashion kit for a monster that looks like a black werewolf with horns, dragon wings and a dragon tail? Thanks! :D With accesories if possible.

- Dx. Douxie !!

Here you go! So sorry that took so long, I've been super busy😔

Leather Jacket: https://www.amazon.ca/Leather-Jackets-Men-Motorcycle-3X-Large/dp/B0BBSM9797/ref=asc_df_B0BBSM9797/?tag=googlemobshop-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=579195089201&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=382015972888259359&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=m&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=1001908&hvtargid=pla-1942309060229&psc=1&mcid=8ef4cac7d7bb39dd9ed4cf321f11443f

Choker: https://m.shein.com/ca/Fashionable-and-Popular-Men-Spiked-Chain-Decor-Choker-PU-for-Vacation-and-for-a-Stylish-Look-p-10676229-cat-6431.html?onelink=5%2F2x9eaeoixmgg&requestId=421350044243624142&skucode=I21lqcveb3z9&url_from=caadplasj2205213718805558one-size_GPM&cid=20564468053&setid=&adid=&pf=GOOGLE&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA1MCrBhAoEiwAC2d64f7tjRsVK4ZkTCPCrw54FxYaFod0Z-w4FrNni3HvHS5A0y6ikFil3xoCNNQQAvD_BwE&ref=ca&rep=dir&ret=mca

Dragon Accessories: https://www.amazon.ca/Prokreuzstich-Childrens-Cosplay-Halloween-Creative/dp/B08KZSFJ8D/ref=asc_df_B08KZSFJ8D/?tag=googlemobshop-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=337116070727&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=487737786045240280&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=m&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=1001908&hvtargid=pla-1583405916147&psc=1&mcid=d024ff7446aa3570885deb53a5cbb099

Pants: https://www.yesstyle.com/en/tcuc.CAD/coc.CA/info.html/pid.1104761781?cpid=1104761833&googtrans=en&utm_source=GoogleAds&utm_campaign=8539206699&utm_term=&utm_content=88051819338_405734557367&utm_medium=Shopping&bac=OHB2A7VQ&mcg=paidsearch&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA1MCrBhAoEiwAC2d64b6pYZ8B2PD6noOeTJ_c7eRMlcRbtHWEZ3_NDjyKMTF1yHLwRPJpdxoCzdcQAvD_BwE

T Shirt: https://m.lightinthebox.com/p/men-s-t-shirt-tee-oversized-shirt-plain-crewneck-outdoor-sport-short-sleeves-clothing-apparel-fashion-streetwear-cool-casual-daily_p9426074.html?litb_from=paid_adwords_shopping&sku=1_17%7C2_286&litb_from=paid_adwords_shopping&utm_source=google_shopping&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=19694358635&adword_mt=&adword_ct=&adword_kw=&adword_pos=&adword_pl=&adword_net=x&adword_tar=&adw_src_id=4674349488_19694358635__&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA1MCrBhAoEiwAC2d64TFdFKyvZShcdCykDFtyhh87kD0cj_KV53MLjRLpFTxB3zpwo_2fFhoCAZYQAvD_BwE

Ring: https://www.amazon.ca/Vintage-Sterling-Adjustable-Jewelry-Fashion/dp/B09V4STW4Y/ref=asc_df_B09V4STW4Y/?tag=googlemobshop-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=579064796871&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=4553204930075025282&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=m&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=1001908&hvtargid=pla-1655241439605&psc=1&mcid=0d4f41fa6255398e8789de9a9ba0cdaa&th=1

Leather Cuf: https://m.shein.com/ca/1pc-Alloy-Retro-Punk-Style-Rivet-Studded-Leather-Cuff-Bracelet-Gothic-Rock-Party-Jewelry-For-Men-And-Women-p-19469305-cat-6440.html?onelink=6%2F2zp753izmi8l&requestId=421353660606185640&skucode=I048620k4yye&url_from=caadplasj2307128442110400one-size_GPM&cid=20564468053&setid=&adid=&pf=GOOGLE&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA1MCrBhAoEiwAC2d64QAkQkVPZNEwlhSgIC2xm-Rz3xFFz94JFXCsvVg4MCMjzcaeFezG5RoCYUUQAvD_BwE&ref=ca&rep=dir&ret=mca

Plad Jacket: https://share.temu.com/6i8xybAG9iA