#seamless garment

[forward-in-joy]

May God, who created a world of diversity and vibrancy,

Go with us as we embrace life in all its fullness.

May Jesus, who teaches us to care for strangers and foreigners,

Go with us as we try to be good neighbors in our communities.

May the Holy Spirit, who breaks down barriers and celebrates community,

Go with us as we find courage to create a place of welcome for all.

(Posted on Xavier University’s website)

[witchoil]

had THEE most baffling experience with a knitting pattern today. like, you don’t HAVE to include a diagram of construction, but when it’s significantly different from how you would construct a similar garment with slightly different features, it would be, appreciated

[samyakkdegital]

The Jodhpuri suit, also known as the Bandhgala suit, has a fascinating origin story that blends Indian and Western influences.

Place and Time: The Jodhpuri suit is believed to have originated in the princely state of Jodhpur, Rajasthan, around the 1600s.

Maharaja Pratap Singh: Some credit Maharaja Pratap Singh of Jodhpur for popularizing the style. While on a trip to England, his luggage containing traditional Indian attire went missing. He improvised and had a new outfit tailored on Savile Row, a famous street known for bespoke tailoring. This new outfit, featuring a shorter coat and breeches, became the foundation of the Jodhpuri suit.

Fusion of Styles: The Jodhpuri suit is considered an Indo-Western creation. It combines elements of the traditional Indian garment, the Sherwani (long coat), with a shorter, tailored jacket inspired by Western styles. The Jodhpuri breeches, similar to riding pants, are another distinct feature.

Evolution and Popularity: The Jodhpuri suit gained popularity among other Indian royalty and aristocracy. Over time, the style evolved, with variations in fabric, embroidery, and closure types. Jodhpuri suits became associated with formal wear and special occasions.

Jodhpur or Bandhgala? Interestingly, there’s some debate about the origin of the name. While the story suggests Maharaja Pratap Singh’s connection to Jodhpur, the term “Bandhgala” literally translates to “closed neck” and likely refers to the characteristic collar of the suit. Both names are widely used today.

Discover the Perfect Jodhpuri Suit for Every Occasion

 Off-White Zardosi Embroidered Raw Silk Jodhpuri Suit

Introducing the epitome of sophistication and style – Modern Jodhpuri suits for men. At Samyakk, we redefine elegance with our collection of Updated Jodhpuri suits for men. Crafted to perfection, these suits are a seamless blend of tradition and contemporary fashion, making them the ideal choice for the fashion-conscious gentleman.

Elevate your wardrobe with our range of Fashionable Jodhpuri suits for men, designed to make you stand out at any event. Whether you’re the groom or a wedding guest, our Royal Jodhpuri suits exude regal charm and timeless appeal.

For those with a discerning taste, we offer Custom Jodhpuri suits tailored to your exact specifications. Whether it’s for your wedding day or a special occasion, our expert craftsmen ensure that every detail is perfect.

Black Bead Embroidered Suede Jodhpuri Suit

Make a statement at your wedding with our exquisite collection of Jodhpuri suits for groom. With intricate embroidery and luxurious fabrics, these suits are sure to make you the center of attention on your big day.

For wedding guests looking to make a lasting impression, our Jodhpuri suits for wedding guests are the perfect choice. With a variety of styles and designs to choose from, you’ll find the perfect outfit for any celebration.

Turn heads at parties with our stylish Party wear Jodhpuri suits. Whether it’s a formal event or a night out with friends, our suits ensure you look effortlessly chic and sophisticated.

Discover the latest trends in men’s fashion with our collection of Latest Jodhpuri suits designs. From bold patterns to sleek silhouettes, we have something to suit every style and taste.

And the best part? Our Affordable Jodhpuri suits make luxury accessible to everyone. With unbeatable prices and uncompromising quality, you can elevate your style without breaking the bank.

Experience the epitome of elegance and style with Samyakk‘s collection of Jodhpuri suits for men. Shop now and redefine your wardrobe with timeless sophistication.

Redefining Men’s Fashion: Explore the Exquisite World of Designer Jodhpuri Suits

Black Cutdana Embroidered Italian IndoWestern Sherwani

Latest designer Jodhpuri suits for men are making waves in the fashion scene, offering a fusion of tradition and contemporary style. These trendy Jodhpuri suits for men are perfect for those who appreciate timeless elegance with a modern twist.

Crafted with precision and attention to detail, contemporary Jodhpuri suits for men are designed to make a statement at any occasion. From weddings to formal gatherings, these suits exude sophistication and charm.

For the fashion-forward Jodhpuri suits for men, it’s all about staying ahead of the curve. With innovative designs and cutting-edge fabrics, these suits redefine men’s fashion, setting new trends with every wear.

Gone are the days of traditional attire; today’s men prefer modern Jodhpuri suits that reflect their style sensibilities. Sleek lines, impeccable tailoring, and exquisite embellishments characterize these suits, making them a must-have in every fashion enthusiast’s wardrobe.

Step into the spotlight with stylish Jodhpuri suits for men that command attention wherever you go. Whether it’s a red-carpet event or a corporate gathering, these suits ensure you make a lasting impression.

Creamy Pink Zardosi Embroidered Jute Jodhpuri Suit

Experience the future of fashion with cutting-edge Jodhpuri suits for men that push the boundaries of traditional attire. With innovative silhouettes and avant-garde designs, these suits redefine the concept of sartorial excellence.

Embrace sophistication with sleek Jodhpuri suits for men that epitomize understated luxury. Perfectly tailored and exquisitely crafted, these suits exude refinement and class, making them a symbol of impeccable taste.

Innovation meets elegance with innovative Jodhpuri suits for men that blend classic charm with contemporary flair. From bold patterns to unconventional fabrics, these suits are a testament to the evolving landscape of men’s fashion.

Elevate your style quotient with fresh Jodhpuri suits for men that breathe new life into traditional attire. With updated designs and modern aesthetics, these suits are the epitome of sophistication and refinement.

Indulge in luxury with exclusive designer Jodhpuri suits for men that exude opulence and extravagance. Crafted from the finest materials and adorned with intricate details, these suits are reserved for the discerning gentleman who demands nothing but the best.

For those who appreciate the finer things in life, high-end Jodhpuri suits for men are the epitome of luxury. Impeccably crafted and exquisitely designed, these suits are a testament to exquisite craftsmanship and timeless elegance.

Make a bold style statement with luxury Jodhpuri suits for men that showcase your impeccable taste and discerning eye for fashion. With sumptuous fabrics and impeccable tailoring, these suits are the epitome of refined sophistication.

Conclusion

If you’re ready to elevate your style with the timeless elegance of Jodhpuri suits, look no further than Samyakk. Explore our exquisite collection online at Samyakk.com, where you can browse through the latest designs and trends from the comfort of your home. And for those who prefer a hands-on shopping experience, we invite you to visit our physical store in Bangalore, where our knowledgeable staff will assist you in finding the perfect suit to suit your style and occasion. Whether you shop online or visit our store, at Samyakk, we are dedicated to helping you make a statement with your wardrobe.

FAQ 

Can I find a Jodhpuri suit suitable for a specific occasion, such as weddings or parties, at Samyakk?

Absolutely! Samyakk offers a diverse range of Jodhpuri suits tailored for various occasions, including weddings, parties, and formal gatherings. Our collection caters to different style preferences and event themes.

Are the Jodhpuri suits at Samyakk customizable to fit my unique measurements and style preferences?

Yes, indeed! At Samyakk, we understand that each individual has their own distinct style and body shape. That’s why we offer custom tailoring services to ensure your Jodhpuri suit fits you perfectly and reflects your personal taste.

What sets Samyakk’s Jodhpuri suits apart from other options available in the market?

Samyakk takes pride in offering Jodhpuri suits crafted with precision, attention to detail, and a keen understanding of the latest fashion trends. Our suits seamlessly blend traditional elegance with contemporary flair, ensuring you stand out from the crowd with sophistication and charm.

How can I ensure that I’m making the right choice when selecting a Jodhpuri suit from Samyakk’s online collection?

We understand that choosing the perfect Jodhpuri suit can be daunting, especially when shopping online. That’s why Samyakk provides detailed product descriptions, high-quality images, and sizing guides to help you make an informed decision. Additionally, our customer service team is always available to address any queries or concerns you may have.

Does Samyakk offer international shipping for customers outside of Bangalore?

Yes, we do! Samyakk is committed to bringing our exquisite collection of Jodhpuri suits to customers worldwide. Whether you’re in Bangalore or beyond, you can enjoy the convenience of shopping online and having your chosen suit delivered straight to your doorstep.

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[eideticmemory]

ONLY ON CAMERA | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Matthew convinces you to film a sex tape but it really doesn’t take a whole lot of convincing.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/Includes: Literal porn 😭 dedicated to and inspired by these gifs.

“Is it on?” you ask, tilting your head to get a good look at the clunky thing. Your eyes follow the camera back and forth, back and forth, only for Matthew to set it down in the exact spot he started.

“Yeah it’s on,” he nods, though he doesn't look at you directly. He steadies the camcorder on its tripod, instead watching you on the tiny screen. You’re wearing this dress that he’s decided must be captured on film. Memorialized. It cuts off at your thighs and the fabric is so thin that your nipples are flashing headlights. It’s off white, sheer. He would marry you in it. He would fuck you in it. And above all, what makes it so intoxicating is that you’re clearly oblivious to just how good you look. Casually propped on his bed, knees bent underneath your body, a small pout on your lips. He can’t help but break a smile, telling you, “You look so beautiful.”

Then suddenly, you’re not so oblivious anymore. Suddenly, you’re very conscious that you’re being recorded. Being watched. And so you blush, your lips curling up a shy smile. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Matthew breathes out and he licks his lips like a dog. “Such a pretty little dress.”

“Oh, this old thing?” you giggle and it sends a rush of blood to his dick. “You like it?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he hums, zooming in on your chest, panning down your body. “Show me your legs.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you take a proper seat on the bed, your legs dangling over the edge. Bashful, you watch Matthew focus the lens on your swaying feet, trailing up to your knees, zooming in on your thighs.

“I feel silly,” you tell him.

“No, baby, you’re doing so good,” he whispers, the camera now angled in on your face. Your wide and innocent eyes peering up at him. “You’re a natural.”

You smile and he captures the white in your teeth, the crinkle in your cheeks. He lingers over your collarbones, watches the air move in and out of your chest. Pushing your breasts up and down and up and down.

“Can you pull your dress up a little bit?” he murmurs, the camera slowly panning to your hips.

“Mhm,” you nod and hook your fingers underneath the hem. You push the fabric up your thighs and he stops you.

“Slower,” he watches. “Slower.”

So you slow down, inching the dress up bit by bit. You can feel the cold air pooling between your thighs, circulating over your panties. His breath catches in his throat at the sight and it’s the first time he looks at you. Not through the lens, not pictured on a tiny screen, but directly at you. Your eyes meet and it makes you so nervous that you stop what you’re doing entirely.

“You’re doing good,” he repeats. “You’re doing so good, baby. Take those off for me,” his eyes flicker between your legs. But only for a moment and then he’s looking at your pretty face. He can’t get enough of that pretty, pretty face.

“These?” you take hold of your panties, just to be sure.

“Mhm,” he nods. Again, licking his lips. He can’t help it, staring at you with his jaw agape. It makes his mouth quite dry. “Slowly.”

You duck your head as you push the seamless garment down your thighs, lifting yourself just enough that they move to your legs. “Slow down,” he says as they near your knees. “Oh yes, just like that. That’s perfect.”

They fall from your feet and Matthew pans the camera from the floor to your thighs, which you have spread just enough to leave something to the imagination. You look up at him as he zooms out, centering you in the frame.

“Should I…take my dress off, too?” you ask, so casually push one strap off your shoulder but he reacts like a victorian man who’s just seen an ankle. Sucking in a quick breath, exhaling it slowly.

“No,” he shakes his head. He flips the tiny screen around and finally - finally - he steps from behind the camera. Your heart rate increases quickly, suddenly, your eyes growing wide as he towers over you. “No, let’s keep the dress on.”

You nod. You say, “Okay,”and watch aimlessly as he kneels down in front of you. “Oh my,” you smile down at him.

He chuckles quietly, his hands planted at your side. “Give me a kiss,” he whispers to you and his mouth is already open and waiting. Begging.

So you ease your hands into his hair and lean in, gently planting your lips on his. His moan is almost immediate, vibrating against your teeth. “Come closer,” he says into your mouth and you submissively scoot down the bed, your knees locked under his arms. “Mhm,” he hums, sliding his tongue into your mouth. “Right there, that’s where I want you,” and his hands find their way underneath your dress, his clammy palms against your thighs.

You shudder, you don’t mean to, but you shudder under his touch and it’s so visceral that you have to laugh at yourself. You feel his smile mirrored against your lips.

“What are you being so shy for, hm?” Still, those hands underneath your dress. His teeth grazing your neck. Sinking into your collarbone.

“I’m not,” you run your hands down his chest. “I’m not,” you insist but you’re anxious as you undo the buttons on his shirt. You can feel his eyes lingering on your face and you avoid making contact, exhale a shaky breath as you push the clothing from his shoulders. Your hands run over his bare skin and his eyes roll to the back of his head, his neck croning back as you grab at his throat.

His mouth lands on yours as if pulled by a magnetic force, open and slimy, his hands gripping your waist. You take a strong hold of his face, etching fingerprints into his jaw, clawing at him just to keep him close. Your hands travel over his shoulders and down his back. You can feel the goosebumps on his spine. He releases the softest moan into your mouth and when he pulls himself away from you, your lips are soaked and dripping, begging to stay connected. He drops his jaw so you can spit in his mouth and you’re shy about it, but not too shy to do it. He swallows it and he smiles up at you because he knows that looked good on camera.

He sits back and it all happens so fast that when he grips onto your thighs, pulls you towards his face, all you can say is, “Oh!” And when he puts your pussy in the warmth of his mouth, it’s more like an “Ohhh.”

You nearly collapse on the bed but you brace yourself with your arm, your other hand grabbing a fistful of his hair. Matthew’s not holding back. A little bit of spit and a few swipes of his tongue and then he’s sucking on your clit, burying his face in you, starving. You squeal, the pleasure pulsing through your entire body, kicking out at the tip of your toes. You thrash against him, your legs wrap almost completely around his head but his grip on you is so tight. You’re not going anywhere.

And it’s the sounds you make that urge him on, the helplessness in your voice as he devours you, works his tongue on you, holds your firm against his mouth. You can’t stop your body from twitching. One jolt and you worry you’ll pull his hair out from the scalp but he doesn’t mind. Your hand lands on his shoulder quite harshly, a loud slap echoing throughout the room and he actually moans, grips onto you tighter as you dig your nails into his skin.

You tap him, quickly, harder than you mean to, his skin turning bright red at the force. Quivering, you whimper, “M-Matthew…fuck. Matthew.”

“Mhmmmm,” he responds, grunting as your thighs latch around his face, the sudden and deadly grip you take of his hair. The pitch in your voice rises. The subtle arch in your back rises. You call out to him again and again. And he pulls away.

You feel the loss immediately. You whine, looking down to meet his eyes and he’s grinning at you, drooling all over your thighs. He holds your wrist in his fist, planting sloppy kisses up your arm. “Should I stop?” he asks.

And you giggle. You giggle and lean into him and it’s so infectious that the both of you descend into giddy laughter. He smiles into another kiss with you, exhaling slowly as you taste yourself on his lips. You lean back, spread your legs, and watch him take hold of your thighs once again.

“I thought so,” he says and then he’s back at it.

Your body has no more fight left in it. Once Matthew starts, just slowly moving his tongue in circles, you feel the pressure building immediately. You bite down on your lip, give him a quiet, “Mhm,” and throw your head back. As you straighten yourself back up, you come face to face with the camera. You remember its presence in the room. You can see yourself trapped in the little screen in front of you. And once you see yourself, you can’t stop watching.

You run your hands down Matthew’s back, watching. Your jaw drops and your eyes get hooded but still, you’re watching. Directly to the camera, you say, “I’m gonna come.” It’s weird watching the words form in your mouth but you can’t stop them. Weird that Matthew has no idea you’re doing it, but you know it’s exactly what he’d want. “I’m gonna come, baby.”

He digs his nails into the flesh of your hips, his tongue quickening in pace, his mouth open and ready. Underneath your constant noise, he’s humming in delight, sending vibrations through your spine. You watch yourself come undone, watch the life leave your body, the way your arms struggle to hold you up any longer. And when you finally reach your peak, you give Matthew one big, loud moan as you collapse on the mattress, squeezing his head between your thighs.

Your legs get tangled and twisted, thrashing against his face but he pins your hips down, sucks you dry. You whimper, you push at his head, pull at his hair. But he doesn’t stop until he’s ready and he kisses all over your limp body. Kisses your belly through the fabric of your dress. Gropes your breasts, feels the sweat all over your skin. When he finally reaches your lips, you kiss him back as much as you can through your heavy breathing and you punctuate it with a smile.

“You still with me?” he touches your face.

You sigh softly, melting into his palm, poking your tongue out to lick his thumb. “I’m with you.”

“Good,” he kisses you. “Good. That’s my girl.” He stands up and begins to undo his pants, your eyes shamelessly focused on his crotch. His eyes are targeting your pretty, pretty face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not,” you avert your eyes, chuckling. “I’m not looking at you,” you tell him, looking away while he climbs in bed beside you. “I’m not-ah!” you exclaim, suddenly pulled into his arms.

He perches you in his lap, your legs hanging off the bed, your hands planted on his thighs to keep you in place. His arm is wrapped tight around your waist, his other hand holding your face, turning you towards him so he can kiss you. And kiss you and kiss you. Nibbling softly on his shoulder, your eyes meet on screen and he gives you a smile. “Look at you up there,” he cooes and you chuckle, innocently grinding your hips on his cock. His breath hitches in his throat, his hand slowly running down your chest and your tummy. “God, look at you.”

He releases you just enough so you can sit properly, his cock sliding into you, stretching you out so perfectly that your head falls back on his shoulder. Still, he watches you, he drinks you in, breathing heavily into your ear. “You alright?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe out, slowly rocking your hips. “Oh god, yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you squeak. “F-fuck.”

“Oh, baby,” he moans. “That’s it,” his hand wraps around your throat. “Look at the camera,” he orders and you can see him smiling the moment you do.

“There she is,” he whispers, cut off by a deep groan. “There’s my pretty girl. Hi.”

“Hi,” you pant, your hips increasing in speed, your legs buckling underneath you. You dig your nails into his skin, your strength depleting by the second. Still, you pick up the pace, watching how the ecstasy spreads across his face.

“Mhm,” he nods, tightening his hand around your throat, just a bit. “Mhm,” he whimpers. “Mhm, mhm. Oh, fuck.”

You reach back and take hold of his hair, the sweat sealing your bodies together so closely that you think you may never separate. You never want to. Your back arches against his body and he pulls you back in, bucks his hips into yours without much thought.

“Oh, baby, you’re amazing. You’re so fucking incredible. Fuck,” the praises flow out of him like he just can’t stop. He nibbles on your face and the bass of his moans sends shivers down your spine. Almost as casually, he starts to rub your clit. You cry out, instantly overstimulated, trembling so hard that you nearly fall from his lap but his arm is locked around you. “Mm-mm, you’re okay,” he rubs you softly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Give me a kiss.”

You try. You do, but your mouth is wide open so instead his tongue wrestles with yours, he chews on your bottom lip. You grip onto his wrist, whimpering into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to rub you faster, harder, putting pressure on that one spot that makes you clamp your thighs shut. You grind your teeth together but the force is too much and all the air in your lungs is coming out in cries. Loud and uncontrollable, punctuated with a weak, “M-Matthew…mm, Matthew…”

“Yeah, baby?” and he laughs when your head rolls back. He kisses your shoulder, “You gonna come for me again?”

“Mhm. Yes. Yes,” it comes out like a mantra. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Show me,” he begs. “Show the camera. C’mon, show that pretty face.”

You sit up, making eye contact with him very briefly before you look into the camera lense, keeping the rhythm in your hips, grinding yourself against his hand. “Mm…” you whine. “Oh…I-I’m…”

“I know,” he says, cradling your face, concentrating on stimulating your clit. Watching you fall apart on screen. “I know, it’s okay. Let it out.”

You claw at his wrist, you do your best to maintain eye contact with the camera, encouraged by the way he’s watching you. Rubbing you, holding you by your throat. He feels your thighs tighten around his hand and he grunts, “Almost, baby. C’mon. Mhm, c’mon.”

Your moans come out through gritted teeth, your eyes screwed shut, your hips on autopilot. When your legs scrunch up into your body, he keeps you steady, he keeps the motion going, watching, waiting. And he keeps talking to you, “Mhm, that’s it. Just like that. Oh, let it out, baby. Give it to me,” he pleads. “Give it to me.”

You would’ve said his name again but he touches you just right, plunges into you just right and you come so hard that you forget how to speak. Nothing but a loud and deep cry, accompanied by the uncontrollable tremors that thrash through your body. Your legs kicking and kicking, your thighs crushing his hand that continues to rub you. He only stops because you fall back, out of his arms, onto the bed and then he’s laughing.

“Always drama with you, pretty lady,” he chuckles, letting you fall onto the mattress. This angle simply just won’t work so he grabs you and pulls you towards him, your side profile now fully displayed in front of the camera. “You okay?” he asks, his thumb touching your lips.

“Mhm,” you nod with two of his fingers in your mouth. You grab his wrist and then his elbow and taking the hint, he climbs on top of you with a messy kiss. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and when you put your hands on his face, refusing to let him break away, he puts his cock inside of you and the pressure makes you gasp. “Oh, fuck. You feel so good,” and it’s evident in the way he starts to pound you. Like it’s consuming him. “Oh my god.”

He buries his face in your neck and you have a good view of your feets flying around in the air. The headboard smacking into the wall. As he begins to kiss all over your jaw, you moan and look over at the camera. You flash it with a great big smile, your arms wrapped tight around Matthew’s shoulders, the dirty sounds of his echoing around your skull.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so close.”

“Yeah, my love?” you run your hand through his hair.

He props himself up, boxing you in between his arms so he can stare at you. You touch his chest and you can feel his breathing nearly stop. “Mhm,” he whimpers, nuzzling his nose into yours. “Just keep looking at me. Look at me, baby.”

And you give him the same smile you’d given the camera, so big and bright that he can’t help but smile in return. “Yes, pretty girl. Just like that,” and he inches closer to you, the rough movement in his hips getting sloppier, jagged. “Oh [y/n], baby,” he moans. “I’m gonna come. Oh, you’re so good. You’re so good. Fuck.”

You reach for him, you want to hold him but he pulls back, pulls his cock out of you and looks you in the eye as he makes a big mess on your stomach. You can’t tear your eyes away from him but you feel the warmth soaking through your rumpled clothes and your jaw drops in shock. Panting, you watch his head roll back and his mouth wide open while he groans, his hand tugging at his leaky cock.

You huff and look down at your body, exclaiming, “My dress!”

His face, beating bright red, looks you up and down and all he has to say for himself is, “Oopsie?”

You kick him gently and he cackles, pushing your leg out of the way so he can lay on top of you, kiss you. And kiss you. And kiss you. He grins as he turns his attention back to the camera, “Well. Take a bow.”

You giggle and, as much as you can while trapped underneath him, you sway your arm dramatically. That’s all the bow you can muster. He kisses your cheek and the camera keeps rolling. It captures at least another fifteen minutes of nothing but you, Matthew, your dress and your mouths. Constantly connected.

[hiddenincommand]

The Apex of Authority: The Unrelenting Power of Fall-Fronted Leather Breeches

In the unassailable hierarchy of dominance, power is not merely an attribute—it is an absolute state of being, a force that consumes and commands. Fall-fronted leather breeches are not garments; they are emblems of an Alpha’s supremacy, molded exclusively for the one who leads with an iron will. Only a true Alpha, unyielding and devoid of weakness, is worthy to wear them. For these breeches do not accept mediocrity; they repel it, scorning any lesser being who dares to even dream of such privilege. To suggest that a coward, a faggot, or a lesser creature might adorn these symbols of absolute power is not just laughable—it is a crime that warrants immediate and merciless correction.

The Infallible Fall Front: A Weapon of Readiness

The most defining feature of these breeches, the fall front, is a testament to the Alpha’s unparalleled control. It is a barrier that both conceals and grants access, an instrument that exists solely for the master’s command. The Alpha, who always goes commando, requires no hindrance when the moment arises to exert his will over those who submit to him. The fall front opens with ease, a seamless, calculated act that signifies readiness—an Alpha is never caught off guard, never waiting, always poised to claim what is his, whenever and wherever he chooses. To witness this act is to understand one’s position: under his power, bound by his dominance.

The breeches are not designed for comfort or frivolous indulgence; they are built for supremacy, engineered to remind both the Alpha and his submissives that the power to take and command is ever-present. When the fall front yields, it does so to reveal authority in its rawest form. It signals that the Alpha is prepared to demonstrate his dominance with brutal efficiency, a display that leaves no room for defiance or doubt.

Leather: The Second Skin of Supremacy

The leather is chosen with purpose—thick enough to command respect, supple enough to move with the precision of its master. It encases the Alpha’s body like a second skin, polished to a gleaming surface that reflects the eyes of those daring enough to gaze upon it. Each step taken, each shift of the leather, serves as an audible warning: the one who commands these breeches is a being whose authority is absolute, whose dominance cannot be challenged.

The cut is unforgiving, accentuating the strength of the Alpha’s form with meticulous detail. The flared hips and tailored seams are not mere aesthetic choices; they are statements, declarations that scream power and masculinity. The breeches adhere to the Alpha’s thighs and flanks, reinforcing every sinew of strength, every movement a reminder that the man within them is poised to take what he desires without delay or compromise.

The Symbolism of Command and Consequence

Statistically, only an infinitesimal fraction of men would dare even to touch fall-fronted leather breeches, and among them, the number who could wear them as they were intended���as the weapon of an Alpha—falls to near null. These breeches do not tolerate pretenders. They are a tool of subjugation, a declaration that the man wearing them holds the power to break and dominate without hesitation. They are built to reject weakness and to punish the insolence of any lesser creature who might dream themselves worthy.

The fall front is not merely an accessory; it is a strategic element of control. It opens only by the Alpha’s hand, a gesture of dominance that renders the submissive powerless. This act is not just symbolic; it is an assertion of superiority—an Alpha can take what he commands, whether in private chambers or in an open display of supremacy. The world conforms to his will, not the other way around.

A Relentless Display of Readiness

These breeches, molded to the Alpha’s form, serve a singular purpose: to broadcast unchallenged readiness and superiority. When the fall front opens, it reveals more than flesh; it reveals an indomitable spirit, a readiness to act and claim in a manner that is unmistakable and absolute. The Alpha does not hesitate; he dominates. The breeches enable this seamless execution of power, ensuring that when he decides to take his subs, there is nothing in his path—no barrier, no delay. The sub understands their place beneath him, knowing that the command can be delivered with unflinching immediacy.

Personal Command from Sir Cedric:

These breeches are not mere clothing; they are a forged testament of my command, an emblem that signifies who dominates and who is subjugated. The fall front is mine to open, revealing my authority whenever I choose, asserting a power that knows no restraint. Let no lesser man, no coward or unworthy creature, dare to approach this garment as anything but an object of their own submission and inferiority. The Alpha wears these breeches as a warning and a promise: he is always ready, always capable, and those in his presence are there to serve or be forgotten. To question this, to entertain even a whisper of imitation, is to invite an unyielding reminder of one’s place—at the mercy of the true master.

[innerfare]

Captain Kid Piercing Your Nipples - Part 1

Summary: You're the newest member of the Kid Pirates, and you have a request for your captain

Pairing: Eustass Kid x Afab!Reader

Genre: not exactly smut but not exactly fluff

CW: nothing explicit but pretty suggestive

Word Count: 1,651

You slipped into Kid’s workshop without knocking, stepping over piles of scrap metal in your clunky combat boots. 

Before joining Captain Kid’s fearsome crew, you had only ever secretly ogled boots like that in shop windows, your family the kind to look down their noses at girls who wore that sort of attire. Looking back on it, you had no idea why; it had never even occurred to you to ask. Meek and mild as you had been in those days, you were too scared. 

Since running away and joining, though, you had gotten rid of the polos and khakis and traded them in for a menagerie of pieces you liked, the vast majority of them plaid, leather, black lace, and rather ostentatious. Captain Kid had taught you how to apply eyeliner and lipstick, had encouraged you to pierce your ears as many times as you wanted, had even taken you shopping for garments he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with you in. 

You had also fallen into your captain’s bed. Or rather, he had shown up at your cabin door one night with a wicked grin on his face. His mentorship had been isolated to the day hours prior to that, but after, he spent his nights teaching you things, too- filthy, nasty, awful things that you took far too much joy in doing.  

“I told you, you could pull it off,” said Kid, looking up from the pieces of metal he was attempting to fit together with a wicked grin on his face. His eyes landed on the black ribbon around your neck, a silver bell hanging from it. 

“Yeah, yeah, Captain Kid is always right.” You repeated his favorite words for the third time that day. 

The bell jingled as you walked, and you had been self conscious when Kid picked it out a few months ago. Now, you almost never took it off, the necklace quickly becoming one of your favorites. You especially liked Kid’s habit of reaching across the table at mealtimes and jingling it, grinning like a kid as he did so. 

“It’s getting late,” you said. 

Kid grunted and looked back down at his work. 

You lingered by his worktable, rather unsure of yourself. You had tossed back some sake in preparation for the conversation you were about to have, but still, you had planned to have it in the dark, his eyes closed as he tried to get some sleep so he couldn’t see the way you blushed. You hated it when Kid noticed you blushing; he was merciless when he did. 

It’s not a big deal, you told yourself. Just a piercing. 

“Can I ask you a favor?” You asked him. 

He grunted again- one of his nice grunts, not one of his mean ones. You spoke an entire language of Kid grunts now, and that’s how you knew he wasn’t so consumed by his work that he wanted you to leave him be. Part of you wished it had been one of those leave me alone sorts so you had an excuse to run back to his cabin and hide beneath that leopard-print blanket on his bed, the one he always stole when you two slept together, leaving you no choice but to crawl on top of him to keep warm. 

You fiddled with the bell around your neck, running your eyes over the hunks of metal in his workshop. You had long grown accustomed to the smell of oil and grease, nevermind the smell of sweat mixed with Kid’s ostentatious cologne. You found comfort in it, even, comfort enough to push ahead with your request. 

“Can you do another piercing?” Your fingers went from your necklace to the row of rings in your left ear, a series of hoops Kid had done for you. His power over metal made the process rather seamless, though his habit of using his ability to tug on the rings when the two of you were in a fight was quite annoying. You knew every piece of metal in your body was advantageous for him, yet you wanted more. 

Kid grunted once more, the kind that meant he agreed to whatever you had asked. After, he pushed his goggles down and reached for a pair of gloves. 

Your glanced at the nearby blowtorch and knew he was about to dive deeper in, so you made your request known before the sound of the blowtorch could drown out your soft voice. “I want you to pierce my nipples.” 

Kid froze like you had ice-ice powers. With the goggles obscuring his face, you couldn’t quite make out the expression he wore. It filled you with anxiety, and you shifted back and forth on your feet. You wished you had consumed some stronger liquor, not just some sake with Wire. 

The minute that passed felt like a decade, and your anxiety consumed you. 

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t have asked.” You turned away, ready to make for the workshop doors and never look back. Maybe you would throw yourself overboard just to be free from the embarrassment. “I just always thought it would be-” 

A gloved hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked. You spun around to see Kid had removed his goggles. He was sitting on a stool behind his worktable, and in that position, he was your height, putting you at eye level. 

Kid couldn’t believe what he had heard. When you entered his workshop, he had hoped you would curl up on that bench in the corner to watch him work in silence like you sometimes did, his favorite place to have you. 

Perhaps, had he not been quite so wrapped up in his work, he would have realized the way you were fiddling with the bell he had insisted on buying you and kicking your clunky combat boots together, the exact way he had met you- minus the bell and combat boots- back on that wretched island you’d been born on. 

You were a skilled martial artist and very intelligent, an asset on his crew, no doubt, but you were also suffering from a lack of confidence that made Kid want to scream his head off and kiss your lips raw at the same time. How a member of his infamous crew was anything other than an arrogant son of a bitch was beyond him. 

And then there was your request. 

His heart hammering in his chest, he wanted to hate you for making him such a pathetic beast, a whimpering boy desperate for your affection. But he couldn’t. He could only be a slave to you, could only grab your wrist and yank you into his lap. 

“Your nipples, huh?” He nipped at your ear, teeth gnashing against the metal installations he could proudly take credit for. “I’m flattered you trust me with such a delicate matter.” 

“Shut up.” You only ever said it half-heartedly, like you wanted him to continue. 

And continue he did. “I don’t know, y/n. They’re awfully sensitive. Just last night you were crying in my bed. Please, Kid, please. It hurts so good.” 

“Bad. I said bad.” You had said good and you knew it. 

“You said good.” 

“I knew you were going to use that against me,” you said with a scoff. 

He feigned offense. “Use what against you?” 

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to be a gentle lover.”  

“Now, who’s the expert in this relationship?” He tightened his grip on you, perfectly content to hold you in his lap while you argued. In fact, it was his favorite activity, bickering with you while you were wrapped in his big arms. 

“I know enough to know you’re not supposed to bite them like that,” you argued back, jamming an elbow into his broad chest. “It’s called a love bite for a reason. You like to chew on me like a feral animal.” 

“That’s what you reduce me to, my pretty pink tulip. A feral animal.” 

You threw your head back into his chest and groaned. 

Just when you were too embarrassed to continue the conversation, just when you were too fed up with his antics and teasing to stay in his workshop, he pulled out the big guns, calling you the name he only used in your softest moments together. 

You had been buying pink tulips at the bustling market in your town the day the Kid Pirates attacked, the day Captain Eustass Kid himself sauntered up to you. And you, meek as you were, had punched him right in the face for stepping on bouquet you’d dropped in shock at the sight of the pirates. 

He’d given you a wicked grin and thrown you over his shoulder, and that had been the end of it. My pretty pink tulip, he had asked you later on, won’t you join my crew? He had seen the dog in you despite your family’s insistence you were a good girl with quite a few respectable marriage proposals you were considering. 

He had seen the fight in your eyes, the yearning for a life free from all constraints- well, except maybe a pair of metal cuffs around your wrists when he had you naked in his bed, that leopard-print blanket tangled around your sweaty legs. 

“Are you sure you want me to do it?” He teased further, reaching beneath your oversized leather jacket and tweaking your nipples through your thin shirt, feeling them harden beneath his touch. “I wouldn’t want to make you cry.”

You knew what he was doing, challenging you, yet you couldn’t stop yourself from rising to the occasion. “I can handle it.” 

Kid grinned. “Of course you can, spider.” Another nickname of his, one you rolled your eyes at but wished he never stopped calling you. “Let’s find some pretty barbells in town, and then I’ll take care of you.” 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[runariya]

Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 1

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: a lot of fluff, a little bit of lying, good natured 'manipulation', size difference, JK has tentacles, self-doubt, minor wound that needs to be stitched, mentions of bonding, doubt, again lying, kissing, smut (only superficial in this part), lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.8k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You think you might settle here, let your restless stitching hands finally find their rhythm on this planet where the air is soft and the light through the windows of your little shop lands like golden thread across the floor. It feels right, this place, Euphonis—a world you once stumbled upon like a loose button in a drawer, an afterthought, but now it glows in your mind like the warm thrum of a needle through fabric. The shop is everything you’d imagined and more, dressed in rustic charm, the old wood floor beneath your feet creaking like a whispered conversation, a relict of the lives it has seen, the weight of Seraphenti footsteps heavier than your own feathery steps. No need for a bell at the door, no chime to herald each customer; the groan of the boards will sing their entry for you, a music of its own.

You’ve been a seamstress for as long as your memory stretches, threading your way through worlds in search of something like home, always with the same soft hope in your chest, the same search for people who need your craft. Zyntis and its inhabitants had seemed promising once—their tails awkward in standardised clothing that never quite fit—but your style had no place there, and so the doors of that shop closed, the dream dissolving before it could begin. And then, by some strange luck—or maybe fate—, you found yourself here, among the Seraphentis, creatures of ethereal beauty, their four tentacles making clothes ill-fitting and frustrating, begging for someone with your hands, your skill to fix what never quite sat right on their otherworldly forms.

And now you're here, here with your thread and your scissors, ready to stitch together lives just a little better, one custom piece at a time, easing the small burdens of misfit garments, making life smoother—seamless, you think with a soft smile.

Late in the afternoon, the shop is quiet, only the rhythmic whirr of your sewing machine filling the small room, your small fingers guiding the fabric beneath the needle with every beat of your heart. You're working on a dress for yourself, something soft and simple to soothe the days behind and look forward to the days ahead. The fabric is delicate, like a promise, and you're so absorbed in its flow that you don't hear the front door until the floor itself betrays the presence of another—footsteps, nearly silent but for the familiar creak beneath their weight.

You stop, hands stilling the machine as you lift your gaze and stand up without much thought, and there—there stands a Seraphenti in the middle of your shop, framed by the light like something out of a dream. Your breathing comes to a sudden stop, not for the first time, at the sheer beauty of these beings, but this one—this one is something else entirely. His face holds you, every line and curve more perfect than any sculpture, his dark eyes deep as midnight, lashes long and thick like the edge of a brush dipped in ink. His lips, rosy and gleaming, part slightly when he sees you—when he realises you are not what he expected, a human, let alone one as small as you, much shorter than any Seraphenti, standing before him in a tailor's shop meant for his species.

You feel his surprise, she him staring unsure at you, but you also feel his warmth, his curiosity. The corners of your eyes crinkle into a smile, the kind that stretches wide and genuine, your teeth flashing in welcome as you call out to him with your soft, cheery voice, "Hello, welcome! What can I do for you?"

It’s as if your words break a spell. He smiles back—radiant, confident in a way that catches you off guard for a second, though there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel at ease. He steps forward, his tall build filling the room, and you have to tilt your head back so far that you almost laugh from the sheer height of him.

"Hi," he says with a dialect, his voice rich and warm. "I was hoping to have my shirt customised… if that's possible?"

"Of course!" You can't help the excitement in your voice—he’s your first customer here on Euphonis, and that alone makes you practically beam. You gesture towards the small podium you’ve had specially made for your size, a donut-shaped stand meant to let you reach your taller clients with ease. „If you’d come with me, I just need to take your measurements."

He follows you, but pauses when his right foot lands on the podium, eyeing the contraption with a look of mild confusion before you giggle and explain, "Oh, the donut’s for me, not you. Just step into the middle."

Realisation dawns across his handsome face, and a high-pitched laugh escapes him, shaking his broad shoulders. He looks down at you, and suddenly you both burst into uncontrollable laughter, cracking up like it’s the funniest thing in the world. You hold your stomach as your side begins to ache, tears prickling at your eyes as you try to compose yourself.

"I'm sorry," he manages between laughs, wiping away tears as well. "It's just… brilliant."

"No, no need to apologise!" You smile, cheeks aching from the shared moment. "It's fine, really."

You both manage to calm down long enough for him to step into the circle, and you climb onto the podium behind him. Despite the elevation, he towers over you still, and the two of you exchange a look in the mirror—your heads tilted in different directions as if caught in some ridiculous dance move. The sight is too much; you both burst into laughter again, leaning on each other to stay upright, wheezing without restraint.

When all the laughter finally runs out of your systems, he straightens, offering you a playful smirk. „You know, I’ve always been one of the taller ones."

"Really?" You quip, pretending to be shocked. "I never would have guessed."

His eyes light up, the sparkle of amusement never leaving as he says, "I'm Jungkook, by the way."

"I'm ___," you reply, meeting his gaze in the mirror once more. "Nice to meet you, Jungkook. Now, let’s get those measurements, shall we?"

You begin your work, tape in hand, as you move around him, tracing the lines of his strong frame, marvelling at the way his body seems to have been carved by some masterful sculptor. Each muscle is defined, even beneath the fabric of his shirt, and you focus hard to keep your hands steady, to keep from letting your admiration spill over into something too obvious. Every so often, you catch him watching you in the mirror, a soft smile playing at his lips, his dark eyes warm and knowing as if reading your mind, though he says nothing—just lets you work.

When you reach his back, the challenge becomes clear—his tentacles rise at your approach, like a loom adjusting its threads to some unseen hand. They stand tall and tense, alert and protective, sensing your presence but unsure whether to trust. You reach out slowly, letting the back of your hand hover near them, allowing them to ‚sniff‘ you, in a way. Slowly, reluctantly, they relax, draping back down, though they remain distant, uninterested in interacting with you. You can’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment—Seraphenti tentacles are usually more curious, more playful—but Jungkook’s seem reserved, almost dismissive.

Still, you carry on, finishing the measurements with care, even as a quiet sadness lingers in your thoughts. "We’re done," you say, the words soft as you both step off and out of the podium, heading towards a dresser that you use as a counter, and jot down the remaining notes.

Jungkook hands you his shirt from a small backpack you hadn’t noticed before. “When can I pick it up?”

“Three days?” you suggest, hoping to give it the time and attention it deserves.

“That works for me,” he says with a nod, and you scribble the pickup date on a small slip of paper, passing it to him along with a smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say, handing him the receipt. “See you in three days.”

“Thank you, too, ___,” he says, his voice softer now, a touch of warmth lacing his words as he leaves your shop.

And just like that, the door closes behind him, leaving you alone again in the soft light of the afternoon, your heart fluttering silently in your chest.

Three days after your first encounter, Jungkook returns to your shop. The wooden floors creak softly beneath his weight as he steps inside, and despite knowing he’s coming, the sight of him still sends a ripple through you, as if the world itself bends gently towards him. He’s all smiles and easy charm, his presence large enough to fill the room but never overwhelming. You hand him his shirt with a small sense of pride fluttering in your chest, neatly wrapped in tissue paper and a cute little sticker holding its edges. You’ve sewn every stitch with care, crafted every seam with precision, and when he leaves with a grateful smile and a wave, you feel light as air, like you’ve woven a thread of connection to a customer that might just hold.

But the next week, he’s back. You hear the familiar creak of the floorboards and turn to see him holding the same shirt, this time with an apologetic frown lining his beautiful face. There’s a tear where you made your customisation, a delicate seam pulled apart. You feel a knot of dread form in your stomach, tightening until it’s nothing but uncomfortable. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the shirt from him, running your fingers along the damaged thread. You apologise profusely, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and promise to fix it at no charge. He reassures you—says it’s not a big deal, that things like this happen—but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve failed him.

You spend the next few hours painstakingly re-stitching the seam, checking it over and over to ensure it holds. It’s perfect when you hand it back, and Jungkook thanks you warmly, that familiar smile returning to his face as he leaves. Still, something gnaws at you, a quiet voice at the back of your mind whispering doubts into your ear.

Then he returns again.

And again.

Each time with the same shirt, each time with a small tear, a rip where you’ve sewn. Your heart sinks deeper with every visit, each one like a tiny unravelling of the confidence you’d worked so hard to build. You start to dread the sound of the floor creaking beneath his feet, the sight of that perfect face marked with apology. Your hands shake when you work now, the thread slipping from your grasp more often than it used to, and the needle seems to prick your skin more than it should, small beads of red appearing where your focus falters.

By the time he comes back for the seventh time in three months, the weight of it all becomes too much. The sight of him walking through the door feels like a final thread snapping, the tension that’s been building in your chest pulling so tight that it finally breaks in two. You’ve tried your best, given it everything, and still, you’re failing miserably—still, your work isn’t enough. You can feel the tears already welling in your eyes before you even greet him.

The door shuts behind him with that same familiar groan of wood against wood, and you’re already pulling the apron from your waist, the knot in your stomach so tight it hurts.

“Jungkook,” you say, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern as he takes a step closer, holding the shirt loose in his hand by his side. “What? ___, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, the words coming out before you can stop them, tumbling over one another like loose yarn spilling from a spool. “I don’t know why it keeps happening. Every time I fix it, it just—breaks again. I don’t understand. I’ve never had this problem before. Maybe my work isn’t… maybe I’m not…” You trail off, tears slipping down your cheeks now, your hands shaking as you press them to your face, trying to hide the wave of emotion washing over you. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Jungkook’s face falls, and suddenly he’s in front of you, his free hand hovering just above yours as if unsure whether he should touch you or not. “___, no, please don’t say that. It’s not—”

“I can’t keep doing this,” you continue as your hands fall limply to your sides, your voice breaking as you choke out the words. “Every time you come back, it feels like I’ve failed. I don’t know why the thread keeps breaking, why I can’t make it work. It’s like every time I stitch it together, something inside me frays even more, and I just… I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in panic, and he quickly closes the distance between you, reaching out to gently take your miniature hand in his big one. His touch is warm, his fingers curling around yours with a softness that paralyses you momentarily. “No, no, it’s not you. ___, it’s not your work. Your stitching is perfect. It’s me—” He stops, inhaling deeply, his eyes darting around the shop for a moment as if he’s gathering the courage to say something. Then he lets out a burdened breath, looking back at you with a pained expression. “I did it. I—I damaged the shirt on purpose.”

You blink up at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “What?”

“I damaged it on purpose,” he repeats, his voice low and apologetic, like a child confessing a misdeed. “I—I just… I wanted to keep seeing you.”

You think you might faint, your mind struggling to process his words. “You… you tore the shirt… on purpose?”

Jungkook nods, his face and ears burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I just—after the first time, when I saw how careful you were, how much you cared, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I didn’t know how else to see you again, so I—” He gestures helplessly to the shirt in his hand, offering it to you like if it were the culprit, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I kept damaging it. A little more each time, just so I’d have an excuse to come back.”

You stare up at him, unblinking, wondering if you imagined his confidence or not. But still, there are equal parts disbelief and something else that settles within you—something that feels strangely like relief, like the loosening of a knot that’s been pulling tight for months. The silence between you stretches, Jungkook’s nerves flaring, as your mind is still trying to catch up with everything he’s just said.

“Why?” you finally manage to ask, your voice small, barely more than a whisper.

Jungkook meets your eyes, his expression softening as he takes a deep breath. “Because… I like you,” he admits, the words tumbling out like they’ve been waiting too long to be spoken. “I liked you from the moment I walked in here the first time. I didn’t know how to ask you out. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, or that you’d think I was ridiculous, so I—well, I made up reasons to keep coming back. To keep seeing you. But it’s not because you’re not good at your job—you’re amazing at it,___. It’s because I didn’t want to stop seeing you.”

His confession washes over you like a warm shower after a long exhausting day, the self-doubt that had been festering inside you slowly dissolving under the gentle flutter of his words. You take a breath, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks as you search his face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of joke or misunderstanding—but all you see is sincerity, and a nervous kind of hope.

“I…” You falter, still trying to wrap your mind around everything, but there’s a warmth blooming in your chest now, a quiet happiness that wasn’t there since Jungkook came back with the damaged shirt. You look down at your hands, still held gently in his, and let out a small, breathless laugh. “You tore your shirt… just to see me?”

Jungkook nods, his lips curving into a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Pretty stupid, right?”

A laugh escapes you, soft but genuine, the tension in your chest finally releasing. “Maybe a little,” you admit, looking up at him with a small, flirty smile of your own. “But… kind of sweet, too.”

His eyes brighten at that, relief flooding his expression as he squeezes your hands gently. “I’m sorry, though. I should’ve just… told you. I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself.”

You shake your head, wiping away the last of your tears. “It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t great thinking I was losing my touch, but… I guess I can’t be too upset. Not now that I know why.”

The two of you just stand there for a moment, the quiet between you no longer heavy with doubt. It’s strange, how quickly everything has shifted—how the world has gone from tipping over to balancing out again in a way you hadn’t expected. You take a breath, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

“So… what now?” you take a breath to shush the shyness away, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

Jungkook’s smile widens, his beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners as he gently tugs you a little closer. “Well, for starters, I’ll stop tearing my clothes on purpose,” he laughs quietly. “And maybe… we could try seeing each other outside of the shop? If you’re interested, that is.”

Your small heart skips a beat at his offer, and for the first time in months, the doubt inside you is nowhere to be found. You nod, a beaming smile on your face as you look up at him. “Yeah,” you say softly, “I think I’d like that.”

And just like that, you love story with Jungkook begins.

It's been months since you and Jungkook started seeing each other. Since that day he walked into your shop with his torn shirt, a thread of connection was spun between you, and what started as something delicate, tentative—like a stitch holding two fragile fabrics together—soon grew into something much stronger, blossoming from strangers to friends, to finally, without much fanfare, to a couple. You’ve gone from quiet cups of coffee shared in the mornings, the smell of roasted beans lacing the air between you, to nights spent curled up together on his sofa, the noise of the world fading away, leaving just the warmth and quiet intimacy of kisses. You’ve woven yourselves securely into each other’s lives, slowly, stitch by stitch, until the fabric of your days has become so interwoven that it’s hard to remember what life was like before the other.

There’s an ease to your relationship now, a rhythm you’ve both fallen into—domestic moments that feel as familiar and comforting as the soft creak of old wood beneath your feet in the shop. You cook together, hands brushing as you pass ingredients back and forth, Jungkook’s arms sneaking around your waist to tease you, pulling you closer just for the joy of feeling your body near his. You help each other with mundane tasks—he rearranges your bolts of fabric while you pin a garment to a mannequin, and in turn, you fold his laundry as he hums some quiet melody under his breath.

But not everything in this tapestry is perfect. There are pulls, tangles in the threads that remind you of the things you can’t control—the Seraphenti tentacles that constantly test for bonds, seeking to see if they align with others, exploring compatibility in ways that no words could, to merge together and never be able to part again. You’ve learned this since the beginning, understanding that his tentacles are almost their own beings, extensions of him yet with wills of their own. It’s natural for them, simply biology, to seek connections, to sniff and sense, and while you try to remind yourself that this is simply part of who he is, it doesn’t stop the sharp tug of fear when you see those tentacles reach for someone else, when they can’t seem to even recognise your presence. It made you feel a little nervous but had never truly been an issue in your relationship—until now.

You are standing in line at a fast food stall, a simple joy, the scent of fried food and warm spices lingering in the air, when everything you silently feared catches up with you, when the sky above is bruised with twilight, such as your soul soon will be. 

It starts as one of those easy moments that feels like the perfect stitch at the end of a long day—a moment of peace, of completion. But then, a female Seraphenti joins the line next to your stall, her silvery skin catching the fading light like a needle glinting in the sun.

You feel the change in Jungkook before you even see it. His body tenses, his movements growing hesitant. You look up and see his tentacles rising slowly, drawn towards hers as though pulled by an invisible thread. Your heart skips a beat, then begins to unravel, that quiet sense of peace fraying as you watch his tentacles move closer towards hers with instinctive curiosity. They hover between them like two stray threads, exploring, seeking a bond, and your chest tightens, painfully so. You try to swallow the bitter knot of jealousy that forms in your throat, but it just can’t go down, too raw, too sharp.

Jungkook’s face pales beside you, and you can see the silent dread and panic in his eyes. He glances at you briefly, as if to reassure you, but it does nothing when his eyes tell. You stand there, frozen, the world around you tilting again, as your eyes focus solely on the quiet, delicate dance of their tentacles. They move closer and closer, testing, curious. And the worst part is that this isn’t some conscious decision of his—this is simply biology, a force stronger than either of you. But knowing that doesn’t stop your heart from sinking like a stone in a bottomless well.

Time seems to stretch and elongate like a spool of thread unwinding too quickly, and the tension becomes unbearable for you. The female Seraphenti seems uninterested in anything but the exploration of the menu ahead, her tentacles floating lazily in the air, waiting for the connection to either solidify or break apart. Jungkook watches with a grieving expression, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, but then, with a sudden, vicious snap, his tentacles attack hers, which recoil with equal ferocity, as Jungkook lets a breath of pure relief escape his body.

There’s a soft gasp from the crowd around you, eyes drawn But it’s short-lived, as the gasps of the crowd around you is heard, Jungkook winces, and you notice immediately that one of his tentacles is curling back toward him, wounded. You’re at his side before you even think, your hands brushing against his arm as you whisper, “Let’s go home.”

He nods, his face still pale, and together you leave the stall behind, walking in absolute silence. His injured tentacle hangs limply, the fabric of your connection feeling threadbare, frayed by what just happened. You can feel it—both the physical pain in him and the emotional sting in yourself, the wound of knowing that his tentacles sought something with another, even if it didn’t take root.

Back at his flat, the quiet is almost suffocating you as Jungkook glances at you with eyes filled with relief, shame, and something you can’t quite place. He sinks onto the sofa, his movements defeated, and you immediately fetch the small first aid kit from his bathroom. And still, Jungkook only watches you in silence as you kneel beside him, your hands gentle as you begin to clean the small cut on his tentacle. There’s a strange sort of comfort in this—tending to him, mending the damage like patching a torn garment. But underneath it all, there’s a sadness that you can’t shake, something threatening to break everything fully.

You move carefully, your fingers working with the same precision you use when sewing—steady, practised, almost automatic. His tentacles, usually so independent, seem to allow your touch this time, curling slightly but not retreating. You feel their warmth under your fingers, the living pulse of them, and for the first time, they seem to recognise your presence not as something to ignore or push away, but as something to co-exist, if only just.

As you prepare the needle to stitch the small tear, you try to lighten the mood, though the weight of earlier still hangs between you both. You glance up at him with a faint smile and joke, “I’m sorry I’m missing the nurse outfit. Would’ve made this whole thing more convincing, don’t you think?”

Jungkook looks down at you, his confusion evident. “A nurse outfit?”

You laugh softly, though the sound is fragile like your nerves, thin like thread worn from overuse. “Yeah, you know. Nurses—like the assistants to doctors. They take care of people when they’re hurt. Stitch them up, give them medicine, that sort of thing.”

He frowns slightly, thinking it over. “Like a healer’s apprentice?”

You nod, threading the needle carefully, the familiar rhythm of sewing calming your nerves slightly. “Sort of. They don’t do the magic or the rituals, but they do everything else. They’re the ones who actually keep people alive most of the time.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a small smile, though there’s still a lingering sadness in his eyes. “You’d make a good nurse,” he says quietly. “Or a healer’s apprentice.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’ll stick to tailoring for now. But thanks.”

The silence that follows again is filled with unsaid words and emotions. You finish stitching the wound, tying off the thread with careful fingers, but as you do, the lingering ache in your chest only grows sharper, the tentacles again retreating from you in an instant. You place the needle aside and sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly as you try to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers suddenly, his voice full of sorrow. “I hate that this happened. I hate that you had to see it.”

You glance up at him, and the raw sincerity in his eyes makes your heart twist painfully. “It’s not your fault,” you whisper back, afraid that if you speak any louder, it might shatter you whole. “I know it’s just… how things are. But that doesn’t make it any easier.” You lower your gaze, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up behind your eyes. “It’s hard not to feel like… one day, your tentacles are going to decide I’m not good enough. That there’s someone else out there who fits you better.”

Jungkook’s expression saddens even more, and he reaches out, his hand finding yours, even if it’s the only thing searching for you. His fingers are warm and big, as he squeezes your hand tenderly. “It doesn’t work like that,” he says softly, though you know its a lie. “They don’t decide everything. They’re curious, yes. But they’re not the ones who get to choose who I love.”

You know he’s lying, you know he’s only trying to mend what’s broken. “But what if they do? What if one day, they find someone else and—”

“I’ll fight them,” Jungkook interrupts, his voice resolute. He looks at you with such conviction, such certainty, that for a moment, you almost believe him entirely. “If they ever try to pull me away from you, I’ll fight them. Because I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

His words hang between you, like the final knot that holds the end of a stitch secure, binding it in place so it won’t come undone. And though there’s still doubt lingering in your heart, there’s also a quiet hope you want to follow blindly.

You manage a small smile, though your voice trembles slightly when you speak. “I hope that’s true,” you whisper, now lying to yourself as well. “Because I want you too. More than anything.”

Jungkook leans closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin like the brush of soft fabric. “It is true,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I promise.”

Jungkook then kisses you slowly, tenderly, like he has so many times before, but now there’s a sadness, a longing beneath it. You can feel it in the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath is restricted, the way his touch lingers longer than usual. It’s in the soft pull of his mouth, the way his fingers hold you like he’s afraid you might slip away. His fear, his desperation—they seep into the kiss, bitter, and you taste it with every breath, every trembling press of lips.

He pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you instinctively, holding you close, as if your bodies can protect each other from the truth untold. Your hands find their way to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair—soft, silken strands flowing between your fingers. His hands glide up from your thighs, tracing your spine, pressing you closer as they move higher, over your back, until they reach your neck, cradling it with a touch that is both tender and desperate. He holds you like you’re the last solid thing he can grasp in a world that’s threatening to crumble.

The kiss deepens, turning heated as the desperation between you grows. Your fear mirrors his, gnawing worry that clings to your being, tightening in your throat. You can’t stop thinking about the possibility of losing him—of waking up one morning, still wrapped in his arms, only to have him slip away from you without warning some hours later, taken by a bond you have no control over. The thought haunts you, lingers in your mind as your kiss becomes more frantic, more painful. It’s like you’re both trying to escape the fear, but the harder you cling to each other, the closer it seems to get.

Jungkook lifts your small form effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom without breaking the kiss, his steps hurried, like he’s trying to outrun something. When you finally reach the bed, your hands are on him, frantically pulling at his clothes with shaking hands as he pulls at yours, both of you desperate to strip away the layers separating your skin. You kiss him harder, desperate to forget, to lose yourself in him, to forget the race against the clock that neither of you wants to see.

You can barely savour this moment, the moment that should have meant everything, that moment when you finally allowed your bodies to connect in the only way possible. You don’t even stop to take in the sight of him—the way his body is revealed to you, inch by inch, until he stands before you completely bare. You don’t take the time to marvel at his beauty, the strength of him, the way he seems to tower over you with his sheer size. All you can think about is the sadness, the dark cloud that lingers over this moment, threatening to suffocate any joy you might have felt. You barely even register the difference between your bodies when he finally presses into you—his size, the way your body stretches around him, the sharp sting of pain that follows. It’s all distant, muffled, like you’re watching it happen to someone else, detached and numb.

But Jungkook’s eyes, they’re wide, filled with sorrow and longing, and his voice breaks as he whispers, over and over, a chant of reassurance that he’s trying so hard to believe. “I love you. I love you. I’m never letting you go.” He repeats it like a mantra, as if saying it enough times will make it true, will make the fear disappear.

But the words only echo between the slap of flesh, but you can’t find the strength to respond. You want to—want to tell him you love him too, that you’ll never leave, that you’ll fight for this with everything you have—but the cloud has taken hold, and the words stick in your throat, unable to escape. Instead, you stay silent, letting his words fill the space between you, hoping they’re enough for both of you, even as doubt and sadness weigh heavy on your chest.

And when you both reach that moment of release, it feels hollow—beautiful on the surface, but fragile beneath. The euphoria that should have filled you instead leaves you feeling emptier than before, breaking your heart even more. You lay there with him, tangled in the sheets, your bodies pressed together, but it’s as though a chasm has opened up between you. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. This isn’t how you imagined your first time with him, how you thought your love would feel.

Instead, all you’re left with is the silence that follows and more tears in your eyes than you can hold back. You wonder if this is your new reality—living each day with the constant worry that he might be taken from you. You wonder if the love between you might not be enough to keep you together in the end. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at him again without that pang of uncertainty and sadness.

You wonder…

masterlist • 2

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for part 2 and eventual bonuses 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

[celebtf]

THE NEW PRINCE, HOOK

Under the night-cover, Hook seeked out the witch who was hiding in the outskirts of town. Her lair was a maze of twisted roots and flickering candles, and the air was thick with the scent of herbs.

"I need a potion," Hook demanded, his voice edged with desperation. "One that will let me swap lives with another."

The witch, her eyes glinting with joyfull glee, made a potion with ingredients known only to her dark arts. "This will do the trick," she said, handing Hook a vial of swirling, iridescent liquid. "But be warned, such magic comes with consequences."

Hook didn't care about consequences. All he wanted was to live the life of a hero, to be adored as Prince Charming was. That night, during a grand banquet in the prince's honor, Hook found his chance. He slipped the potion into Charming's drink, his heart pounding with anticipation.

As the potion took effect, a strange sensation overcame them both. Hook felt his body shift, his very essence being pulled and stretched. A violent surge ran through him, as if his bones were melting and reforming all at once. His skin tingled and burned, muscles twitching uncontrollably. He clutched the edge of a table to steady himself, his vision blurring as the room spun around him.

He looked down to see his hand, once rough and scarred from years at sea, smoothing out, the skin becoming fair and un-scared His fingers lengthened, becoming more elegant and refined. He felt his face contorting, bones cracking and rearranging. His jawline softened, the rugged stubble that had always marked his chin receding until his skin was smooth. His nose narrowed, cheekbones rising higher beneath his eyes.

His hair, once dark lightened to a golden color, the strands growing softer and more luxurious. He felt his body stretch taller, his posture straightening from the familiar pirate’s slouch to the proud and straight posture of a prince. His clothes, rough and worn, transformed into fine, royal garments, rich with intricate embroidery and vibrant colors.

Across the room, Charming experienced a similar torment. His handsome, noble features twisted and warped. His golden hair darkened, becoming a tangled mess of black curls. His clean-shaven face grew rough with stubble, his jawline becoming sharper, more angular. His muscular frame shrank slightly, becoming leaner.

His royal attire morphed into the rugged, leather-clad outfit of a pirate. The new elegance of a prince went away. He looked down at his hand, now rough and scared, a pirate’s hook replacing where his left hand used to be.

When it was over, Hook, now in Charming’s body, looked at his reflection in a polished silver goblet. He saw not the feared pirate, but the beloved prince. A big grin spread across his face. He was now Prince Charming, and the real prince, trapped in Hook's form, stared back at him in horror.

The transformation was seamless. No one suspected a thing. Hook reveled in his new life, soaking in the adoration and respect that had always been out of reach. He performed heroic deeds, courted the beautiful Snow White, and lived a life of luxury and honor.

Meanwhile, the real Prince Charming, now in Hook's body, faced a grim fate. Labeled as the notorious pirate, he was swiftly arrested and thrown into the town jail. His protests of innocence fell, for who would believe the words of a pirate like Hook?

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Hook, living as Charming, found joy in every stolen moment of his sad new life. He had no regrets, only a deep satisfaction. For him, there was no need for a happy ending beyond this—the life he had coveted was now his, and he intended to keep it that way.

As for the real Prince Charming, bored in a cold, dark cell, hope seemed a distant memory. The town had moved on, and so had Hook, leaving Charming to rot in the misery of a fate that was never meant to be his.

And so, the tale concluded not with a happy ending, but with a cruel twist of fate—Captain Hook living the life of Prince Charming, while the true prince languished in obscurity, a prisoner of envy and dark magic.

[treygold59]

The Golden Run

To ensure its dominance on the pitch the Golden Army trains every day and night no matter the weather. New recruit @ambrosegold49 begins his 10K.

The gold shorts and shirt he wears sparkle in the streetlights. Rain begins to pour down, creating a symphony of droplets on the pavement. Ambrose, clad in his shiny gold shorts and shirt, becomes a beacon in the storm, his vibrant attire contrasting sharply against the grey, rainy backdrop. Ambrose's shirt and shorts cling tightly to every every muscle and curve, the gold radiating brighter and brighter.

As Ambrose ran, he saw another figure approaching from the opposite direction. This man, Jax, was walking calmly, seemingly unbothered by the rain that soaked his clothes. As they neared each other, Ambrose couldn't help but smile—a simple gesture that spoke volumes.

Jax, captivated by the golden figure running towards him, felt a spark. When Ambrose passed him with that friendly smile, something clicked inside Jax. The golden God noticed him, was calling to him. Without a second thought, he turned and began to run, matching Ambrose's pace.

Seeing Jax running behind him, drenched from the rain, Ambrose felt a surge of empathy. Having recently been converted to gold himself, Ambrose, knew the overwhelming attraction and need to become one with gold. Without breaking his stride, he swiftly pulled off his shiny gold shirt and tossed it back to Jax. Jax caught it mid-air, a bit surprised but grateful. He quickly put it on, feeling a strange connection as the rain continued to pour down on them.

As Jax pulled on the golden shirt, a warmth spread across his skin, contrasting with the cool, relentless rain. The fabric was smooth and almost otherworldly, clinging comfortably to his body while shimmering under the dim, rain-soaked light. It felt like wearing a piece of the sun, radiating an energizing glow that seemed to seep into his very being.

The moment the shirt settled on him, Jax felt an unexpected surge of power coursing through his veins. It was as if the golden garment had a life of its own, infusing him with a newfound strength and determination. His senses sharpened, the rhythm of his heartbeat synchronized with the pounding raindrops around him, each step feeling lighter and more purposeful.

Jax felt a curious tingling sensation. To his amazement, he watched as his drenched jeans began to transform. The fabric seemed to shimmer and ripple, gradually morphing into sleek gold running shorts that matched Ambrose's attire. The transformation was smooth and seamless, as if the magic of the shirt extended to whatever it touched.

The newly transformed shorts were lightweight and perfectly tailored, allowing Jax to move with unprecedented ease and agility. The rain, once a hindrance, now felt invigorating against his golden ensemble, enhancing his every movement.

With every stride, Jax felt the power of the gold shirt and shorts combining, propelling him forward with a newfound swiftness.

With the golden shirt now shimmering on Jax, the two men ran side by side, their breaths synchronizing, the rain around them almost like a protective veil from the rest of the world.

Running beside Ambrose, Jax sensed a profound connection growing between them, as if their shared golden attire bound their fates together.

They pushed through the storm together, each step drawing them closer to an unspoken bond. As they ran, the city seemed to blur past them, the rain washing away everything except the path they forged together. They didn't need words; the simple act of running in unison, in gold, was enough to communicate volumes.

Their synchronized steps carried them through the rain-soaked city, . The shimmering gold of their clothes seemed to cast a radiant glow, lighting their way through the dusky evening.

As they neared the football stadium, the air buzzed with anticipation. The vast, empty structure loomed ahead, but it wasn't desolate for long. Gradually, figures began to emerge from the shadows, each one clad in the same gleaming gold.

The Golden Army, as they called themselves, stood in formation, their reflective uniforms shining brightly under the stadium lights. They moved in unison, their presence a testament to strength, unity, and an unbreakable spirit. As Ambrose and Jax approached, the members of the Golden Army parted to create a welcoming path.

Ambrose smiled at Jax, his eyes filled with pride and encouragement. "Welcome to the Golden Army," he said, his voice carrying a tone of camaraderie and warmth.

Jax felt an overwhelming sense of belonging as he stepped forward. The journey, which began as a solitary walk through the rain, had brought him to this incredible moment. The Golden Army greeted him with open arms, their collective energy surging through the group, filling Jax with a sense of purpose.

[fafnir19]

Hunter Prince

As the youngest prince, I am often belittled, ridiculed, and scorned. My elder brothers, Haas and Rego, are exemplary warriors, while I, Prince Almir, am but a mere shadow in their presence. The king, too, has often expressed his disappointment in me, though he does so subtly, through concerned glances and exasperated sighs. One fateful day, a group of entertainers graced the castle with their presence, and amid their act, they unfolded a tale of Princess Naja, bewitched by an evil sorceress and earmarked for marriage to the fearsome wizard, Zarik. Her plight ignited a fire within me—the chance to prove my worth, not just to my family, but to myself. Stealing away from the castle, I embarked on a journey to rescue the fair Princess Naja.

Many trials beset me, but eventually, I arrived at the sorceress's tower, where Naja was imprisoned high above, seemingly out of reach. I approached Naja, hoping for her wisdom and guidance. Much to my surprise, she revealed her secret knowledge of the sorceress's books. She disclosed the conditions for my success: "Capture the black unicorn and fashion boots from its untamable hide; Slay the black wolf and forge a cape from its impenetrable fur; Snare the black falcon and equip your garments with its swift feathers." With Naja's aid, and a stolen magical ring from the sorceress, I would then transform into these creatures. As a falcon, I would soar into the tower, transform into a wolf to subdue the sorceress, and flee with Naja upon the back of the unicorn.

The challenges before me seemed insurmountable, but with cunning and skill, I succeeded in each task. The garments were fashioned, the magical ring obtained.

As a falcon, I soared into the sky, riding the winds as they carried me closer to the lofty prison where Naja awaited her liberation. My heart pounded, and the adrenaline coursed through my veins as I approached the tower, ready to confront the sorceress and seize my chance to rescue the princess. "Naja, I'm here," I called out in a silent hum, the only sound that carried from my avian form. From the tower, her voice echoed back, laced with an urgency that spurred me onward. "Almir, be swift. Transform into the wolf when you arrive. We must act before the sorceress intervenes." My feathers ruffled with determination, and with a steely resolve, I executed the seamless transition into a formidable wolf. As I approached the tower, the door swung open with a gust of chilling wind, and I bounded forth to confront the sorceress. But as I advanced, ready to confront the wicked enchantress, the sight that greeted me struck with the force of a thunderbolt. It was not the sorceress who stood before me, but a figure much more imposing. It was the wizard Zarik, his eyes gleaming with power and malice. I snarled and attacked, but before I could even reach him, Zarik swiftly subdued me with a collar and muzzle.

Naja stepped forward with a sinister smile, holding the magical ring. "Oh, Almir," she said with false sweetness. "I knew you would be the perfect addition to our little family." Naja's laughter filled the tower, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You see, Almir, love can make one do many things. And my love for Zarik knows no bounds." She kissed Zarik and presented him with the magical ring. "This will be the perfect wedding gift for you, my dear." With a sinking feeling, I realized that the true love story was not between Princess Naja and I, but between her and the dark wizard Zarik. I desperately asked: "What is the meaning of this? Naja, I thought you were—" "Silence, Almir," Zarik commanded, his voice laced with an undercurrent of dark power that sent shivers down my spine. "You will come with us, and you will learn the consequences of meddling in matters beyond your understanding." As I stood there, rendered helpless and captive, the reality of the situation began to sink in. I had been tricked, betrayed, and now I was at the mercy of the very adversaries I had sought to thwart.

Just as despair threatened to consume me, Zarik's voice cut through the suffocating silence. "Almir, you are no longer who you once were. From now on, you shall be known as Hunter, my loyal companion." I blinked in confusion, my mind reeling from the sudden turn of events. "Hunter? What do you mean?" Zarik's eyes held a chilling glint as he explained, "You possess remarkable potential, Hunter, and I will decide which form you will take—whether it is the unicorn for its speed, the wolf for its prowess in hunting, the falcon for its keen sight, or the human form for its cunning and intelligence." A dreadful realization dawned on me as the truth sank in. I was now at Zarik's mercy, bound to his will and stripped of my former identity. As Hunter, I had become a mere tool in the hands of a powerful wizard and a deceitful princess. Defeated and captive, I could only wonder what fate awaited me at the hands of the sorceress and the powerful wizard.

The days melded into an existence I had never fathomed, where loyalty was my only currency. Zarik, my captor turned master, reveled in his newfound "wedding gift," parading me like a prized possession. I accompanied him everywhere, adopting the form he desired, whether human, unicorn, wolf, or falcon.

His training was relentless, intended not just to hone my hunting skills, but to break my spirit. "Good, Hunter," Zarik murmured, as I successfully tracked our prey through the dense forest. "I see great potential in you." Potential for what? I often pondered, but all that escaped my lips, in any form, were feigned grunts of acquiescence. One evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Zarik and I found ourselves in the great hall, partaking in a goblet of wine each. Naja appeared, cloaked in allure as always, her gaze flitting between us with a glimmer of malice. "Ah, Naja, my love," Zarik said, rising from his seat. "Have you come to admire our progress?" Naja's laugh echoed like silver bells, belying the darkness that swirled within her. "Indeed, Zarik. It's impressive how you've transformed Almir into such a useful companion." Useful? I snarled inwardly, my human form concealed by the boundary of silence I had resigned to. Zarik stepped closer to Naja, his eyes alight with fervor. "He has proven to be a valuable asset, indeed. His loyalty knows no bounds, just as yours." Naja's lips curled into a wry smirk, and I could almost taste the bitterness of my own plight. "Hunter, isn't it?" She addressed me as if I were naught but a hound. "Yes," Zarik affirmed with a glint in his eye, seeing his handiwork unfold. "His transformation is quite remarkable, wouldn't you agree?" I clenched my fists, hidden beneath the guise of human semblance, the wine in my goblet forgotten as their sinister exchange unfolded before me.

Naja approached, her ethereal beauty masking the venomous intent within. "Impressive, indeed," she purred, her fingers trailing along my arm as if I were no more than a weapon at their disposal. I recoiled internally, stifling the violent impulse to lash out. Trapped within my own facade, I could only endure their twisted charade. The moon ascended high into the night as the hour grew late. Zarik and Naja bid each other farewell, entwining in a passionate embrace, leaving me to my thoughts. However, their parting words, laced with veiled intentions, lingered in the air like a thick mist. As they departed, Naja spared me a glance, her gaze cutting through my facade with cruel clarity. "Be sure to join us on our special night, Hunter," she taunted. "After all, you are an essential part of our union." With that, the door closed behind them, leaving me to confront the turmoil churning within. I had become nothing more than a pawn in their treacherous design, a far cry from the prince I once was. The night crept on as I wrestled with the shackles that bound me, both physical and emotional. Eventually, the fateful hour arrived, cloaked in a darkness that mirrored the despair in my heart. I approached the grand chamber, the weight of my captivity bearing down upon me. The door creaked as I entered, my footsteps echoing through the chamber. Zarik and Naja reclined upon the grand bed, their eyes gleaming with a sinister glimmer. My presence, a silent reminder of their triumph, did nothing to dampen their unholy revelry. "Ah, Hunter," Zarik beckoned, his voice laced with a cruel edge. "Come, fulfill your duty as my loyal companion."

My stomach churned, repulsed by the spectacle before me, but even in my agony, I dared not defy their command. I assumed the form of the wolf and lay beside their bed, a silent sentinel on their unholy union. As the night waned, a haunting realization seeped into my very being—I had sacrificed not only my freedom, but also my dignity, on the altar of their dark desires. The weight of my sorrow threatened to consume me whole, and the hollow echoes of their laughter reverberated through the chamber, mocking my entrapment. In the depths of that chamber, I, the once proud Prince Almir, lay bound by chains unseen, ensnared in a web of cruelty spun by those I once sought to rescue. The night waned into dawn, casting an ethereal glow upon the shadows that enveloped me, and in that ephemeral light, a flicker of defiance kindled within me. Though my captivity had robbed me of many things, it could not extinguish the ember of resilience burning within. As the first light of dawn breached the horizon, I vowed to reclaim not just my freedom, but also the honor that had been callously stripped away. In the hushed embrace of that chamber, I plotted my emancipation from the clutches of their malevolent design, forging a resolve to defy their expectations and emerge from the darkness, a prince no longer in name alone, but in spirit and will.

[3ofpents]

Fresno Nightcrawler Houndstooth // Fabric Design for @shapeshiftersvt and The Cryptid Collection

Remember way back a few weeks ago when I posted the Squonk poster and I said that once I'd designed the fabric to go along with it I'd start posting the fabric designs here? Well guess what! It's time!

For those who don't remember or who didn't know, I am the co-owner, site manager, and graphic designer for @shapeshiftersvt. 2024 marks our 10th anniversary and we wanted to do something big and special and new to mark the occasion and my partner, co-owner, head tailor, fashion designer, and founder, Eli, pitched a fashion line themed around cryptids. We call it The Cryptid Collection and it features six of our and the internet's favorite cryptids: The Fresno Nightcrawler, Mothman, the Jackalope, the Jersey Devil, Champ, and the Squonk.

My parts of the collection were designing the posters, and creating fabric designs for our very own, truly Shapeshifters designed chest binders and sports bras. But since we utilized Spoonflower to have those fabrics printed, they're also available through the Spoonflower marketplace for anyone to buy for their own sewing projects.

And now that all of the fabric designs are done and uploaded and proofed and listed, I, as promised, am posting them here to talk a bit more in-depth about them, the thoughts and inspirations behind them, and the design process.

Starting with the Fresno Nightcrawler.

Part of the reason I'm starting with the Fresno Nightcrawler is because this was the very first design that I finished. When we were planning out the fabrics, it was the most solid design concept I had that wasn't just adapting the poster design to fabric (mostly because ... I hadn't done the poster yet). It was the first one I really came up with, the one I was most excited about, and the one that pretty much stayed the same from concept to execution.

I love houndstooth. Which is weird to say when I don't think I've ever owned a single garment or accessory in with a houndstooth pattern? But I do, I love it. I love the teeny tiny classic version of the pattern; I love a blown-up graphic version of the pattern; I love plays and variations on it. So when I was trying to brainstorm what kind of fabric pattern I could make inspired by a creature with such a simple shape whose only colors were white and black, the idea came pretty quickly: A houndstooth. Or a Nightcrawlertooth, if you will. It was a trick, though, and a real learning experience, especially with this being my first design.

Getting a pattern to repeat smoothly is a skill unto itself. Basically you have what's called a tile, and the tile contains the part of the pattern that you want to repeat. Then, when your pattern is created, the original tile just gets essentially copy-pasted over and over so 1) you don't have to draw the whole yard of fabric, and 2)all of the repeated parts of the design are identical. But by doing it this way, you have seams you need to take into consideration. If you think of putting the pattern together, it's sort of like making a basic quilt: You start with one square (or rectangle), then attach four more squares to each side, and then just keep doing that. Each one of those seams (top, bottom, left, right) is a place where the pattern might not match up, which means when it's applied to a yard of fabric, it's not going to look like a smooth, seamless pattern.

Of course there's ways to avoid this altogether. If you're doing a simple stripe, using the line tool in your drawing software will keep your stripe a consistent thickness, and holding SHIFT while you draw it will keep the line straight. Or, even easier, you can create a pattern where the part that repeats doesn't straddle a seam; like a polkadot pattern, where the dot(s) can be centered on the tile and seams only cut through a solid background.

The trouble with a houndstooth, though, is that not only does the tile need to repeat, it's made up of repeating figures that interlock. I can't just center the white Nightcrawler on the tile and call it a day, because then the black Nightcrawler straddles the seam. On top of that, they needed to be shaped in such a way that the negative space between the white Nightcrawlers left a shape that was also recognizable as a Nightcrawler and similar enough to the white one that the pattern is mostly seamless.

I fully admit that I was not able to do this on my own. Enter: Eli. Eli is, among other things, a math nerd who enjoys an excuse to break out the graph paper. They found a tutorial online and got to graphing and shaping and, in just a couple of hours, had gotten the shapes down. I took that tile, illustrated it, cleaned up the seams (shoutout to Eli for also finding an easier way to do this than just manually copy-pasting), and voila! A Fresno Nightcrawler houndstooth.

Now, you might look at that image up there and say, "Well that's all well and good, Pents, but they're kind of blobby and the lines are wobbly and it's all a little uneven." To which I say ... yeah, that's true. It's also kind of intentional. Like, I'm not gonna sit here and claim I got the basic pattern done and wasn't exhausted. But also I could've left it and come back to it the next day to clean up the lines and shapes a bit more, make everything really smooth and even. But, like. Look at this guy.

He's just a weird kinda blobby little dude. So I left the pattern kinda weird and blobby.

Even if I'd cleaned it, it's such a blobby little shape that's so at odds with the classic houndstooth that's all straight lines and sharp angles. So I made a deliberate choice to not polish it up. To kind of lean into the kodama vibes:

I am really so so proud of and pleased with this design. It came out almost exactly how I pictured it; it was really the most true design collaboration between Eli and I; and I'm just so pleased, after a lifetime of being a houndstooth lover, to now also have designed a houndstooth.

If you'd like a custom-sized, handmade, made-to-order binder or sports bra in this houndstooth like the one in the photos, you can find those listings (as well as the poster listing) here, on the Shapeshifters website. There are three pattern size options, the classic teeny tiny version; a somewhat bigger medium size; and a super graphic large size. Our binders are the most comfortable and effective on the market thanks to our finely graded internal sizing system. Because we're a small operation that makes every garment to order, both our binders and sports bras are highly customizable, and can be made to ALL measurements with flat pricing across sizes.

If you'd like to purchase the fabric yourself for your own sewing projects, you can order it through our Spoonflower shop, where we have it listed in the same three pattern sizes.

[professorpski]

“Soon the knitter herself will visualize a thousand of other ways in which a motif can be used, and so fave at her disposal an exhaustible variety of fabrics. Thick fabrics or thin fabrics, patterned fabrics or plain fabrics, those blazing in colour or decorated with beads, she can make fabric imitated fur (Looped Knitting), Lace, Picot, Filet, or Crochet, and even cloque and woven fabric, by a mere change of technique. Every ornament known to dressmaking can be imitated, even hemstitching and buttons!”

When Mary Thomas wrote this in 1945 in Mary Thomas’s Book of Knitting Patterns when dressmaking was the most common craft women learned. Circular knitting, which she called seamless knitting, was viewed as peasant knitting, interesting historically, but not something most women likely to do. So, comparing knitting to dressmaking was a compliment. In fact, sewing pieces of knitted fabric was taken for granted and Thomas offered the same garment block or garment schematic that we see in dressmaking in the section explaining how to plan an entirely original sweater.

Similarly, Thomas urged her the reader to imagine new ways of patterning a knitted fabric through her choice of stitches. Every section of the book suggests how variations might be introduced to the stitches she explains. She valued the experimentation and imagination which created the stitches she taught and clearly saw yet more to be invented.

You can find this and other Thomas books at Dover Publications: https://store.doverpublications.com/0486228185.html

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 39, vol. 23, 29 septembre 1901, Paris. 3. Vêtements et costumes tailleur. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

I. Robe en drap parchemin et taffetas blanc, composée d’une jupe cerclée de plusieurs rangs de piqùres et d’un corsage-veste avec dos à couture, petit côté de dos et de devant et d’un devant ajusté par une pince, fermé par des petits nœuds de velours et légèrement ouvert du haut, laissant voir un plastron de taffetas encadré de revers garnis de piqûres. Col rabattu avec piqûres ainsi que le bas de la veste qui forme ceinture-corselet. Manches à deux coutures terminées par un revers piqué.

I. Dress in parchment cloth and white taffeta, composed of a skirt circled with several rows of stitching and a bodice-jacket with a seam back, small side of the back and front and a front fitted with a dart, closed with small velvet bows and slightly open at the top, revealing a taffeta plastron framed by lapels trimmed with stitching. Turned-down collar with stitching as well as the bottom of the jacket which forms a belt-corselet. Sleeves with two seams finished with a stitched lapel.

—

Mat.: 6 mèt. de drap, 0 m. 25 de taffetas.

II. Vêtement en drap gris cendre de forme sac orné d’une jolie broderie faite à même. Dos sans couture et devant sans pince fermé au milieu par une sous-patte. Manches à deux coutures ouvertes sur un bouffant de drap brodé. Chapeau en feutre orné d’une draperie de taffetas et d’une plume fantaisie.

II. Garment in ash gray cloth in the shape of a bag decorated with pretty embroidery made on the same. Seamless back and front without a dart closed in the middle by a flap. Sleeves with two seams open on a bouffant of embroidered cloth. Felt hat decorated with a taffeta drapery and a fancy feather.

Mat.: 4 mèt. de drap.

—

III. Robe en drap mousseline rouge indien. La jupe est plissée à petits plis lingerie cerclée de trois biais, garnie de plusieurs piqûres. Le boléro est fait d’un dos d’une seule pièce et d’un devant croisé traversé par un entre-deux de guipure encadré de biais piqués; même garniture encadrant le décolleté. Petit plastron de mousseline de soie légèrement mouvementé et surmonté d’un col drapé. Manches à deux coutures garnies de trois biais piqués.

III. Dress in Indian red muslin cloth. The skirt is pleated with small lingerie pleats circled with three biases, trimmed with several stitches. The bolero is made of a single-piece back and a crossed front crossed by a guipure inset framed with stitched biases; same trim framing the neckline. Small slightly turbulent silk muslin plastron topped with a draped collar. Two-seam sleeves trimmed with three stitched biases.

Mat. 7 mèt. de drap, 0 m. 50 de mousseline de soie.

—

IV. Vêtement de forme sac en drap havane. Dos et devant plissés à gros plis ronds sur un empiècement plat. Le pli du milieu remonte à l’encolure et dissimule la fermeture. L’empiècement est recouvert de trois collets passant sous le pli. Manches d’une seule pièce, de forme blouse serrées dans un poignet garni d’applications de velours; même garniture sur les plis. Chapeau en feutre orné d’une draperie en louisine retenant une palme fantaisie.

IV. Bag-shaped garment in Havana cloth. Back and front pleated with large round pleats on a flat yoke. The middle pleat rises to the neckline and conceals the closure. The yoke is covered with three collars passing under the pleat. One-piece sleeves, blouse-shaped, tightened in a cuff trimmed with velvet applications; same trim on the pleats. Felt hat decorated with louisine drapery holding a fancy palm.

Mat.: 5 mèt. de drap.

—

V. Vêtement genre collet de forme ample, en drap noir recouvert de soutache gracieusement disposée et bordé d’une frange-boule. Col rabattu. Ce vêtement, ajusté aux épaules par des pinces, est doublé de soie fantaisie. Toquet drapé en mousseline de soie, orné d’une plume pailletée.

V. Loose-fitting collar-type garment in black cloth covered with gracefully arranged soutache and edged with a ball fringe. Turned-down collar. This garment, fitted at the shoulders with darts, is lined with fancy silk. Draped silk muslin cap, decorated with a sequined feather.

Mat.: 2 m. 50 de drap.

—

VI. Robe en drap rouge pivoine, taffetas noir et taffetas â damiers rouge et noir. La jupe doublée est bordée d’un biais de taffetas noir; deux autres biais, encadrant le tablier, s’entrecroisent pour encadrer une application de taffetas à damiers. Le boléro, ayant la même garniture que la jupe, se compose d’un dos d’une seule pièce et d’un devant croisé découpé à créneaux bordés d’un biais. Col rabattu et bouffant de manche en taffetas.

VI. Dress in peony red cloth, black taffeta and red and black checkered taffeta. The lined skirt is edged with a bias of black taffeta; two other biases, framing the apron, intersect to frame an application of checkered taffeta. The bolero, having the same trim as the skirt, is composed of a single-piece back and a crossed front cut with crenellations edged with a bias. Turn-down collar and puffed sleeve in taffeta.

Mat.: 6 mèt. de drap, 3 mèt. de taffetas noir, 0 m. 75 de taffetas fantaisie.

—

(I). Fourrure en vison et loutre, formant petit collet avec étole. Col Médicis. — (II). Cravate en vison et martre. — (III). Cravate en martre agrémentée de plusieurs queues et de petites têtes.

(I). Mink and otter fur, forming a small collar with stole. Medici collar. — (II). Mink and marten tie. — (III). Marten tie decorated with several tails and small heads.

[gallivantingheart]

Use Your Mouth as an Anchor

masterlist | previous | next

🍵 chapter 3: mango 🍵

who?: soonyoung/hoshi x (f)reader

word count: 1228

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

genre: social media!au, princess diaries II !au, humour, romance, mild angst

warnings: none, as of yet

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

a/n: welcome to the obligatory fashion montage feat. joshua

You didn’t think Wonwoo’s luxury couture contacts would ever come in handy for you. But here you are, in a boutique strictly listed as an appointment only, on site basis. Your friend had promised you that you could absolutely hire out a designer dress for the night and look exactly like any of the other socialites oozing through the ball. Your attendant is said friend,  Joshua, especially requested by Wonwoo over the phone before you arrived. Joshua is a mild soul with a sweet american tinted accent and kind expression.

He peers into the waiting room in a sleek yet casual blue suit, his expression lighting up at the sight of you. “Ah, y/n! You’re here! Come in, come in.”

You quickly scramble up and throw your leather purse back over your shoulder. Ushering you behind the heavy curtain and down the hall of the boutique, it unfolds into a cosy dressing space with a full length mirror and another curtain, most likely to a changing room. There is a massive wall-sized window bearing the Amaide coastline and flooded in natural light, even at this time of day. Discreetly you can smell the sea salt and sage diffuser perched in the corner.

“Thank you for taking me on such short notice. Wonwoo reminded me of you and I didn’t know what else to do.” You gush, his hand settled between your shoulder blades.

The invite sits in your purse, and you know it's your imagination how it weighs on your shoulder like a brick.

“Anything for a friend. And for a royal event! How could we say no. As soon as Wonwoo told me, I brought out a few designs.” He slides a shy glance your way, his cheeks colouring. “I hope this isn’t creepy, but I guessed your approximate size from that time we went diving? When we all went to rent out scuba suits -”

The memory brings a smile to your face. “Oh, and then we all found out me and Wonwoo’s boss was a cheapskate and we were only going snorkelling. We almost forked out all that money on those silly suits!”

“Exactly!” He laughs with you and opens the curtain to the change room while taking your purse at the same time. Smooth. “Okay, now, sit down and I’ll bring out the rack.”

You sit on the lone seat and instantly your knees start to bounce and you wring your wrists. God, you wished Wonwoo was here. Anyone but just you in the swallowing quiet and the tension you were building all by yourself. Poor Joshua had his work cut out for him trying to make this appointment as seamless as possible.

When he returns there are at least six dresses on there, from what you can make out between skirts, shapes and colours. He’s beaming though, very proud of himself.

“I tried to keep them broad - so if you don’t like any of these, surely there’s something from some of them you’ll like. We do ask though that if you post on social media, do not tag us until after the event - our business is very exclusive and all of our garments are designer. They don’t even appear on runways most of the time. We like to keep our clientele information very confidential.”

That instantly sets your heart at ease. So no one would know what was going on, at least not from here. You sigh and nod.

“‘Shua, I don’t think you know how reassured that makes me feel. I wouldn't dream of publishing anything about this. At least not until the gala - maybe someone will ask what I’m wearing, like a real celebrity!” You giggle.

His smile turns from cool to warm and his chuckle is fond. “Let’s hope! Okay, come see what we have and we can have a little fashion show.”

You choose a sleek silk gown in fairy floss pink first, cut on the bias and with plunging back. From there it’s like a revolving door of dresses. The first one is a little too revealing for a royal event. The next a tulle puffball in a dark sage green both the wrong colour and just all too much.

“I feel like a cupcake!” You cry out, embarrassed as you fluff at the skirt.

He tuts, fingers on his chin. “Yeah, this just isn’t it. And this colour is just not you. Off!”

A sheer number with long sleeves like seaweed in a seafoam green and white, like made of ocean waves. Pretty but you thought you might trip on something or catch a sleeve in something. But you did think you needed more than one colour or you would feel too plain. And a little bit of structure.

“No sleeves, ‘Shua.” You say from behind the curtain, finding the zipper and trying to wrestle with it as carefully as you could.

“Noted! Not to mention, you do have pretty shoulders.”

You snort. “Pretty shoulders?”

You thrust it out from the curtain and his graceful hands take it away, leaving you standing in your underwear again. He peeks in and by now you’re far past the point of having any dignity or care. He nods and presents another, a strapless navy number with a bursting star or firework motif in gold beads and embroidery blooming from the side of the waist. Slipping your bra straps down and crudely stuffing them in your bra, you shimmy this one on and step out. It’s a lot heavier than any of the others you’ve worn and by now you’re getting a little tired. You glance at the window - you’re losing light. This looks the most like you so far. Not too showy and there are your supposed "pretty shoulders."

“We’re close.” You affirm in the mirror, taking a twirl.

He has his arm crossed, squinting. “Yes, but not quite. And I want nothing less than perfect.”

He stands still for longer and you start to squirm under his critical gaze.

Finally he straightens up and his plush lips round in Joshua’s light bulb moment. “Stay right there. I think I’ve got it.”

He moves faster now than you’ve ever seen him, out through another door and down another short corridor. Moments later he’s back in a flourish, presenting another strapless gown. This one looks lighter but with more structure and interest.

“Get rid of that one. I didn’t think Valentino would suit you, unfortunately. This though, is a Chinese based designer - I don’t know why I didn’t think of them sooner! You have so much more of an understated sense.”

You like to hear him babble about his work - his art. His clients are his canvas, the garments are the paint. Together they make his masterpiece. You’re nodding and already fumbling for the zipper as you walk. His excitement is infectious and maybe it’s the fifth time’s a charm. You hold the Valentino out for him to take - you didn’t live under a rock, so suddenly it feels like you’re holding gold. This last one is black with a slice of marshmallow pink tulle cutting through, the tulle studded with silver gems and no train or excessive skirt in sight.

If his eyes are glassy when he takes you in, you don’t mention it. He holds his hands on your shoulders, squeezing.

“This is the one. I am a genius.”

[livielizardcos]

taking some time today to discuss xiao! specifically the upgrades i made to him for metrocon 2023. i did so much experimenting with new techniques and materials, so i wanted to share that here to document, and maybe inspire some of my fellow artists/cosplayers!

i don’t think i could ever properly explain how happy i was after remaking xiao’s shirt. the previous version (which was purchased) fit really poorly, and the fabric was not great. it constantly pulled out from the waist of the pants and it practically blocked any airflow. the solution was simple: remake it from a bodysuit. that way the shirt not only stayed in place but also already gave me a much better form-fitting base to start out with. the mesh panel in the back was the part i worried about the most but ended up being the part i’m happiest with! i used power mesh that i hand dyed to be close to my skin tone (though the color isn’t very clear due to my binder’s color).

the swirling pattern on the bodysuit is a metallic white fabric paint. i made a digital drawing of the pattern on procreate, then printed it onto freezer paper. after cutting it out with an exacto knife, you can actually iron freezer paper onto fabric (shiny side facing the fabric) and it creates a nearly seamless stencil for fabric paint! i see myself using this technique a lot in the future, it’s literally perfect!!

the black leather piece at the neck and shoulders was my biggest obstacle. not only have i never worked with leather, but it is also a non-stretch material i’d be attaching to the collar/neck portion that very much needed to be able to stretch to be pulled on. thankfully the design worked out that i could have 2 closure points, one on the back of the neck and one at the front of the neck. the entire piece is hemmed by folding over and gluing the raw edge to the inside, then i glued hem tape over those raw edges to cover them and make them softer on the skin (the entire leather piece is unlined, due to its complex shape). all the visible edges of the leather were satin stitched to give them a clean, crisp edge. the gold appliqués on the front and back are 2mm eva foam covered in a gold stretch fabric, then glued onto the bodysuit with e6000!

the two white pieces that frame the mesh panel on the back gave me more difficulty than i expected. their shape is a bit deceiving, and needing them to lie flat on my back without sacrificing the stretch of the main garment meant i couldn’t just top stitch them onto the back. and while i’m not super happy with how they ended up aligning (where they meet at the top is much further down than i was aiming for), i still think it came out really nice!

and that’s the finished top!

here’s a front and back of the finished top! the sleeve is held up with clear bra straps that hook onto the inside of the shirt at the shoulder. all in all, i absolutely love how this newer shirt came out.

besides the shirt/bodysuit, the boots also got an upgrade! i snagged some boots on sale on amazon for $20, which was an insane steal! this style is very universal for so many costumes, and it also helps that the boots are comfortable and flat too! all of the accessories on the boots are affixed temporarily or from the inside (velcro, snaps, and elastic) so that the integrity of the outer boot remains untouched and i can reuse them for several costumes and even everyday wear. i also replaced the gold piece around the neck that holds the “scarf.” just like the pieces on the shirt, it is 2mm foam covered in gold fabric. this not only helps the gold elements feel more cohesive but also lies a lot more comfortably on my neck!

[dancer-subclarington]

Date Night || Gwen & Kyla

Kyla laid out her outfit and makeup the night before, as soon as she and Gwen were done texting, a smile adorning her face. She put her dress in a garment bag and her shoes and perfume in her dance bag the next morning, forcing herself to go to classes instead of getting ready and staring at her reflection all day.

She went to classes and then taught her virtual dance classes at the dance studio, though she had to wear different clothes than usual in order to conceal her chastity belt. The blonde stuck around for a while to keep dancing, if only to stop the heat that rose to her core.

She started at the barre, which got her muscles insanely warm since she had already danced for work. Her body completely filled with pent up energy, and not many people on campus who used the dance studio, she danced her heart out. She was everywhere doing everything, flowing from one style to the next at whim with seamless ease. The sun started to descend, but the blonde was so into what she was doing, she really didn’t notice.

After a while, Kyla had very few thoughts at all. Anything that wasn’t related directly to her dance didn’t even register in her mind, including the time and her ringing cell phone.

@gwenmorgandaniels