Soft Clothes Novels & Stories

But you cannot scrub out the touch of a person who has known where you are tender. I towel off and dress in something bland. I have learned over the weeks here that bland is safer. Bright colors attract attention, fascination, and attention in a house that values certain attentions over others. I pull on soft pants, a shirt that won’t cling, socks that are already going thin. The fabric scratches in the places where I am still raw.

he warned, and damn it, the seriousness on his face showed he wouldn't think twice before doing it. A pink heat flushed across my cheeks at just the thought. And without waiting to risk it, I quietly grabbed the fabric, feeling the softness in my hands. Unlike the iron wears the men mostly put on, this one is a soft fabric, dyed in soft royal lavender shades with a little touch of rose gold. And near the hem of the shorts were small embroidered tribal patterns, matching the armbands made of soft leather. I sniffed a little part of it and all I could smell was war. War! Oh goddess Selene, please save your daughter.

“I slept in a towel, Eric. I don’t want to catch a cold.” He let out a disgruntled hum but loosened his grip just enough for me to slide out of bed. I padded over to the walk-in closet, my back still protesting every movement. I bypassed the silk robes and designer dresses, reaching instead for a pair of thick, charcoal-grey loungewear. They were oversized and incredibly soft—the only thing my body could tolerate right now.

"I LOVE LOVE LOVE your choices. This is going to be so fun!" He's clapping, his hands jumping up and down with glee. Still a rather odd emotion for the room, but then as racks upon racks of clothing start appearing out of thin air, the tension in the room seems to fade into the background. I've never seen such exquisite clothes before. I can't help but get up and touch them. The material is soft and silky smooth between my fingertips. I've only touched real cashmere once, and this fabric is better than even that.

As I wander deeper into the closet I come on Kent’s accessories – watches, chains, cufflinks, and I huff out a deep breath as I realize that I’m probably looking at hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff. Unable to wrap my head around it, I hurry on and find myself suddenly looking at things that are much…softer. There are colors in this section of the closet that aren’t black, grey, brown, cream, or navy. Instead, there are baby blues and deep purples, soft pinks and rich yellow silk. My mouth falls open a little as I realize that these are the women’s clothes Kent mentioned. And there are so many of them, and they’re all so pretty. I move forward, drawn by the variety and the vib

When she was done, she returned to introducing the clothes, "Like the strollers, most of the clothes are imported. The fabric is soft and absorbent, suitable for babies' sensitive skin!" Lulu touched it—it was soft and was at least better than Luna's current clothes. It was not as if the current ones were bad—as a man, Zachary would have asked someone else to buy Luna's clothes, and expensive did not mean suitable. At the same time, the store assistant added, "Since it's getting warmer, cotton clothing might get stuffy for children. Our fabric is a new development that ensures your child is perfectly comfortable!" Lulu did not care about imported goods—after living abroad for years, her prio

Lizzy The clothes are slightly too big, but the quality is so nice they are so soft. The bath is massive and the products smell so nice, my hair is so soft with all these fancy things. I Have never known such luxury, I think to myself as I braid my hair over my shoulder.

0f course, he did. I give Julien a weakened smile and we exchange a few sentences of small talk before I thank him for driving ways here. Waving goodbye from the window as he slips into his car again, I pretend not to rush to the unknown contents that hide inside the white-encased box. There are cursive letters in black, engraved into the cardboard material, reading Matériau Féminin. Gnawing on the skin of my lip, all I do is shake mny head at a parallel memory that comes into mind when we spent time together in this very store, replacing the various lingerie of mine that he has ripped.

"It sucked that they only covered the first part of the book. We'll have to wait a year to see the next part." "I'm glad you two had fun," she said before returning to describing the things she'd discovered about her new tablet, and asking a few questions about some of the programs. When John came out looking delicious in his new pinstriped pajamas, Mom said, "Oh, those look great on you!" "They're actually really comfortable. The last pair I wore regularly didn't have fabric this soft." "This has the same cotton as those nice hotel sheets." At her comment, John's eyes sparkled with amusement as he nodded. "I've heard they're very soft." And I tried not to react when he winked at me.

The shopping bags dig into my fingers as I step out of another store balancing an iced coffee in one hand and my phone in the other. Okay, maybe I went slightly overboard. But in my defense, I haven’t bought clothes properly in years. Real clothes, anyway. Not clearance-rack survival garments that disintegrate after one wash and smell vaguely of sadness. Actual nice things. Soft oversized sweaters, leggings that don’t immediately become see-through when exposed to sunlight, cute tank tops for work, tiny sleep shorts that make my large ass look banging. And maybe, hypothetically, a couple pieces of lingerie. Purely for feminism.