#split bodice

[gogmstuff]

A few more from around 1730 (from top to bottom) -

1730 The Jones Family Conversation Piece by William Hogarth (Amgueddfa Cymru/National Museum Wales - Cardiff, UK). From Wikimedia 1200X932.

1730 Portrait of a Lady of the d'Hervart Family in a Yellow Dress, with Flowers in Her Corsage by Johann Rudolf Huber (Nostell Priory - Nostell, near Wakefield, West Yorkshire, UK). From artuk.org; slightly filled in shadows and slightly increased exposure 935X1200,

ca. 1730 Caroline of Ansbach, Queen of Great Britain, with her son the Duke of Cumberland by Herman van der Mijn (location ?). From Wikimedia 731X1196.

[pacing-er]

Angelic Charles Xavier from Hellfire Gala 2024... Life-changing

[snckt]

what if i just ✂️

[nonasuch]

Miss Universe National Costume 2024, Part 2!

Splitting this off into a new post so I'm not clogging up everyone's dash quite as much.

Miss Malta is some sort of environmental protection Sailor Scout. I think the giant bow would look better on the back of the skirt but otherwise this is solid.

It has just come to my attention that I skipped over Miss Albania and several other A/B countries, back at the beginning. I sincerely apologize! She went to all this trouble putting together a Fifth Element cruise ship passenger costume, and I nearly missed it.

Miss Armenia, in what even I have to admit would be a legit Princess Leia fit.

Miss Bahrain, adding some green to her Gold And Vaguely Historical look, along with what is either a comically large prop chalice or an upside-down lamp.

Miss Bangladesh appears to believe that adding two plush tigers from the toy store around the corner from the pageant venue will conceal the fact that she is just wearing a tiger-print evening dress. Miss Bangladesh is incorrect.

Miss Belgium. Girl. No.

Miss Belize let the seventh-grade art class do her whole costume, which was a bold choice.

Okay, I think that's everyone I missed! Back to alphabetical order. And I should have to rely less on shitty screenshots, now. Some countries were benefiting from the low resolution, tbh.

Kind of feel like Miss Maldives had a luggage mishap and she's just wearing the outfit she packed for a slightly dressy dinner.

Miss Martinique's costume would honestly have looked better in the shitty screencap version. The construction is... bad. It's bad.

Feel like we're in a little bit of slump here. Miss Mauritius did not stick enough butterfly appliqués to her gown to conceal that it is, in fact, just a regular evening gown.

Slump officially over! We are so back. Everyone say thank you, Miss Mexico.

I would like this better if it had just committed to the giant skirt and not felt the need to make it a Sexy Miniskirt look. Sorry, Miss Moldova.

Miss Mongolia wanted to stand out from all the other gold armor on stage, so she decided to a) wear cooler armor and b) bring a bow and arrow instead of a sword. Great work, Miss Mongolia.

Starting to feel like I'm picking on the smaller countries that probably don't have a huge pageant culture or the budget for really elaborate costumes, but on the other hand Miss Montenegro's costume is super low-effort AND the fabrics look cheap, so what am I supposed to do?

Okay, this looks like a pretty standard Miss Universe Sexy Bird, yes? Well, THIS is how Miss Myanmar entered the stage:

She had to fight her way out of that thing! God only knows what the visibility was like in there.

I think the hat is doing most of the heavy lifting to keep Miss Namibia's costume from being Just An Evening Dress, sadly.

Oh, yikes. It's more obvious in motion but Miss Nepal's bodice looks like it's made of craft foam and it fits real weird. The rest of it looks a little like she got together with Miss Cyprus and a pile of tablecloths for a sewing bee last night, I'm sorry to say.

Miss Netherlands has chosen a Tribute to Delft. I think if I were in charge of this costume I would do a much fuller skirt that falls from the waist, instead of the weird trumpet-skirt-with-hoop we've got here. And, obviously, I would make the windmill on the bodice actually spin.

It looks like she's having some issues keeping the wings and peplum in place, but I really like Miss New Zealand's costume from a design perspective. It at least slightly resembles the bird it's supposed to be (New Zealand fantail) and I think the feather pattern is meant to be in a Maori art style.

Miss Nicaragua is a Sexy Cathedral, which I think might be a Miss Universe first and is definitely a big old step closer to drag.

Okay, pausing here to get the next batch ready.

[off-brand-adorabbit]

Besties I am designing the kh4 QoH Kairi

[lisenberry]

Feral Friday 141 Thoughts     

NSFW/MDNI/18+    

When you really need to ride him...

...He’s sitting on the couch, watching the day’s match.  Knees spread wide and taking up half the cushions.  You’re cuddled under his arm with your feet tucked up, reading a book or a download on your phone.  It’s in the middle of a steamy scene in your latest bodice-ripper.  After chapters’ worth of fighting and resisting, the heroine is finally going to come all over the big mean villain’s engorged appendage.  

You’re so engrossed, you’re sure he can feel your breath change and your cheek heat up where it rests against his chest.  Can he sense your arousal as it dampens your knickers underneath the old, softened t-shirt you claimed from his bedroom floor the first time you slept over?

When the whistle sounds to end the half, you vaguely notice, until he stirs next to you. “Hey, babe?  We got any snacks?”

“Umm, I th-think so.”  You pull your attention away just in time to meet his eyes.  And he immediately knows. 

“Got yourself a good one there, do you?”  You’ve bitten your lips raw, you’re sweating, and your chest is nearly heaving with lust as you nod desperately.

“Do you mind if I take the edge off?”  You squeeze your thighs together and feel the slick dripping past the fabric.

“Your finger or mine?” he asks, keeping one eye on the telly and one on you as your maneuver out of your underwear.

“I’m going to need something a bit more this time,” you nearly whine as you launch onto his lap, careful not to headbutt his chin in your urgency.

GAZ – He doesn't miss a beat as you nestle your excited little pussy just over his cock.  He’s already rock-hard and it doesn’t take much to pull him out from the sweatpants he wears slung low on his hips.

“Take what you need, love.”  He smiles proudly as you drop down onto him, slipping and sliding on your own slick. 

And you do, pitching forward to settle him against the bundle of nerves deep in your belly.   He’s so long, he doesn’t just graze it, he impales it.  You swear he’s in your lungs, stealing your breath with each rise and fall.

He cheers you on the whole way. 

“Look at you bouncing so well on my cock...So pretty all flushed and sweaty...Fucking hot, you are.”

Your unfairly handsome, quick-tongued rake tenderly wipes the hair and perspiration from your face, and lets you use him until you're shattered and worn out. 

SOAP:  He lets you grind against him for a bit through his gym shorts, dick fully chubbed like the pommel of a saddle. 

“Please tell me it’s a Scottish highland warrior that’s got you so bothered, and not some prissy English lord.  You’ll hurt my feelings.”  He grins, his eyes already rolling back in his head at your steady stroking.

“Keep talking, Johnny.”  You hump against him faster, knowing the second you put him in, you’ll be done for.  A weeping, overstimulated mess before he even catches his stride.  His burly, veiny length has an upwards curve like he was molded and kiln-forged just to fit you. 

And he could go for hours if you didn’t wind him up good.  Tease him and test him, get his attention exactly where it needs to be.

“Let me suck on your tits, bonny lass.”  He deepens his brogue and his voice an octave as he tries not to laugh, while he strips your shirt off and buries his face into your bosom.

You are quite sure that the hot-headed highland scoundrel in your story didn’t use the word ‘tits’, but you let it slide.  The one between your thighs is everything you need, and more.

GHOST – He’s wearing jeans, so it’s a bit harder to get him free.  After you let out a frustrated huff at the complexity of his wardrobe, he cups you under your ass and stands you both up.  Undoing his belt buckle and the fly one-handed before setting you back down astride him again.

“Needy little dove today.”

“Just let me try, Si.”  You rarely ever ride him.  The few times you’ve attempted it, you give up when your thighs turn to mush and your cunt aches from being split in two.  He’s just too thick for a quickie.

“Are you going to let me help this time, or are you going to be stubborn?”

“Help!”  The strangled sound escapes your throat as you fit him in to the hilt.  He takes up so much space, you can’t tell where you end and he begins. 

“You’re fucking soaked.”  He rolls his hips to stretch you further, to find the right spot, as your slick trickles down to coat his balls.  You feel them wet and sticky against your seam.

“Mmmh-uhhh, that’s it.  Right there,” you bellow gratefully to the ceiling.

“What are you going to do about it?”  He grabs your hips rudely, fingers pressing to dimple the skin and hold you down as he spears your nerves like a spike.

You fight against his hold, knowing that’s what he's looking for.  Just a little fire in your belly, a little steel in your spine and your merciless, battle-scarred rogue will give you anything you want.

“That’s it, dovey.  Fuck me good.”

PRICE – He’s watching you with awe, wide-eyed and slack jawed, so immersed in the act of being milked by your warm, soft walls that he’s relinquished control completely.  You know that look too well.

“Do not come yet, John.  Please.  Think of bullets.  Hollow points and grenades.  A...ummm, a panzer!”  You’re almost there.  So...close your mind is just pulling words from memories of past conversations you were only barely listening to.

“A panzer?  Like the bloody old German tank?” he asks with the sort of clarity of mind you need of him in this situation.

“Yes, keep thinking of dusty relics rotting in museums.  While I ride your big, beautiful cock—”

“You’ve done it now.”  He groans, and you feel him stiffen inside you.  The sensation of it, coupled with the hot spurts of his spend hitting your most sensitive spot, get you there just in time to join him.

You don’t even mind that it was so quick.  It warms your heart, and your cunt, that the callous, domineering war hero falls to pieces so completely for no one but you.

[chere-indolente]

La Repasseuse

Hello I'm back with a lingerie set this time ! It includes corsets, a corset cover and some drawers. Althought the painting that inspired me this time is older than usual, the cc I ended up making is fit for the 1870s, 1880s, 1890s & 1900s. More pics and download below

This set was mainly inspired by the Edgar Degas's painting : La Repasseuse (The Laundress/Ironer).

————————— Plain Corsets —————————

———————————————————————————

In the 19th and 20th corsets were used to achieve the fashionable shape of the times, provide bust support, maintain good posture and distribute the weight of the skirt's and petticoat's yards of fabric. Althought corsets were underwear judging from the paintings I've seen (cf reference pictures below) working women would sometimes take off their bodices when it was getting too hot (ironers, laundresses as well as peasants during harvest). I've kept these plain corsets pretty simple only featuring the boning channels (where the whale bones or steel bones would go) and a bit of cording under the bust, as I've seen on most corsets of that period.

I've made 2 versions :

is meant to be worn on top of clothing (presumably underwear but you do you) and as such are compatible with my skirts and split drawers

is meant to be worn under clothing (petticoat or skirt)

32 swatches : 22 solids & 10 floral patterns

2 versions

————————— Lace Corsets —————————

———————————————————————————

These are the same corset but with some lace at the top, a very common style but probably more expensive than the plainer ones.

These corsets too exist in 2 versions (V1 to wear over clothing and V2 to wear under).

32 swatches : 22 solids & 10 floral patterns

2 versions

——————— Embroidered Corsets ———————

———————————————————————————

These corsets are the same as the lace ones with added embroidery.

This type of embroidery is called flossing it's decorative but also practical : the flossing reduces the corset bones’ movements to improve the comfort of the wearer. These corsets too exist in 2 versions (V1 to wear over clothing and V2 to wear under).

36 swatches : 24 solids & 10 floral patterns

2 versions

—————————   Corset Cover  —————————

———————————————————————————

As the name implies corset cover were worn on top of corsets. Their purposes were to smooth over the corset lines (the equivalent of today's pantylines), to hide the corset's color (for it to not show under a lighter bodice), to absorb sweat so as to protect the bodice and finally especially in the edwardian era to act as padding to achieve the fashionable pigeon breast look.

That being said it seems not everyone wore corset covers from what I've seen.

Like corsets, corset cover too were sometimes used as workwear by women working in hot environnements (ironers, laundresses as well as peasants during harvest).

This corset cover includes 3 styles (pictured below) with different degrees of "laceyness". I tried my best to make it work for both 1880s and Edwardian fashion, in the end I think it's leaning more toward the later.

15 swatches : 3 styles (cf picture above) with 5 swatches of white/off white each

—————————   Split Drawers  —————————

———————————————————————————

For most of the 19th century and even the beginning of the 20th century, women drawers were open : they were composed of 2 legs that would be buttoned or tied together at the waist and that would overlap in the crotch but could be split appart when necessary.

I've made 2 versions of these, since I've seen both :

is tighter under the knee giving that poofy "bloomer" like shape

is straight legged

10 swatches with 5 different white & off white color ways

2 versions

———————————————————————————

Download : dropbox — simfileshare

———————————————————————————

And once again as a bonus some of my main reference pictures :

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

Part of the mob drabbles au

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The car door shuts, closing you in with that man and your fate. As the tires start to move, so do the gears of time. The rest of your life unwinds with a tug on your skirt and the growl of your name.

August’s hand crawls up the side of your bodice and you twist to put your hands on his chest. He bends you with him, pinning you to the seat as he crushes you from above. He shifts to bring his knees between yours, holding himself up as he pushes the tulle out of his way. 

He curls an arm beneath your head and smothers your lips. His stubble pokes and tickles you. He growls as his tongue invades your mouth. You are pliant for him. Too paralysed to resist. You don’t have it in you to fight. 

“More,” he snarls against your cheek. 

He won’t let you lay there like a doll. You slide your hands up his jacket and over shoulders. Your leg is trapped between him and the seat. His legs are bent to accommodate the tight space. 

He keeps his arm snaked beneath your head as his other hand explores the satin dress. He traces the embroidered along your chest and spreads his fingers over the curve of your chest. He curls his fingers under the fabric, pinching you beneath the tightly drawn boning. He doesn’t let the tension deter him as he pulls until the laces snap across your back. 

Your chest spills out above the slack bodice. The dress is ruined. This man only brings destruction. His lips drag down your chin and throat. He brings his head down to kiss and nip at your tits. Your hands tangle in his hair instinctively. 

Your heart races and your breath turns shallow. He sinks his teeth into your tender flesh and you whine. He doesn’t stop. Heat gathers between his teeth until your skin splits and it seeps out. You don’t expect kindness, you expect a reminder of what you are. 

His creeps down to your skirts. He searches through the layers and dips beneath. He tickles along the sheer fabric of your stockings. His hair brushes against the lace of gloves, sparking with static energy. You shudder as he feels along your thigh. 

You hold your breath as he sucks on your nipple and follows the edge of your panties around the crease of your thigh. He presses his fingertips to the thin fabric and rubs you through the tenuous barrier. You clench and quiver beneath him. 

He patience quakes within him as he bites down your chest once more. You extend and arm down his back and tug at his jacket. Your insides stir in helpless horror. You can’t stop him and you won’t. Still, you wish he would. You’re not ready. Not yet. 

He pushes against your panties until the lace splits. He pokes through the fabric and delves between your folds. He rubs you slowly, feeling you shiver against him. He flicks along your clit, swirling around and around, then glides back down to your entrance. 

He pushes a finger into you and you squeak. You arch your back, hugging his head to you, burying his face between your tits. His other hand comes down to cradle one side of your chest, kneading and gnawing as he groans. 

He slides his finger in to the knuckle and presses his thick thumb against your clit. He rocks his hand slowly. The tension winds between his fingertips and you gasp. The willowy sensation turns wild. Your fear slakes away to fervour. Your mind screams no, no, no, but your body protests with every twitch and tweak. 

You cling to his jacket, curling your fingers into it desperately as he dips his finger deeper with each tilt. He bends until he tickles that tender spot that makes you squirm and squeal. 

He pulls back and runs another finger along your cunt. He urges both inside, stretching you around him, growling as he feels the resistance of your tight walls. He buries himself as far as he can and you spasm. Your foot arches as your leg hangs over the edge limply. 

He fucks you with his hand, snapping his wrist harder and harder, pushing deeper and deeper. He squeezes until the pressure blooms to more. You cry out and your thighs quake as your orgasm spills over like lava.  

You huff and heave and whine through the climax. Confusion, delight, ecstasy, and terror mingle into one and well in the brims of your eyes. All that you’ve been holding in erupts and trickles down your cheeks. 

Yet, he doesn’t stop. You bring your hand up to hide your face as your chest lurches with your sobs. You’re as powerless to the emotion as you are to him. He shakes his hand and your pelvis roughly, bouncing you on the seat. 

You cum again. This time you shriek. In humiliation, in helplessness, in pure bliss as you gush around his thick fingers. Your head lolls and you look back your shoulder to the bend of his arm. You cannot see past your skirts. 

He keeps his fingers inside you as he raises himself above you. He grabs the front of your bodice and hauls you up, putting you in his lap as his hand is crushed beneath you. You grasp onto his shoulders and blink away the fog in your eyes. 

His hand trails down your rumpled bodice and frames your hip through the satin. He guides your pelvis back then forward. The motion has you rubbing against the heel of his hand as his fingers stay sheathed in your warmth. 

He purrs and bites his lips. His blue eyes bore into you as he tilts your hips again and again. You tauten around him and babble. He growls and his eyes blaze. 

You move your hips in his hand. He lightens his touch. You keep going. He lets his touch fall away, toying with a fold of tulle instead. You push into him, grinding against his hand. You can’t stop yourself. You know if you do, it won’t be any easier. 

He watches you, his pupils big and black, his cheeks tinged read, and his jaw squared. His fiery gaze drives you. You latch tightly onto the lapels of his jacket and buck your hips faster and faster. You’re close again. 

He grabs your chin before you can close your eyes and clucks. He brings your forehead down to rest on his, your noses smushed together as your breaths plume into a stolid cloud. You squeal as you cum again, this time a hot deluge flows out of you, gushing into his palm. 

He snarls and squeezes your jaw until it aches. You shake and stutter out shallow breaths. Your hips slow but don’t still. You don’t dare stop until he tells you to. 

[esotericas-sims]

Simstomaggie's Amalia Recolored

Here's part one of my 300 followers gift! You guys were pretty split between more Victorian recolors and a build, so I thought I'd try and do both. First up is this dress, originally by the lovely @simstomaggie.

It comes in a whole 45 swatches this time - fifteen (mostly) plain solids, fifteen decorated ones (as seen above), and fifteen with a white base and colorful accents. I have once again included the PSD file, please feel free to use my textures for other things, so long as you provide credit! I'm quite pleased with the skirt & bodice textures for this one...

Also I'm sorry in advance for how pixely the "decorated" skirt textures look, there wasn't a lot I could do given UV sizing. There are lots of smooth skirts that look just fine though :)

Download links and unedited swatch previews are below the cut!

[ Edit: now has 50 swatches, with five extra pastels! I don't have fancy previews for them though I'm sorry :( ]

Download my recolor HERE (sfs) Download the mesh HERE (patreon/free) REQUIRED!!!

(Featuring the obligatory Christmas candy cane swatch. Is it accurate for this period? IDK!! Is it whimsical? Yes.)

The decorated version was originally inspired by this fashion plate sent to the Sims of History discord by @zeehasablog but clearly I diverged pretty soon after I realized how little texture space I had to work with... I think I managed to get the spirit of it though!

[apara-dise-penguin]

Follow the haunting glamour as Dior Ambassador Jenna Ortega unveils her Beetlejuice-inspired Dior Couture gown, a custom design by Maria Grazia Chiuri, illuminated with makeup from Dior Beauty for the red carpet. From the atelier to the spotlight, each #DiorSavoirFaire detail—be it the split-heart bodice or the voluminous sweep of tulle—resonates with Lydia Deetz’s fiery silhouette from the original feature, delightfully reimagined for the 81st Venice Film Festival. — dior facebook.

[gogmstuff]

1908 (28 Jun issue) La Mode Illustrée - Robe en shantung by Mlle Sauveur. From tumblr.com/chic-a-gigot/688317023849234432/la-mode-illustr%C3%A9e-no-26-28-juin-1908-paris?; fixed spots & flaws w Pshop 1434X3072..

[brain-rot-central]

Hey Jealousy

Rating: M/borderline E? (for now) Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NON-CANON, 18+, degrading speech, somewhat dubcon for certain parts but not totally?, adult themes, mentions of past sexual relationship, alcohol mention, alcohol use, blood mention, possessiveness, jealously, stalking, dry humping, ANGST, some fluff, bitter petty nonsense overall tbh

Summary: Astarion and Tav split at the end of the game due to a huge miscommunication. She tries desperately to move on, Astarion not so much. He finally gets ahold of her, aaaaand some messy feelings come out.

A/N - 1/28/24: Reuploading this! Not much has changed; mostly pulled it for grammatical editing purposes. Hopefully the story flows a bit better now!

The tavern is bustling with the usual weekend crowd. Upbeat music fills the air of the small establishment as this evening’s band continues their set. Drinks cascade like waterfalls into the hands and mouths of the tavern's parched patrons, each desperate for a distraction to drive out the unsettling reality of their lives, albeit for a few hours.

Astarion is perched in a corner of the tavern, circling the tip of his finger around the edge of his wine goblet. The unpleasant flavor of piss and vinegar lingers on his tongue from the spirit, mouth salivating. He sucks his teeth instinctively, trying to rid himself of the taste. 

Reaching into the pocket of his favored violet and gold doublet, he retrieves a small vial of crimson liquid. He pops off the stopper and deposits the contents into his cup, bringing the cylindrical glass to his mouth to lap up the small droplet that rolls down its side.

He hums in satisfaction as the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue, floral and lively, before returning the stopper back atop the vial. Using a single finger, he swirls the additive into his wine, bringing the goblet back to his lips for another sip. 

Ah, much better.

Surveying the bar, Astarion catches the attention of a young elven woman. She's aesthetically pleasing on the eyes - blonde hair with tan skin. Were he here for another reason, he may have tried his luck with her.

Astarion nods politely. The woman then rises from her seat, walking toward him. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, adjusting his positioning. He hurriedly repockets the blood vial within his doublet and hangs his head low just as she takes the seat at his booth, opposite him.

“Well, you’re certainly different from the usual fare,” she says, confidently. “Not often we get you teu-tel-quessir folk in here.” 

Astarion absently swirls his wine. She believes I'm a moon elf?

Assuming that she's a regular of this tavern, this woman may be somewhat oblivious. Were she not, she’d have realized this is his third visit this month alone.

Astarion decides to play into her little game - he’s compelled to see how long he can keep the charade going. “I’m but a weary traveler, just passing through,” he lies. It rolls off his tongue like the caress of an old friend. Creating a fictitious life for himself is something he’s had quite a bit of practice doing.

“Is that so? I, too, happen to be passing through here.” The woman places her elbows on the table and leans forward, giving Astarion better access to the cleavage threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. His eyes fall briefly to the woman’s chest, but he doesn’t look at her face. Not yet. “Got the room rented out upstairs for a couple more days,” she adds, tone hushed.

Sliding her hand toward his, she gently rubs her fingers over the ones he has encased around the neck of the wine goblet. Astarion shudders, not expecting such an intimate touch, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. “Care to make a few mistakes with me?” she asks.

Astarion snickers. He can tell part of her story is a facade, though he doesn’t care enough to discern which. 

“My apologies, love, but I’ve made enough mistakes to last a lifetime,” he replies. Pulling his hand from her, he grabs his wine by the cup, bringing it again to his lips. “I’ll have to decline.”

The elven woman softly hums in disappointment, standing up from her seat at the booth. “Such a shame,” she says, “you really are something beautiful.” She raises a hand to her lips, kissing the pads of her fingertips before extending them out toward him. Gently blowing on her fingers, she says, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Astarion raises his cup to her and she walks off, returning to her group of friends on the far side of the tavern. He groans a sigh of relief.

Wasting little time resuming his attention on the crowd surrounding him, another is quick to catch his eye. He's seen her before - long auburn hair flowing down her back with streaks of blonde scattered throughout. She wasn't dressed in her evening best, but even so, the blouse and slacks she wore left little to his imagination.

She's sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern, a young tiefling gentleman holding her attention at present. He’s not her usual type, Astarion notes to himself, though he remains transfixed on their interaction.This is the second man he's seen this evening trying their hand at impressing the young human woman. 

A smile forms on her lips as she converses with her current suitor. Astarion once again swirls his goblet of wine before bringing it back to his mouth for another taste.

He knows this woman, rather intimately, at that. He’s held her hair within his hands, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. The smell of her skin is ever present in his mind. The saltiness of her sweat on his tongue as he lavishes her throat, the intoxicating roll of her hips against his as he bites down into the tender flesh of her neck… the rush of blood cascading down his throat.

He swallows thickly around the memory.

They've been together a handful of times throughout their travels to save the Realm from the threat of the Absolute, but that was neither here nor there, at this point.

The tiefling begins skirting his fingers along her forearm, and she leans into his touch. Astarion seethes from his place in the booth, a rush of warmth flooding his core and quickly spreading outward to each of his limbs. It’s been months since they decided on this new agreement, though his reaction is just as strong whenever another encroaches on her.

Astarion looks on as the red-head gently pats her companion’s arm before standing from her seat. His eyes follow her toward the back of the tavern. After downing the rest of his drink in one quick swing, he’s following her, careful to keep just enough distance not to rouse suspicion.

The music from the band thumps loudly in his chest as he draws closer to the crowd of people gathered before the stage. Lucky for him, they’re so entranced by the show that they hardly notice his mindless weaving, trying not to lose sight of his target. Astarion stops for a moment to refocus, looking around. It doesn’t take him long at all to zero in a glimpse of those fiery locks disappearing down a hallway off to the side.

His feet bring him to the start of the long corridor and he peers cautiously around the corner. The woman is not to be found, likely in the powder room. Astarion sighs, some of the built up tension beginning to wane from his shoulders, and comes to stand with his back against the window across from the facilities.

The residual tension within him is beginning to bleed into anxiety and doubt the longer he waits. His mind is rapidly exchanging scenarios, all of which cause his stomach to become unsettled. Gooseflesh spreads over his arms and the fine hairs covering them stand on end. Why is he doing this? They'd agreed to be friends and nothing more. It’s his fault for not being able to honor his end of the deal, he knew, but by the Gods, he simply does not care.

Since the first drops of her blood spread across his tongue, Astarion knew something within him changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to her being his proverbial “first,” but he felt… compelled by her from that moment forward. Bonded almost, in a strange way. 

In a sea of crimson, her blood would always sing loudest to him. It horrified him in the beginning, recalling memories of Cazador's puppeteering ways. The fear ebbed into compassion, after a time. As their physical relationship grew more intimate, compassion melted into an overwhelming desire to guard her. A want to protect what was his, finally his, after so many godsdamned years of pure, absolute shit.

Their… whatever it was they shared, was his. And he would gladly throw his life on the line any chance he could to insure its sustainability.

He catches a glint of red in his peripheral vision again. The human, oblivious to his presence, begins her trek back to her seat at the bar. The thought barely has time to process in Astarion’s head before his body reacts, reaching out to grab the side of her arm, pulling her back toward the wall with him.

“What the-!” the woman exclaims in shock. Her other hand comes up to begin swatting at the offending appendage. She stops midway as her eyes meet his face, recognition washing over her. “Oh, Astarion,” she says, voice flat, “what… what are you doing here?”

A practiced smile graces his lips as he releases the grip on her arm. “Am I not free to seek my own pleasure, darling?” An uneasiness begins to take root again, mind scolding him once the words leave his lips. What in the hells kind of question is that? 

Astarion clears his throat. “I was simply out for a drink before returning home when I saw what appeared to be a fire in the middle of the bar.” Unsure of what response he's hoping for, he's praying she doesn't catch onto his desperate attempt at recovery.

A quick blush spreads across her cheeks and she bows her head, giving a genuine smile. Astarion huffs out a breath in relief. 

During their time together, Astarion would often tease that her hair reminded him of a raging fire. Eventually, he adorned her with the pet name of “spitfire;” she thoroughly enjoyed solving the majority of her problems through brute force. She favored it, evidenced by a deep blush that would spread across her features.

Not unlike the one rising to her face at this very moment.

Were he honest with her, he’d tell her that this isn’t the first time he’s followed her since they parted - watched helplessly from afar as she rotated through potential nightly suitors. He chooses not to, however. Chooses to not tell her that he’s noticed every man she’s taken home has platinum hair. How they’re always of elven lineage.

She seems to buy his excuse as she visibly relaxes before him. “Oh, no, of course, Astarion,” she sighs. “It's uh, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it?” Her eyes are soft as she shifts her weight onto one hip. “How have you been?”

She's nervous, he can tell. She's doing that thing with her lip, chewing the inside of it. The rush of blood in her veins crashes and bellows in his ears as her blush settles deeper across the top of her chest.

“As well as one would imagine,” Astarion replies, “after having their heart broken.” There’s an air of nonchalance decorating his tone. A well-worn smirk tugs at his lips. He's fuming inside at the thought of another touching her, but he doesn't want to play his cards outright yet. 

No, he wants to see her squirm, wants to inflict just a touch of the torment he's experienced since their parting.

What a spiteful creature.

Her expression falls flat, jaw tensing. “I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she retorts in a meek tone. She pulls her shoulders back. "I-I thought we agreed to be friends, no?”

Astarion glances over his shoulder to see the young tiefling gentleman from before passing behind them. Their eyes meet, Astarion furrowing his brow. His jaw tightens, lips curling upward, and the peaks of his fangs are visible. He watches for the tiefling’s reaction, elated to find that the boy is clearly shaken by his display. The Tiefling turns to speak but decides against it, turning his back to the scene before him. 

Astarion sneers.

Yet another unworthy fool. 

Though… a fool who has touched her. Something he and only he should be privy to.

An inferno erupts within him.

Astarion grabs the young woman by the arm again and leads her toward the supply closet at the end of the hall, making quick work of the lock. Astarion scans their surroundings before opening the door and shoving her in, a small squeak pushed past her lips from the impact of his hand on her back. Quickly closing the door behind him, he yells, “Ignis!” a fireball lighting the lone torch in the room.

“Astarion, what-” she shouts in protest. Before the opportunity arises he’s back on her, pinning her in place to the wall with his hips. His hands fly up to cup either side of her jaw.

"Do you truly believe I meant that?" he growls low in his throat, their eyes meeting in a whirlwind. “That I only wanted to be friends?” he adds, mockingly. 

He's desperately searching her face for something, anything to show him he's not alone in this. Her tense expression stokes the fire raging within him.

Suddenly, he's spiraling.

The small voice in his head, his conscience, is yelling at him to stop - to pull back. She’s made it quite clear how she feels, you love-sick idiot. 

Logic fails him - he cannot form a single cohesive thought. Not when she's looking at him like that.

A doe caught unawares in the middle of a forest. Eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape. Not unlike those he's hunted multiple times in the past. His chest heaves as he drinks in her expression, a wave of heat rising up within him. 

The compulsion is overwhelming, rapidly losing the battle with the rational part of his brain. Bitterness bites at the back of his throat like acid. 

He absolutely must continue.

“Is that why your home has become a revolving door?” Astarion says, watching her face shift. 

“Excuse me?” the human asks, offense evident in her tone. A rhetorical question, though he pushes forward.

“Of men who look just enough like me?” he continues, driving the thorn deeper into the woman's side.  

Suddenly, she’s stone, cold and unwelcoming. Her face twists into something sour, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Astarion Anunín… Have you been stalking me?” she nearly yells.

Oh, he has her right where he wants her.

"The color of their hair does always match my own…” Astarion ponders aloud, head tilting to one side. “Have any of them fucked you as thoroughly as I have, darling?" he chides.

Pulling in a quick, ragged breath, the young woman shudders beneath him, her head falling forward. Her hips involuntarily twitch against the knee he’s suddenly wedged between her thighs and she whimpers, biting her lip to stifle the sound. 

“Astarion…” she groans, eyes falling closed. 

She’s upset, he knows. Yet, he’s privy to how she can barely resist the call of his body against her. Why not use that knowledge to his advantage?

A heavy flush settles across her face and she reopens her eyes, looking up at him through hooded lids. Astarion sees it then - the unabashed desire emanating from her. 

How ironic, he thinks to himself, that her eyes have a hunter green hue. At this moment she feels like prey, wrapped up in a delicate satin bow, all for him.

The remnants of his eternally damned soul sing in delight at her unraveling before him. Saliva pools thick on his tongue as he lavishes the thought of pushing forward, closing in on her.

Astarion leans toward her, cocking his head again to one side. “Hells, Tav… Did it really never occur to you that we made love the last time we were together?" he asks quietly, mouth hovering just above her lips.

Tav shivers beneath him, body writhing against the wall she's leaning against. Her hands come up to press against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as she grinds herself again on the knee between her legs. The flush on her face is so deep, practically matching the color of her hair.

“Y-you’re hardly playing fair,” she huffs out. She moans again, genuine and clear, making little attempt to subdue the noise. Astarion groans in response before closing the distance, finally capturing her lips in a kiss. 

He’s timid at first, wanting to gauge her reaction. Tav doesn't resist nor push him away, giving him the encouragement to continue. Her jaw grows pliant under him and invites him deeper into her mouth, tongues entangling for a quick moment. The kiss is brief - just enough until she settles beneath him. Both of their chests heave as they part.

Astarion’s eyes rest upon her lips before he draws his head back. His hands fall from her face and he lays his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. 

"My biggest regret is that I lacked the courage to tell you with words..." he admits, voice trailing off. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adds, "so, instead, I used the one tool I'm most versed with.”

Tav's pupils blow wide at the implication of his words.

Of course, Astarion used his body - used himself as an instrument. Again. To him, this is familiar territory. This is safe. 

This is all I’m good for.

"It appears I must have gotten my translation wrong," he quips.

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t wrong…” 

She adjusts herself against the wall as Astarion’s leg falls back into a normal position, no longer wedged between her. 

“I was so sure… and then the morning after, I- '' She cuts herself off and swallows. “I didn’t know what to think, Astarion.”

Astarion pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps back from Tav to give her space. 

“I don’t understand,” he begins, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I made my position rather clear that morning. About…” He shrugs his shoulders. “Us. This.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Tav shakes her head again, her discomfort in their current conversation mounting. “You started talking about being free, and-” 

She stops herself again, choking back a sigh. “It just seemed so selfish to ask you to be with me. You were just getting yourself back, after so long.”

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Tav’s eyes. Gently with the pads of his thumbs, Astarion wipes them clean.

“Oh, my silly little love,” he says, lowering his face to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “How I wish you would have spoken to me first.”

Tav’s hands come up to cover his, removing them from her face. “I think… I think I need to go,” she tells him, urgently. 

Nodding in silent agreement, Astarion lets her dip out from under him, seeing her inch closer toward the door. 

Before she grips the door’s handle, she turns to look at him. “...Can we talk more about this?” She quickly gestures to their surroundings before adding, “In a better situation, maybe?”

Astarion can only sigh, chest rising and falling heavily. “Of course, my dear. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Her eyes fall to the floor. Tav knits her fingers together nervously, rubbing her thumbs over the other. “Well… where are you staying?”

A quick laugh escapes his throat and he averts his gaze. His voice is soft and tender as he focuses on a broom leaning against the corner of the wall behind her, “...I went home.”

Tav furrows her brow before asking, “What do you mean by home?”

“Home, to Cazador’s,” he states, devoid of emotion. Astarion’s eyes fall back onto her, watching as she adjusts her posture.

“It’s not as though I know much else,” he continues. “I lack the gold or the ability to work. I have only what I’m able to pilfer off the unassuming, and I’ve grown tired of playing such a role.” 

Astarion sighs heavily again before adding, “There are a number of… resources available to me, now that Cazador is gone. It would be foolish of me to squander them.”

Tav only nods in his direction, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll meet you… there, I guess.” She unlaces her hands and turns around, heading back toward the door.

“Tavaria,” Astarion calls to her as she wraps a hand around the door handle again, freezing in place at the use of her full name. “If you do decide to visit me, you’re going to need the passcode for the tower door.” 

Looking over her shoulder, Tav waits for him to continue. Moments pass between them, the air growing thick and stale within the small closet. When she doesn’t speak, he pushes forward. 

“It’s spitfire,” Astarion tells her.

He hears more than sees the small inhalation of breath she takes as his words register. Turning her head forward again, Astarion watches her finally twist the knob to the door, pushing it open. Tav steps out of the closet, looking at him briefly before disappearing down the corridor of the tavern.

Astarion slumps against the cool stone of the supply closet wall, light now pouring through the open doorway. His head is throbbing, an uneasy ache beginning to take root deep within his chest.

What a day.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lessons in the Gardens

aegon x reader smut

(part one, part 2)

TW: smut, dubcon, incest, (semi?)public sex, degrading, corruption kink, rough sex

word count: 1,696 words

The gods must be rewarding him. That is the only explanation for him to possibly come from him happening upon you in the gardens. You lay on your stomach, contently reading your book as you nibble on your pillowy soft lips. You don’t notice as his eyes linger on your body, appraising you to see if you are ripe for the picking.

“What are you doing out here all alone, sweet niece?” He startles you and you place your book behind you.

Why are you hiding it? He wonders.

“H-Hello, uncle.” Your cheeks flush and he smiles arrogantly, happy to have such an effect on you.

“What is it that you’re hiding from me?” He sits himself close to you so that you’re almost touching. He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger.

You hesitate for a moment. “It… it is nothing.”

“Oh?” He gives you a disbelieving look and you blush harder. “It looked like you were hiding that book from me. Maybe I should check, hm?” He swiftly plucks the book from your side and you sit up in distress, trying to snatch it back.

“Please give it back.” You whine a little as he holds it away from you so that you cannot reach. Your dainty hands still grab for the book so he grips both of your wrists and holds them in your lap. His eyes widen as he reads the scene of a young lady having her maidenhead taken roughly by a knight in the gardens.

“My my. Who knew such an innocent little thing like you was interested in such racy literature.” He teases.

“I-I am not!” You protest, becoming very flustered.

“I believe that this is what they call a ‘bodice ripper’.” He chuckles.

“I do not usually read such things.”

“Oh I know you don’t. You’re far too sweet for such things but… you were quite intent on hiding it from me. Does this book excite you, little dove?” His tone is nothing short of lustful.

“Excite me?” You ask, confused.

“Do you ever get… tingly feelings in your body when you read this?”

You look away and nod slightly.

“Can you show your uncle where?” He asks gently, his voice is like honey dripping from his bitten lips.

You shake your head this time.

“It is… a private place, uncle.”

“Oh, little dove. It’s okay. You can show your uncle and he’ll take care of it all.” He caresses your cheek with his hand with a tender look in his eyes. His thumb brushes over your pouting lips. “It would be naughty for you to not show me after you have teased me so.”

“Naughty?” You look a little nervous. You don’t want to upset him after he has been so kind.

“Yes, baby. Very naughty, I'm afraid.”

You bite your lip and think for a moment more before shifting to sit in front of him. He watches hungrily as you lift your skirts and part your legs for him.

His sweet little niece, spreading her legs wide so her uncle can take her. The dichotomy of it all heightens his arousal. Such a good, innocent girl doing actions that are so lewd and sinful.

“It tingles here, uncle.”

“I can’t see properly, little girl. You’re gonna have to let me take your small clothes down, okay?” He says as his hand trails up your leg.

“Okay.” You let him pull your small clothes down and you don’t notice as he pockets the slightly wet material.

“Look at how wet your little cunny is.” He looks almost feral as he has an internal struggle as to whether or not he should just flip you onto your stomach and hold you down as he splits you open on his cock.

He decides to be nice.

“Do you want me to help with the tingly feeling?” He rubs your thigh, his hand creeping higher and higher.

You nod ever so slightly and his hand moves up to your wet core. You flinch away ever so slightly as his fingers tease your clit.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“I’m rubbing your pearl, little dove. Now stop trying to run away from me. You’re gonna like it, I promise.” He grabs you by your hips and shifts you closer before putting his hand up your skirt once more. “You’re fucking soaking my fingers and we’ve only just begun.”

“Is that bad?” You ask timidly.

“No, of course not.” He lifts his other hand to stroke your hair. “You’re doing so well.”

Your whimpers of pleasure are just about the most fantastic thing he has ever heard in his entire life and he grins at how you gasp when he puts two fingers in.

“O-Oh…” You let out soft whines as his fingers curl and coax you towards your release.

“You like that? Well you’re gonna like this even more.” He pinches down on your clit, causing you to go over the edge, feeling such pleasure like nothing in your life that you have ever experienced before.

“What… was that?” You ask your uncle innocently as you come down from your high.

“That was your peak, my sweet niece. How did you like it?” He says in a loving tone.

“It was very nice.” You blush. “I would like it again.”

“Oh, again?” He smirks as he picks up the dirty book you were reading.

“How about we recreate this scene? You were reading of it so you must desire it, no? Is this what you fantasize about, little dove, having a strong and handsome knight taking you roughly in plain sight? Is that what makes your sweet cunt tingle?” His tone is so lewd that you’re tongue tied for a moment.

“I do not have such… filthy desires.” You finally say when you muster up the courage to speak. He knows that your words aren’t the truth.

“You’re lying through your teeth, niece. It’s very naughty to lie to your uncle.” He tsks at you as he unties his breeches.

“We are in the gardens. Someone will see!” You say nervously as he begins to untie the bodice of your dress while he thanks the gods that you wore a dress that ties in the front.

“It is lunchtime. Everyone is eating in their chambers or elsewhere. Nobody will happen upon us. You brought this onto yourself. You displayed your dripping cunny to me like a common whore. You should be more than glad that I prepared you first.” You’re slightly taken aback by his words as his kind demeanor seems to slip. 

He has finally loosened the ties of your dress enough so he grabs the side panels and practically rips it open so that your breasts spill out.

“Aegon!” You scold anxiously as his mouth goes to kiss your chest.

“Hush now, sweetling. You’re going to like this.” He says as he pulls out his thick cock.

“Uncle?” You look up at him timidly with sweet doe eyes.

“Just lie back and let me take care of you.” He pushes you back gently.

He picks up the book, consulting it while he uses his other hand to hike your skirts up to your waist.

“What are you doing?” You inquire about him pausing to read.

“I’m seeing what these nice people in this novel are doing. I am truly shocked that a sweet little thing like you is reading such a thing. I’m sure it means that all maidens must want to be taken by a strong knight. Luckily for you, you get a prince instead.” He tosses the book to the side.

He grabs your hips and slides you closer so you’re pressed flush against him. He rubs his dick against your cunt for a moment, coating it in your arousal.

“Fuck…” He groans.

He then slips it in, completely sheathing himself inside of you.

“Ah!” You whine at the intrusion and you try to squirm away but he grabs you roughly by the waist and shoves his cock back inside of you.

“What have I said about trying to run from me?” He gives you a sharp look before he starts thrusting into you at a brutal pace.

“It hurtsss” You whine.

“It’ll feel good soon, baby. You just have to get through the painful part. Then it’ll all be okay.” He coos.

He fucks you hard as you continue to whimper which contrasts the gentle and soft way that he kisses you.

“Slow-er… can’t take it.” You sniffle but you’re starting to like how he manhandles you.

“Oh, please, you’re being a brat. This is just like your book, no? Tell me, did the girl complain as the knight had his way with her?”

“No, uncle.” You pout and a wolf-like grin graces his features.

“Exactly, so take it like a good girl unless… Do you want me to stop all together?”

“No!” You say a little bit too quickly.

“That's what I thought.”

He gets back to fucking you roughly, his pace almost unforgiveable. His hand comes down to rub your clit and your whimpers turn to moans.

“There we go. You like that, little dove?” He asks as his speed starts to slow.

“Y-Yes” You mewl as he leans over to kiss your neck, leaving marks.

“You’re close to your peak, aren’t you? Don’t worry, sweetling, I am too.��

He rubs your clit until you go over the edge and he peaks as well, cumming deep inside of you as you squeeze around him and milk him of his seed.

“Good girl…” He praises as he lets himself lay on you for a moment, resting his head on your pillowy tits.

When he pulls out, you wince. He watches intensely as his cum drips out of your pulsing entrance. He then helps you to sit up and begins to lace up your bodice again as you look at him, a little dazed.

“Next time you get that tingly feeling, come see uncle Aegon, okay?” You nod slightly as he pulls your skirts back down over your legs and with a kiss to the cheek, he leaves you alone in the gardens.

taglist: @valeskafics 

[rosemaze-reveries]

some yumetober drabbles ^_^ ft. richard & patricia

⚔️ Richard

“If only I could escape all these burdensome obligations,” he muses, sneaking an icy finger behind your collar. “Maybe we could’ve been in love.”

“Maybe,” you agree, and the corners of his mouth curl up slightly. You know him well enough to know that’s not a genuine smile. It’s not the response he wanted to hear, and you voiced it without a moment’s hesitation, as if you couldn’t indulge the thought for a second. He gently takes hold of the zipper on your back, dragging it down your bodice. As the chilly air hits your skin his palm catches the small of your back, as if even from the cold is something to shield you from.

You draw him into your arms, brushing delicate kisses along the shell of his ear.

“You're so warm,” you sigh out. “Is it real?”

What an odd question. But he only flashes another disarming smile, cold hands slipping up your skin. “You feel it, don’t you? So it must be.”

💀 Patricia

Patricia splits your thighs with her skirted knee, pinning you to the bed beneath her. Her eyes are not fixed on you but on the ferry ticket crumpled in your hand, set to depart in just a few hours. The solemn look on her face pierces straight through you. She’s trying to hide it, but you notice the strain in her brow, and the slight tremble of her fingers as they tighten around your wrists.

“I don’t do love,” she says, as if she’s entirely assured of this fact. “But I will do this once for you. No matter whose lips you touch, or who spreads themselves onto you, you will think only of me.”

With a threat like that, you don’t expect her touch to be gentle. But her lips are tender when they meet yours, as lush and sweet as any fairy tale would be. When she breaks away, it’s only to drive in another cruel lie: “Don’t forget—this means nothing to me.”

You respond with a small half-smile, pulling her back into you. “The first and only 'curse' you've given me means nothing to you?” You hope you struck a nerve. She quiets you with her lips again, and you begin to feel feverish as your breath is stolen from you.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 48, 1 décembre 1872, Paris. Toilettes de Mme Fladry. 43. rue Richer. Collection of the Rijksmuseum, Netherlands

Robe en cachemire violet ancien très-foncé. Le jupon est garni d'un volant, disposé par séries de trois plis que sépare un espace égal à celui que les plis occupent. Tunique pareille, garnie d'un haut volant surmonté de quatre petits biais. Cette tunique remonte de chaque côté, et sur cette place s'étale un pan arrondi garni comme la tunique. Polonaise de même étoffe, avec tablier rond par devant, et un lé plissé par derrière. A cette polonaise se rattache une longue basque, disposée en gros plis. Corsage montant avec col marin de même étoffe.

Dress in very dark old purple cashmere. The petticoat is trimmed with a flounce, arranged in series of three pleats separated by a space equal to that occupied by the pleats. Tunic similar, trimmed with a high flounce topped with four small biases. This tunic rises on each side, and on this place spreads a rounded panel trimmed like the tunic. Polonaise of the same fabric, with a round apron in front, and a pleated strip at the back. Attached to this polonaise is a long basque, arranged in large pleats. High bodice with sailor collar of the same fabric.

—

Jupon en faye feutre, garni d'un volant, fendu depuis son bord supérieur, de façon à former des courbes disposées en gros plis; le volant est garni d'un petit volant posé à tête. Polonaise-princesse en même étoffe, bordée d'un large biais et de deux biais étroits. La jupe de cette polonaise est drapée sur le côté de droite, et ornée de deux pans de ceinture, garnis comme la tunique. La polonaise est garnie de boutons depuis le col jusqu'au bord inférieur; trois biais, dont le premier plus large, décrivent sur le corsage montant une pèlerine carrée.

Petticoat in felt faye, trimmed with a flounce, split from its upper edge, so as to form curves arranged in large folds; the flounce is trimmed with a small flounce placed at the head. Princess polonaise in the same fabric, edged with a wide bias and two narrow biases. The skirt of this polonaise is draped on the right side, and decorated with two belt panels, trimmed like the tunic. The polonaise is trimmed with buttons from the collar to the lower edge; three biases, the first of which is wider, shape a square cape on the rising bodice.

[hanmaitani]

CAUGHT BETWEEN

a shoes that were danced to pieces twisted fairytale...

PAIRING - Prince!Jean Kirstein x Reader x Soldier!Eren Yeager WC - 1.0k GENRE - smut CW - dubcon, threesome, spitroast, implied unprotected sex, oral (m!receiving) SUMMARY - after you've been disappearing from the castle every night, your father promises your hand in marriage to anyone who can figure out where you've been going and bring you home. one lucky soldier finds you've been dancing your nights away with a prince

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

You stared at the soldier in front of you. Terror flooded your system as you watched his green eyes flick down to where the prince behind you still had his hand on your waist from dancing.

“Please, don’t tell me father.” The words slip from your lips before you have the chance to stop them or think of anything more eloquent to say. As the princess you’ve always prided yourself on knowing what you should say and how and when to get the outcome that you want. But if you’re honest, you never expected anyone to find out about this secret of yours.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Eren, the soldier who has just found out your secret asks you as he glares at the other man still holding you.

“Please,” your voice seems to draw out, whiny as you start to panic, “I’ll pay you any sum you want. Please forget you’ve been here.”

“Why would I want some of your money? Your father has promised me your hand.” Eren’s grip on you is sudden and harsh and you gasp as he pulls you towards him. Your gasp is almost as pronounced as the prince steps with you, not letting you from his grasp.

“You can’t have my princess.” Your prince may be shy at times with you but he stands up to Eren with no problem, his chest puffing up as he challenges him. “She won’t marry you when she’s already set to be a Kirstein.” Jean had proposed offhandedly while dancing, and you, lost in the enchantment of the music, had agreed.

“Please,” you beg as Eren ignores the other male and begins to tug you back towards the boats you’d come in on.

“Leave her be!” Jean tugs on you as well, to try and keep you at the pavilion you’d been dancing on.

You whimper as you feel like your body is being jerked back and forth, you’re twisting, panic gripping you when you hear the fateful rip.

It’s like all three of you freeze, turning to look at the source of the sound in slow motion. The corset of your dress having split as your chest spills from its confines. Your first instinct is to cover yourself, but with each arm held by a different man pulling in opposite directions, you’re left unable to do anything but stand there as the two men ogle you.

“H-hey!” You exclaim, tugging on your arms in their grips, hoping that one of the men who has hopes to marry you, also has the decency to let you go so you may cover yourself. Neither do. Your cheeks flush as you tug and twist more, the motions only seeming to intrigue the men more as your chest moves with the motions. “L-let go!”

You’re panting by the time they snap out of their frozen state. “Why would we do that?” It’s Jean, now, who is questioning your requests and your stomach seems to drop.

“Let’s have a competition.” Eren suggests as he stops trying to tug you towards the boats and instead merely holds you in place between Jean and him. You don’t miss how Jean’s eyes light up at the idea of competing with the other man. “Whoever makes her feel better wins.”

“You make her feel better, and I’ll let you take her.” Jean agrees almost instantly, eyes locked on the soldier rather than you.

“You win and I’ll forget that I ever saw her here.” Eren muses, his amusement at the prince’s eagerness growing.

“Wha-what about what I want!?” You exclaim as your eyes dart between the two, your breathing ragged as you wonder what situation you’re now in.

“We’ll give you everything,” Jean replies, his voice smoothe like he’s trying to charm you.

“Everything and more.” Eren agrees, his free hand already moving to unlace the rest of your bodice.

You gasp as hands touch your bare skin for the first time, goosebumps rising across the surface as they undress you right there on the dimly lit pavilion. It feels wrong, but your skin is on fire with every place they touch you.

They touch you in the same way, rough, demanding, each as if they are trying to one up the last touch of the other. It’s overwhelming and dizzying and you’re not sure how to feel anymore.

Especially as Jean sinks into your cunt for the first time, his length warm as he slides you down, keeping you suspended for your head to fall back towards Eren. You’re almost positive that he doesn’t even care about his movements, too busy showing off the blissful look on your face to the other male as he repeatedly hits into your g-spot, fucking into you with the purpose to prove that he is who you should marry.

Eren doesn’t much care for Jean’s attempt at showing off, his own mission clear as he bends you backwards, further away from Jean until you’re bridged between the two men, your mouth at the perfect height for Eren’s hips. Eren’s cock fills your throat with ease, he doesn’t seem to care how it constricts around him as you choke on it, he rather seems to like it.

You’re sure that they can’t even notice how easily you cum between the two of them. They’re too busy arguing over whether you’re shaking from how Jean fucks into your sweet spots or how Eren steals your breath as he tweaks at your nipples.

You’re not even sure if they truly care about who gets to marry you anymore. Both their fingers bump into each other as they rub over your clit, the way both the holes of yours that they’ve filled tighten when they do has them wanting to keep at it no matter how tired your body seems to be getting. And you’re sure that it’s more about who can win over the other. You’re just their collateral.

A/N - short and sweet but <33

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