irelalala

[ollywears]

Olly Alexander wearing a Loewe A/W 2021 wool belted trousers in an appearance at RuPaul’s Drag Race UK (November 17, 2022).

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: How To Master An "Effortlessly Elegant" & Put-Together Look

Table of Contents:

Treat your skin like royalty

Take ample care of your natural hair

Dress in crisp neutral outfits that cater to your body shape

Choose your accessories wisely

Embrace feature-enhancing makeup

Keep your nails clean, filed, and simple

Regarding your signature scent(s)

Follow your dental & bodily hygiene routines religiously

Treat your skin like royalty:

Use high-quality skincare twice a day

Wear sunscreen every day

Remove your makeup every night before bed no matter what

Use makeup that doesn't clog your pores/irritate your skin

Change your pillowcases weekly

Eat plenty of produce & drink lots of water

Prioritize sleep

Limit or eliminate alcohol, cigarettes, caffeine, and processed foods/sugary drinks

Keep your skin exfoliated/derma-planed

Take ample care of your natural hair:

Use high-quality shampoo/conditioner combos that suit your hair type & don't cause build-up

Hydrate with a scalp mask 1-4 times a month

Use cold or lukewarm water to wash your hair

Apply shampoo to the roots/hair covering your scalp and conditioner only on the "ponytail" section of your hair

Use a specialty hair towel after getting out of the shower

Always comb wet hair and brush 1-3 times a day when dry

Limit heat on your hair when possible & always use a heat protectant every time you do

Use non-elastic or silk hair ties

Get regular trims at least 3-4 times per year (get your hair layered if it's very thick)

Try to limit how much you dye or, especially bleach, your hair and do elaborate styles with tons of heat & harsh products

Dress in crisp neutral outfits that cater to your body shape:

Embrace minimalist basics (tees, tanks, blouses, sweaters, jeans, trousers, blazers, leather jackets, coats, etc.) in high-quality fabrics (Pima cotton, Merino wool, Tencel, mulberry silk, etc.)

Choose options in black, white, grey, charcoal beige, navy, burgundy, or cream depending on your skin tone and preferences

Invest in a collection of sleek footwear options (black boots, loafers, black pumps, white sneakers, etc.) in minimalist, timeless styles that suit the color palette, hemlines & proportions of your go-to outfits

Ensure your shoes and accessories feel proportional to the weight/silhouette of your outfit, color-coordinate with the rest of your look, and have streamlined hardware from head-to-toe (all silver, all gold, or one piece that mixes silver/gold and another gold & silver piece each to balance out the color palette)

Keep all of your clothes steam and lint-rolled, so they look crisp & fresh all-day

Befriend your tailor to take in or let out clothes as needed when purchased off the rack

Choose clothes/styles that flatter your body shape and proportions

Utilize belts and bra tape to adjust the waist, keep shirts tucked in, and keep straps from falling down or create an impromptu cuff/hem on your pants

When in doubt, select a neutral head-to-toe monochrome outfit

If on a budget, consider choosing black, grey, camel beige items to hide fabric imperfections that could cheapen your look

Choose your accessories wisely:

Select sleek, simple neutral (& almost exclusively) monochrome shoes made with smooth (recycled/vegan) leather with

Pair almost any outfit with a shoe featuring a slight platform, block heel, kitten heel, and/or a sharply pointed toe to elongate your silhouette

Complement your outfit with structured, pared-back handbags with no logos (Focus on quality and construction, not the brand name) in a neutral shade and timeless silhouette

For jewelry, choose at most one statement piece and all others should be focused on different areas of the body (e.g. don't mix statement earrings with layered/bold necklaces or stacked rings * bracelets). When in doubt, choose simple diamond chains or earrings, sleek bangles or chainlink necklaces & bracelets, simple pendant necklaces, and minimalist rings in hardware that all go together

Embrace feature-enhancing makeup:

Cover up any dark circles, blemishes, or hyperpigmentation with a color-matched concealer

Lightly contour with a bronzer that complements your skin tone

Fill in your brows for a naturally full look (or get them professionally tinted)

Apply a light wash of rose, coral, or mauve blush

Use black mascara with a little bit of eyeliner and/or a subtle wash of brown eyeshadow on the lids

Apply a "your lips but better" nude shade or "just kissed' berry lipstick or pigmented lip balm for a subtle wash of color

Keep your nails clean, filed, and simple:

Maintain cut, cleaned, and filed short nails

Opt for a square or almond nail shape

Choose a timeless nail shade (pink, nude, red, beige, dark cherry, navy, dark purple, black) with no nail art

Hydrate your hands and scrub under your nails daily

Regarding your signature scent(s):

Ensure your body wash/lotion and perfume scents don't clash

Test perfumes for a trial day to ensure they smell divine with your unique pheromones

Choose a fragrance appropriate for the seasonal/occasion

Apply a dab on each wrist and on your neck/behind the ears. If the scent doesn't project well on you, try applying these small dabs on the cuffs and shoulders of your jacket/walk into it to get it on your hair (if it would stain your clothes)

Don't layer more than one heady perfume at a time or scents that don't have complementary and/or shared notes

Follow your dental & bodily hygiene routines religiously:

Floss every day (after each meal if possible)

Brush your teeth with an electric toothbrush twice a day

Have mints on hand if you're a garlic, spice, or coffee lover

Keep your lips & hands well-moisturized and protected with SPF

Shower your body daily and be extra diligent in scrubbing your privates, everything behind, and under your arms

Don't use very hot water in the shower (it burns/dries out your skin)

Exfoliate 2-3 times a week with a sugar scrub

Moisturize daily or anytime you get out of the shower

Apply SPF on any exposed sun (especially in the summer or when the UV index is high in your area)

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 6 ✿:+ Free Fields

1-2-3-4-5-_-7

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: ALL SMUT MDNI, afab reader, virgin reader, P in V sex, oral sex (mutual), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up cuties), creampie, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence. 

A/N: I am posting early this week, giving the girls what they want in one long smut scene. Everyone say thank you Bambi. 

Word Count: 3467 

You had ridden most of the night, but once the daylight began to rise in the sky you felt sleep take you. Sandor tied Lika to Stranger and Sandor held you as he rode. You insisted you didn’t need the sleep but he insisted in the opposite direction. He’d ridden most of the day holding you against his chest, wrapped in his cloak. 

You’d woken up in the forest. The light that peaked through the gaps in the leaves of the trees above you began to shine in your eyes. A cold breeze traveled through them, waking you up even more. You looked to your side through half open eyes. You sat up quickly, realizing you were laying on the soft grass alone. You looked around and saw Sandor was watering the horses, and you were wrapped in his cloak. 

“‘M right here.” He said looking over his shoulder at you then back to the horses. 

You looked around and never felt so alone, there was no one for miles. But again you never felt so free. 

But you couldn’t help but feel somewhat awkward. You’d never been alone with Sandor like this. There was hardly any chance of anyone stumbling upon you, your time was not limited, and now everyone must have known. Known that he took you with him. 

You sat up and held your knees closer to your chest, you noticed how the red gown the Lannisters had made for you was already wearing thin, the fabrics tearing slightly. You ran your fingers over the ruined fabric over your knee. You noticed the pattern of the fabric was lions and roses. As your fingers ran over the lion's tail you couldn’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. 

Tyrion. 

You didn’t love him, that was true. But you were fond of him. And maybe at some point if you were married you could have. He wasn’t like his family, and he tried, he really did try to make your cage a comfortable one. But he did not open that cage for you, he didn’t even seem to want to. Sandor did. 

Sandor looked over his shoulder at you again, noticing you examining the fabric. 

“You can’t wear that out ‘ere.” He said gruffly as he stood and walked towards Stranger. 

You looked confused, 

“Somebody comes along and see’s you in that bloody thing you know what they’ll do?” He asked, as if he was testing you. Wanting to know just how cruel you knew the world could be. 

“Something like those men during the riot did.”

“No.” He huffed while rummaging through the sattles bag “No one’ll ever touch you like that again.” He said pulling out some clothes and walking towards you, “But they’ll know who you are. Where the fuck you came from. Lannisters would find us faster.” 

“You don’t think they’ll know who you are?” You asked as he handed you the clothes, 

“You can change that fuckin’ dress but I can’t change my face now can I?”  He said in a gruff voice that you ignored as you looked at the clothes. There was a white cotton tunic, a thick gray wool sweater that was like a dress on you. a pair of tall black leather boots, a thick black leather belt with a satchel attached to it, and a pair of dark brown trousers that were too tight for you but would have to do. 

“where’d you get this?” You asked looking at the clothing,

“Stole it, while you were sleeping.” You looked up at him with a look of surprise “They didn’t want them, fucking left them outside.”

“Were they on a line?” He didn’t respond to you, just stared at you with guilty eyes, “They were hanging to dry. You can’t do that.”

“I’ll do what I have to, for you.” he whispered that last part, “You’re very kind. That’ll get you killed out here.” His voice was hardened and cold, “Change.” He said walking back to the horses by the river. 

You shrugged off his hardened words. running your fingers through your hair. You realized how dirty the journey had made it. Not to mention the dirt that had gathered on your hands, feet, and knees. 

Your eyes wandered towards the river, the water rushing looked inviting. You looked around, there was no one, at least for the next thirty miles. Then you looked back to sandor who was tending to the horses, he was strangely attentive and fond of the horses. It made you feel warm inside, seeing him be so gentle, after you’ve seen him kill and maim men for little reason. 

You stood, as you did you began to remove your gown, Sandor could hear the fabric of your gown being discarded. He pretended not to notice it as he kept his back turned.

Your gown fell around your feet as you stepped out of it, your underclothes with it. 

You walked towards the river, you dipped your foot in the cold water. It wasn’t like the warm baths in lavender oil that you were used to. But it was what you needed. The water was much deeper than you expected.

You plunged into the cold waters, let yourself stay under the water for a moment. The coldness of the water surrounded you, like it was holding you. It reminded you of the cold winds of the Eyrie. Before you could daydream even more you were pulled out of the water by your arm. 

You gasped for air as your head finally reached the surface. 

“Fuck are you doing, girl?” He barked at you, you pulled your arm away, 

“I was dirty.” You said with a smirk as you were catching your breath.

“Er clean now, out.” He said pulling your arm again but you pulled away and out of his grasp. He huffed, you noticed that he was still covered in blood, it was faded but it was still there. 

“You’re still all bloody.” You said and he tisked at you while he pulled on your arm again. “Stop it.” You said pulling your arm away before swimming closer towards him. “Come here.” You commanded softly. With a gruff sigh he gave in, kneeled towards you. You wiped the blood from his brow, his cheek, then his scarred cheek. When you touched it he winced a little. “Does it hurt?” You whispered, he shook his head. 

“Are you finished?” He rasped, you nodded. He stood and walked back and away from you. “Get out of there before a man comes along.” He rasped once again, as he sat by a small fire he’d built. No doubt with a great deal of courage, he mainly built it for you. 

So you did as he said, you climbed out of the water, you threw on your under clothes to cover your nakedness, though your body was still so wet the clothes became almost transparent. Sandor looked back at you while you rang out your hair. He’d seen you naked before, but this felt all the more intimate. The glamor had worn off, and you were reduced to skin and bone. Not a noble woman but a human. Your cheeks felt red and you looked away, but you felt his gaze linger. 

“Dress yourself.” He commanded in a growl “If a man comes,” 

“There's no one for miles.” You interrupted him, walking towards him, your hair still dripping wet. 

“Stubborn girl.” He growled as he drank water from a flask, pissed that it wasn’t wine. But you continued your steps towards him. You knelt by his side and began to undo the clasps of his armor. He grabbed your hand “Fuck are you doing?” 

“You’re covered in blood, your armor- it’s covered in blood.” You said but he didn’t let go of your hand “We can’t attract attention like you said. You being covered in blood would attract just that.” He let your hand go, and you continued. Undoing each clasp until he was left in his tunic and slacks. 

You sat by the river and washed each piece with your hands, taking small amounts of water and rubbing it onto the silver armor. Making sure not too much water touched it, you didn’t want to ruin the material. 

Sandor watched you as the sun began to set, it made him think about what he offered you in your room the night of the battle of Blackwater. He’d build you a home. And he would. He thought of you washing clothes in a river like what you were doing now. He thought of sharing a home with you, not a grand one like the Eyrie but a small home made of wood and stone. He thought for a moment of you carrying his babe. But he was not one for chivalry, tradition, or ceremonies. But he wasn’t one for love either but here he was. 

You walked back with his armor, the fire illuminated his face handsomely, you tried to put it back on him but he took it and placed it on the ground. His eyes softened strangely, but his face was still in that scowl he always had. He placed his hands on your hips and his eyes ran over your body. 

“If another man saw what I am looking at right now, I would kill him.” He grumbled. 

“How many men have you killed?” 

“Killed my first man when I was twelve. I lost count since then.” His voice was cold, and his eyes reached yours searching for any ounce of fear. Finding none. “I don’t frighten you?” He barked as if he was trying to frighten you, trying to get you to come to your senses. 

“Never.” You spoke softly, your soft words always gentled the rage within him. He felt so much for you he almost resented you for it.

He grabbed you by your jaw, “Have you ever made a man feel this way before?” He growled, 

“I don’t know.” You said, still not scared of him, you knew he’d never harm you. 

“I know you have. How could any man not? I know that Imp, he wanted you.” his voice was so low it rumbled in his chest. 

“I never felt love for him, nor lust.” You spoke softly, his grip on you loosened. 

“What of that pretty boy,” 

“Loras?”

“Aye.”

You let out a small giggle at the thought of Sandor being truly jealous of Loras, a man who couldn't love a woman. “Rumors of Loras are true. He did not like the touch of a woman.” 

“He was a cock sucker?”

“Stop that.”

“What, you love him do you?” His grip tightened once again but still not hurting you.

“Not the kind of love you mean.” 

“You said you promised someone you love to take the Eyrie. Who?” He growled, you knew that this was the only way he’d be able to tell you he loved you. By interrogating you on who you loved.

“My mother.” His grip loosened completely, “And my father.” His hand began to rest on your neck, “I promised my mother on her child bed, to keep her house safe, and her son safe. I failed at one I can’t fail both.” 

“Oaths and promises are for cunts.” 

“You’ve sworn a promise to me.” 

“Aye.” He said, his eyes scanning down your body once more. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“The fuck do you think I’m looking at.” He rasped as you noticed his hooded eyes lingering on your breasts, hardly covered by your soaking wet under clothes. You pulled the top half of your under clothes over your head. His eyes snapped to yours.  

“You’ve never been fucked by a man?” He rasped, he knew you hadn’t, he knew you’d already told him this, but he needed to be sure. You shook your head. “Never had a man's fingers in your cunt?” You shook your head again, “Never had a man’s tongue in your cunt?” He rasped, 

“Only yours,” You whispered. Those words only encourage his throbbing cock.

“You sure you want this?” He grumbled, his large rough hands going to your breasts. They were rough and almost hurt by how course they were. They were so large that they engulfed your breast completely. Your mind then turned back from that to the question he asked, 

“I am.” Your words are soft and sweet. 

“Lay back,” His voice dropped and rumbled in his chest, it made you clench your thighs together. You laid back as he asked you. You laid back on the green soft grass. As you did he pulled his tunic off and over his head. He loomed over you, his hands ran from your jaw, to your sternum, to your stomach, to your pelvis. He toyed with the fabric of your under clothes covering your sex. 

“You can’t take it back.” He rasped. You nodded, and you pulled your under clothes down and over your knees, he took them off from there. 

He positioned himself between your legs, and leaned down. He kissed you deeply. Sucking on your lips as if they tasted of wine. His rough hands roamed your body, they were so rough they almost scratched at your skin. You moaned into his mouth as his hand found its way to your cunt. 

His large middle finger began to play with your clit. His finger circled your clit a few times then teased your entrance, just a little, adding some pressure then going back to your clit. Your sweet moans only encourage his throbbing bulge in his trousers. 

Your hand gripped a chunk of his hair at the back of his head, deepening your kiss. Your other hand roamed his back, littered with scars. 

He kissed down from your jaw, to your neck, to your collar bones, your chest, breasts, nipples, stomach. He sucked and bit at your side making you jump a little and mewl. He continued on and kissed your pelvic mound. 

He lifted your legs up and over his shoulders, kissing your inner thighs and biting them gently. The feel of his beard scratched at your thighs. Your back arched at the feeling. 

Finally, replacing his fingers with his tongue. He licked at your sensitive clit, sucking on it, and biting on it lightly, enough to make you moan his name, which in turn made him moan into your cunt. The vibration of it made the sensation all the more pleasurable. 

At this point you were soaking wet, you heard lude sounds from him, a mix of growls and slurping. 

You gripped a handful of his hair again scratching at his scalp. 

His fingers returned to your cunts entrance, not fully entering it, just applied pressure teasing you horribly. 

He kissed your swollen clit and came up for air, He looked at your cunt, empty but clenching around nothing at all. It drove him mad, as he looked up at you, you looked down at him. “I’ll be gentle, but it’ll hurt.” He said with a low raspy voice. 

You nodded, “Please,” you whined. 

He kissed your inner thigh as his thick ring finger began to enter you. Your back arched and you let out a groan as you threw your head back. It burned a little, and the pressure was uncomfortable, and yet felt so good. His finger continued inside of you, and his eyes watched you making sure you didn’t want it to stop. Then you felt him hit something, it made you wince. He stopped, 

“Take a deep breath, little bird.” He said oddly gently. He sucked on your clit as he continued and you felt a snap inside of you, it hurt, 

“Nmph!” You groaned, let out a sharp breath. 

“It’s alright now, it’ll feel better now.” He said moaning into your cunt. 

And he was right, the pain and the burn stopped, and was replaced by pleasure. You moaned as his finger pumped in you over and over again. He added another finger as he sucked on your breasts. You held his head and kissed the top of it whilst he did so. 

He pulled his fingers out of you and sat up on his knees. You sat up as well. 

Your eyes looked at his fingers, covered in your slick mixed with blood. Your cheeks lit up red with embarrassment. 

“It’s alright, little bird. I fuckin' love it, you've got no fucking idea how long I've wanted to do this to ye.” He comforted you, you weren’t used to it. You tried to ignore your embarrassment and focus on what you wanted. You started to undo his trousers, he didn’t stop you this time. You pulled his trousers down with some resistance from his large cock. Once you got them down his cock bounced up, standing straight. You looked up at him waiting for any resistance, met with none once again. 

You took his cock in your hand, it made your hand look so small in comparison. He let out a deep groan, which only encouraged you more. You kissed the side of his cock, and kissed your way to the tip. You licked at the precum that was seeping from his tip. 

It was salty and bitter but you couldn’t get enough. However, that was his last straw. He pushed you back onto the soft grass and pulled your legs around his waist. He kissed you, tasting himself on your tongue as you tasted yourself on his. 

He lined himself up with your soft, warm, and soaking wet entrance. He slowly pushed his way inside of you. You both let out a loud moan, but you tried to cover your mouth, not wanting to risk others in these forests hearing you. Sandor wouldn’t have that though. He grabbed your wrist and pulled it away from your mouth, 

“Don’t you fucking dare. I want to hear all of it.” He growled at you, “I’ve waited too long to hear it.”

“What if someone hears?” You tried to say without moaning but failing miserably 

“I’ll strangle them with their own guts.” He said like an angry dog, “I’m the only one who can see you like this, hear you like this.” 

He pushed further and further into you until he hit your spongy cervix, making you almost scream out in pleasure. Sandor gritted his teeth and he shouted “Gods!... (Y/N), you feel so fucking good!” as he slammed his lips onto yours kissing you with a hunger you’d never known. He let himself warm inside you for a moment, letting you get used to the stretch. 

All the things you’d heard about sex finally made sense. The pleasure of it, and the pain of it. But you never knew how fulfilling it could feel. How the satisfaction would feel within you. You hadn’t even cum yet but you were a woman happy nonetheless. 

He began to move again, in and out of you pumping. You gripped the grass at the sides of your head. As he pumped in you your breasts bounced, his eyes couldn’t stop but admire your body. Every inch of it unique to you and you alone. All those whores he paid who looked like you weren’t like this. They didn’t feel as good as you did, they didn’t fit around him the way you did. 

“I’m not ‘urting you am I?” He asked through gritted teeth, you shook your head as you moaned loudly, “Good.” He said as he pumped harder and faster. He leaned down more and ravaged your breasts, you knew there would be marks on them tomorrow. His hands gripped at your hips so tightly you knew there would be marks there as well. 

“Take it, take it, take it, take it-” He grumbled into your neck over and over again. 

You felt the pressure in your belly tighten, you knew you were going to cum. “I feel ya’ tightening around my cock, do it, cum around my cock.” He said into your ear as he nibbled at your lobe, then moving to bite at your jaw. 

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly, “Sandor!” You yelped as you felt yourself cumming all over him. 

His arm wrapped around your waist tightly pulling you up and close to this chest. While his other hand held your jaw in place, having you look him in the eyes. 

“Cum in me,” You pleaded breathlessly, his eyes widened, he couldn’t believe that you’d ever want him to do such a thing. It pushed him over the edge and he didn’t have time to question if it was truly what you wanted as he melted into you.

"(Y/N)!" He shouted as you felt the hot ribbons of cum filling you deep inside of you. His grunts were like war screams, as if he were impaling a man with a sword. In a way he was. It out of nowhere made you cum again, pushing some of his cum out of your cunt, overflowing around his cock still in you. 

As he collapsed beside you, and you both laid there naked covered in sweat in the cold air. You tried to catch your breath. 

“(Y/N)” He said in a husky growl you could hear the rumble of his tone, you turned to look at him. “I would die for you.” 

NOTE:

Hi girlies. I made this with the intention of making it just one scene in a multiple scene chapter but it was already so long and we have a lot more to get to so enjoy this little freebie. 

Also I am working on a new series, might take a min tho so I am not going to announce who it is about but it is also GOT related.

Also also double points for anyone who caught the Laufey lyrics

My Beloveds: If you want to be added to the tag list comment telling me so!

@dontfollowjuststuff @helpmeescapethisreality @merfic

[octuscle]

Now open under new management (remake)

Edward Parker III rolled down the car window a crack. Peter, his driver, had switched off the air conditioning to save fuel. The fuel gauge was practically at 0.00. Here, in the middle of nowhere, they had no mobile network. The last Google message said that a petrol station would appear at some point. And Peter claimed that it should open in five minutes. Open from 10:40 am. Strange opening times. Edward's stomach grumbled. Something had gone wrong at breakfast. The car desperately needed a gas pump. And he needed a toilet just as badly. Then, like an oasis in the desert, a building appeared in the middle of endless cornfields and pastures full of stupidly staring cattle. It was 10:39:50 a.m. when Peter steered the car into the dusty gas station with the last drop of gas. At 10:40 sharp, Edward yanked open the car door and jumped out. And the moment his spotless Oxfords touched the ground, the neon sign flashed. Open!

Edward ran towards the little store where the neon sign was shining. He was far too intent on not wetting his pants to notice the leather soles of his shoes turning into a firm rubber tread. When he pushed the door handle down, he got something like an electric shock. He didn't care. The store was empty. His palm became calloused. His fingernails were black. There was a door at the back labeled "Private". Hopefully there was a toilet there. Thank God the door was open. And thank God there was a toilet. In the middle of a room full of tools, car tires and packages. It stank miserably. But Edward didn't care at all. He had already undone his belt while running, unzipped his trousers, pulled them down and dropped onto the dirty toilet seat at the last moment. And he had to shit like never before in his life. The stench was overwhelming. But the relief was immense. Edward finally relaxed again. But only for a second. Then his eyes fell on the dirty biker boots. They contained a pair of completely filthy jeans, pulled down as far as they would go. And what was even more irritating: his right hand was the hand of a construction worker, the sleeve of his shirt had disappeared. And the fabric of the right sleeve of his jacket was also coming undone. And on his chest and back, the color changed from a navy blue to a washed-out red. What the hell was going on here?

Even greater than the panic was the disgust at the stench. His left hand, still freshly manicured, reached for the toilet flush. And again he was hit by an electric shock. Panicked, he watched as his fingernails became dirty and his hand calloused. Edward's gaze fell between his legs. That wasn't his circumcised, shaved penis. That was a cheesy, hairy cock. Much bigger than it normally was. Edward had to get out of here! He hastily wiped his ass. A tight, hairy ass, sitting there on a familiar toilet seat. A man needs a good place to shit. Hehehe, this was a good place to shit. Stumbling, Edward stood up, his head spinning. He looked in the mirror. That was still his head. But the rest of him? His stiff white collar and tie knot vanished into thin air, revealing a well-toned chest. The last remnants of the finest navy blue wool on his upper left arm disappeared, and the transformation of his jacket into a washed-out and worn-out tank top was complete. I look like a fucking hillbilly, were his last thoughts before he grew a scruffy three-day fuzzy beard. His $100 haircut became a home-cut mullet. Damn, the greasy hair hadn't been washed in a while.

Loud honking from outside. "Damn, I've taken a shit! Can't you wait?" Edward shouted. He wiped his hands on the dirty cloth stuck in his pants. Washing hands was for sissies in the city. He entered the yard of his gas station.

Hehehe, he knew the dirty truck that was parked there at the gas pump. "Pete's services of all kinds" was written on the door. And Pete Jr. was hanging in the cab with a visible bulge. "Eddy, don't you always promise the best service at your gas station?" said Pete with a grin. Ed spat out the chewing tobacco and licked his lips. "Go ahead, gas station attendant. The belt buckle won't undo itself!"

Full service and guaranteed customer satisfaction. That's what Ed's gas station was famous for.

[chopinski-official]

Chopin’s Wardrobe — What I Wore

Today I would like to share with you all the manner in which I dressed. It is interesting to see how fashions have changed over the course of 200 years. Some might say style has slipped… Anyway! Here are some details on my wardrobe:

My Suit

I liked to wear sober colours: black, mauve, blue… and especially grey. For instance, I once asked Julian Fontana to have made for me a pair of dark grey winter trousers, without a belt, which were smooth and stretchy.

Grey trousers, 1840.

At a concert in Glasgow, a pupil recalled that I had worn a pale grey suit. Which included a frock-coat of identical tint and texture.

(Left) Frock coat, 1840. (Right) Frock coat and trousers, 1852.

Under my suit, I would wear a modest waistcoat in a fabric such as a black velvet with a tiny inconspicuous pattern, something very quiet and elegant.

(Left) Provençal waistcoat with mauve silk seedlings, 1860. (Centre) Waistcoat with floral pattern, 1838. (Right) Striped waistcoat, 1850-70.

My preferred shirts were ones made of cambric or batiste fabric. They had small mother-of-pearl buttons, two breast-pockets, and could be bought for 14 francs.

For my cravat, I would wear muted colours during the day. Usually, I would tie it in a bow. However, when performing in a formal setting, I would wear a broad, white silk cravat.

Winter Clothes

To keep warm in the winter months, I wore a thick redingote or over-frock coat, as can be seen in this daguerreotype of myself from 1849.

(Left) Wool coat, 1840. (Centre) Winter costume. Paul Gavarni, 1846. (Right) Frock coat. Wool, trimmed with silk velvet. 1820-1830.

At one point, my sickness rendered me so sensitive to the cold that I wore three flannels under my trousers.

Underpants, mid-nineteenth century.

Accessories

Because I had small feet, I often found shoes uncomfortable. I mourned the day, Moos, my shoemaker died. No one made my shoes like him.

1840s men’s shoes.

On my head, I would always have my hair curled, and, when outdoors, I would wear a top hat. I bought my hats from Dupont’s because he made them lightweight. They were originally made of beaver felt but, by my later life, they were made of silk plush.

(Left) Top hat made of beaver felt, 1830s. (Right) Top hat made of silk plush, 1850.

My outfit was only complete with white gloves. Without them one would not be in good taste. Kid gloves were common, but I also liked wearing Swedish (suede) gloves. Always in white.

Evening gloves. 1848.

A pocket handkerchief was also a necessity.

Finally, I had a miniature pocket watch. According to one concert-goer, it was “In shape no bigger than an agate stone, on the forefinger of an alderman.”

Where did I shop?

I bought my top hats from Dupont’s at No 8, rue de Montblanc (the previous name for rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin). I lived on this street myself, both at No 5 (1833-36) and No 38 (1836-38).

(Left) 9, rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, the fabric shop across the street from the milliners, 1840s. (Right) Rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, 1858-1878.

My shirts came from No 37 in the Palais Royal galleries, on the theatre side.

(Left) View of the Galerie d'Orléans in the Palais-Royal, 1838. (Right) Jardin du Palais Royal, 1840s.

The white suede gloves could be acquired from À la Corbeille de Fleurs, Houbigant’s shop at No 19, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

(Left) The corner of rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, 1820-1840. (Right) Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 1814-1885.

There were also many shops along the Grands Boulevards. This is where I got my trousers made by my tailor, Dautremont.

(Left) Boulevard de la Madeleine, 1799. (Right) Boulevard des Capucines, 1830.

Boulevard des Italiens, 1840s (left), 1835 (right).

So…

As you can see, in spite my reputation for being picky and perhaps… prissy, with regard to fashion and furniture, I was far from what was called a dandy. My dress was never over-the-top and nor did I put on the airs that were so pertinent to dandyism. My desire, if anything, was to be refined and respectable. Although, perhaps my efforts to do so were occasionally cause for frenzy or distraction.

[cilant-lis]

rhian's wardrobe study... done at last..,,,,

read my ramblings (design notes) below:

origin hunting gear - standard dalish leather armour, with some personal trinkets like a colourful woven ribbon around the belt and hunting trophies (bear claws hanging off of their belt)

origin casual wear - simple, comfortable tunic, loose trousers and a shawl from ashalle

camp casual warm - sleeveless shirt, a shawl/poncho thing bought in lothering from elven refugees, Ashalle's shawl used as a sash, they prefer bare feet but it's not always practical

camp casual cold - nice halla-wool jacket and shawl from the dalish clan in brecilian forest, fingerless gloves and winter boots, and ashalle's shawl as a sash again

early game armour - leather dalish breastplate and pauldrons, begrudgingly wears grey warden gambeson sleeves and 'proper' boots, ashalle's shawl is there as always, looped around their belt

light armour - refuses to wear grey warden heraldry or colours, got their dalish armour repaired and reinforced at redcliffe, ashalle's shawl as sash

medium armour - rhian finally comes to terms with being a warden and commissions wade for a silverite set and a long gambeson. also it's fucking cold in ferelden and they had to cover up their arms :(

heavy armour - still silverite, now with a heavier breastplate and reinforced gambeson, longer hair in a braid (very briefly, they hate having longer hair)

warden commander armour -bulkier silhouette, a fancy fur mantle and thick embroidered woollen tunic. they still honour their dalish origin through embroidery designs and breastplate. hair cut very short for practicality

warden commander formal - dalish silhouette with grey warden colours, a new shawl from ashalle, a bit of cheesy symbolism through the brooch of their clan's heraldry connected to the grey warden symbol on their arm

warden commander casual - tunic, leggins and belt, simply made but nonetheless fine dalish crafts. and ANOTHER shawl from ashalle (she sends them one every winter)

[paddymoonstruck]

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Nepo!OC

Summary: here !!!

Next Chapter

Notes: It’s here! Hope you like it. Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comment section. Let me know if you want to be added on the tag list!

In the midst of the bustling crowd, the whispers of the cool wind blew past Sofina’s figure. Her honey brown locks cascades down her back, jostling the perfected curls on her head. She produced a well-mannered smile at the cluster of people beginning to narrow down her walkway as they approached her path. Their collective voices sync achingly in her ears as the volume increased in a rapid pace.

She bowed her head, an attempt to conceal the mischievous smirk plastered on her face. Her fingers adjusted the sunglasses shielding her eyes from the blinding flashes of the cameras pointing at her face.

“See, this is why I don’t particularly like arriving with you.”

Behind her shades, she gave a sidelong glance to her company. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. His lips thinned, brows furrowed at the earnest as he scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t see a problem,” She shrugged, a whimsical tone carried in her voice.

Joris looked at her, a scowl decorating his lips. He gave her a once over, deepening the lines on his forehead as he observed the aching differences of their attire.

Sofina graced the paddock in a white oxford button up, cream-colored wool blend high waisted trousers that was secured by a leather belt and a pair of flats and a watch that certainly cost as much as his house. Her whole ensemble mercilessly trampled on the white tee and light washed jeans he’d probably bought in a thrift store.

“We agreed to dress casual,” Joris sighed, shaking his head but the slight simper on his lips betrayed his expression. “You said you’d follow this time.”

“This is casual!” Sofina argued, smirk growing every passing minute of this conversation. She knew it wasn’t.

On Joris’s part, he should’ve known better. Sofina was the daughter of a prominent business magnate. She was a part of a family far beyond their wildest imagination. Exuding the confidence and prestige she naturally had was an aura no common man could possibly learn.

“I look like your driver.” He droned.

“Nonsense, you look dashing!” She assured, nudging his brooding stature. “And besides, my driver is somewhere over . . . there,” Raising her palm, she pointed to their intended destination.

Sofina smiled victoriously as she noticed his quiet relent, hooking her arm around his and proceeding to drag him through the mix of bodies despite his protests. They ignored the media’s shouts for attention as they weaved their way towards the obnoxiously bright red infrastructure that was otherwise known as the Ferrari motorhome.

Upon their arrival in the motorhome, they were immediately greeted by the roaming staff in the lobby.

The first to come near was the French Team Principal of Ferrari, Frederic Vasseur with his usual jolly smile.

“Sofina! What a pleasant surprise!” He gushed, lengthening his hand for her to shake.

The brunette returned his infectious delight, baring a kind smile of her own and taking his hand. “Surely it’s not that much of a shock that I’m here, Fred,” She jokingly tutted.

To which the Frenchman bellowed out a hearty laugh. “Of course not! I just was not expecting you to be so early. Everybody’s just warming up, you see.”

Sofina hummed, looking around the room. It was indeed a latish time for her to be here. In contract to the countless media outlets fussing about outside, Ferrari’s motorhome maintained a tranquil commodious space.

The clank of her shoes echoed through the air as it hit the marbled ground. Strolling further inside, she has yet to spot the one she was looking for.

“Charles is getting ready in his driver’s room,” Fred supplied as if having read her mind. “He will be out shortly. Feel free to have a seat in the lounge.”

Sofina nodded, flashing Fred a grateful smile before he went on to do his job.

She went ahead and sat down on one of the red polyester armchair while Joris settled in a duplicate just across her.

After a several minutes of endlessly replying to company emails and submitting “between life and death” documents to her father, the faint squeaking of sneakers finally broke the cycle.

Sofina instantly glanced up from her torturous tasks to be greeted by a certain emerald eyed, Monegasque.

“Charlie!” She beamed at him, standing up with her arms already reaching for him.

Charles’s dimples pop out from the corners of his mouth at the greeting. He happily granted the excited girl’s request, elongating his arms around her waist.

He chuckled as her antsy limbs encircled his neck, never-minding the constricting grip she has on them. Bending down, he allowed her an easier access that was suppressed by their differences in height.

She gasped as she pulled away, sending Charles into a frenzy at the sudden reaction. He searched her eyes for answers but was only given a cutting glare.

“Have you been eating well?” She interrogated, voice low but filled with nothing but concern. “You look thinner than when I last saw you . . .”

Charles raised an eyebrow, corner of his lips twitching at her exaggerated statement. “We saw each other last week.”

“And?” She asked, genuinely confused by his utterance.

Charles laid his palms on both sides of her face, blaring out her displeasure with the mission to smooth out the distress on her.

“Ow!” She hissed, swatting away his arm as pain seared in her cheek from his the ministrations of his fingertips.

“I’m fine, bébé,” He assured, bitting his lip to prevent the further growth of his smirk. “You know training in the first week is the most crucial. It’s normal to lose weight.”

“By this much?” She scoffed, motioning to his face. His cheeks were hollower, making his cheekbones more prominent and the thinning of his face were generally noticeable.

Charles tried to ward away her worries, placing a soft peck on her cheek before shifting his attention to Joris.

Sofina watched them engage in pleasantries, Joris mentioning how dressed up Sofina was. She merely stifled a laugh at the scandalize look that resurfaced on his features once more at the topic.

“Oh come on,” Charles quipped, eyes traveling from her feet to the top of her head. “She looks fantastic,” He winked, “You look very beautiful,”

Sofina gave him a thumbs up at his specification, amused by his antics.

“What do you need now? More money? A cheque? A car?” She raised a finger up to silence his mirthful face. “My soul?”

His bubbly exterior exploded into a fit of hysterics at the reference she used. Sofina introduced him the hit reality show Keeping Up With The Kardashians when the pandemic started. It was her insistent persuasion that ultimately led them to binge watching every episode until they’ve had to wait for the newest one.

Joris rolled his eyes at the giggling pair, waiting for them to collect themselves. Sofina caught his eyes and began to explain. “It’s Khloe Kardashian.”

Truthfully, he didn’t gain any knowledge from the vague clarification. Nonetheless, he nodded.

“Do you need anything?” Charles faced Sofina.

“Aside from today’s testing results, not really.” She concluded, tapping at her phone to check her duties. “Sorry I wasn’t here for first and second day. I was drowning in paperwork.”

Charles omitted a sound of sympathy. Now that he was paying attention to her face, the dark circles under her eyes were more visible, matching the exhausted sigh that passed her lips.

“Did something happen?” He queried, gliding his fingers through the disarrayed curls from when she was sitting down.

She shook her head. “No, not exactly. But you know— I can handle it.” A buzz blossomed on her chest as the warmth of Charles’s palm radiated on her cheek.

Charles inhaled deeply, adjusting to the shift of the atmosphere. Instead of adding to the heavy pressure, he decided to change the subject.

“The car’s doing great,” He chided, hand falling onto her shoulder. “Ferrari finished on a high on both days. . .”

Sofina managed a smile, bobbing her head at the news she already knew. The information should have brought her more joy than what she was currently feeling but for some reason, a churning sensation struck her in the pit of her stomach.

“. . . Maybe even faster than Redbull?”

The claim got her to look up at Charles. A sheepish simper on his lips. Sofina couldn’t resist the amused huff hold hostage in her throat.

“With all improvements made, it’s a relief you’re more comfortable in the car than last year,” Her affirmation was met with a consensus from Charles and Joris.

Whenever Sofina was consumed by the sudden reminder of her intense duties, this was a place she often ran to. Ran to hide from the ridiculous demands of her supposedly unproblematic life.

With them, the biting tension of having to continuously prove herself didn’t exist in the here. It was without a doubt, easier to be. Especially in the eyes of whom knew her best.

Sofina met Charles’s eye. His emerald spheres dancing with a molten rays of the Bahrain sunlight. She would never tire of staring at them. The absurd amount of beguiling enchantment his eyes hold should be dubbed as illegal. If one were to stop and take a moment to admire he—

“GOOD MORNING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

The sonorous voice from the speakers woke Sofina’s consciousness from her trance. She swiftly blinked away the dolly lopsided smile stuck on her face, tearing her gaze away from Charles. She bore the boundless embarrassment in regards the drawn out time she spent gawking at him.

“You�� you get out there and uh—” She cleared her throat, avoiding his teasing eyes. “—Do your best—Charles!” She squirmed, a hand shoving at his shoulder as he got into her face, trying to catch her adorably flaming cheeks.

Charles aired out a laugh at the deathly glare she sent his way, admiring the futile attempt to hide her blushing face from him.

“I’ll see you later?” He declared, soft and gentle.

“Of course.” She wheeled her eyes, struggling to keep her smirk in bay as she saw to giddy look in his face.

With one last peck on the cheek and a wave for Joris, he turned and went on his way to the garage.

The tremulous sigh she released nearly collapsed her lung. Another year of Formula One, and owning most of Ferrari’s sponsorship held a great weight on Sofina’s shoulders. The pillars of her chosen empire were bound to fall with one wrong move. Proving her father right was the last thing she wanted and she’d hate for all of this to be blown in a million pieces because of what her father referred to as her incapability to be a firm leader.

Alas, heavy is the head that wears the crown and so is the heart that weighs it down.

Tag-list: @seairsunset @mindflay3r @tangointhequango @bwormie @eugene-emt-roe @herondalism @comfortzonequeen @weekendlusting @nomie-11 @i-ship-bullshit-2020 @cc13723things @charlesgirl16 @namgification @charizznorizz @missenclod @outerudeth

[scrapsovereign]

I wrote a smutty one shot because I wanted to sin outside of the longer fic I’m working on and felt like I needed the practice.

I Think He Knows

Link to story on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55385323

Astarion comes home early unexpectedly as a week long case wraps up before lunch.

He is going to scold you for leaving your dirty adventuring gear in a heap downstairs, but is so happy you're home he almost forgets all about it.

Until he sees what you were doing in his dirty clothes in your freshly changed bedsheets…

(POV female Reader x Magistrate Astarion/3k words of straight up filth underneath the cut)

You were so close to your climax, rubbing and thrusting the soft, spongy spot inside of your entrance with your fingers when you heard the jingling sound of the front door opening.

Shit.

“Darling, home from your adventuring so soon?” The voice of your beloved calls out to you, the musical words carried up the stairs by the acoustics of your shared townhome.

How are you home so early? What in the nine hells- how is he home so early? He sounded fairly confident in the sending spell he replied to as you made your way within the final stretch of the road home that jury deliberations were going to take at least until the end of the day.

You can hear him grumble unintelligible words of disapproval at the filthy armor you had peeled off shortly after you arrived home and left on the floor of the foyer.

“Adventuring gear strewn about the floor again? My sweet, we’ve talked about this…”

Your heart pounds from his scolding and you sit up in bed, covering your drenched thighs with the soft, clean linens of the duvet. Hands wet with the slick of your arousal work swiftly to halfway fasten the buttons of his dirty work shirt that you blamed for the cause of your activities after you had arrived home early.

The stairs creak under the weight of his feet as he makes his way up to your shared bedroom.

Running your hands through your hair, you try to smooth out the area that had been frizzled by your rutting, wiping the sweat off your brow.

You can feel a heat wash over you when you flush at the sight of your husband whisking around the corner of the hallway in irritation, black silk robes floating behind him as he sharply turned the corner. He was always gorgeous, but there was something irresistible about him in his magistrate garb- even more so when he would take it off.

An involuntary clench rocks your body forward when you notice he had already begun the process of undressing on his way up the stairs. His flawlessly pressed shirt had been undone a few buttons to the middle of his chest, reading glasses hanging down from a single breast pocket on his waistcoat. You followed the trail down his lithe frame to his fine silver and black leather belt, down the lines of immaculately tailored trousers.

Whatever temper that had flared in him melts away just as quickly as it had arrived. After a very long week of going through the motions without you at his side, the ache in his chest that set in with your absence fills with a warm light at the sight of you in your bed. You are finally home.

The intensity of the look you share while he stands in the doorway makes you suddenly aware of how your nipples felt brushing against the fine linen of his filthy shirt as you breathe…and the throbbing sensation between your legs.

“My brave heroine, have you returned from your travels victorious?” He lilts, sauntering over to you.

“Even if we had found the mountains of gold rumored to exist underneath the City, it wouldn’t compare to the treasure that awaits me when I return.”

You capture his face with your hands when he looms over you, drawing him to stand at the edge of the bed. You shift your hips and move your legs so that the insides of your knees are touching the finely woven and expensive wool of his trousers.

“Clever little thing, using my own honeyed words against me.”

When your lips meet his, it is so perfect, so sweet that it tugs the strings of your heart. You pull away momentarily before slanting your mouths hungrily against each other. A half-lidded, lusty gaze from him and a ragged breath from you snap you both together like two ends of a magnet.

Your tongues glide against each other in concert as you kiss deeply, devouring each other now that you have broken your fast. You catch his tongue in your mouth and suck on it like you would his cock, eliciting an obscene groan that vibrates in the back of his throat.

He reaches up to pinch your nipples through his shirt, disarming you as you squeal and pull away. Dragging your bottom lip between his teeth, he chuckles at the filthy moan it draws out from you.

He pauses, his expression flattening as he sniffs the fingers that clutch his face. Suspicious eyes point downward at your uncovered lap, focusing on the sheen that coats the inside of your thighs in a vertical line. His pointed ears perk up and you sharply inhale as he nips the finger that had been inside of you minutes ago.

“Well, well. Couldn’t wait until I returned home? You naughty girl,” he grits out, squeezing your hands that rest on the side of his face. You clench again at his scolding, maneuvering your legs to rest inside of his to hide the rest of the evidence, pressing your knees tightly together.

“Perhaps I wanted to be ready for you when you returned home,” you purr out, surging forward to take his lower lip in between your teeth. Your front teeth clack together as he pulls away from you, straightening up with a dark, throaty chuckle.

“You’re a terrible liar, darling,” he turns away to drape the fine, obsidian silk of his magistrate robes over the same dressing bench you had found his perfumed and discarded shirt. Next, he removes his waistcoat in a similar fashion, placing his reading glasses with care on the bedside table next to you.

“While I am grateful that you never developed the skill for deception, you seem to have forgotten how well I know your particular brand of foolishness,” he takes the cufflinks out of his sleeves and rolls them up, tugging at the ends to ensure they are secured. You bite your lip and lean back on your hands in anticipation of what’s to follow. He has you trained like a pet, needy and eager for his touch.

“It seems a reminder is in order,” Astarion breathes out, running both his hands up your knees, over the tops of your thighs. He grasps the crest of your hips, a perfect handle for him to guide and manipulate your movements.

He revels in seeing you like this, desperate for his touch. You gasp out in surprise when he digs his fingers in, yanking you forward towards him.

“Have you forgotten how we would rip the armor off each other after battle back in our adventuring days? How we could barely make it upstairs at the inn or into our tents after a long day on the road?” He kneels down in front of you while he issues the reminder. You match his eye level as he speaks and lean back on your arms, watching Astarion slowly pry your legs apart.

“After the very last job we completed together you blamed the adrenaline rush that consumed you for your voracious appetite, almost stroking me to completion under the table at the Elfsong,” He kisses a line up your thighs, his lips lingering on you as he moves closer towards your drenched core.

“What can I say? I’m cursed to put my hands on everything. If I remember correctly, your hand was also up my skirt, doing the same thing- hah! That was a good night. My favorite part was when you fucked me in the alley later against the walls of the tavern.”

He pauses at your recollections, his face having reached the apex between your thighs. You crane your head up to see his eyes peeking above the crest of your sex, half-lidded and cloudy with lust.

“Cursed to put your hands on everything, you say?” Astarion rumbles out, gently moving your legs wider as he presses his lips to the corner of the inside of your thighs.

“Could you be a good girl for me and keep your hands to yourself while I pleasure you?”

You felt his warm tongue then, lapping and sucking along your tender flesh. Throwing your head back, you gasp at the sensation, rolling your hips forward. He suddenly withdraws his mouth with a pop, giving you a wicked look before languidly running the flat of his tongue against your slick, soaked outer lips.

Your wandering hands that had begun to card through his silver curls tense and freeze above him while he languidly licks up and down your center, the sensation driving you mad.

You need more.

Grasping the back of his head, you make an attempt to mash your engorged clit against his nose with a sudden upwards thrust of your hips, whining in desperation when you feel the sudden loss of him pull back from you.

“Ah-ah, what did I say, little love?” he tuts, delivering a single, punishing flick of his middle finger to your clit.

The only response he receives is you sobbing out his name, your back arching with the pain and pleasure of his correction. He leans on his elbow on the side of the bed and looks up at you expectantly with a raised eyebrow.

“Delicious as that was, I believe I am still owed a different reply,” he repeats the motion and you throw your head back, keening as you undulate your back against now rumpled bedsheets.

“Hells, Astarion, it’s not like I’m on trial,” you complain breathlessly. He perks up suddenly and rests a hand underneath his chin, the other drawing lazy circles on your hip, a villainous twinkle in his eye as he regards you with bemusement.

Uh oh.

“Now there’s an idea, love,” he drawls out, drumming his fingers on the crest of your hip. The tapping of his fingers unexpectedly feels good…really good. The percussion elicits a small roll upwards from your hips to meet them.

“...There’s an idea indeed. But we can’t have you showing up to your court date still filthy from the road, can we? In the tub you go, up you pop,” he orders, holding his hands out to you.

Once you are sitting on the bed, arms raised above your head, he lets go suddenly. The motion leaves you confused until you feel the barest touch of his fingers tracing up your sides. He collects the edges of his rumpled shirt, raising it above your head. Hastily throwing it aside, his hands return to cup your full and aching breasts. Thumbs draw lazy circles around your pert nipples, you hear him hum in appreciation when they pebble and harden with his touch.

“Can you stand up for me, beautiful?” You sat forward, feeling only a little unsteady on your feet from the orgasm that you were so recently denied as you rise.

Your mouth opens in surprise when Astarion sweeps you up in his arms. He carries you to the tiled bathing room, setting you down in the tub while he activates the enchantments that fill it with rapidly with warm water.

He wastes no time unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it slowly from his chest. You watch him make quick work of removing his clothing with practiced ease. He enters the waters of the bathing tub with you in a fluid motion, denying your hungry gaze the view of his naked form that it so desperately craves.

He takes a sponge sitting on a built-in ledge on the wall and soaks it in the water, ringing it out. He swipes it sensually up the side of your breasts, slowly down your neck. Maneuvering you to face away from him, you gasp out as he perches your slippery sex upon on his thigh. The sponge goes down below the water and you chase your pleasure rutting along him while he brushes in long strokes up and down your abdomen, to the bottom of your breasts, gently kissing the side of your neck.

You’re an absolute mess. You grasp the edge of the tub, head thrown back against Astarion’s shoulder in ecstasy, breasts bobbing up toward the surface of the water.

“Please, please Astarion…” you gasp out, a pressure building in your core as you rock along the alabaster expanse of his thigh, your legs spreading wider underneath the water.

“Please what, darling? Use your words,” He licks a line from your neck, up to your sensitive ears, nipping and sucking along the cartilage. You cry out softly at the sensation, squirming in his lap.

“I need you inside me…please,”

Astarion presses a kiss to your shoulder and looks around the would be peaceful and quiet bathing room. Lazy rays of the mid-day sunlight stream in through the sheer window treatments that illuminated the tiled and grouted surfaces of the floors and walls. At this time of day, he would be going through cases and preparing notes to bring with him to his next session at the beginning of the next tenday.

Seizing the opportunity his pause brings, you grasp his hand in yours, plunging it down below the water, the destination between your legs.

You hear a knowing chuckle behind you when he slips free of your grasp with an effortless rotation of his wrist. He encircles you with strong arms, nimble fingers pinching both of your nipples tightly. He smiles devilishly as you moan and writhe against him. Now that you’re cleaned up, it’s time to get dirty again.

“Mrs. Ancunin. As it stands, you are being accused of pleasuring yourself while you are filthy on our freshly cleaned sheets. How do you plead?” He practically growls out the last few words, the change in timbre sending a shiver up your spine.

“Ah! Not guilty…”

Astarion bites a sensitive spot on the side of your neck that he knows drives you absolutely insane. He flicks his tongue over your skin, delighting in your sobs of frustration.

“Not guilty your…?” he asks in between swipes of his tongue.

“Your honor” you gasp out, gripping the seat of the tub beneath the water with white knuckles.

“Present your proof to the court.” He nips at the crook of your neck.

“I was…uhm…technically ‘resting’ when you got home. I didn’t know the sheets were freshly changed. And…I almost stood on my own just now without falling down…so if it’s all the same to you-” you lift your hips and angle them so that you are almost successful at impaling yourself on his twitching cock. He catches you at the waist, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

“Wicked thing. Are you ready for your verdict?” He tuts, lowering you just enough so that your slick and throbbing entrance is barely grazing along the tip of his penis.

“Yes, your honor,” you gasp, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

“On the count of pleasuring yourself while you are filthy, I find you guilty.” He whips you around to face him and hungrily claims your lips, still holding you above him. He moans greedily in to your mouth as you try to grind down on him again, he’s not sure how much longer he can resist you. You're so eager, so responsive, and all his.

You break the kiss by successfully dragging your teeth over his lower lip.

“And my sentence, your honor?”

He releases your waist.

“Ride me.”

You both groan out and curse in mutual relief as you plunge down on his length. Your walls are already beginning to tighten around him, pulsating with the lewd sounds that you both make, echoing off the tiled walls of the bathing room. Astarion growls at the sight of your breasts that slap against the surface of the water and the feeling of your walls milking his cock.

He grabs your ass and yanks you forward, positioning you over him that his mouth is on your breast, licking and sucking your sensitive nub. He slams up into you, moving your hips up and down on him, guiding himself deeper. You feel the rumble of his ecstasy bring you closer to your peak as you sob out with pleasure at the change of movement and pace.

“Gods, Astarion I’m so close,” you’re so perfect, so tight around him-

“Then let go, my sweet.”

The spasming of your walls against him send him over the edge with you. His eyes roll to the back of his head, moaning your name in euphoric relief. The profane noises of his release, sensation of his warm seed shooting into you, his cock spasming inside of you brings you to the peak again.

��I can’t stop, Astarion, I can’t…ahhhh!”

A second wave crashes through you. He continues to fuck you through your drawn out orgasm, marveling at how beautiful you are unraveling in his arms. Slowing the pace he kisses you again, savoring the taste of you as your hips gradually slow down and lift off of him.

Giving him a satisfied sigh, you nuzzle your forehead into his neck.

“And they both went to horny jail and lived happily ever after.”

“Technically, it would be prison. Jail is for holding the accused prior to sentencing my love,” You grumble and nip his ear in irritation at the reminder.

Astarion laughs softly, kissing the side of your flushed and sweaty face.

“What do you say we dry off and take this to the other room? I’d like to request a hearing to negotiate an early…release,” you nip and suck your way along the line of his pointed ears, eliciting a new series of debauched noises from his lips.

“You’re insatiable,” he says with a smile, throwing his head back in bliss.

He wraps your legs around his waist, supporting your back with his strong, lean arms as he stands the two of you up. You watch the water drain away with his utterance of the correct enchantments under his breath.

“Early release is only granted for good behavior, prisoner- which you haven’t demonstrated since you arrived home. I hope you’re ready for your punishment.”

[riekesart]

Loki/Tony Stark 1920s magical London AU, here we go! (Read it on AO3!)

Loki is in dinner attire, wearing a jazz suit (briefly popular starting in 1919): high waist, long jacket, bell bottom trousers. Paired with a deep V waistcoat, formal bib front shirt, and probably suspenders. Colors were usually black or the less fussy brown or navy but, hey, Loki looks great in green!

Tony is ruining his day-wear in the workshop: wool pants with a belt (belts were popular in America, if not yet Great Britain), patterned vest, cotton shirt and silk cravat. His jacket has probably been set on fire by DUM-E. It's autumn, so we got all-over dark colors. Considering how much he's crawling about on his knees, he really ought to be wearing denim overalls or something.

[ladystarksneedle]

The eye of awe

Aemond x maid reader

Summary: A maid at the Keep relishes in the sweetness of gratitude.

Word count: 1.2k

Dividers by @saradika

Next>

She hears the familiar clang of steel as she passes through the courtyard, wicker basket in hand daring to glance at the flash of silver dancing in the sun. He moves with the fluidity of men from myth, of childhood tales told by mothers of the Realm willing their meddlesome children to bed. Stories of agile and fearsome warriors fighting to save kingdoms of might and maidens of beauty, slender and graceful with their arms and legs, dancing to tunes of mystery. She finds him to have both, equal parts grace and ferocity as he dodges another blow before his blade lands against his opponent's throat. As the crowd erupts in applause she ducks under the archway leading indoors. Just like her childhood, her escape for the day is at its end and her eyes wide open to the life ahead.

Work at the Red Keep is equal parts arduous as it is rewarding. Despite her young age, she's been promoted from a scullery maid to working in service to the one eyed prince himself. She assists him daily, organizing his clothes, tidying his chambers, ordering his baths, serving his meals and above all making sure the order he has in place is never disrupted.

“Chaos is only tackled well on the battlefield” he'd said to her when she was brought to him “I do not expect an ounce near me. Should I find you lacking, you'll be sent away before you can make your apologies.”

His return to his chambers is angrier than usual. His bath lies ready at his disposal, his clothes laid out meticulously on the bed. A linen tunic, leather surcoat and coat, linen breeches, trousers of wool and two leather belts lined with gold are arranged in that order, all in shades of ivory, black and brown, adorned with the familiar three headed dragon glinting in gold ready to greet him once he finishes. The only piece of cloth that remains askew is his eyepatch discarded on the dresser in haste, as she stands waiting outside, unwilling to initiate change.

It is the only one he wears rather religiously despite its condition. It is whispered by the maids in passing, that it was Princess Helaena who made it for him, ever since he lost his eye at ten, the dreaded incident never spoken of lest one incur his wrath. It is said that the wound itself was inflicted by a lad of eight, his own nephew, for a purpose widely disputed by all she's heard from. She finds the whole thing rather nasty, a cruel punishment or perhaps an unfair trial from the Gods. The others think it rather fitting for a man so cruel to be felled in such a way, yet she finds it akin to being cursed, for him to be so beautiful yet troubled. Despite his harshness and cold gaze, he's been nothing but courteous to her which is the most she can expect from any master she serves and is far better than one with grabby hands and wayward eyes. He's expectant and demanding, yet acknowledges a task well done. Perhaps it is his look of quiet praise on a hard day that carries her to the markets at noon, skipping her meal with ease. The leather she requires has been borrowed from scraps cleaned at the dressmaker’s, earning her a bewildered gaze and an equally prompt dismissal. The clasp she looks for however, costs a silver dragon. It is a lot, nearly half of her earnings yet she parts with them willingly. The gold ornament burns her palms as she heads back in time to resume her duties, a thrilled smile on her face.

She's been taught how to sew since she was a child, enough to be able to fix a hole, a gape or tear in both tunic and chemise alike.

She has fixed her father's breeches after a hard day's work and her brothers’ after they'd torn theirs running through the crowded streets of King's landing. Even stitching a wound comes easy to her now, having learned how to do so, after a shoddy job a few moons back, when coin had run dry to turn to the local healer. She smiles to herself as she pulls the threads through the leather at hand. It is brown enough to hide the gaps in her work and though it isn't as fine as the embroidery of a lady she's satisfied with it nonetheless. She stares at her little contraption in awe as she finishes in time. It has a single strap running across its breath held together by a gold button she'd found lying on the floor. On its side she's opted for a sturdier one with the golden clasp holding it all together behind, a single flame for the prince she serves, the closest she'll ever come to the might of the dragon.

There's a feast to be held tonight, in honor of his nameday. Guests from all over the Realm have arrived and as the Keep buzzes with excitement of the festivities at dusk and she finds it hard to contain her own delight. There is much work to be done before she can part with her surprise. She tends to him soon, dressing him for dinner in leathers of green and black, clasping the familiar worn out strap as he leaves grumbling. It is hours later when she sees him again as she's summoned by the familiar ring of the bell in her quarters. She creeps to his room in trepidation, hands clasped behind her back as she greets and readies him for bed, her gift heavy in her pocket. As he turns to dismiss her she looks at him shyly

“If you don't mind me saying, I'd like to wish you a happy nameday my prince”

He nods in response, humming as he makes his way to the fireplace, seating himself as he stares ahead.

“I have something for you” she continues moving towards him as he looks up “It isn't much but a mere token of my gratitude” she says extending her hand. “Thank you, for everything” she continues, stopping as she looks at him. He takes the leather in his hand, turning it over in silence.

When she was a child her mother had taken her to see her aunt. It was the first trip she'd taken outside the capital to visit a dying woman and provide her comfort. As they'd returned she'd shown her the sky, full of stars at night, bright and beautiful away from the haze of the city.

“Your aunt's up there now girl, watching over you just as I'll be someday” she'd said pointing to the drops of light adorning the skies.

His eye runs over the gold in hand, flame fitting into his palm like it belongs, shining like the stars of a forgotten past.

“Come, help me wear it” he remarks as he leans back.

As she clasps it in place and curtsies, she’s lost to dreams of silver chased with a flame of gold.

Clashes of steel greet her the next morn, a flame of gold glinting in the sun. Her dreams don't end with the battle at hand anymore, for the mighty warrior now carries a part of the maiden with him and she's content to hold his gaze just a little longer.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy

[resplendentoutfit]

WW I Part II

Women's fashion has less ornament and detail. Pockets were stictched on the exterior of women's skirts and jackets instead of hidden in seams. Jackets were worn longer over the hips and looser fitting with belts wrapped around the waist. Women's waists were no longer emphasized as they had been with corsetted dress. Women's skirts were shorter and showed their shoes.

Suits by Chanel in silk and wool jersey.

La Mode Illustrée, October 8, 1916 | Woman's suit • 1918

Though we don't think of haute couture and war as having anything in common, in France the manufacturing and export of fashionable clothing for women helped to keep the economy going during World War I.

Fashion Plate for the French magazine Les Elegances Parisienne • 1916

While Coco Chanel got her start during the great war, it was Paul Poiret who was the star of the era's high fashion. Referred to as the King of Fashion in America in the 1910s, Poiret is most famous for his designs influenced by Orientalism, Neoclassicism, and Surrealism; the kimono, the Turkish trouser, the slit skirt, and the famous lampshade dress. Mostly, he is remembered for his stance on women’s fashon and the simplification of the female silhouette. He dismissed the petticoat and the corset, as the trends shifted away from tailoring toward draping. He disliked the word fashion, opting instead to design women’s clothing solely as an expression of individuality. “Women are wrong for following one style,” he said.

Paul Poiret's "lampshade" fashions

Chanel photos. The one on the right was taken in front of her first boutique in 1914.

[davesbigwhirlwind]

My forced formal transformation story - the things we do for love...

Sam was the love of my life. She was more stylish, more cultured, more intelligent. I had a reasonable job and was a fairly popular and trendy guy, but I was punching above my weight and I knew it. But we clicked. There was a connection and it just worked. I'd do anything for her. 

We'd been going out for about 5 months when she suggested I should move in to her family home. She lived with her father in a large house alongside their 2 staff. Now her father was a traditionalist, and, like her, was very well educated and informed, and I liked the fact he was very direct. He was a successful business owner and by default seemed to be in business mode, and always wore a somber suit and a serious expression on his face. His wife had sadly passed, but I respected the great job they had done in raising Sam into the fine woman she was. 

He told me that he'd be glad of me to move in - separate rooms of course - but as our relationship was clearly serious he wanted to help us, but emphasised that he wanted to help me develop both intellectually and physically, and while he would take things slowly, he would require me to embrace both the learnings and recommendations he made to help guide me towards being a good husband, should we reach that point. 

I readily agreed. 

A month later and I moved in. Stephen started straight away teaching me much of his knowledge on everything from etiquette to literature, and the art of being a good partner. He explained the man's place was not about fashion, beauty and flamboyancy, but, rather about masculinity, dependability and stability, and being understated, while allowing Sam to take the limelight. He explained that the correct appearance was every bit as important as how you act and how would help guide me through these factors over the months ahead. 

The first change came the following Monday. I woke to find in my wardrobe that all my t shirts had been replaced by good quality white formal shirts, and accompanying white vests to wear under them. And I was gutted to see that my entire trainer collection had disappeared and been replaced by 3 pairs of, very traditional, formal lace up black leather Oxford shoes. Even when selecting my smartest dark jeans, they still looked very out of keeping with the formal white shirt, and pulling on the shoes the leather creaked as my feet adjusted to being wedged into the pointy toes. I tied the laces and saw my face reflecting in the incredibly highly polished leather uppers. Walking in these shoes was a challenge, as the smooth soles meant I had to walk much more slowly and with poise, in order to not skid. 

I would never have chosen these clothes but went along with it, with Sam encouraging me. I got a few wise cracks about shiny shoes at work but that was about it. I worked in IT so it had a fair variety of oddballs, from geeks wearing cartoon t shirts, to goths, so while my change in style was out of character for me, it wasn't a major issue. 

I also needn't have worried about the jeans not looking right, as, by the end of the week, these had all been removed, to be replaced by heavy, pale grey wool trousers, tightly tailored and with razor sharp creases that hung straight down with just a small break above the seam which grazed the top of my Oxfords. A shiny black formal belt was also provided. 

This became what I wore every single day. It felt particularly strange wearing this at weekends when seeing friends, and the wise cracks at work focused on it being my school uniform, but Sam kept me up, telling me how handsome I looked. If she was happy, then I'd cope. I no longer worked out at the gym, and I controlled the time I spent with friends to ensure I committed the time to my new family and to this process.

The following Saturday Stephen announced we'd be making a trip to his barber. 

I was straight into Anthony's chair, and with a glance on the mirror I got a last look at my prized hair. Everyone loved my hair. I got lots of great comments about it. it was long, luscious, tousled and framed my face beautifully being roughly parted to drape down and across my forehead and feel flowing to lying on my collar. 

There was no discussion as Anthony combed through my hair. For years my shoulder length hair has been roughly parted above my right eye, but now a very severe straight part was created on the far left side of my head with the hair scraped to either side of this stark white line. 

Without ceremony the clippers were powered up and ploughed up the left side of my head towards the part, while Anthony used his comb to angle out the hair so that the clippers left a slightly longer length at the top, but otherwise a fine pelt of military length hair was left three quarters of the way up. This continued round my head as my ears became uncovered for the first time. And boy are my ears massive. Alarmingly so. Jug ears without a doubt, and definitely having benefited from the hair that had very satisfactorily covered them for over 20 years. Next Anthony took his scissors and was cutting the top down with massive chunks. Nothing longer than an inch and a half remained. The next shock was just what a big forehead I had. With so little hair, my facial features were really standing out. A razor then took off the hairs at the back of my neck, that had never caused an issue before, but were now clearly too scruffy to remain, while my sideburns were removed to the top of ears.

Pomade was then rubbed into my hair and a comb carefully pulled the hair across my head, while Anthony styles a small quiff at the front and showed me how to re-create this. 

He showed me in the mirror the remains of my hair. The uniformly clipped hair ran over half way up the back of my head before tapering to a slightly longer length leading to a small ridge ran round my head at the point that the clipped hair met the wet-looking slicked hair on top. This ridge dipped slightly at the back, but still remained high up my head, allowing the virgin scalp to shine through across most of my head. This was very much a short, no-nsense business man's haircut

I went to sit with my cold - and much lighter - head, while Stephen got a trim. I realised he had an identical cut. Same left part, clipping, ridge, slicked quiff. Though Stephen wore the cut far better as he had far less expanse of clipped scale due to having a much lower hairline and smaller, rounder head. While my head was very clearly very elongated and egg-like. He also had small ears that sat neatly tucked into the side of his head, unlike my satellite dishes. I ran my hand down the back of my head, which sent a shiver down my spine from the bristles that were an alien feeling. 

Sam looked genuinely shocked when she saw me. I couldn't blame her as my features seemed to have moved round my face from this brutal cut. My massive pale gleaming forehead and giant ears exposed for the first time, and the brutality of the cut showing the elongated oval shaped head that had been hidden for so many years. I felt shell shocked, but Stephen offered a rare word of encouragement by saying how positive it was that the men of the house were now setting a clear standard on grooming. I truly hated this haircut and how it made me feel and look, but a part of me also really felt proud that Stephen wanted me to take on part of his style. This really was a defining moment of moving from fashionable to formal. 

Friends and colleagues either looked in horror or laughed but told me it would soon grow. However I very much doubted this would be allowed to happen. It was the second haircut 2 weeks later that got the worst response, as no one could begin to fathom why I would inflict this same style on myself for a second time. But this became routine that ever 2 weeks we'd both be shaved, trimmed and slicked to ensure the stubble remained short enough to pass muster. 

I think even Stephen realised I needed to get used to my new look as the next few weeks were more about using my new skills, such as Sam and I attending small dinners at home with close friends and associates of Stephen.

Then, an upgrade came. A plethora of very sombre ties in shades of navy, burgundies and dark green appeared alongside a navy double breasted blazer with rows of gold buttons running down the front sides. This became standard attire, as my heavily starched shirt collars now became buttoned to the top and digging into my neck, with a Windsor knotted tie, together with tie clip as standard from morning to night and the blazer whenever with company, and fully buttoned whenever I wasn't seated. I now looked like an off duty naval officer, but it did too make me sit up straight and hold myself taller as a result. 

A couple of other hurdles came over the next month. First I was taken to the opticians for the fitting of my new glasses. It was a surprise to me I was getting glasses, as I lived constantly in contact lenses, having only a small pair of rimless frames for emergencies. However the frames that had been chosen for me were big gold framed aviator glasses that filled the width of my face, and the frames glinted in the light as I moved. However as I was so myopic the lenses were extremely thick, and the lenses shrunk down my eyes (one of my best features, which now looked weirdly small and watery and hidden by these large rectangular fishbowl lenses, with strong reflections) as well as creating a very visible cut in the side of the lenses meaning my head looked like it had had chunks taken out of it. My contact lenses were removed and these became a daily dominating feature on my face, as the world now saw me as a bespectacled man for the first time. Due to the weight of the large panes of glass that now sat across my face, they kept sliding down my nose. They were adjusted, but the result meant the arms of the glasses dug into the side of my face, creating permanent creases in the temples of my head.

I also had my tattoo on my arm removed by Lazer. It wasn't appropriate. It was a painful correction. Both in the emotional loss of something I loved and the physical agony of it being eradicated. 

This was me now, this was my daily uniform. I didn't now need to spend time thinking about what to wear or what to buy, as it was already a given. When I stood beside Sam, she looked radiant and beautiful as ever, while I remain dependable and reliable beside her. Ultimately I was grey. Yes I looked very smart and could be very charming, but no one would give me a second look beyond my formal and traditional appearance. I admit that the old me used to like the glances I'd get from women checking me out, and I would flirt with women and preen myself to be as attractive as possible. Now no one I would have found attractive would give me the time of day, and if people stared, it was now for very different reasons This was me now. Formal, nerdy, a bit ugly. From my smartly quiffed hair and geeky big glasses and smart outfit. But I was fully committed to Sam, as it should be, and that was what mattered. 

[shadowseductress]

WARDROBE CHECKLIST:

TOPS: white/black t-shirt crop top white/black blouse tank top Cotton Oxford Silk Blouse Dressy Tank Silk Camisole camisole denim shirt dressy top bodysuit flannel shirt long sleeved top patterned top

BOTTOMS: cargo pant baggy pant straight leg jean skinny jean slim jean wide leg jean trouser soft fabric pant leather pant denim short denim skirt silk skirt cotton shorts wide leg trouser Black Cigarette Pants Khaki Trousers Pencil Skirt Cotton Mini Skirt Jeans Mini Skirt midi skirt Capri pants Linen shorts

JACKETS/ LAYERING:

Trench coat Leather jacket Blazer Cardigan Denim jacket Parka Tweed jacket Cornel wool coat Down jacket turtleneck sweater crew neck fitted sweater cable knit sweater dressy or fun sweater oversized sweater patterned sweater puffer coat rain jacket (waterproof) denim jacket

SHOES:

athletic sneakers everyday shoes Ballet Flats Loafers Sneakers Sandals Black Pumps Colorful Heels Tall Brown Boots Tall Black Boots Brown Booties Black Booties Rainboots Natural-Colored Heels

JEWELRY/ACCESSORIES:

skinny belt belt with buckle waist chain scarf hat/cap hoops drop down earring statement earring classic chain necklace go-to simple ring classic watch sunglasses stud earrings silk scarf

DRESSES: little black dress silk slip dress casual summer dress floral dress cocktail dress maxi dress wrap Dress evening Gown shirt dress knit dress

HANDBAGS:

waterproof bag leather tote crossbody bag shoulder bag or clutch statement bag backpack

[taylorswiftstyle]

Out and about | New York City, NY | September 21, 2023

Gant 'Cropped Wool Blazer Jacket' - $475.00

To keep things relatively tonal, Taylor shrugged on a cropped blazer jacket to coordinate with her trousers.

Worn with: Logan Hollowell necklace, Brandon Blackwood bag, Alaïa bodysuit, The Row belt, The Row pants, and Aquazzura sandals

Get the look: Madewell, $129.99

Photo by Getty

[octuscle]

Now open under new management

Edward Parker III let the car window down a crack. Peter, his driver, had switched off the air conditioning to save fuel. The fuel gauge was basically at 0.00. Here in the middle of nowhere, they had no mobile network. The last Google message was that a petrol station would appear at some point. And Peter claimed that it should open in five minutes. Open from 10:40 am. Strange opening times. Edward's stomach grumbled. Something had gone wrong at breakfast. The car urgently needed a petrol pump. And he needed a toilet just as badly. Then, like an oasis in the desert, a building appeared in the middle of endless cornfields and pastures full of stupidly staring cattle. It was 10:39:50 a.m. when Peter steered the car onto the dusty filling station with the last drop of gas. At 10:40 sharp, Edward yanked open the car door and jumped out. And the moment his spotlessly clean Oxfords touched the ground, the neon sign flashed. Open!

Edward ran towards the small store where the neon sign was shining. He was far too focused on not wetting his pants that he didn't notice the leather soles of his shoes turning into a sturdy rubber tread. As he pushed down on the door handle, he got something like an electric shock. He didn't care. The store was empty. His palm became calloused. His fingernails black. There was a door at the back, labeled "Private". Hopefully there was a toilet. Thank God the door was open. And thank God there was a toilet. In the middle of a room full of tools, car tires and packages. It stank miserably. But Edward didn't care at all. He had already undone his belt while running, he opened his trousers, pulled them down and dropped onto the dirty toilet seat at the very last moment. And he had to shit like never before in his life. The stench was overwhelming. But the relief was immense. Edward finally relaxed again. But only for a second. Then his eyes fell on the dirty rubber boots that went well above his knees. Inside, pulled down as far as they would go, were a pair of completely filthy jeans. And what was even more irritating: his right hand was the hand of a construction worker, the cuff of his shirt had disappeared. And the fabric of the right sleeve of his jacket was getting coarser and dirtier from bottom to top and the color was slowly changing from navy blue to a kind of beige. What the hell was going on here? Even greater than the panic was the disgust at the stench. His left hand, still freshly manicured, reached for the toilet flush. And he was hit again. He watched in panic as his fingernails became dirty and the calluses moved down from his fingertips. Edward's gaze fell between his legs. That wasn't his circumcised shaved penis. That was a cheesy, hairy cock. Much bigger than it normally was. Edward had to get out of here! He hastily wiped his ass. A tight, hairy ass, sitting there on a familiar toilet seat. A man needs a good place to shit. Hehehe, this was a good shitter. Stumbling, Edward stood up, his head spinning. He looked in the mirror. That was still his head. But the rest? His crisp white collar and tie knot vanished into thin air, revealing a hairy, muscular chest. The last remnants of the finest navy blue wool on his left upper arm disappeared and the transformation of his jacket into a dirty, much-worn, rough work jacket was complete. I look like a fucking redneck, were his last thoughts before he grew a badly trimmed goatie, his $100 haircut turned into a self-cut buzzcut that he hid under a bandana he hadn't washed in a long time.

Loud honking from outside. "Damn, I've been shitting! Can't you wait?" yelled Edward. He wiped his hands on the dirty cloth stuck in his pants. Hand washing was for city wimps. He stepped into the yard of his gas station.

Hehehe, he knew the filthy and dented truck standing there at the pump. "Pete's services of all kinds" was written on the door. And Pete was hanging in the cab with a visible bulge. "Eddy, don't you always promise the best service at your station," Pete said with a grin. Ed spit out the chewing tobacco and licked his lips. "Go ahead, gas station attendant. The belt buckle won't open by itself!"

Full service and guaranteed customer satisfaction. That's what Ed's gas station was famous for.

Inspirations found @pitstainsandpas and @fanofshoes44

[tangerinesgirl]

Kinktober 2024 - October 13th

Pregnancy // Aftercare // Roleplay

Herr König x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 900>

Warnings: possessive König, vaginal sex, creampie, non-human baby pregnancy (interspecies pregnancy/xenopregnancy)

Kinktober List || Masterlist || AO3

The warm wool of the jumper hugs your body. The winter months are approaching, the German alps are particularly unforgiving this time of year. König had given you this dress as you didn't expect to be staying one month, nevermind ten. It's very flattering on you, hugging each curve and accentuating your baby bump and breasts.

You sigh as you stroke your stomach in the mirror of the wardrobe. Part of you is terrified what exactly is growing inside of you. König has been very secretive about it all, but you know it isn't exactly human. You can't remember much of that night, but you know it wasn't a straightforward one night stand.

But then, the other part of you loves being waited on, König giving you all the attention in the world.

"Mmm, you are a vision".

You jump realising König has let himself into your room. He hugs you from behind, looking at you in the mirror. His hand traces over yours on your stomach as he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck.

Your worries are instantly forgotten when König touches you. Melting into his embrace, you moan softly as he starts peppering you with kisses along your jawbone.

His hands starts to trail over your body, up towards your breasts. He unhooks your bra from under your jumper.

"My dear, you have to let your body breathe, no more confining tight underwear".

You pull out your bra through your sleeves, and start to bend down to work at your underwear.

König stops you, grabbing your arm, "No bending down either. You know to ring me at recepti-"

You cut him off with a sigh, "I'm tired of being treated like glass, König".

"...what was that?"

You turn to face away from the mirror, but König grips your chin to force you to look at him. There's a long pause before König bends down and starts to take off your underwear for you.

"You know if you speak to me like a brat, you get fucked like a brat".

On his knees, he holds the underwear up for you to see, "No more of these. I want to be able to bend you over and fuck you wherever I please".

He groans taking your belly into his hands again, "I mean how can I resist".

Even though his head is obscured by the angle of your bump, you can see his eyes looking straight at you.

"Now, let me have a look at you".

You take off the jumper, maintaining his eye contact, and drop it on the floor.

His fingers trace your stretch marks, he can see the creature inside you kick.

"I see it's just as feisty as you are today, no?"

König walks over to the bed and lies down, head hitting the pillows. Your forehead scrunches in confusion. He usually asks you to sit at the foot of the bed before he has his way with you. He removes his glasses and puts them on the bedside table before unbuckling his belt. He sighs as he starts palming himself through his white trousers, a clear bulge forming.

"You owe me an apology, little bird... why don't you show me how sorry you are?"

Even though his words have an edge to them, you can't help but lap them up, craving the attention, the closeness...

Walking over to the bed, you straddle his lap and work at his trouser zipper. König cock, is textbook. Although not particularly much to look at when soft, he's a grower, with a slight curve.

Your hormones have been through the roof with this baby, unsure if you or König are the horniest. Already wet at stripping for him, you start to take his dick between your folds, coating him with your arousal.

You lift yourself up before slowly sinking down onto his cock. Leaning back on his thighs, you start to pick up the pace riding him. König is transfixed on your breasts, bouncing with every thrust, hair falling down onto them. He's trying not to cum there and then. His hands drift absentmindedly around your body, playing with your nipples, palms stroking your hips. Occasionally he grabs your ass, spreading you open to take more of him inside you.

Even though he was very fond of your breasts, his favourite part of your body was definitely your baby bump. He would hold it sometimes to help alleviate some of your back pain. Or at least you thought that. Knowing König, it was just to feel closer to the baby inside you. At first appearances, he would be a good father, until people knew the sinister goings on inside the hotel.

König notices you getting tired and flips you gently onto your back. Now on top, he resumes thrusting into you, your breasts moving with each motion. Your knees high and legs spread, gripping tightly on to his white shirt. The bed creaks with the force as König starts to reach his climax, cumming deep inside of you.

His head rocks backwards, eyes closed, teeth gritted. The feeling of his seed inside you also sends you over the edge. He places his hands on your stomach as he finishes unloading into you. He watches it drip out of you as your walls clench with your orgasm. König unsheathes himself once satisfied that he has filled you completely, and zips himself back up.

König unmounts the bed and puts his glasses back on, pushing them up from his nose with his index finger.

He throws you your jumper you discarded on the floor earlier.

"If I could, I would have you walking the corridors with no clothes on".

König looks at you one last time, hunger in his eyes, before leaving your room.