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authorhjk1 · 6 months ago

Note

How would you do a short free-use story staring your favorite idol?

Thanks for the ask! Although I'm not sure what you mean exactly with "How" Do you want me to explain it or write it? I decided to just write it, hope you enjoy. @mechaknight-98 I saw your other request, I will get to it when I have the time.

(I hope I understood the concept of free-use correctly)

White

Kim Jisoo X Male Reader

You hear voices behind the door, after you rang the doorbell. Footsteps come closer and you take a step back. A moment later, the door is being opened.

For a moment, you are stunned by her beauty. How can a person be so pretty? So perfect? You smell her flowery scent. Maybe roses.

Her eyes grow big once she realises who is standing in front of her.

"(Y/n), I-I..."

Jisoo stutters, too surprised to see you standing in front of her parent's mansion. The young heiress of the Kim Group is usually very well spoken.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just came back from a business trip. I haven't had your pussy in weeks."

You catch her flinching.

Despite the amount of times you've already taken advantage of your arrangement, she is still uncomfortable talking about it openly.

"S-Sure. Please follow me."

Jisoo turns around and leads you inside her parent's place, after you shut the door behind you. You walk behind her, enjoying the view of her naked shoulders. The back of her necklace sparkles in the light of the chandelier in the hallway.

Approaching the big wooden stairs in the middle of the house, the two of you pass by the entrance to the dining room.

"Jisoo!"

She freezes in place, before you both look into the room. You recognize her parents, who sit on one side of the table. A chair is empty, the one next to it is occupied by Jisoo's fiance.

"Who is this man?"

Her father looks at you in suspicion.

"He is a business partner of mine. We are headed to my study, cause we have to make an important decision on the future of our companies' relationship, which can't be delayed."

That's the Jisoo everyone knows. The strong, independent and successful businesswoman. The complete opposite of the Jisoo you know. Your submissive, free-use toy.

Her father nods in approval, visibly oblivious. You do a short bow in his direction. Jisoo starts walking again. Her chin raised, back straight.

Halfway up the stairs, you can't help it anymore. She just looks flawless. And you really have been longing for her for weeks.

You reach out, your hand squeezing her ass through her white dress. Jisoo jumps, but she doesn't say anything. She keeps walking as if nothing is happening. After squeezing her right cheek a couple of times, you stop walking, making her stop too.

"Suck me off."

Jisoo turns around. You are almost at the top of the stairs already. You see the confusion in her eyes. Why can't you wait one more minute?

But she doesn't talk back. Jisoo carefully gets on her knees in front of you, making sure she doesn't mess up her dress somehow.

A moment later, your cock lands on her face. Jisoo closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she savours your smell. You can tell that your absence made her sexually frustrated.

"Are you still waiting until you married him?"

It's an odd question to ask, when the soon to be bride is giving the tip of your dick a sensual kiss.

"Yes. But he keeps trying to initiate something. I don't know if he is gonna wait until he puts a wedding ring on my finger."

You sigh as your gaze gets caught on the big silver diamond ring on her ring finger. The hand it's on is stroking your cock, while she talks.

"I don't like it. But I can't blame him."

You reach down and cup her cheek. Jisoo leans into it, looking up at you with big eyes.

"A woman like you could make a man do whatever she wants. You are fucking gorgeous."

You quickly realize the irony of your words. You are making her do whatever you want.

"Thank you."

A shy smile plays around her lips. Jisoo still can't take compliments. At least when they are coming from you.

After your quick exchange, she finally starts giving you head properly. You can't believe how much of a slut you've turned her into. She is sucking you off in the middle of her parents house in plain sight, while her parents and her boyfriend are in the room next door.

"That's a good girl."

You encourage Jisoo as she bobs her head on your cock. You've missed her mouth. The way her lips wrap around you. The way her tongue glides along your length. The way her throat tightens, when you push past her gag reflex.

As exciting and adventurous this little scene might be, you know that you will get caught sooner rather than later, if you don't move on.

"Let's go to your room. I don't want to waste my time here when I could be in there, plowing your pussy like I own it."

You help Jisoo to her feet, catching the slight blush on her cheeks.

"Because I do."

You whisper into her ear, before spinning her around.

The two of you finally make it down the hallway without any further incidents. Once you reach her room, you walk inside, waiting for her to close the door behind her.

She has turned into a shy, innocent girl once again. You lean against Jisoo, pressing her against the door, kissing every inch of her exposed skin.

"How did I even make it these couple of weeks without this body of yours?"

It was a rhetoric question between kisses, but Jisoo tries to come up with an explanation. An explanation that satisfies you.

"I send you several pictures of me every day. And videos. I kept thinking of you while I..."

A growl escapes your lips. The power you have over her right now gives you a familiar rush of adrenaline.

"Strip."

You sit down on the edge of her bed, crossing your arms in front of you. If you were sitting on a chair at your desk, it would've looked like Jisoo was there to apply for an internship.

She shyly brushes all of her hair on her right side behind her ear.

"Can you help me please?"

Jisoo turns around. She know uses her whole hand to put all of her hair over her left shoulder. You reach upwards, taking the zipper of her dress, before slowly pulling it down. Your eyes follow her dress as she lets it slip down her frame.

Her porcelain like skin and her white lace panties captivate you. Her fiance must go mad, knowing she is together with him and he still can't have her.

The sight of Jisoo, standing in front of you almost completely naked, makes you finally jump into action. You pin her against the door, before she can react. Your pants are on the floor a second later.

After pushing the white fabric to the side, Jisoo does nothing but moan as you ease yourself inside.

"Oh fuck."

You groan into her ear, relishing in the familiar feeling of being inside her tight cunt. Jisoo's cheek is pressed up against the white wood as she takes your pounding from behind. Her moans are deeper than they usually are. Maybe because you haven't fucked her in a while. Or because her parents and fiance are downstairs.

You kiss her other cheek and her naked shoulders as you thrust into her again and again. Her scent only makes you go harder. You hold her waist with both hands, pounding her against the door.

Jisoo's eyes are closed. You can't tell if it's because she is liking it so much, or because she is cheating. Either way, you keep using her body to make yourself cum. Her tight walls do most of the job. They squeeze around you, trying to make you cum as quick as possible.

Leaning against her, you fuck her into the door, slowly approaching your orgasm.

"Fuck Jisoo."

She knows what's coming next, moaning a little louder as she feels you throbbing inside of her.

That rush, coming from knowing you are using another man's woman as a free-use toy, pushes you over the edge. You claim Jisoo's pussy as yours as you paint her insides white. She feels your cum warm her lower region. While her fiance is probably begging her to sleep with him, you don't even bother asking where she would want your cum. You creampie Kim Jisoo, enjoying the familiar feeling of her cum filled pussy squeezing your cock.

Jisoo was never the loud type. Which is a blessing in disguise, especially when you use her in public. She barely talks, only moans and whines escape her mouth. It fits her reserved, proud character. Jisoo doesn't look very elegant or proud right now as you finally come to a hold. You bite into her ear, just above her earrings. As she flinches and hisses in pain, you only have time to think for barely a second. You wonder if she bought them, or her fiance did. They look beautiful on her.

When you open your eyes again, you see your teeth marks in her ear. Jisoo's forehead is now leaning against the wood. Her eyes are still closed, she is taking heavy breaths.

Resting your chin on her naked shoulder, you stay buried inside her snug hole.

"I have a meeting with your company tomorrow."

You kiss her neck, this time more careful not to leave a mark.

"Put your hair in a ponytail. I need something to hold onto. You don't want me to mess up your hair, do you?"

You step into her huge office after the first half of the long meeting is over. Jisoo surely did not disappoint.

Throughout the whole meeting, you were the only person aware of the fact that Jisoo is not wearing anything underneath that dress. She send you a picture this morning. She is only one button away from standing naked in front of you.

You walk around her desk, sitting down in her comfortable leather chair. Jisoo knows how the two of you will spend your lunch break.

#ask #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #blackpink #blackpink jisoo #blackpink smut #kim jisoo #bp jisoo #jisoo smut #jisoo #authorhjk1shorts

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potatoplace · 1 month ago

Text

We Can Do This

Feysand x Reader

kinktober day 2 | one night stand, threesome, pregnancy

kinktober '24 masterlist | Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: You meet Feyre and Rhys at your friend Emerie's wedding, and enjoy a long, pleasurable night with the married couple. A month later, though, a certain stick turns pink.

Warnings: Talk of an emotionally abusive ex (very brief), smut, smut, smut, 3k words of smut, pregnancy

Words: ~5.1k

Author's Note: ahhhh I love this one so much. I'm terrified of being pregnant and having a child to raise but if Feysand were the coparents? I miiight reconsider. Also. I am still so obsessed with these two, I don't think it will ever end. And also I wrote waaaay more smut than I planned. Like. I know it's kinktober. But this was supposed to be like a 3k word fic and instead it's 3k of smut and 2k of after smut consequences. Still. I love it!! I hope you guys like it!

18+ only pls

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

The wedding was lovely, and the brides were so, so happy. Emerie, your closest friend at work, had gotten married to lovely, kind blonde named Mor.

Their ceremony was beautiful, complete with heartfelt vows that had you shedding a few tears, and seeing the two have their first married kiss made you long to have the same joy.

Until your brain kicked in, and you remembered that you were in no way ready to be in a relationship.

Your last boyfriend had been an absolute ass, attempting to control everything from what you wore and ate to who you spent your time with.

Emerie had been so helpful in getting you out of that relationship, managing to talk sense into your love-addled brain. You had booked it, and moved into your own apartment- the first time you had ever lived alone.

That was nearly a year ago at this point, but you were still working through your insecurities and inability to trust.

So, no relationships for you for the foreseeable future.

The dancing had already started, but you weren't in the mood to dance, especially not alone. Instead, you made your way to the bar, leaning against it with one arm while you waited for the bartender, watching your friend dance with her new bride.

"What would you like?"

You turned back to face the bartender, answering "a glass of rosé, please," and flashed a bright smile at him.

He busied himself with pouring your drink, and you barely noticed when someone else leaned against the bar, to your right.

You tilted your head to look at them, and your heart nearly stopped. The woman in front of you was so breathtaking, so absolutely flawless in her midnight blue dress. Her brilliant blue eyes met yours and she smiled at you warmly, your breath catching at the sight. Her face was a work of art, more divine than any sculptor could ever hope to capture.

The bartender handed you your wine, and asked the woman for her order- a whiskey on ice.

"Hello, my name is Feyre," the woman introduced herself, and if you thought she hadn't been able to be any more attractive, you were wrong once she spoke. Her voice was husky and low, and something in the way she spoke promised nothing but pleasure and long nights, sending heat straight between your thighs.

"My name is Y/N," you replied, doing your best to keep your voice even and not betray just how effected you were by five words.

She repeated your name, testing it on her tongue. "Absolutely beautiful," Feyre said quietly. She thanked the bartender when he passed her her drink, and she took a small sip. Your eyes catalogued the way her throat moved when she swallowed, how her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "How do you know the brides?"

"Oh, I'm a work friend of Emerie's. She keeps me sane, if I'm being honest," you laughed, and Feyre joined you, such a beautiful noise that you found yourself wanting to hear it again. "And yourself?"

"Mor is my husband's cousin, but I think of her as one of my sisters at this point," Feyre replied, and her words made your heart sink slightly.

Married.

"That's lovely, that you get along with your in-laws," you said, trying to conceal your downed hopes at a wonderful evening with the woman in front of you.

"Mm, I definitely feel lucky to get along with her."

Just as she finished speaking, a man slid up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck lightly. He grabbed the drink from her hand and took a deep sip, replacing it in her grasp.

"Oh, Y/N, this is my husband, Rhys," Feyre said, and the man turned to look at you.

It figures that the two most beautiful people you would probably ever meet were married to each other.

His eyes were such a deep blue color that they nearly looked violet, and his hair shined blue-black in just the right lighting. His face itself was gorgeous, those high cheekbones making him look positively regal.

"It's nice to meet you," you said, feeling more shy now with the both of them in front of you.

"I can say the same, darling," Rhys purred at you.

Their voices alone could probably coax you to climax with how heavenly, or perhaps sinful, they both sounded.

His hands had drifted further up Feyre's body, resting just underneath the bust of her dress, his thumbs stroking against the fabric there.

You couldn't help that your eyes were drawn there.

Or that's what you told yourself, as both Feyre and Rhys smirked at you when they caught your eyes, obviously having seen where they'd drifted.

Your cheeks heated, but you refused to look away from them.

That made Feyre smile coyly at you, and she placed a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you here with anyone tonight, darling?”

You shook your head. “No, I hadn’t found anyone… suitable enough.” You tried to keep your voice confident, possibly even bold, with the renewed hope for the night blooming between your thighs.

“What a shame,” Rhys drawled, eyes raking over your form. “You just might have to come home with us, it would be even more of a shame for you to go home alone.”

Your cheeks flushed further at his words, and you stepped a bit closer to the devastatingly beautiful pair.

“Maybe I should.”

Feyre turned her head to look at the dance floor, where most of the wedding party was enjoying the night. “I don’t think Mor or Emerie would mind if we slipped out of the party a bit early, do you, darling?” She asked, turning her eyes back to yours, keeping you captive in her gaze.

“Not one bit,” you said breathlessly, and that was all the pair needed to disentangle themselves and each take one of your arms in theirs, guiding you to the exit at a casual pace.

The three of you grabbed your coats, Rhys slipping yours over your arms before repeating the action with his wife. They led you to a sleek black car, and Feyre led you to the backseat before joining you, Rhys taking the wheel.

The car ride could have taken an hour for all you cared, because the moment you were buckled and moving, Feyre was on you, her lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, filled with her fiery desire, and her hands were already exploring your body over the fabric of your dress.

She squeezed your breasts, testing the fullness of them before pinching at your nipples, the sensitive buds hardening in response, all the while her mouth was making a mess of your neck, leaving bite marks and hickeys in their wake. One of her hands trailed down your abdomen, down your thigh to the hem of your dress and slipped under it, dragging up your inner thigh and straight to your core. Her fingers ran over your slit, a breathy moan leaving you as they did. Feyre’s seductive laugh in your ear had you widening your legs for her, giving her better access as your hands clutched at her shoulders, slipping between silky fabric and soft skin.

“No panties? Naughty little girl,” Feyre whispered, just as two fingers dipped between your folds, and Feyre let out a groan when she felt how soaked you were, just for them.

Those same to fingers drifted up, making small, quick circles on your clit, building your pleasure up, up, up-

The door just to your right opened, a gush of cold air entering the car, and Rhys chuckled lowly behind you.

“Couldn’t wait, sweet wife of mine?”

Feyre grinned up at him, her hand already lifting to her mouth, and she sucked your arousal off her fingers, the actions sending another pulse to your core. You whimpered at the sight of her, still slightly leaning over you, her hair disheveled from your wandering hands. “Of course I couldn’t, husband, not with such a sweet treat waiting for me between these thighs.”

Strong arms wrapped around you, and you heard the click of your seatbelt just before your were pulled out of the car, and right into Rhys’s capable hold. Feyre followed just behind, shutting the door behind her and handing a pair of keys to the valet.

Because you weren’t just at a house, you were at a high rise apartment- one with actual security, and a front desk, and a valet for christ’s sake!

You were distracted from that a moment later, Rhys’s lips ghosting across your ear as he whispered, “I am going to absolutely devour you.”

Melting- you had to be melting at this point, the heat between your thighs having built to an inferno, every inch of your skin crying out for these two strangers’ touch.

Once the three of you were in the elevator, Feyre stood in front of you, caging you entirely between the two of them. “Feeling good, darling?” She asked, running her thumb over your cheek. You nodded- you were feeling more than good. In fact, this was the best you had felt in over a year.

Feyre smiled, so dazzling your breath hitched, and she leaned in for a gentle kiss.

The elevator dinged, and the three of you left the elevator, Feyre opening the one lone door at the end of the short hallway while Rhys carried you in, making his way into another hallway and finally arriving in a grand bedroom.

He gently set you down on the bed, your feet just barely dangling off of the edge. Rhys got on his knees before you, and brought your right foot to rest on his thigh as he undid the tie of your shoe. Feyre entered the room a moment later, her coat and shoes already off. She padded across the plush carpet and crawled onto the bed, coming to rest behind you.

Feyre pulled your jacket down, uncovering the skin of your arms to the warm air of their bedroom as Rhys moved on to your left shoe, discarding them to his right once they were both removed.

“Let’s get you out of the dress, darling,” Feyre suggested, already pushing your hair aside and reaching for the zipper, slowly dragging it down your spine. You shuddered slightly under her touch, her fingers lingering along the base of your spine.

“Stand up for us, doll,” Rhys said, holding your hands and helping you up. Feyre moved the straps of your dress off your shoulders, and it slid off your body to pool on the floor, revealing that you were bare underneath.

Rhys clicked his tongue. “Naughty naughty girl, wearing no underwear to a wedding,” he playfully scolded you, bopping your nose with his index finger.

You bit your lip, nervous at your nakedness and how, well- how clothed they still were. “They ruined the silhouette of the dress…”

Feyre laughed behind you. “I know, darling, I'm not wearing any either.”

Rhys gasped in fake surprise. “Two naughty girls in front of me, hmm? How ever will I punish you…” He trailed off, eyes running over your naked form and his wife, hovering behind you with her hands on your hips.

“I know a way,” Feyre suggested, her lips hovering over your neck. “You could… ‘make’ us play with each other.”

You nodded your head without thinking- anything from either of them and your night would be perfect.

Rhys hummed, thinking it over. “That could work, sweet wife. Y/N, would you like to do the honors and undress Feyre?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please,” you groaned, already turning to face Feyre, who was grinning at you, already pulling her hair to the side. You wrapped your arms around her, fumbling for the zipper for a second before slowly dragging it down, and tugged it off of her shoulders. Her dress fell to her feet, your eyes greedily taking in her perfect body.

Your hands came up to cup her chest, thumbs rolling over her nipples and eliciting a small gasp from her lips. “Beautiful,” you murmured, before leaning in and sucking one nipple into your mouth, rolling your tongue over it. One of Feyre’s hands grabbed your hair, keeping your head in place as the other pulled your lower half closer towards her, your bare stomachs resting together as your mouth moved to the other nipple, repeating its movements.

At the sound of leather creaking, you released Feyre’s nipple and turned, eyes met with the sight of Rhys palming himself through his pants, seated in a high backed leather chair in the corner of the room, with a perfect view of the bed. “Don’t mind me, girls, keep playing.”

Feyre decided to follow his order first, spinning you so that you were facing away from the bed, and she gently pushed you down onto it, gesturing for you to scoot up further until you were all the way on.

She spread your legs and crawled between them, resting on her knees and elbows and she dove in, licking a long stripe up your slit. One of your hands shot down, grabbing a fistful of her hair before you could think. Feyre’s tongue played along your clit, lapping at it a few times before going further down to taste your arousal from the source.

Her tongue fucked into you and you squirmed against where Feyre’s hands were holding down your hips, crying out in pleasure. “Please,” you begged, not even sure of what you needed besides more.

Feyre pulled away slightly, her lips hovering over your pussy. “What’s that, darling?” She asked teasingly, smirking when all you did was cant your hips up to her face. “Did you need more?”

“Mhm,” you whined pitifully, half heartedly attempting to push her head back onto you.

“If you insist,” Feyre said, pulling away from you entirely, and you cried out at the loss of contact.

“What are you-?”

Your question was cut off when Feyre positioned herself above your face, sinking down slowly to let your mind catch up.

What you didn’t expect was a tongue to lick up your cunt, and lips to latch around your clit in the next moment. “Fuck,” you moaned out loudly, your head rising up and hitting Feyre, hovering above you.

“Come on, love, open up,” Feyre coaxed, lowering herself slightly, and this time your brain took the hint, your tongue sticking out to lick at her center, the sweet taste of her costing your tongue.

You moaned into her when Rhys’s tongue returned to your clit, working you up to your peak quickly as you own tongue danced over Feyre, moving between her clit and soaked hole as Feyre’s rocking hips allowed. You toppled over the edge when Feyre’s soft hands pinched both of your nipples, and Rhys’s teeth grazed ever so slightly over your clit, the slight pain mixed with overwhelming pleasure tipping you over the edge.

Feyre’s fingers slipped into your cunt when Rhys’s mouth abandoned your clit, pushing in and out of you, stretching you out.

A moment later you heard the crinkle of a wrapper- a condom, thank god you didn’t have to ask- and Rhys’s warm body was between your legs, keeping you spread apart. Feyre’s fingers left your hole, but were quickly replaced by the thick head of Rhys’s cock, pushing in just the tip before pulling out, sing you.

You whined into Feyre’s cunt, and her hips stuttered above you, sinking down further for a moment before lifting back up.

“Are you ready for me, Y/N?” Rhys asked, hands tapping on your inner thighs. You nodded your head as much as you could, unwilling to take your mouth of off Feyre. “Use your words, babygirl,” he said, tapping your thighs again.

You pulled off of Feyre with a groan and moaned, “Yes,” before latching your mouth back onto Feyre’s clit.

Rhys chuckled when Feyre cried out again, her hands on your breasts propping her up as she came. He pushed in to the hilt, and your loud moan was muffled by Feyre’s skin, her hips still shaking over you.

She went to move off of you, but your arms came up to grip her thighs, keeping her seated on your face- it would be her throne for the rest of time, if you had your way. “Y/N!” Feyre screamed as you kept her over the edge as long as you could, tongue working furiously as Rhys began pumping in and out slowly. Each heavenly drag of his cock made you moan into Feyre’s cunt, and you knew you were in for a long night.

Feyre finally pried herself away from your face, falling back against the bed for a few seconds as Rhys continued fucking you, his pace still slow and steady, a thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit.

“Such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” Rhys praised, and your face scrunched in delight as you beamed up at him, a squeaky moan leaving your lips when he hit just the right spot.

“Oh, that was delightful,” Feyre groaned, moving so she was laying to your right, hand stroking over your stomach. “Make her do it again, Rhysie,” she demanded, looking to her husband.

“Yes, dear,” Rhys said with a smirk, angling his cock in the same way again, hitting the sensitive area once more, the same noise pulled from your lips. Feyre grinned in delight, her hand moving up to your chest slowly.

“We are going to have so much fun,” she whispered in your ear. “Are you going to be a good girl for us?”

You nodded your head vigorously, needing to please them in that moment.

“That’s good, sweet little thing. Very, very good,” Rhys said, the last three words punctuated by deep thrusts that made you see stars, your second orgasm of the night claiming you.

“Do you think we could get… five out of you?” Feyre asked softly as you came down, Rhys still buried inside of you. You nodded your head, even though you weren’t sure they would be able to. But you would be damned if you didn’t let them try. “Let’s get started on the third, then, babygirl,” Feyre said, a soft kiss placed on your lips as her hand played with your nipples.

Oh, yes. You were definitely in for a long night.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

Sunlight was just beginning to light the room when you awoke, tangled between two warm bodies. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes, for a moment not remembering at all where you had ended up last night, before it all came rushing back.

Feyre. Rhys. The best sex of my life.

You looked to both sides of you carefully, and after seeing that the two of them were still fast asleep, you carefully slinked out of their bed, slipping on your shoes and dress from the night before, and pulling on your coat as you made your way to the door of their bedroom. Thankfully, your keys and phone were still in the zippered pocket you had put them in the night before, so you wouldn’t have a problem getting home.

Before you left the room, you took one last look at the couple that would occupy your dreams for the next few months. You sighed quietly, and opened the door gently, shutting it softly behind you. After a moment of trying, you found the front door.

The elevator was thankfully empty the entire ride down, and the lobby was free of everyone but the front desk person and security guard. You smiled awkwardly at both of them as you left the building, feeling so, incredibly out of place.

You caught the train home, collapsing into your bed after shrugging off your dress and removing your shoes.

Last night had been perfect. It was fun, casual, and had boosted your confidence incredibly high.

As you snuggled into your pillows, you couldn’t help but miss the warmth you had woken up in, but you knew it was better this way. They were married and you weren’t ready to commit.

That’s what you told yourself, at least.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

The next month was hard.

You had been handed a massive project at work before Emerie had come back from her honeymoon, and you had been struggling with it ever since, even with some input from the other woman.

You had reacted poorly to a few choices that your boss had made regarding the project, both of them ruining a weeks worth of work each.

Then, your ex, George, had found where you lived, and had started harassing you there and at work again, like he had right after you’d left him.

Overall, you’d had so many reasons to not question how vulnerable and exhausted you were feeling.

It was only when you had hurled your guts up in your work’s bathroom for the third day in the row that your realized.

You hadn’t had your period in over two months. And your heart dropped into your stomach.

You were crouched over a toilet during your lunch break, peeing on a stick to figure out if you were just being paranoid.

But you knew. You knew.

And when that stick turned pink, a positive plus sign so dark and obvious you couldn’t deny it, you cried in the pharmacy bathroom stall.

You made your way back to your office once you had dried your tears, so many fears playing in your mind.

You were single, unmarried, hell, the child was a product of a threesome with a married couple. You hadn’t felt ready for a relationship, let alone a child.

But… with your hand resting on your stomach, you felt… joy. Hope. A baby was growing inside of you, against all odds. The three of you had made sure to use a condom every time Rhys fucked you, and how often did condoms really fail?

What are we going to do, little nugget? You thought to yourself, your hand rubbing a soothing circle over your still flat abdomen.

🤍💜🤍🩵🤍

Two weeks later, and you had made a final decision. You were keeping the baby.

You had also decided that you needed to see Rhys and Feyre again, to at least tell them what was happening.

But you were nervous. So, so nervous as you stood outside of their apartment building. It looked even more intimidating than the night you had first come here.

You made your way to the front doors, expecting them to open when you pushed on the door.

It didn’t budge.

“Ma’am, please state your name and who you are trying to visit,” the security guard next to the door said.

“Oh, I’m uhm. My name is Y/N, I’m here to see Rhys and Feyre, please.”

The guard flipped through a tablet, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you aren’t on the list of approved visitors. You’re welcome to call them and be put on the list, but until them I’m afraid you have to leave.”

Your face flushed, embarrassed with the fact that you couldn’t call the couple.

“Uhm… Would there be any way that I could just wait in the lobby for them, or you could call them for me? I really, really need to speak with them, but I don’t have their phone numbers,” you pleaded, hoping that the man would take pity on you.

He sighed. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, ma’am. You’ll just have to find another way to contact them.”

It was your turn to sigh, tears involuntarily spilling from your eyes. “Thank you, I- I’m sorry,” you said, sniffling to keep the worst of the tears at bay until you were able to turn away from him.

You wiped at your eyes as you started walking, tears pouring from your eyes as your heightened hormones kicked your panic into overdrive-

And then you smacked directly into a broad chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your eyes on the ground so you wouldn’t have to see the person’s expression.

“Hey, it’s o- Y/N?” A velvety voice asked.

Rhys.

You looked up, blinking the tears from your eyes as you took in the male. He was just as beautiful as you remembered, and you knew you made a mistake in coming here.

You were an absolute wreck, and here he was, a Greek god come to life.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” He asked gently, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I- I-” you stuttered, the words catching in your throat, more tears spilling over and sobs tore from your lungs. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest for a comforting hug.

“Let’s get you inside, hmm, darling? We can talk and get you some coffee, alright?”

You nodded in agreement, still feeling unable to speak.

He released you from his hold but kept one of his arms wrapped around yours, and guided you into the building.

This time when you entered the elevator, you noticed that Rhys used a special key on the button pad, causing the lowest button to light up, which he pushed.

The ride was quick, and he ushered you out of the door and through their front door.

“Rhysie, are you home?” Feyre’s voice asked from far away, likely a few rooms down.

“Yes, love, and I think you should come out here, I found a special someone on my way home,” Rhys called out, his hands automatically taking your jacket and hanging it alongside his. A hand on your low back guided you into a sitting room, and Feyre came out of the hallway that you believed led to their bedroom.

“Oh, Y/N!” Feyre exclaimed, obviously not having expected you to be the visitor. “This is a pleasant surprise, what are you doing here love?” As she got closer, she could see how red and puffy your face was from crying, and the tears still running down your face, at a slower pace now. “Is everything alright?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t speak, still too choked up from your tears.

“Let’s sit down, okay?” Feyre said, taking you by the arm and leading you to a couch, sinking down onto it with you. “Rhys, would you go get her something warm to drink?”

“Of course. Would you like coffee, love?”

“Oh, uh, no, I’ll have tea, please- non-caffeinated if you can,” you replied, heat coloring your cheeks.

Rhys’s brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing out, and he nodded. “I’ll be right back, girls.”

He left in the direction that you assumed their kitchen was in, and Feyre’s hand came to rub small circles on your upper back.

“Do you want to talk about it, love?”

“No, but… I need to,” you sniffled, rubbing your sleeves against your eyes.

“Okay… Would you like me to guess?” Feyre asked, pinching your side lightly and you giggled softly.

“No, no, I don’t… It’s not something that you should find out in that way.”

Rhys came back at that moment, three mugs clutched in his hands. “Alright, here’s a lemon ginger tea for you, Y/N, and a coffee for you Fey.” He sat in the chair to your left, and sat his mug down on the coffee table. “Now, why are we so lucky to see you again today, love?”

You took a sip of the tea, thankful for the warmth, and the flavor helped the the nausea that had started building in your stomach. “I’m, uh…” You trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out how best to phrase this. But really, there was no good way to say this. “I’m pregnant.”

Both of them blinked at you, confused.

“I… I haven’t had… sex… with anyone besides the two of you in almost a year and- and I know that we used condoms and it doesn’t make sense and you probably want absolutely nothing to do with me- I’ll just go,” you rambled, setting your cup down and tried to stand up, only for both of them to clamp a hand down on you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Feyre asked, her tone… happy?

You didn’t understand.

“What makes you think we want nothing to do with you, love?” Rhys asked, one of his hands turning your head to look at him, and you could swear you saw silver lining his eyes.

“Because… I was a one night stand, and I… You two are married, and perfect, and I’m just…”

“Just what, hmm? You’re perfect too, you know,” Feyre said, and arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into her side.

“That’s not-” you sighed. “I just mean that this is nothing that you could have planned for, or wanted. That’s all.”

“Actually, Y/N…” Rhys began. “Feyre and I have been trying to have a child for the last two years, with no success. We want a child, and have wanted a child for so long. Maybe our meeting you was some divine intervention, leading us to something we never knew we wanted, along with all that we’ve ever wanted.”

Tears filled your eyes as he spoke, his kind words washing over you.

“If I can be honest with you, Y/N, Rhys and I… We haven’t been able to keep you out of our thoughts in the past six weeks, we were so close to just asking Emerie for your phone number.”

The tears spilled over, and Rhys got up from his chair and scooped you up, taking your place and setting you on his lap. Feyre grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and dabbed at your eyes, Rhys’s hand smoothing your hair out of your face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Feyre cooed at you, kissing your cheeks. “Unless you don’t want the child…?”

You shook your head vigorously, strands of your hair smacking Rhys in the face. “No, I… I want to keep my little nugget, it’s just. I’m so happy,” you cried, your sobs returning in full force.

“Oh, love,” Rhys chuckled. “Everything is going to be okay. We can do this. There are three of us after all, and that means two people to help take care of you while you’re carrying our sweet little nugget, as you called it.”

They both placed a hand on your lower abdomen, and you all let it sink in.

You were having a baby.

And with the two of them by your side, you almost felt prepared.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff

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dragon-kazansky · 7 months ago

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Twelve - Beautiful day for a wedding

♡♡♡

The invitation arrived in your mail the very next day. You looked down at the writing of Violet Bridgerton on the letter. Daphne and Simon were to be married the very next day.

Your mother ushered you to the Modiste for a dress. You didn't have time for a new one, so she altered one you owned already. You bought a couple of new accessories and headed home.

You did not get to see the Bridgertons at all.

When you arrived at the church with your mother, you found yourself almost shocked at how few people were present, but you also supposed this was best.

On the duke's side were Lady Danbury and Will and his wife. On Daphne's was her family and you.

Benedict looked up just as you entered and smiled at you. He sat with Colin on a pew behind his mother. You smiled back and found your seat with Hyacinth and Gregory. Hyacinth made Gregory swap seats with her ao she could side beside you.

"Isn't this exciting?" She asks softly.

"Very," you smile.

"Daphne will look so beautiful in her dress," Hyacinth smiles.

"I'm certain of it."

You glance up to see Benedict still looking at you. When your eyes meet his, he turns away to talk to Colin again. You're confused by this strange little exchange, but don't dwell on it.

Violet spots you and waves at you with a smile. You return both gestures, and she turns back to Lady Danbury.

The duke stands quietly at the altar, awaiting his bride. As you look at him, you wonder what he must be thinking. From what you understand, this wasn't exactly ideal, but somehow you know, deep down in his heart, he loves Daphne.

He just needs to admit to himself.

His display to the queen, going by what Violet had said, was the most romantic declaration of love there could have ever been. You knew it had to have been true to some extent.

The sound of the door opening has everyone turning to look. You all rise when you see Anthony and the bride enter. You feel yourself gasp softly as you look at her.

Flawless.

Daphne looked beautiful. She was exactly what a bride should be on her special day. Anthony led her down the aisle. As she passed you, she gave you a small smile. She looked like she was putting on a brave face.

You smiled back and watched her pass.

Simon turns to look at his soon-to-wife. Even he couldn't deny how beautiful she is, surely.

Violet was trying so hard not to cry.

All of Daphne's family looked at her so proudly. This was the bottom she had been waiting for. The moment she would become a wife to the man she loved.

Though she had expected love to be true and pure like her parents had, for she knew the truth behind this wedding.

She practically forced Simon into it.

Anthony smiles at his sister and hands her over to Simon Bassett. The two stand beside each other while Anthony joins his mother at her pew.

You all sit.

The ceremony begins.

Hyacinth holds your hand as you watch the couple. You wonder what both of them are thinking.

They face each other. Simon holds out his hand. Daphne places her in it. He removes her long silk glove with ease. Her hand is now bare to him. He places the ring on her finger. Daphne remembers to breathe.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

They're married.

♡♡♡

The ball after is full of life and cheer. Upbeat music plays on the violins. Though the wedding was an intimate affair, the ball was for all the ton.

Hyacinth and Gregory chase each other through the party while Daphne speaks to some of the guests.

Penelope tries to help Marina find someone other than Colin Bridgerton to marry. After all, Penelope had been in love with Colin for quite some time, though he was unlikely to view her the same way.

You laugh at something Anthony tells you on the other side of the room. Benedict comes over and looks between the two of you. "Is my brother that funny?"

"Quite, actually." You chuckle.

"At least one of us has charisma," Anthony says sipping his drink.

You laugh in the most unladylike manner and try to cover your mouth. Benedict looks at you in shock and in awe. Anthony smiles and shake his head.

"I never knew you could make such a sound," Benedict teases.

"Neither did I until now." You manage to control your laughter, ignoring anyone looking your way.

"A fascinating woman," he grins.

"I'm full of surprises. Even to myself," you smile.

Benedict looks at you curiously.

"Excuse me," Anthony says, nodding at you both and then taking his leave to catch up with someone.

You turn to Benedict only to catch him staring at someone.

"Benedict?"

"Excuse me..." He walks off but is soon cornered by the man he had seen. You sigh and decide to take a stroll of the room instead.

"A most enjoyable party," Henry Granville says to him.

"Indeed."

"Um, Bridgerton... Um... The other night..."

"What happened the other night?" Benedict asks, pretending he did not know. "I do not believe anything happened at all."

Henry chuckles softly. "Very well." A woman joins them, and Granville smiles. "Ah, dearest... I believe you know Mr. Bridgerton."

Benedict stares at the woman, recognising her from the other night. The pretty woman he enjoyed himself with.

"My wife, Mrs Lucy Granville."

Benedict chokes on his wine.

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton." She smiles at him.

He just sips his wine and nods. "Mm."

You catch sight of Daphne staring at her husband, who stands across the room. You find this strange because you were made to believe that newly we'd couples rarely parted from each other on their wedding day. Yet, they were standing so far apart.

You were about to approach Daphne, but Anthony came up beside her. You decide to leave them both alone for now.

The conversation seems short, however, as you catch sight of Daphne fleeing the room moments later.

Violet goes after.

Wedding jitters, perhaps? Not that you would know. Would you ever know?

You find that you have circled the room completely and sigh. Benedict finds his way through the crowd and looks at you. "I apologise for that."

"Something urgent?"

"Well, not exactly. Just saw a face I knew."

"Wonderful. Where you know many faces, I know very few."

Benedict frowns. "Is something the matter?"

"Other than your family and Lady Danbury, I don't really know anyone else. Penelope seems lovely enough, but I do not know her all too well."

Benedict remains confused by you.

"Did something happen?" He asks.

"I have been all but abandoned."

"Nonsense."

You sigh. "Forgive me, I'm just tired. Weddings seem to go on for a while, don't they?"

"Can't say I've been to many."

"Do you think I'll get to experience this one day?" You ask, looking around. "Perhaps not as grand as this, but... you know."

Benedict now looks at you with slight surprise. "Of course, if that is what you want."

"I do want it." You confess quietly. "I'd like to be married one day. Not necessarily to a duke," you chuckle.

Benedict laughs, too.

"But I'd like to be a wife and a mother one day." You watch Hyacinth chase her brother around the guests.

Benedict keeps his gaze on you as he says, "one day it shall be yours."

You smile, keeping your eyes on the youngest two of the Bridgerton family.

Benedict does not drop his gaze from you.

♡♡♡

Violet insists you come them to bid Daphne goodbye as she leaves for her new home. You can only wonder how strange it must be for her to leave a place she calls home.

You stand at the back of the crowd as Daphne says goodbye to her siblings. She even hugs Eloise who looks a little reluctant for her sister to go.

Daphne then turns to you and pulls you into a hug. "Thank you," she whispers.

"What for?"

"Being there." She pulls away to look at you, placing her hands in yours softly.

You smile. "Any time. Write, won't you?"

"Of course. Regularly."

You both smile at each other, and Daphne turns around to climb into the carriage. Simon opens the door for her and climbs in after her. She looks out the window to look at her family and her, now, old home.

You wave along with the others, finding your arm looped with Anthony's as you watch the carriage disappear down the road. When it's gone from sight, Anthony escorts you back inside. Violet gushes about the entire day, and you smile as you go with her to fetch some tea.

With the guests gone, the family can relax. You had been invited to stay behind and keep them company for a while longer, and you agreed.

You sit with Violet and the family as tea is called. Anthony stays a while but then excuses himself. Violet makes a comment about him being unable to leave business even for one day.

A cup of tea is placed on the table beside you. You look up to see Benedict standing beside you with a smile.

You accept the cup and sip it. It's been made the way you like it. Benedict remembered something so mundane about you? Or was it perhaps just chance. You have taken tea with his mother before.

"My daughter, a duchess," Violet sighs happily.

"You must be very proud," you say, smiling.

"Immensly." She sips her tea.

"Daphne looked beautiful," Hyacinth says, smiling at you both from where she sits with Gregory.

"Yes," Violet smiles proudly.

You sip your tea and listen to small babble lf conversation about Daphne and where she will be living now, and what a duchess does. Hyacinth was full of questions.

Eloise slumped down in the seat beside you with a sigh.

"You alright?" You ask. She had a book held tightly to her chest.

"Just glad it's all over." She sighs again.

"Did you not enjoy seeing your sister marry?"

"It's not that. I'm very happy for Daphne and shall miss her tremendously. I'm just tired of all the fuss."

"Will it not be your turn next?" You ask.

"Please don't remind me," she screws her eyes shut and grimaces at the thought.

You chuckle softly and pat her arm gently. "You may change your mind."

"I cannot think of anything worse."

You say no more on the matter. After an hour passes, you take your leave. Your mother would be waiting at home for you. Violet calls for a carriage for you, one of their own. Benedict insists on seeing you out.

You walks down the front steps with him and approaches the carriage. The footman opens the door for you.

"Until next we meet," Benedict smiles at you.

You're about to enter the carriage when you stop and turn to him. "Where do you go at night?" You ask.

Benedict seems to freeze at your question. "Pardon?"

"At night, where do you go?"

His mouth hangs open as he tries to think about how to answer, but you keep talking before he can utter a single word.

"The other night when the duke and Lady Danbury came for dinner, you were not present. I asked Anthony about your whereabouts, but he confessed to not knowing. Not that I expect you all to know each others business all the time, but apparently, you have spent a couple nights away from home now. I am curious. Where do you go?"

Benedict really wasn't sure how to answer. Qould you think poorly of him if he told you the truth.

"Well I--"

"No, never mind. Do not tell me. It was rude of me to ask. I was just curious. Curiosity can be dangerous." You climb up into the carriage.

There's a moment of silence before the footman closes the door. Within seconds the carriage takes off towards your home.

Benedict is left standing there wishing he had said something, anything, to keep you longer.

He watches the carriage leave.

♡♡♡

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#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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catiuskaa · 10 months ago

Text

had to make sure you’d catch it.

SUMMARY: no one expected jeongin to be the first to marry in the group, but furthermore, no one expected minho to be the one to ask you first, and certainly not like that.

REQUESTED! by a pookie anonnie right here. fluff!!! minho!!! yess!!! we love to see it. tysm for this, hope you like it as much as I did! <3

CW: use of sarcasm (because yes?), use of very stupid humour (because it makes everything better), one (1) mention if hyunlix (just for funsies) the one and only beyoncé is mentioned once (yes this is a warning because it’s a silly joke but it’ll make sense i promise) and welp, WEDDINGS MENTIONED 🗣️🗣️🗣️ WTF IS A COMMITMENT 👹👹👹/jkjk

WC: 2.1k

A/N: can someone tell jypapi that now I need more of Lee Know in suit and tie? thanks ^^

[☆◽️💐◽️☆]

Weddings.

Ah, yes.

That motherfucker.

It’s not like you had anything against the people that were marrying each other —God, no! Good for them!—, but rather how seeing husband and wife looking flawless and so in love made you feel.

Lonely.

As fuck.

But it all changed when you went to a wedding with a plus one for the first time. Well, he had been invited to a wedding, and you happened to be around and free.

It had been not too soon before you two started dating, but a small part of your brain knew that if you hadn’t seen Lee Minho in that gorgeous tuxedo that evening, or maybe before, when he blushed as he asked if you were free, then perhaps your choices would’ve been different —which was a blatant lie, because you were and still are head over heels for him, but we’ll keep it for comedian purposes—, because damn did that man look good in a suit.

It was when you entered the venue with him by your side, the flutters of going with your friend and crush to a wedding, of all places… the flowers, the setting, and, oh, the couple.

Everything was beautiful. It almost made you feel like you were the main character, the bride, despite the obvious knowledge that it could only be that gorgeous woman dressed in white, unlike you, in a short and fitted dress in a dark blue hue, matching your companion’s tie.

“I never would’ve thought you liked weddings so much.” Minho whispered in a soft snicker, as teasing as always, eyes fixated in the way you seemed to glow.

But you two were sat next to each other as the officiant spoke, and he was leaning close to you, his lips right by the shell of your ear, and Jesus Christ in motorbike, because he looked outstanding, and oh my god, because his hand was resting on your leg, warming up your body, that was also covered by his suit jacket because poor you had underestimated how cold a church could be, even in the end of summer.

‘Liked’ weddings? You would have cackled loudly if the setting had been more appropriate. If it meant that Minho would treat you like that every single day, you’d fucking marry one.

But instead, you chuckled softly, laying your hand on his, the one that still rested right above your knee, and you leaned too, silently reeling in the smell of his cologne.

“Never thought you’d take me to one.”

And it was not like you were going to know too soon, but to Minho, in that moment, time seemed to freeze as he stared at your features.

You smiled at him, and it had been like always, but to him, it was the most gorgeous smile he had ever had the pleasure to see, let alone cause, and it made his heart feel tight on his chest, a blush that ran to his cheeks and ears, as red-tinted as your lips, so sweet-looking that Minho had to hold back not to kiss you, keeping him from checking if they’d taste just like how they looked.

He didn’t just want to take you to weddings.

And with that thought in mind, months later, after several dates going coffe shop to coffe shop, falling in love with you, with the soft and soothing tone you spoke to his pets and how beautiful you looked like in his house, happily petting Soonie, he knew then and there that his house wasn’t his home anymore.

You were.

And he kissed you tenderly that night, struggling to find a way to express these feelings with words.

So it made both of you feel very giddy when years later, another wedding showed up.

“You’ve gotta be fucking with me.” He had mumbled, reading the mail as he entered back home. “Jagi, I’m home!” He stated loudly, the cats meowing him welcome.

You came from your study room, leaving an email half written to welcome him back for the day. He handed you the mail, but not before pecking your forehead.

“What’s going on?” You smiled softly in slight confussion, to which he grinned at you, head tilted to the first letter in the bunch.

You stared at it, your eyes turning wide, and read the sentence a couple times.

“There’s no way.” You covered your mouth, laughing in disbelief. “Our little Innie is getting married?”

“I think I lost a bet to Hyunjin.” Minho chuckled.

“Have you called him?” You smiled, excited, cheerfully going back to your study to pick your phone.

“I just saw that idiot back in JYP, he didn’t even tell us!”

Two months. Yang Jeongin, little baby bread, was marrying his now fiancé in two fucking months.

Minho couldn’t believe it, nor could you.

And then, as soon as autumn started to arrive, the first leaves turning different tones of red and yellow, falling to the ground.

Then, the wedding date came by.

[☆◽️💐◽️☆]

You embraced Jeongin’s wife in a tight hug.

“How does it feel?” You mumbled giddily, feeling Minho’s arm go back to your waist as soon as you let go of the beautiful woman dressed in white.

He’d been extra clingy the whole venue, and you had loved and cherished every moment of it. You both knew what that first wedding had meant for the other, all those years ago. It made your tummy fill with butterflies, ones that had been there ever since Minho swooshed your way.

The bride grinned happily, trying hard not to cry so she wouldn’t ruin her makeup.

“It’s like a dream I’m about to wake up from.” She snickered, cheeks covered in a pink hue that couldn’t be hidden with the light foundation she was wearing. “But you’ll get it quite soon, right?” She muttered with a smile, as if in confidence, like sharing a secret you were supposed to know.

“Ah?” But you were clueless.

Before realizing she could’ve fucked up a major canon event, his husband called her from affar, busy dealing with all the guests and the photographer, a tall man with little to no patience and lots of angry italian gestures.

“C’mon, quick.” Minho grinned next to you. “Let’s get to the chocolate fountain before someone eats all the strawberries.”

You two chuckled, sprinting towards the large set of tables and the main table, filled with different types of fruits and cheeses.

“Mmhhm!” You hummed, the warm chocolate melting on your mouth, mixing with the sweetness of the strawberry. “We really need one of these back at home.”

You two giggled and ate a couple more strawberries.

“You have chocolate in your mouth.” Minho mumbled.

You turned to face him, and he snickered, his hand traveling to your face and kissing the corner of your lip, cleaning it.

The chocolate tasted better like that anyways.

You felt your face flush, and you tutted at him playfully.

“You can look, not touch,” you mumbled with a toothy grin. “I spent so much time pissing off the makeup artists back at their place, I can’t have you ruin my lipstick, sir.” You chuckled teasingly.

“I can’t?” Minho raised his eyebrows, and you felt small under his stare, like a little prey. “Really?”

You blushed, pouting. “Minho, not fair.”

He laughed loudly at you, and then back hugged you.

“We should move before they realize we ate half of the strawberries.” He mumbled next to your ear, and cheekily nibbled on it for a second.

You giggled at his antics, and went back to where everyone was settled, joining and taking a couple of pictures with the group.

Your smile widened looking at them, groom and bride, who casually rambled about something you couldn’t hear.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your boyfriend grinned curiously next to you.

You looked at him, your heart fluttered.

Weddings didn’t feel lonely anymore.

“They look so cute together.” You sighed. “So beautiful.”

Minho sighed too, his arm swiftly going back to your shoulders.

“Very.” He muttered softly. He wasn’t talking about the couple.

Laughter and conversations filled the air as guests, dressed in their finest, mingled beneath the gentle glow of twinkling lights.

“It’s time for the bouquet throw!” A loud voice announced.

You looked at Minho and winked teasingly.

“Hold my purse.” You smirked in between giggles. “This one’s mine.” He blushed at your determination.

It wasn’t that you had forgotten what catching the bouquet meant, rather just casually left that thought at the back of your mind.

Minho almost shivered, barely cathing your bag.

Marrying you?

Something felt heavier on the pocket of his jacket.

You settled in the group of women that stood a couple of feet away from the bride, who was laughing and pointing at someone in the midst of the girls.

“Good luck, ladies!” A low voice made you cackle loudly.

“Good luck, Felix!” You chuckled. “Good one, Hyune!” You sent a thumbs up to Hyunjin, and he laughed, blushing.

With excitement bubbling in the air, the moment arrived slowly, almost painfully so. A hush fell over the gathered guests, their eager eyes fixed on the radiant bride. She held the bouquet, a bundle of beautiful daisies, like a symbol of wishes waiting to be granted. With a grin, she turned around, and a playful spark lit up her eyes.

Full of anticipation, she raised the bouquet high above her head. Time seemed to pause for an instant, and then, with a joyful toss, she…

She… stopped?

You didn’t have time to frown in confusion when she turned around again.

The guests that had been crowded around you moved away, and the bride giddily walked towards you.

She squealed. “This is so cute. Here, girl. It’s yours.”

And she handed you the bouquet.

You blabered confused sounds of vowels, not quite understanding what was happening yet.

Gasps and other surprised reactions filled the venue, and you looked around, wondering what was all the fuss about.

“Sorry to ruin the fun, jagi.” A known voice sounded tenderly behind you, and then he giggled. “I had to make sure you’d catch it.”

With your eyes wide and your features displaying a soft grin of surprise, you turned around to face him.

“I fell in love with you in a wedding.” He started. “Not really, considering I had been pinning for you long before, which Felix never hesitated to say how down bad I was for you and how blind I was for not addmitting it.”

Your eyes swelled with tears, your hands covering your mouth. “M-Minho…”

He sniffed, holding back his own, a blush deep on his face.

“I fell in love with you over and over again, in every date we went to and every time you came by my appartment to say hi to the cats, claiming that you felt like they missed you, when it was most likely me who did.” He stared at his hands, fidgeting with them, his palms feeling sweaty.

He raised his head then, and stared deeply into your eyes. He chuckled, falling in love with you once more.

“I have a feeling that, over the course of our lives together, I will fall in love with you as many times as there are stars in the sky.” Minho smiled tearfully, a lump on his throat. “Over and over again.”

You started laughing as tears fell down your cheeks. He bent down on one knee, and your pulse faltered for a moment.

“Will you marry me?”

Because in your first wedding together, he did’t just want to take you to weddings and see other people getting married.

He wanted to marry you.

“Minho, I-” you sobbed, smiling. “Yes! Please!” You chuckled.

He hugged you tightly, and of course, just to make sure you knew who you were getting married to, he teased you.

“Like the one and only godess, Beyoncé, said once,” he mumbled in your ear, “if you like it and you’re sure, put a ring on it.”

“Minho!” You squirmed in between chuckles. “That’s not how the lyrics go!”

He shrugged. “English is hard,” he giggled. You laughed too, pulling him into a kiss.

You sure loved an idiot. But it was your idiot fiancé, soon to be your idiot husband.

Yours only.

[☆◽️💐◽️☆]

~Kats, who hasn’t been in a wedding since 2018, and i think it kinda shows lol

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harryyskiwii · 1 year ago

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Summary: You and Harry attend a wedding together and he ends up getting very drunk.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Harry x Reader

Word count: 1,727

A/N: this was inspired by the photos we got today of Harry looking 👌🏼 at his cousins wedding. Hope you enjoy!

“Do these shoes make my legs look too long? Like scarily long?” You said walking into the bathroom where Harry was standing in front of the mirror after just having had a shower while he was in nothing but a towel and fixing his hair.

His eyes darted from his head to your legs in the corner of the mirror and he smirked “absolutely not. I love your legs” he said coming over and kissing you as you ran your hand through his wet hair.

“I’m just not sure on the dress, what do you think?” You said flattening the front of the sage green silk dress out with your hands.

“You’d look better without it but for today, it’s perfect. You look stunning babe” he says smiling at you. You thanked him and went back through to your bedroom to do the finishing touches to your makeup while Harry got ready.

It was his cousin, Ben Selley’s wedding today and he had managed to get the day off so he could attend. You were looking forward to meeting more of Harry’s extended family; you had only met Anne & her partner and Gemma and her partner Michal since you and Harry had only been dating for 9 months, so you were excited to meet everyone.

10 minutes later, Harry walked into the bedroom and your jaw dropped.

“Stop. Wait. This isn’t right. You’re going to a wedding and you’re NOT wearing cream? Are you feeling okay babe?” You said jokingly putting your hand against his forehead to check his temperature. Harry always had a thing about wearing cream to a wedding, not white as he would make clear, but cream. It was odd to see him not in this colour for once.

He chuckled at your response to his outfit “thought I’d go for something more casual today” he said, showing off his fitted black suit and casual white tank top with his orange tinted glasses with thick black frame to complete the look.

“I certainly approve of it Mr Styles” you said admiring his outfit.

It was a short drive to the church where you saw lots of guests enter the building slowly. Harry’s mum said to meet outside and you could all sit together, and you immediately felt at ease when you seen her walking towards you.

“Don’t the pair of you scrub up well!” She said bringing you in for a kiss on the cheek to greet you.

You chuckled “thanks Anne, you look lovely” you told her, although Anne always looked flawless whether she was wearing a hoodie or a dress, you think that’s where Harry gets it from.

You said hello to Gemma and Michal and entered the church.

You were slightly nervous now at meeting everyone, although excited at the same time to see his cousin getting married.

The 6 of you took a seat in an aisle and immediately Harry got chatting to the people sitting in front.

“This is my girlfriend y/n, y/n these are my other cousins, Ryan and Hayley” he said introducing you to them.

“Hi lovely to meet you” you said and smiled at them. “Nice to meet you, we’ve heard lots about you. H doesn’t stop banging on about you when he’s home” Ryan teased.

“I mean wouldn’t you, look at her. She’s a stunner” Harry said and you blushed. Gemma leaned into you and whispered “you can tell who’s the more sociable one out of me and Harry can’t you” you laughed at her. Harry could have a conversation with a brick wall if he had to.

You chatted with Gemma and Anne a little until it was time for the ceremony. The bride looked absolutely beautiful, her flower girls were adorable and her bridesmaids looked amazing. You couldn’t wait until this was you one day.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife” the celebrant said to officiate their marriage. You all clapped and Harry leaned in towards you “that’ll be us one day babe” you smiled at the thought and continued to clap for the happy couple.

Walking out of the church and waiting for the bride and groom to get their photos taken, you and Harry mingled with the other guests.

He introduced you to a few more of his family members, all of which made you feel very welcome. Harry was asked if he wouldn’t mind being in some photos for a couple of people who weren’t in the family, friends of the bride and groom more so who didn’t know him, and because he was in his happy place, surrounded by family, he was more than happy to oblige.

“Let me get one of you two!” Anne said as she took your phone out of your hand.

“Harry stand with y/n will you” she shouted to him as he was distracted by talking to someone else. He looked over and joined you at your side, wrapping his arm around your back and his hand falling onto your waist.

“Smile!” Anne said before taking the photo. She captured a few and admired them “you two are just the loveliest couple” she said handing you the phone back. You looked at it and smiled, Harry had a slight smile on his face in the picture but he looked genuinely happy.

“That’s my new lock screen I think” you told him as you walked together towards the reception area.

Luckily at the reception, you were sat at a table with Anne, Darren, Gemma and Michal again, with another 2 of the bride’s extended family. After the meal, Harry insisted on getting shots for the table. Whenever he was at a wedding, it was a tradition he started to always get a shot of tequila after the meal. It served no purpose other than getting him more drunk, more easily. He’d only had 3 pints at this stage but you could tell he was becoming tipsy as he was becoming more and more affectionate, sliding his hand up your thigh with you pushing it away as you’re sure another wedding guest saw him do it.

The bride and groom had their first dance before inviting everyone else up to the dance floor. You and Harry remained sitting at a table, now with some of his aunts and uncles talking about life, when suddenly you both heard the all too familiar main riff of “Man, I feel like a woman” playing to which you and Harry looked at each other.

“We can’t not” he said as he stood up, grabbing your hand to pull you up. “You gotta dance to Shania” he said and at this point in the night, you’d had a few wines and a few shots so you were feeling more than ready for a dance with your boyfriend now.

You chuckled as he led you up to the dance floor, him dad dancing as he made his way up.

“The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun” you and Harry screamed out over the top of the music as you danced away together, him showing off some rather questionable moves but all in all, you were both having an amazing time.

You danced the whole night after that, with Harry buying everyone another tequila shot, and another and another.

It was 1am when you decided to call it a night, not only because you were done in, but because Harry’s bank account was being rinsed with the £1,200 he’d spent on shots alone that night for the whole wedding.

Luckily, you had booked a room in the hotel where the bride and groom had the reception party so it just meant having to help a very drunk Harry up the 3 flights of stairs. You knew he should have stopped after his 10th pint and 3rd tequila shot but 3 more pints and 4 shots later, Harry’s legs were failing to carry him up the stairs.

You were drunk yourself, giggling quietly as you helped to drag him up the stairs.

“Y/n” Harry would slur as he slowly made his way up the stairs. “Shhh” you would say as you passed the rooms of other guests who were probably sound asleep and didn’t want to be woken up by some 29 year old drunk man.

“Y/n, wwhen can we have a wedding?” He slurred. “Let’s get you in and we can talk about it” you said still trying to get him to the correct room.

“Y/n” he dragged out your name as he giggled “what?” You laughed back, you were almost in as much of a drunken state as he was.

“I love you baby. I love you so much”

“I love you too. But I’d love you even more if you were in the room so move your ass” you said slapping his bum which seemed to sober him up for a brief second and gain some speed as he made his way up the stairs.

After what seemed like forever, you two made it into the hotel room and collapsed on the bed. Harry had taken his suit jacket off at this point and was now lying in just his trousers and tank top with his hands above his head. God did he look good drunk.

You felt the side of your dress being pulled “Take this off” you heard Harry say to you.

“You take it off” you said to him. “Y/n, if I could I would. Please just take it off and-“ he trailed off mid sentence and you looked over to see him falling asleep on the bed.

You laughed at his drunken state and decided to call it a night. Taking your own dress off, you removed your makeup and went back through to see Harry in the same position you had left him.

You pulled out a bottle of water and sat it on his side of the bed because you were sure he would need it when he woke up in the morning. You took off his trousers and left him in his boxers and put the cover over him so he wasn’t too cold. You got in beside him and laid your leg over his thigh and rested your hand on his chest, feeling comforted as you felt his chest slowly rise and fall.

As you lay there, you reflected on the day and how comfortable his whole family made you feel. You couldn’t wait to become a real part of the Styles family.

#harry styles #harry styles blurbs #harry styles concept #harry styles fandom #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles masterlist #harrystylesoneshot #harry styles x reader #harrys house #harrystyles #harry fanfic #boyfriend harry #harry styles boyfriend #harry update #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n

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gi4hao · 7 months ago

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☆ (perfect bf!)joshua x gn!reader

☆ warnings: none i think! reader is wearing a dress?

it sounds so cliché you’re not even sure you could say it out loud, but you simply cannot take your eyes off of your boyfriend.

it’s not so much his impeccable outfit (which took him weeks to finally settle on), perfectly combed hair or flawless skin that particularly catch your attention. it’s the ease with which he’s been navigating the crowd, offering bright smiles to everyone, finding exactly the right words to say and to whom, shaking hands when expected, all like he had been part of your family for decades.

“you’re staring”, joshua whispers from a corner of his mouth, his hand still holding yours.

his words make you abruptly snap out of your daydreaming. visibly startled, your eyes widen as you focus back on the wedding toast unfolding in front of your eyes. joshua purses his lips together, cheeks slightly puffed as he stifles a laugh.

still silently as not to disrupt anything, you try to nudge him but his reflexes are too good, and he ends up smoothly grabbing your arm to link it with his. the shadow of amused smiles start to grow on your faces, just as the bride’s mother finishes her speech, setting off claps and cheers throughout the crowd of guests.

your arms still linked together, you decide to follow the few guests who are heading towards the bar, internally praying that no family members will try to start a conversation with either of you; although you’re certain joshua would handle it impeccably.

“that speech was beautiful“, you say, looking at the newlyweds’ table while joshua asks the barista for two refills. “i’m pretty sure i cried at some point.”

“i think we both did”, he admits, his fingers dancing around the strap of your dress, “hey, do you want to go outside? get some fresh air before dessert?”

you take your drink back with a polite smile before grabbing your boyfriend’s hand. “that’s a polite way of saying you need a break from my family”, you tease, leading him to the nearest exit, one that you know leads to a small balcony overlooking the building’s backyard.

the sun has set a couple of hours ago, only leaving the yellowish lights from inside light up joshua’s features. strands of hair delicately brush against his forehead, in a way that’s slightly more sophisticated than when it gets tousled overnight.

sipping his drink with a tipsy smile, he sighs contently, elbows resting on the railing.

“how crazy would it be if i proposed to you right now?”, he asks out of the blue.

you let out a chuckle, refusing to have any over-the-top reaction just like he probably expects you to.

“so crazy” you simply reply before taking another sip, still looking straight ahead.

but the sound of joshua clearing his throat has you suddenly looking to your left. or rather, down to your left where he’s getting down on one knee.

“…shua, what are you doing?” you ask, your voice slightly wavering with uncertainty.

his response is not immediate. instead, he keeps on looking at you, eyelashes fluttering as his smile grows fonder. your palms are getting clammy, suddenly your clothes start to feel a bit too hot, a bit too tight.

“tying my shoes”, he finally speaks up, handing you his glass: “do you mind holding that for me?”

“you’re such an idiot joshua hong”, you scoff, rolling your eyes before flicking his forehead with two fingers.

looking proud of his little prank, he stands back up on his feet to wrap an arm around your waist, pressing a loud kiss on your temple:

“i’ll do it for real one day, don’t worry”, he says without a hint of doubt, “but it’ll be our own day, i’m not stealing someone else’s. you’re too special for that.”

this time, you find yourself unable to suppress your genuine reaction, and a flustered giggle escapes you as he pulls you even closer to him.

you stay like that for a few minutes, sharing silent thoughts about this special day of yours, but also wondering how you’ll manage to actually take your eyes off of him when the time comes.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

#enjoy this little thing i found in my dusty drafts 🤭#seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #joshua fluff #joshua imagines #joshua x reader

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demon-kumo · 8 months ago

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𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝓓𝓸𝓵𝓵

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ꜱᴄᴀʀᴀᴍᴏᴜᴄʜᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɪᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʟʟᴀᴅᴇᴇʀ'ꜱ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ, ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴅᴏʟʟ. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ʟᴀᴠɪꜱʜ ʟɪꜰᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꜱɪɴᴋꜱ.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ "ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ," he remarked, briefly turning towards you before returning his attention to the paper, a pleased grin etched upon his features as he scanned its contents.

The black ink, matching the color of his soul, adorned the parchment in graceful strokes, creating an elegant calligraphy that he held delicately in his hands.

But to you, the word "perfect" held a bitter taste, a facade masking the truth beneath. It was a shallow term, devoid of genuine meaning, merely a projection of someone else's ideals. The thought of being labeled as such made your stomach churn with revulsion.

You had been sold like a commodity at an auction, chosen by this man who saw something in you that others did not. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, he knew you were the one he desired. To him, you were unlike any other, a delicate and desperate soul amidst a sea of mediocrity.

As he reached for your hand, his expression soft but his eyes ablaze with desire, you were taken as his bride, trained meticulously to meet his exacting standards.

Under his guidance, you were transformed into a sophisticated and elegant woman, honing skills such as tea ceremonies, kimono dressing, calligraphy, and impeccable hostess manners. Each day was dedicated to perfecting your craft, molding you into the ideal wife, a vision of beauty and grace.

Though a part of you recoiled at the thought, a sickening sense of gratitude seeped in. Without him, you may have perished in obscurity, but he had chosen you, offering you a life of comfort and luxury in exchange for your compliance.

As you adorned yourself in a kimono of dark purple and indigo hues, embellished with delicate flower petals, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his gaze upon you. It was a sensation you had grown accustomed to, though it still made your skin crawl with unease.

Settling onto his lap at the low table, he presented you with a pair of paintbrushes and tablets of ink, predominantly dark colors like purples and blacks. With tender precision, he lifted your arm, exposing the soft, flawless skin beneath. His touch sent shivers down your spine as he traced patterns across your skin with the brush dipped in ink, creating an intricate design that seemed to hold a deeper significance.

"This symbolizes that you are mine," he explained, his voice soft yet commanding. "If anyone questions your position, show them this mark, and they will know you belong to me. Should it ever fade or become damaged, you must inform me so that I may restore it."

His hand moved to cradle your jaw, his intense gaze locking with yours, a strange mixture of possessiveness and adoration shining in his eyes. Pressing a kiss to your jaw, he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, words laden with a promise of ownership and devotion.

"Don't you ever forget, you are my perfect doll."

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #wanderer x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere wanderer #yandere #yandere scaramouche x bride reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact

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joansjusticiar · 4 months ago

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We belong together | Kuvira x F!Reader

Summary: The morning of your wedding, Kuvira gets word that you are planning to leave her. But she finds you where she left you- in your room getting ready to be married.

Word count: 800

A/N: With possessive I went the sort of toxic route… so TW for toxic relationships/abusive relationships. Please don’t read if these topics are likely to trigger you in any way, shape or form! Also first time writing possessiveness and it was sort of a struggle, so I apologise if this isn’t what you meant!

The persistent twinge in your upper arm flared up once more, throbbing with quiet protest as you sat and stared at yourself in the luxurious vanity Kuvira had gifted you. Frigid morning air chilled your bedroom, puffing the curtains up before they normally deflated, again and again. Goosebumps rose on your arms, unwinding as they stood.

Hideous shades of green and yellow swirled together on your upper arm, tainting your otherwise flawless skin; a stark reminder of Kuvira’s claim on you. You were her bride to be and she could do whatever she pleased. Even if that meant hurting you in the process. After all, everything she was doing was for your own good- to protect you from those that wished you ill intent.

You stared at the nasty bruise on your arm. She hadn’t meant to do it, not really. It was truly an accident and she had apologised profusely afterwards. She had just gripped you a bit too hard. That was all.

She entered the room with a bang, narrowed eyes looking for you, widening in relief as she saw you. She stalked over to you quietly before wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her head on top of yours.

“Kuvira?” You questioned softly. “What are you doing? You know it’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.”

Kuvira hummed as she lifted herself off you. She reached for the hairbrush beside you, carefully de-tangling your hair with deliberate movements. “Can I not come and see my beautiful wife-to-be?” She questioned.

“Well… I suppose. But you’ll be seeing me shortly- you know, when I walk down the aisle.” You hummed.

“I missed you..” she admitted. “I had this terrible feeling that you were about to leave. Leave me.”

Your heart sank at her words, your pulse beating just that bit more erratically as you locked eyes with her in the mirror.

“You wouldn’t do such a thing, would you?” She asked, waiting for your response, tightening her grip on you ever so slightly.

“No..” you whispered back.

Her stony expression faded just as fast as it came, replaced with a pleased grin at your words. “You see… I knew that guard was lying- why would you have any reason to leave me? I give you everything you will ever need in life- that’s why I knew that there was no other choice to get rid of her.”

You reached up for her arms still entwined around your neck and pulled them down slightly so that you could swivel in your chair to face her. “A guard?” You questioned carefully, your voice even as you tried not to give anything away.

“Mhm,” she hummed in affirmation, nose leaning in to rub against your own. “She said that you were planning to leave- right before the wedding. Seemed to think she’d have a chance of settling down with you once you escaped.”

“I see…” your fingers rested against her cheeks. Soothing circles rubbed into the soft skin there as you tried to placate her brewing wrath. Yes. You were planning to escape. And, yes. It was supposed to be now.

But something had stopped you. For once you thought about the life you shared with Kuvira, you could only focus on the good. Your mind went straight to the pure love you had shared before she donned the title of ‘Great Uniter’, before she had uprooted your lives, so placed you from your families. Before she had made you solely depended on her and only her.

Perhaps your hesitance came from the memories of before.

Before all this madness started. Before Kuvira became somebody you couldn’t recognise. Before the woman that you loved became a… monster.

Perhaps your hesitance came from you knowing, deep down, that Kuvira was only doing what she believed to be right.

A whisper of your name brought you out of your musings. Her eyes once sharp and judging held a certain lilt of insecurity- and if you looked closely enough, you could see the tears that threatened to fall. “You didn’t answer me..”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” You confessed, because you had been too caught up with your own thoughts to take any notice of her.

“You-“ her voice cracked ever so slightly. “You are mine, aren’t you? You’ll never leave me? Never stop being mine?”

Your eyes stared into the green of hers. Today you had chosen to stay but you weren’t sure if that would always be the case, so, instead of answering her verbally, you pulled her into a kiss. One that could hopefully convey the feelings you were so desperately trying to present to her on a silver platter.

And hopefully, she would buy into your ruse for just a while longer. Just until you finally made your love to escape from her clutches.

A/NII: Again, I’m not really happy with this but oh well.

#kuvira #legend of korra #tlok #kuvira x reader #kuvira x you

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topguncortez · 1 year ago

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Court of Thieves || Chapter 3

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: A ball is thrown in celebration of The Lady Mitchell and Prince Jacob's engagement. The Prince and Lady Mitchell meet for the first time and it goes anything but smooth. The Lady Mitchell must figure out a way to get The Prince to like her.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: historical inaccuracies, era-related misogyny, minor character death, mentions of murder, mentions of virginity, forced kissing, mentions of sex, mentions of cheating, mentions of religion

The ballroom was decorated with white curtains and gold streamers. Candles burned brightly, illuminating the great hall. Lords and Ladies mingled amongst each other, some of them dancing to the strings that were playing. Jake loved balls, he loved them even more when they were being hosted in his name. Of course, this one wasn’t totally thrown in his honor. It was being thrown to celebrate his future bride being in Landing Center. He had heard the whispers from his pageboys and the maidens that she was one of the most beautiful ladies to ever walk into Landing Center. But, he was yet to even see a glimpse of her.

“Robert,” Jake said, leaning over towards his friend, “My wife does realize she has to be here, right? Or is she a bit. . . tied up?”

“The Lady Mitchell knows she has to be here,” Robert nodded. Jake looked at him, a smirk forming on his lips. If there was one thing about Robert, the man was incapable of making a joke or understanding one.

“Robert,” Jake chuckled, “Never change a damn thing about you!”

Jake sat back on his throne, looking out at the guests who danced in front of the table. Every so often, he would catch the eye of a young maiden, and wink to them. Their skin would flush, and they would try to hide their giggle in their partner’s body. He looked over and noticed that his mother had a pleasant smile on her face, probably due to the fact that all three of her daughters were mingled amongst the crowd and that her only son was home from war.

“The Lady Micthell and Lord Bradshaw!” The page yelled, catching Jake’s attention.

In the center of the room, walked forward the most beautiful woman Jake had ever laid eyes on. Your jet black hair was pinned back, a golden tiara resting on your head. Your body was clad in the most elegant white dress with beautiful gold embroidery, Jake assumed it was made by the designers in North Island. Your skin was flawless, with not a single blemish or scar on it. And the way you walked into the room, was demanding all eyes be on you. The corset on your body was squeezing you just right, making your breasts perk up.

Jake leaned down to whisper in Robert’s ear, “I wonder how quickly I could undo the corset.”

“Jacob,” The Queen scolded her son. He smirked and stood up from his throne.

He stepped down from the high table, walking to meet you in the center of the room. Jake didn’t know much about Bradley Bradshaw, but he didn’t like the fact that he walked into his engagement ball with his girl on his arm. Bradley shot Jake a look, as the Prince’s green eyes traveled up and down your body.

“Lady Mitchell,” Jake grabbed your hand and bowed to you.

“My Prince,” You said, giving him a curtsey. You stood straight and turned to Bradley, giving him a curt nod. He squeezed your arm, before turning and making his leave. You looked down at the floor, listening to the fading footsteps of your friend, before looking up at the prince.

“It is time for the first dance!” The page announced.

Jake held his hand out for you to take, and you accepted. He walked you in a small circle, then pulled you into him. You rested a hand on his shoulder as one of his went to your waist. Jake took the lead as he moved you back and forth, side to side in the waltz. You kept your head high and remembered the dance lessons your maid had given you. However, dancing with Bradley was different than dancing with Jake.

Bradley was always a shy leader, gently moving across the floor. His hand was almost feather-light as he would touch your waist. Jake, on the other hand, kept a strong grip on your waist, occasionally moving lower on your backside. Slowly, more couples came and joined you on the floor with Jake.

“Surprised you can dance,” Jake said to you.

“I have been taught,” You nodded, “I wished to have conversed with you earlier, my prince.”

Jake smirked, “I’m sure you did,” He leaned in closer to you, his hot breath fanning your neck, “If you wanted a private meeting all you had to do was ask.”

You gasped and looked up at him, “Your grace!” Jake expertly twirled you around and then pulled you back in close. You were very well aware of his hand that rested on your lower back, dangerously close to your bottom, “My Prince…” You scolded.

“You smell of cherry blossoms,” He whispered, knowing that the precious oil must’ve been a gift from his sister Jane, “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you do smell.”

You scoffed and gave him a shove, pushing his face away from you. If you weren’t feeling the eyes of some of the highest lords on your skin, you would’ve slapped the Prince. Instead, you promptly stomped on his foot, making him groan in pain.

“Your tongue ought to be cut for the way you speak,” You cursed.

“Trust me, my lady, you don’t want that,” Jake gently cupped your face and pressed his lips to yours.

When you had dreamt of your first kiss, you always pictured it to be in the middle of the meadow behind your father’s house, and the person you were kissing was Bradley. But here you stood, in the middle of the grand hall, with the Prince of Brinefell’s lips on yours. You were frozen for a moment, before reaching and grabbing his wrists, pulling his hands from your face. There was a flash of hurt in Jake’s eyes as you turned from him, and walked out of the center, your hand covering your mouth.

“Y/N!” He called out to you, but you had moved through the crowd. Jake noticed a flash of black and gold out of the corner of his eye, Lord Bradshaw, swiftly follow after you, “Fucking bastard.”

Jake pushed his way through the crowd, following the exact footsteps you did. He cursed the gods for making you so short as his green eyes scanned the unfamiliar faces. He had barely reached the side of the grand hall when a loud scream erupted from the high table.

The music was promptly stopped and the couples on the floor stopped dancing. Silence flooded the grand hall except for the sobs that were leaving the Queen’s mouth. The crowd seemed to part this time for Jake as he made his way back to the center of the floor. His mother was being held up by Robert, as Jane rubbed soothing circles on her back. Jake already knew what the words were going to be when Master Moore, who had a sad frown on his face, opened his mouth.

“King George of Brinefell is dead!”

— — —

You hadn’t been that far from the grand hall to hear the announcement of the King’s death. You had stopped running when you heard the Queen’s loud scream ricochet throughout the hall. In an instant, the joyous occasion had ended and the Castle had turned from white and gold, to black and red. In the days following the death announcement; memorials started to arrive outside the palace gates. Pictures of the King had either been taken down or draped with a black sheet. The flags had all been lowered on the ships and buildings. The church bells had gone silent.

The quietness of the Castle had made it even harder for you to try and make a routine. It had only been a week since you had moved to Landing Center. You hadn’t seen the Prince since the night of the engagement ball. You had found out from Robert, his confidant, that Jake had primarily been by the Queen’s side and overseeing the preparations for the King’s funeral. It broke your heart to think of the Queen being all alone in her chambers, but you were glad that Jake was there for her.

“Excuse me, my lady, but we must get you dressed now,” One of your ladies, whom you had grown rather fond of, Clara, said as she entered your room.

The day was dark and gloomy, as all days had seemed to be since the King’s death. You were still in your nightgown, swapping out your usual white one, for a black one to mark that you were in mourning as well. One of your favorite spots in your chambers had been the large window that overlooked Brinefell Bay. The glistening sea had always been your source of comfort, but now, it looked dark and dreary.

“Yes, Clara, come in,” You said, closing the poetry book you were reading. It had been a gift from the Queen, and she said it had been the key to her successful life as a wife, Queen, and mother. You wondered now if it also had the key to handle the loss of a husband.

You stood from the window seat and walked into your dressing room. You stood with your arms out as the various maids and ladies came flocking to your side to undress you. It had been weird at first, having someone to do every little thing for you, from cutting your own food to turning the pages of your book. But slowly, you had gotten used to it.

“My lady, Lord Bradshaw wishes to see you,” A maiden said to you, “Shall I tell him to wait for-”

“No, Ethel, it is quite alright,” You said, “Draw the curtain please.”

The maiden nodded and did as you instructed, pulling the heavy red curtain between the sitting room and dressing room closed. You heard Bradley thank her before walking as close to the curtain as he could get. You knew it was rather unbecoming of you to have Bradley in your room in such a state, but he was one of the only people who seemed to understand what you needed at this time. It was like living in deja vu, reliving your mother’s death all over again. Your father had shut you out, making you deal with the grief on your own. The only person you had to confide in was Bradley.

“You worry about the Prince having your head, this is one sure way to solidify that one,” Bradley joked. You sucked in a sharp breath, both from his joke and from the way Clara tugged at your corset, “Sorry.”

“Always playing the fool, Bradley,” You shook your head.

“You are done, my lady,” Clara said.

You thanked her, and pushed the curtain back, seeing Bradley indulge himself in one of the various bottles of wine that had been sitting on your bookshelf. They had been gifts from some of the noblemen. He was dressed in black as well, but for him, that was not a new sight. You hated the color black and had forbidden it to be in your closet. When the Castle went into mourning, you actually had to borrow a dress from Jake’s sister Margeret.

“What is it that you are looking for, Lord Bradshaw?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I came to see how you are fairing, Lady Mitchell,” Bradley said, pouring both himself and you a goblet of wine, “I know this is not easy for you. I wanted to see how you are getting along with the Prince.”

You rolled your eyes, “I would get along better with a goat than the Prince.”

“Not good?”

“Awful,” You sighed and sat down on the couch. Bradley took up residence in the chair in front of you, “I have tried everything, Bradley, to get him to talk to me, but he won’t.”

The night of the King’s death, you didn’t expect Jake to come and seek you out. You knew that he was going to be with his mother and sisters. However, you did expect it to be going on for nearly a week. You had seen him around palace grounds, and every time you tried to strike up a conversation, trying to get to know him and see how he was fairing. But he didn’t seem to have the time of day for you. You changed up your tactic, deciding to leave gifts for him in his chambers.

It started with having the baker make extra sweet cakes for him at dinner, except the cakes were almost always left on the table when you went to look in the middle of the night. Then, you had found some paintings in the square you thought he might like and had them delivered to his chambers. But you say one of the pageboys carrying them out with the trash the next morning. And last night, you had decided to give him one of your mother’s poetry books, leaving it yourself, right outside his door with a handwritten note. But, the book had been returned, with the note still attached, to right outside your chamber door this morning.

“I don’t know what to do,” You shook your head, “How can I do my duty if he won’t even speak or look at me!”

“Seduce him.”

“Bradley!”

“What!?” He chuckled, setting his cup down, “I am serious. What is the worst that can happen? You are already betrothed,” You scoffed and tossed a pillow at him, “He is the Prince of Brinefell. The Crown Whore Prince. You have to get on his level. Engage in the things he likes. Seduction has more benefits than harm in this case, Ducky. It might just be the only way for you to get through to him.”

“I don’t want to sell my virtue.”

“You’ll have to sell it eventually,” Bradley shrugged.

“I… I don’t know about this,” You fiddled with your fingers as your ears started to turn red. It took Bradley a moment before it dawned on him.

“You’ve never-“

“Hush!” You basically leaped from your seat and covered Bradley’s mouth with your hand, “By Gods, shut your mouth!” Bradley chuckled and removed your hand.

“I can not say that I am surprised but I also am surprised. You do know who you spawn from, right?”

You rolled your eyes and sat back on your knees, “I have read about how women seduce their husbands. I know… what to do. It’s just how do I actually do it?”

“Well,” Bradley said and shifted in his seat, so he was sitting back against the couch cushions, “Here’s my advice.”

— — —

It was late, the witching hour, as you carefully walked through the halls of the castle. You had to dodge the watchful eye of the guards and maids. If you were caught out this late, the rumors would run wild. You had already heard the gossip about you. Some of the maids had recognized your familiar features to your sister and wondered if you were as liberated as she was.

The night air was cool against your skin. You had dug into the back of your robe closet to find a nightgown that was a gift for Allison. It was the lightest shade of pink, with the finest traces of lace on the skirt. Your cheeks heated as you felt your nipples harden as the brush of cold air on your skin. The top of the dress was sheer, giving little to the imagination, but was just perfect for what you had planned. You pulled your dressing gown tight against your body as you made your way down the candlelit hall.

“My lady?” You gasped and turned, coming face to face with Lord Floyd.

“My lord Floyd,” You greeted, and he gave you a small bow.

“What are you doing out so late? It is unsafe for a woman to-”

“I could not find sleep,” You spoke, cutting him off and pulling your dressing gown tightly against your body. Lord Floyd’s blue eyes bore into you and it felt like he knew what your true intentions were. He was best friends with Prince Jake, he knew his every move.

But, if Lord Floyd knew what you were up to, he saved you the embarrassment of saying it out loud, “Very well,” He nodded his head, “You ought to be on your way. It is not safe or proper for a lady of your renown to be walking the castle at night.”

“Yes, Lord Floyd,” You bowed your head as he walked past you, going back on his way. You let out a slow breath and continued your journey to the Prince’s room.

— — —

The fire felt warm as Jake sat in front of it, a goblet of wine in his hand, his green eyes locked on the orange flame in front of him. The flame’s warmth was the only thing that Jake felt these days. After spending hours tending to his mother and setting preparations for his father’s funeral, Jake was drained emotionally and physically. He had never seen his mother so broken and lost. She was always a force to be reckoned with, now, Jake feared that he’d be planning her funeral soon. He sighed, bowing his head slightly and bringing the chalice up to his lips. No amount of wine in the world could help numb the pain in his heart.

A gentle knock at his door pulled him from his wallowing thoughts. Jake furrowed his eyebrows as he looked over at the cedar door. If it was any of his men, they knew to just walk in unless the door was locked. Another knock had Jake on his feet, walking to open the door. A small gasp sounded out as he pulled the door open, coming face to face with his future bride.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked, and stepped out into the hallway, looking both ways to see if anyone was around. He quickly ushered her into the room, shutting the door and locking it, “Have you gone mad? Wondering the palace at night?”

You gulped, shaking your head, “N-No, your grace,” You quickly curstied, showing him the respect he deserved. You look up at him, your doe eyes wide.

Jake gestured for you to stand up, and you obliged standing up. His eyes raked over your body, taking in the red dressing coat and the light pink skirt that poked out underneath. You froze in your spot as Jake stepped towards you, his fingers going to the tie of your dressing coat. He pulled the tie, letting it fall open revealing your nightgown. Jake sucked in a breath as he took in the sight of your breasts clothed in sheer linen.

“What is it you come here for, my Lady?” Jake asked, his voice low.

“To please you, my Prince,” You said, your eyes not leaving his.

In an instant you felt his lips on yours, the taste of wine on his tongue. You had never been kissed like this, and it sent a sort of heat spreading through your body. Your hands quickly went to his blonde locks, tugging on them slightly. He groaned as his hands pushed the dressing coat from your body, letting the red fabric pool on the ground. Jake walked the two of you backward, leading you to his bed. The back of your knees hit the mattress, and Jake gently lifted you up to lay you down on the bed. He crawled up your body, one of his hands going under your nightgown, lightly tracing up your thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as Jake’s lips grazed up your neck, placing feather-light kisses on your skin. You felt heat rise in your eyes as his hand drew near your cunt. You had never been touched there, and to be touched there now, made your heart race and your stomach flip with nerves. Jake must’ve sensed your anxiety as he settled his hand on your bare thigh and his lips stopped below your ear.

“Hath, you lain in the bed of another?” Jake whispered in your ear.

You sucked in a breath and looked at him. Your eyes were glassy with unshed tears, “No, my Lord.”

Every fiber in Jake’s being was screaming at him. Part of him wanted you. There was no denying that you were an attractive woman. Your beauty was one that he’d only seen in painting and read about in poetry. The other part of him wanted to savor the innocence that you had. He knew soon enough that the two of you would lay together in the marital bed and be forced to perform married couple duties. He knew girls like you, girls who had been raised to be noblewomen and princesses. He knew that keeping your virtue until the wedding was important.

Jake sighed as he pulled his hand out from under your nightgown, pulling the dress back down to cover your skin. He laid his stomach on your abdomen, running his thumb over your clothed hipbone.

You were confused as you looked down at Jake. You weren’t sure if this was a part of sex or what was happening. Bradley hadn’t told you about this part.

“My lord?” You asked quietly.

“Get out,” Jake mumbled. He sat up and turned his back to you, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He waited a moment, before standing up and walking out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

A small escaped your lips, as you tried to bite back the tears that had started to fall.

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ilreleonewikiart · 2 months ago

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TDIOBCB challenge - day 22:

Aegon and Daenaera's wedding in 136 AC

"The highly anticipated union between Prince Aegon Targaryen and Lady Daenaera Velaryon was a grand spectacle, unparalleled and captivating the hearts of all fortunate enough to bear witness. The Dragonpit, the sole edifice in the entire capital city capable of accommodating the nearly seventy thousand guests, overflowed with exuberance and anticipation as the two young lovers made their entrance. (…) The clamour was momentarily silenced by the resounding roar of a dragon, signifying the arrival of the bridegroom. The world seemed to hold its breath as Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, adorned in a simple yet regal ensemble of dark blue velvet and golden filigree, strode into the Dragonpit.(…) Innumerable songs and artworks would emerge in the years that followed, all striving to immortalize that precise instant when every soul, from the foremost to the rearmost, pivoted to behold the entrance of the youthful and graceful bride. Nevertheless, words alone proved feeble in capturing the awe-inspiring spectacle that unfolded within those grand walls on that spring morning. The bride, the only child of the late Lady Laena, with her flawless visage adorned with clear, brilliant blue eyes and a cascade of the purest silver hair, appeared as if plucked from the pages of a tome, her very presence an embodiment of beauty. (…) But it was the magnificent gown she wore, concealed mostly beneath her house's sigil-adorned cloak, that attracted all the bulk of the attention, stirring deep envy and boundless admiration among many a lady and noblewoman. It was clear to all, even the most unrefined, that the gown was an exemplar of craftsmanship and quality; a far cry from the pedestrian attire donned by noblewomen in the countryside, woven from fabrics procured from merchants of dubious repute, in their delusion of appearing as capital ladies. This exquisite creation was hewn from genuine and precious white silk sourced from the distant isle of Leng, wich under the sun's gaze, gleamed with blue and silver hues, akin to summer sea waves. The fabric, inherently precious, was adorned throughout with intricate undulating silver embroideries, reminiscent of the tranquil ebb and flow of ocean tides, a testament to the artistry of Myrish weavers; even the jewellery was of an exceptional nature, forged from the most precious shells, the whitest mother-of-pearl, and the most delicate corals, all procured from the shores of Driftmark, specially presented by her cousin, the Lord, for this momentous occasion. (…) The prince and his princess looked ethereal, as if they were celestial beings brought down to grace the mortal realm. The splendor of the late morning light, filtered through the large oval opening in the center of the colossal stone dome above them, bathed them in a radiant glow, making them shine like stars in the night sky. The mere sight of the kiss they exchanged sent the whole arena into raptures."

- from TDIOBCB chp 2

(warning: these illustrations are inspired by an AU Divergence and have nothing to do with canon (book or tv show) events and are not meant to be reposted outside of their contest)

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catherinetheprincessofwales · 8 months ago

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Kate is not your drama queen Her self-possession drives people wild - Jenny McCartney UnHerd.

Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage. In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies”, which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge. The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished”. Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character”.

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar. The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive”. Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at. That was true, but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait: which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes. Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate. That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline. The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides. Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews. Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class. She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously. The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job: to turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner. This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art. A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality. Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite. Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted? The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty. The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged. When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist. In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit. In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect. Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character”, meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others. In recent years the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health. The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy, but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story: “People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’sTom McTague. In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers. Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it. There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser”, but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends. Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children. Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood; she seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide. Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox. Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

In Jean Rhys’s Good Morning, Midnight,a middle-aged English woman called Sasha Jansen, mourning an unhappy marriage and a dead child, finds herself in Paris, a vulnerable drifter seeking solace from stray men. Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations. As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it: “Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her. When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”. Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends. The dramatic collided with the dutiful, and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys. Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic. She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution: hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon. The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem. In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations. What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency. It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery, and was taking time to recover. And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed. According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions. Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty. Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.” The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks. Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice: her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama. With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

#ktd #kate middleton #british royal family #brf #princess of wales

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thepastisalreadywritten · 8 months ago

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Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel (6 July 1952 – 22 September 2022) delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage.

In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies,” which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge.

The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished."

Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character.”

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar.

The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive.”

Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at.

That was true but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait:

Which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes.

Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate.

That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline.

The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides.

Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews.

Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class.

She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously.

The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job:

To turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner.

This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art.

A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality.

Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite.

Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted?

The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up.

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty.

The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema, or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged.

When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character,” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist.

In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit.

In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect.

Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character,” meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others.

In recent years, the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health.

The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story:

“People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’s Tom McTague.

In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers.

Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it.

There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser,” but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends.

Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children.

Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood.

She seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide.

Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox.

Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations.

As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it:

“Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her.

When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee,” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”

Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends.

The dramatic collided with the dutiful and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys.

Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage, and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic.

She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution:

Hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon.

The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem.

In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations.

What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency.

It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery and was taking time to recover.

And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed.

According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions.

Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty.

Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.”

The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks.

Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice:

Her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama.

With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #cancer #chemotherapy #preventative chemotherapy #disinformation #misinformation #fake news #trolls #bots #click farms #targeted attack #malicious gossips

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ice-cream-writes-stuff · 2 years ago

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Jail-bird

《Yandere Talon!Dick Grayson x Reader》

Talon Dick Grayson. A soldier for the Court of Owls. One of the most highly trained, ruthless, cold-blooded assassins in the selection.

In This Au: He wasn't able to be saved by Bruce, instead taken in by the court as a child soldier. Raised with knowledge and used in many missions, playing any part or role perfectly without missing a beat.

He was flawless in every single way, but tainted in his entire core.

People on the street swoon at his beauty and stature. Every step is graceful but calculated.

His smiles don't reach his eyes.

Often travels due to the missions he is assigned by the court.

Overall, he lives in a simple apartment complex in a middle to lower class apartment in Büldhaven. His cover, the real identity he threw away when he was taken by the court.

His neighbors like him, but not much is known about him. They chalk it up to him being shy and a private person.

He toys with his victims before their curtains close.

"You are way too.. What's the word..." You mumble, watching your friend stare at the glittering white curtains surrounding the ballroom. "Buff, I'm gonna be honest. You could easily become a heavy weight champ with your strength." You laughed, placing the white colored cream cake on the table.

You sigh sweetly at the table where the bride and groom would sit.

"Weddings, huh?" Dick asked, side-eyeing your sweet expression.

You hum at him, "Yup, someday.. Hey, who knows? Maybe you'll find your own partner someday, too." You state, glancing over at your companion. Their eyes a little to brigh for your liking.

[Ta-da!!! I have to go through all my drafts and either delete them or finish.. Aughhh, it's my spring cleaning...]

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dedeinthewild · 26 days ago

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paul aron x reader, friends to lovers

~ "you've got an insanely beautiful smile"

"stop simping over me you creep"

A few timid lights illuminated the frescoed ceilings of a small chapel just outside Tallinn, while in the background, a pair of oversized glasses was strumming a song on the guitar, and she was walking down the aisle. The small blue flowers embroidered on her long, white dress resembled the bows that tickled the arms of the guests, who were rising from the dark wooden pews to watch her. And at the end of the walk, with an almost triumphant smile that hid the emotion making him tremble, the love of her life was waiting for her.

At the back of the church, in the last row, Paul and his companion were trying to stifle their laughter. He kept his chin up and his lips pressed tight, his gaze fixed on a cherub whose halo had been drawn crooked, while next to him, she was staring at her hands, trying to stop giggling.

“Kallis, stop,” his mother touched his shoulder, where a new black suit hugged the body of the driver.

The more they tried to steer their minds away from the image of the bride tripping on the marble floor, or the pastor spilling the wax from those beautiful, fragrant candles on his freshly polished loafers, the more they laughed.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” she said, pinching the boy’s arm and flashing a sweet smile at the woman sitting at the end of the row.

“It’s never your fault, darling.”

Paul bit his lower lip, still focused on the idea that the crooked halo could keep him from bursting into laughter while the whole church was silent. As the priest officiated the ceremony and the guests watched the couple from the pews, the two of them managed to compose themselves and enjoy the tender looks of the engaged couple.

“See? When you want to be serious, you’re flawless,” she joked, whispering.

The driver turned, locking eyes with the honey-colored ones in front of him, and gave an arrogant little smirk that made her shake her head. He raised both his index fingers, turning his hands toward her, and she looked at him as if to ask if he was really doing it, then gave in and mimicked him. It was an old childhood game she had taught him while they waited for their order at a fast food restaurant in London, and ever since, he loved challenging her, always losing.

“That’s not fair.”

“Everything’s fair,” she laughed. Every time, she came up with some new rule, and Paul would pout, thinking about the next move as if it were a life-or-death matter.

“Little kids,” Margit shrugged, smiling as she watched them having fun, resigned to the fact that those two wouldn’t stop talking all day.

The church then burst into music, accompanied by the guitar, and the newlyweds walked out hand in hand toward the beautiful courtyard, where the cars awaited to take them to the reception. Paul and she were among the last to leave, still arguing about the just-finished round of their little game.

“See how he smiles?” Anna Aron was talking to her older brother, also a pilot, in a shaded corner of the courtyard.

“They match each other,” he shrugged slightly, watching how Paul stood behind her, hands in his pockets, as if always wanting her by his side.

She still hadn’t quite figured out how she’d ended up at an Estonian wedding, the daughter of an old family friend of the Arons, but something about that fresh, sunny day made her feel light. Maybe it was the white blouse Margit had gifted her, or having that blond guy next to her, who was the true embodiment of the saying “every curl, a whim.” But she was happy. Amid the tufts of little blue flowers, a ribbon tied around her wrist that Paul had taken from one of the pews, and her hair falling softly over her shoulders.

Everyone was congratulating the couple, talking about how beautiful the bride’s dress was and how lucky they were to have such a lovely day for their wedding, while others were already looking forward to the buffet awaiting them.

“Who’s with me?” Ralf asked, spinning his car keys in his hand, while the older brother would be with his family.

“Anna wants to go with Mom and Dad,” Paul said, taking off his jacket, folding it neatly, and draping it over his arm.

“So I’m stuck with you, good,” the older one smiled. “She takes the passenger seat.”

“And I stay in the back like a child?”

Ralf turned, raising his eyebrows as they walked down the tree-lined avenue.

“Exactly.”

The three of them got into the car, following everyone else who was heading to the venue for the evening. She leaned back in the seat, looking out the window as she played with the ribbon the pilot had tied around her wrist.

“Mom’s done with you two.”

“She’s not,” the younger one promptly replied, leaving his jacket on the seat next to him.

Ralf playfully glanced at his brother’s friend, accelerating to overtake the car in front and follow the family caravan.

She found it amusing to see them together, given that the few times she and Paul had met had been at Grand Prix events, and Ralf was often busy in his category on the other side of the world. Among the red flowers peeking through the grass blades and the songs on the radio, while the two brothers chatted and she laughed, the three of them arrived at the reception and joined the Aron family.

“Eat as much as you can, the bill’s on the lovebirds,” Paul whispered in her ear.

While waiting to be assigned a table, the driver took her hair in his hands, pulling it into a ponytail without realizing it, exposing her neck and shoulders. Then they were guided to their table, where they sat to listen to speeches from all the bridesmaids and a short guitar song before starting to eat. She had only been to one Italian wedding, but even just during dinner, she noticed how Estonians were much more elegant and composed than her relatives, who by now would have been dancing on tables. As they ate, the background music kept that light atmosphere that had followed them since the church, and the chatter was soft, making it a really pleasant time to spend in good company.

A little while later, Paul got up, while Anna and Ralf were already busy playing with their older brother’s children, and he approached her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Wanna dance?”

“Do you even know me?” she didn’t even look at him, knowing he had a smirk on his face and one of his blonde curls was falling over his blue eyes.

“Come on, when will we ever attend a wedding together again?”

He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching his mom talking with a friend.

“I hate that I can’t say no to you.”

Margit smiled, resting her head on her husband’s hand, while by now everyone was dancing, and no one remembered the dinner anymore.

Paul took her hand, leading her to the open space they had created outside the glass conservatory where the tables were, with a light breeze caressing their skin. There too, a few small lights were illuminating the colorful outfits of the guests and a few crystal glasses left with a pair of high heels.

He wasn’t much of a dancer, and like her, he preferred to sit and chat, watching others dance. But when she was around him, he felt as if he were a completely different person, and knowing that one day she might leave as unexpectedly as she had arrived, he wanted to enjoy every moment.

“How do you do this?” she smiled.

“I’ve only seen it in films,” Paul replied, chuckling softly.

The pilot took one of her hands and placed it just where her ribs ended, knowing the height difference was too much for her to wrap her arms around his neck, then grabbed her by the hips, starting to improvise some random steps.

“You’re so bad,” she was laughing, her eyes crinkling as she looked at him, and he felt so good that if he could, he would have taken that light she had inside her and replaced the chandeliers with it.

“Thank you, you’re really good too,” he teased.

There was something in the way they never explicitly said they were friends that preserved that bond, keeping them close. From the outside, it might have seemed a little childish, perhaps strange to those who didn’t live it. But to them, it was refreshing.

“You’ve got an insanely beautiful smile,” he sighed, while all around them, people were dancing, talking, and enjoying the music.

Paul had unbuttoned a few buttons on the white shirt he was wearing, and the hair he had carefully styled in front of the mirror was now free and soft.

“Stop simping over me, you creep,” she smiled, watching him laugh as he looked at the other couples dancing.

In her eyes, there was that blue ribbon, those little flowers the bride had in her bouquet and embroidered on her dress. In Paul’s eyes, there was everything that made her love that day and that would bring back all the light she was seeking in herself.

please do not steal or claim my work as yours, it's my first time publishing here so be kind and enjoy :)

~ not proofread and english's not my first language so there might be a few errors

#f2 #f1 #paul aron #ralf aron #prema racing #hitech #imagine #motorsports #friends to lovers

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