#Fit and flare gown
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sabitagupta ¡ 3 months ago
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Designer Evening Gowns | Elegant Evening Dresses – Label Gayatri Bishnoi
Explore designer evening gowns, fit & flare gowns, and lace evening dresses. Shop elegant styles for weddings, cocktail parties & more at Label Gayatri Bishnoi.
Designer evening gowns, Fit and flare gown, Lavender ombre saree gown, Evening dress tulle, Evening gown lace
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rsstoai ¡ 2 months ago
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Soft Fit And Flare Wedding Dress 10 Stunning & Gowns
In summary, fit and flare wedding gowns offer a flattering silhouette, versatility in style, comfort, and timeless appeal. This style accentuates the waist and
#Soft #Fit #And #Flare #Wedding #Dress #10 #Stunning #Gowns
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fashionfrenzee ¡ 6 months ago
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inddus ¡ 8 months ago
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Flowy, festive, fabulous 💫 Drape yourself in timeless charm!🖤🛍️ . .
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inky-duchess ¡ 2 months ago
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Fantasy Guide to Fashion of the Victorian Era
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(Yes, all of it)
Since I started these historical fashion references, one that seems to be the most popular is the Victorian era and for a while, I put it off because its a big undertaking. I mean, its sixty odd years and fashion changed so much. But I have an afternoon free and a cup of coffee so fuck it, we ball.
Undergarments
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Undergarments fundamentally remained mostly the same throughout the era but due to changing silhouettes, certain things changed.
Women
Chemise: This is the underdress worn by all women under everything else. It would have made of linen and cotton and like most of the clothes of the Victorian era, changed with the times. In the early period (1837-40s), the chemise was loose and commonly knee length. The next twenty years, 1850s-1870s, the chemise got slightly more fitted. In the 1880s, due to the changing shape of evening gowns which we will discuss later on, sleeves chemises started being worn. Became more fitted as corsets tightened. Some chemises featured lace or embroidery for elegance.
Pantaloons: These are linen or cotton pants like items of clothing. They weren't really popular in the early end of the era but after crinolines started being used, they became a staple. Toward the end of the era, the pantaloons became wider and more flared.
Combinations: This is an undergarment worn from the 1870s on that combined the upper and lower layers into a single unit - almost like a longer version of a bodysuit. The crotch was split to allow the lady the freedom to use the lavatory.
Corset: Corsets are the structured garment that is worn on the upper body to support the breasts. It wasn't all about giving a lady a snatched waist. The corset started out longer in the 1830s-40s and the boning was commonly whalebone (Not actually bones of whales) if your lady can afford it or a substitute. In the 1850s-60s, corsets were shorter, the boning was replaced with steel which lent to the more rigid figure ladies were after. In the 70s-80s, corsets adopted a more prominent curve at the waist in order to support the bustle of the decades. The 90s, saw corsets becoming less restrictive and more breathable with more flexible options for boning.
Corset covers: Were like short vests worn over the corset to protect the fabric of the dress from the eyelets and fastenings of the corset worn from about 1840 on.
Hip pads: Worn tied around the hips to take the pressure off the hips frol the corset and bustle, worn around the 1870s-80s.
Stockings: Stockings essentially stayed the same but different fabrics and ways of securing them did change over time. The 1830s-40s, stockings were secured by a garter ribbon and usually made of wool or cotton. Wealthier women could opt for a patterns or a higher quality of fabric. The 1850s-60s, saw the rise of the silken stockings for wealthier women but the way of securing them remained the same. The 1880s-1901, saw the appearance of elastic garters and plain black stockings became more popular than colour.
Crinolines: A crinoline was a hooped petticoat that made skirts wider. These were made of linen and horsehair at first but crinolines were soon fashioned out of light spring steel. Working class women did wear them but they were much less pronounced and lighter. In the early Victorian era, crinolines were not used. But in the 1850s-60s, women started to wear them and by the late 60s, the biggest crinolines would span the skirts to almost five feet. Crinolines are so tied to our idea of the Victorian era but they were really only around for a short period of time.
Bustles: Bustles were there to add more junk to a lady's trunk, if you will. They were padded cushion like things or frameworks used to enhance the back of a lady's gown. Wealthy women had very prominent bustles while working class women would have worn them less pronounced. Bustles were worn in the 1870s-80s, just on the heels of the death of the crinoline. But once the 90s hit, the bustle lost popularity and skirts became slimmer.
Petticoats: Petticoats are lighter skirts of linen and cotton worn in layers over structured garments and under the main dress. They were worn for warmth and for structure. Before the dawn of the crinoline and the bustle, multiple layers of petticoats were used to add volume to the skirts. But during the crinoline and bustle eras, petticoats were no longer worn for volume but to keep the layers from snagging on each other. Women from wealthy classes and working class women both wore petticoats, but working class women wore much sturdier ones while the wealthier women would have worn lighter and more decorated versions.
Men
Shirts: Under-shirts were worn as a base layer for men. The shirts were usually made of cotton or linen and had long sleeves. In the early Victorian era, shirts were longer and worn tucked into trousers and had high collars. In the 1850s-60s, shirts became stiffer; they were pleated at the front and the collars were lower and stiffened. By the 1870s-80s, shirts became even more stiffer thanks to the trend of starch and worn with detachable collars which would be held in place with pins. By the 1890s-1901, shirts became a part of outerwear rather than a base layer retaining the starch and detachable collars.
Drawers: These are linen/cotton underpants. In the 1830s-40s, they were loose and worn long at the knee. Drawers in the 1850s-60s, became more fitted and flannel was beginning to become a popular fabric. In the 1870s-80s, drawers got even longer, reaching mid-calf and were now secured with buttons at the waist. Drawers remained popular for wealthier men past this point.
Union Suits: Union suits were a singular item of clothing that combined the underwear to a long-sleeved shirt. They were mainly worn by working class men, especially men who worked outside. Though invented in the 60s, they were not popular until the end of the era. And yes, they could go to the bathroom in them. There were two helpful flaps.
Stockings: Stockings were worn by men, usually made of wool or cotton and held in place by garters. Wealthier men opted for silk stockings around the 1850s-60s. Like the women, elastic stockings emerged around the later part of the era. Stockings were also secured by stocking suspenders, which were clipped to the waist for support.
Suspenders: Men did not wear belts in this era so suspenders were the only way to hold up one's pants. They were worn under waistcoats. In the early period from the 1830s-1850s, suspenders were made from leather or woven fabric and attached with buttons. In the 1860s-1880s, suspenders became elasticated and thanks to Mark Twain, yes that one, they became adjustable. From the 1890s to 1901, suspenders were still popular but belts were taking over and suspenders were mainly worn by the upper class as a symbol of sophistication.
Day Wear
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If the undergarments only changed a little, the outer layers changed significantly. Fashion really took off in this era, giving us some of the most recognisable silhouettes.
Women
Day wear for women changed with each decade due to changing status symbols and expectations. I'm going to break it down to skirts, sleeves, hats and bodices to show the differences between each era.
Skirts:
1830s-1840s: Wealthier women favoured dresses that sported wide skirts. Working class women had less voluminous skirts.
1850s-1860s: Wealthier women wore very large crinolines that expanded the skirts into an extreme bell-shape. Working class women wore crinolines too but their skirts did not reach the volume of the wealthier class, mainly out of practicality.
1870s-1880s: As I mentioned above, wealthy women wore very prominent bustles which sort of pulled back the skirts giving it a flat shape to the front and a larger bump in the back (the mullet of dresses if you will). Working class women also wore bustled skirts and they were far less pronounced.
1890s-1901: Skirts became simpler in shape for both classes and now could be worn as part of a two piece suit or as a dress.
Bodice
1830s-1840s: Bodices of this era featured high necklines for day wear and ended in a V-shape, to make that waist look snatched.
1850s-1860s: Bodices started to become more structured and the necklines began lower slightly, taking on square or more rounded shapes.
1870s-1880s: High collars came back into fashion and bodices became longer. The tailored jacket look started to become popular for both upper class and working class.
1890s-1901: Bodices became longer and the tailored jacket and skirt combo was still alive and well worn by both upper and working class women.
Sleeves
1830s-1840s: The gigot or leg o' mutton sleeves became popular in the 1830s. Theses were very large at the upper arm and slimmed down as it reach the wrist. Toward the end of the decade, sleeves became a little more fitted. Pagoda sleeves were also popular in this decade, where the sleeve was more voluminous toward the elbows. These were worn by both classes, with the working class women wearing far more understated versions while the wealthier ladies went a bit crazy with it.
1850s-1860s: This decade saw the rise of the bishop sleeves. This sleeve was gathered at the shoulder and slimmed toward the wrist for a close fit. Bishop sleeves slimmed down at the decade came to a close but the pagoda sleeves became even wider. Working class women would wear versions of them but much more refined versions.
1870s-1880s: Sleeves began to adopt a little puff at the top with a slim sleeve that gradually grew larger as the decade drew to the close. Both classes of women would have worn them but working class women would wear slimmer fitting sleeves.
1890s-1901: The leg o' mutton sleeves emerged again and they were back and bigger than ever at the early part of the era, large and in charge at the top and gradually thinning as it reached the wrist. As the decade closed out, the puffy shoulders started to get way slimmer.
Hats
1830s -1840s: Bonnets were worn by both classes, usually of straw or cloth. They would cover the ears and all the hair. By the 40s, velvet and silk was starting to become a popular fabric for the upper class. Working class women would also wear bonnets. During the end of the decade, bonnets began to pull back from the face. Working class women might wear a mob cap while working. Neither class of women would leave the house without a bonnet. Hats could be decorated with ribbons and cloth flowers.
1850s-1860s: Bonnets were still worn but hats became taller with and higher crown. The upper class became to make decorations more ostentatious, with fabric flowers, feathers and jewelled broaches. Working women would still wear their hair under caps when working but would wear simpler versions of the bonnet and the newer taller versions. By the end of the decade, hats began to get smaller and sailor hats and toques started to become popular. This was mainly due to large hairstyles worn by the 60s but hats were still heavily decorated.
1870s-1880s: Bonnets grew higher-crowned with wider brims that turned upwards from the face, by the end of the decade ladies were wearing larger and flatter designs. The embellishments got even more excessive. Working class women would wear less extravagant versions while out and about, wearing caps while working. To keep these often heavy and cumbersome hats in place, women would secure hats with pins, which were long needle like implements that doubled as tools for self-defence.
1890s-1901: Wide-brimmed hats were popular and decoration got every out of hand for upper class ladies. The demand for feathers saw to the extinction of many birds. But as the decade ended, some women especially the working class started wearing much smaller and flatter versions of the brimmed hats like boaters so they could be more active.
Men
Day wear for men did change over the decades, but the changes were more subtle than the ladies.
1830s-1840s: In this era, men wore trousers, shirts and coats. Frock coats was the most popular style of coat for during the day and as the decade wore on, they became longer and more fitted for the wealthier set of men. For working class men, simple coats of wool were popular. Waistcoats were often worn in this decade by both classes, the working class would wear them far more simpler while the wealthy class favoured louder patterns and fabrics. Trousers were high-waisted and slim for the wealthy class, it was even popular to wear them with instep straps to keep the trousers as straight as possible. The working class favoured a straight leg and also. Shirts for the wealthy class would have high stiff collars, worn with stock ties and cravats. Working class men would also wear cravats but their collars wouldn't be as high. Wealthy men would pair it with a top hat while working class men favoured flat caps.
1850s-1860s: The frock coat was still in fashion for the wealthy class but the fabrics changed over time and men favoured double-breasted coats in this era. The paletot was also worn in this era, featuring a peaked lapels and was worn unbelted. Working class men stuck with the same style of coat. Working class men stuck with the same waistcoats and trousers. Shirt collars were lower for both classes and both continued to wear cravats and ties.
1870s-1880s: This era featured more change for the men. This was the era of the morning coat and tailored suit, frock coats started to become less popular. Working class men wore sack suit jackets, which were less fitted and easier to move in. Trousers started to get slimmer again for both classes. Wealthy men started to carry walking sticks along with their top hats and gloves while working class men carried on with their flat caps.
1890s-1901: This is the era of the three-piece suit, where the jackets, trousers and waistcoat would all match. Trousers remained slim and jackets got shorter. The working class wore three piece suits also but these were more practical and made of sturdier fabrics.
Evening Wear
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The Victorian age was still an age to party and evening wear was different to what anybody would wear outside on the street.
Women
1830s-1840s: For the wealthy, evening gowns sported large skirts, tight bodices and short sleeves that bared the shoulders. Wealthy women would accessorise with long gloves, fans and decorative combs for their hair. Working class women would stick to a simpler silhouette but the skirts would be as thick as they could afford and often sported high waists. Working class women had higher necklines for their evening wear and would usually wear whatever jewellery they had.
1850s-1860s: For the wealthy, skirts were even wider thanks to crinolines, necklines were lower and usually square or sweetheart in shape. Sleeves were puffed and short. Again women would carry fans and wear gloves. Working class women again would stick to a simpler silhouette with long sleeves though they could wear shorter sleeves if they wanted. They would style it with whatever jewellery, usually a nice broach.
1870s-1880s: For the wealthy, with crinolines gone and bustles in, skirts were less bell shaped and now, flat at the front with the bustle in the back to add volume. DĂŠcolletĂŠ necklines showed off the shoulders and upper chest. Gloves were a must. Working class women again kept it simpler, their bustles much smaller. Necklines were lower but far higher than that of the wealthy class.
1890s-1901: For wealthier women, evening gowns grew slimmer and the dĂŠcolletĂŠ styles neckline remained popular. Gloves were a must. For the working class, women would wear slimmer gored skirts with square or v-necklines, still higher than that of the wealthy class. Again they would pair this with whatever jewellery they had.
Men
1830s-1840s: Wealthy men would wear tailcoats, with waistcoats of rich pattern and fabrics. Trousers like daywear remained narrow and might have featured a stirrup to keep them straight. Cravats would be of richer fabric and often pinned with more expensive pins. Cufflinks would also be worn. Top hats tied the look together. For the working class, men would likely wear a clean outfit very much like they would wear during the day.
1850s-1860s: Wealthy men still hung on to tailcoats but this era saw the rise of the tuxedo jacket, waistcoats got shorter and it was popular for them to be double-breasted. Cravats were abandoned for bow ties and men adopted leather shoes to tie the look together. Top hats were still a must. Working class men began to adopt the sack suit jacket for evening wear but they typically wore day wear suits on evenings out.
1870s-1880s: The wealthy men started to wear waistcoats with lapels, bowties became standard for evening wear and dinner jackets overtook tailcoats. Working class men stuck to the sack suit jacket and their day wear.
1890s-1901: Wealthy men's waistcoats started to get more fitted and started sticking to plain white or cream. Bow ties got smaller and tuxedos became the prominent style of evening wear. Opera hats overtook top hats both both would still be worn. Working class men still stuck to using a clean day wear suit on a night out.
Bed Wear
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The Victorians also had a whole wardrobe to go to bed in.
Women
1830s-1840s: Both classes of women wore nightgowns, that featured high-necklines and long sleeves. Nightgowns were loose and comfortable for both classed but wealthy women could afford finer cotton and linen and had more elaborate decoration while working class women had simpler versions. Nightcaps would be worn to protect the hair.
1850s-1860s: Nightgowns were still worn by both classes and the working class version remained the same but wealthier women started to opt for more opulent versions with ruffles, trims and embroidery. Nightcaps are still worn.
1870s-1880s: Wealthy women started to wear nightgowns with more fitted waists while working class women stuck the same style.
1890s-1901: Wealthy women's nightgowns became much lighter and delicate and working class women still stuck with the simple nightgown but sometimes adopted more softer fabrics and designs when available.
Men
1830s-1840s: Both classes would wear nightshirts which were basically oversized shirts. Wealthy men could afford finer fabrics and often paired their bed time gear with a robe, matching slippers and a dapper nightcap. Working class men would wear nightshirts of more sturdy fabric, like flannel and would wear nightcaps.
1850s-1860s: Wealthy Men began to wear more tailored and finer nightshirts while working class men stuck with the simpler version.
1870s-1880s: The nightshirt remained the same for both classes.
1890s-1901: The nightshirt remained the staple but pyjamas started to pick up popularity, for both classes all but taking over the nightshirt by the end of the Victorian era.
Children
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Children experienced a boom in fashion during the Victorian age. It was in this era where children's fashion started to follow trends.
1830s-1840s: Wealthy young boys would wear something call a skeleton suit which featured a short jacket paired with high-waisted trousers. Young girls would wear similar dresses to adult women, only scaled down. Working class children would wear similar clothes to their parents also. Boys would wear dresses up until the age of 6 and then transition to shorts and then trousers when they reached their teens.
1850s-1860s: Wealthy Boys wore short jackets and knee-length trousers and wealthy girls would wear short dresses until their teens, where the hem would be gradually let down as they approached their teens. Working-class children stayed mostly the same. Boys would wear dressed until 5 and then moved to shorts, then to trousers as they aged.
1870s-1880s: Wealthy girls would wear bustle like dresses which were still short and were lowered as they aged. Wealthy boys would wear shorts and jackets until they aged toward trousers. Working class children wore the same style. Older girls would start wearing corsets.
1890s-1901: Wealthy children began to wear more practical clothes. Sailor suits were popular for young boys and girls started wearing looser dresses. Working class children started wearing less restrictive clothes but similar to the style of their parents.
Children's clothes used as a signal to show how close they were to adulthood by style and cut of their clothes. Working class children might adopt adult styles a little later but this is an average guide.
Boys
0-5/6: Boys would have worn dresses with pantalettes underneath.
6-8: Out of dresses, boys would wear knickerbockers/short trousers with shirts and jackets.
12-14: Boys started to wear long trousers and started wearing clothes resembling men's wear.
16-18: The boys would start to wear suits.
Girls
0-5/6: Girls wore short dresses with pantalettes.
7-10: Dresses would start to become slightly longer and would mimic adult styles.
12-16: Girls started would start wearing corsets, their skirts would start to be let down even more.
18+: By 18, a girl would start adopting adult fashions with all the trimmings.
Hair and Make-up
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Victorians are known for being stiff and traditional so the idea of make-up was little scandalous for them, since make-up was associated with... women who were on stage *gasp, pearls clutched*. But make-up was still attempted and eventually became popular.
1830s-1840s: Women would have steered clear of make-up in this era but wealthy women did venture into discreet versions to make the skin paler and the lips redder, using rice powder and natural stains like beet to stain their lips. Working class women usually stuck to the ye olde pinching their cheeks to add colour.
1850s-1860s: Wealthy women stuck the subtle art of looking like they weren't enhancing their complexions. Pomade would add shine to the lips and oil to the eyelashes for more lustre. Working class women also went for subtler make-up, using make-up made from things they could find in the home.
1870s-1880s: Wealthy women started wearing rouge but a very light coat and tweezed brows started become popular too. Working class women stuck to the usual lip stains and powders but every minimal.
1890s-1901: Wealthy women started to veer toward natural and softer looks with more delicate stains. Working-class women still used home made make-up. Both classes would use things like rosewater for skincare if they could afford it.
This was make-up for 'respectable' women. But other women like actresses, singers in music halls, opera singers and ladies of the night wore heavy make up. The trends for them were:
Pale skin: Paleness was attributed to wealth since a sign of being wealthy was not going out in the sun or at least going out without a parasol. Women would achieve the look with rice powder, lead-based powders or zinc oxide. Sounds healthy? Nope.
Rouge: Rouge was applied to the cheeks and lips. Lips were dark, cheeks were very pink and everything popped. Rouge could be purchased over the counter but could be made at home with beets and other fruits and veg like berries.
Eye Make-up: Eye make-up was dark, eyes were lined with kohl or a the cheaper option, charcoal.
Eyebrows: Eyebrows would be shaped and darkened with soot, charcoal and even burnt cloves.
Lips: Lips were also applied with beeswax or oils to make lips look suppler and softer.
Hair
Hair is just as much as a tell tale sign of decade of this era and for class. Hair went a little mad during the Victorian era. Hair was another way of telling a young lady's age. If she's under 16, her hair would be down and styled simply but as soon as she reached that age, she could start wearing her hair up and styled. Note that working class children would probably tie their hair up earlier, especially if they were working in factories or in service.
1830s-1840s: Wealthy women wore their hair parted and styled over the ears with braids tucked around the ear, or in rolls and curls over the ear with a bun gathering the rest of the hair in the hair. Wealthy women would cover their hair with a bonnet when heading out and wore tiaras or hair jewellery or flowers in their hair for the evening. Younger girls might wear their hair with barley curls. Working class women wore very simple versions of these styles but usually kept it practical especially if they were out working. Bonnets would have been worn outside the home.
1850s-1860s: Wealthy women wore their hair with centre parts and ringlets over the ear. Chignons became popular, featuring low buns at the top of the neck and base of the skull. Working class women tended to keep their hair up, braided sometimes to protect the hair and keep it clean. Bonnets would be worn by both classes during the day.
1870s-1880s: Wealthy women began to style their hair more elaborately, with more braids and higher styles. Tight curls around the face were popular in evening styles. Wealthy women would style it with tiaras, flowers and hair jewellery in the evening while during the day, they would wear bonnets. Working-class women kept to practical styles like braids and low buns with bonnets during the day.
1890s-1901: Wealthy women started to opt for softer approaches. Hair was still worn up but women began to lean toward pompadours, low coiffures and the famous Gibson Girl style which was all very soft around the face. The evening styles would still feature tiaras, jewellery, feathers and flowers while ladies wore bonnets in the day. Working-class women emulated these styles when they could but they were simpler versions.
Hair Care
The Upper Class: Hair would be washed frequently with soap and for women herbal rises and oils, Empress Sisi used raw eggs and brandy to wash her hair. Men would wear their hair short but style it with oil and pomade. Women would wear their hair long. Brushing it 100 times a night was a ritual many women swore by to keep hair healthy and strong.
The Working Class: Hair would have been washed with soap and less frequently. Some women would bathe their hair in vinegar to kill any boarders on their scalp. Hair was brushed and combed and kept tidy for both men and women, with more emphasis on practicality than wow factor.
Facial Hair
Facial Hair also faced trends in the Victorian era. From moustaches, beards to sideburns, each decade saw their own way of styling them or whether wearing one was accepted.
1830s-1840s: Wealthy men wore their faces clean-shaven, preferring sideburns or moustaches. Working class men kept their facial hair mainly because the process of doing a full shave was painstaking and since they had to do it themselves, time consuming. If they worked in service, they may have been forced to keep their face clean shaven.
1850s-1860s: For wealthy men, beards started to become popular. They were kept trimmed and neat. Working class men kept their beards and facial hair for the same reasons as before.
1870s-1880s: Beards started to become more of an art form, along with moustaches getting shaped with wax. For working class men, they still kept beards and facial hair but neat and trimmed where they could.
1890s-1901: The beard craze was over and the clean-shaven look was back. Men started wearing handlebar moustaches, made popular by the Kaiser. Working class men started shaving their beards and adopted styled moustaches.
Shoes
We have gone head to ankle at this point. I have not forgotten about shoes.
1830s-1840s:
Women: Wealthy and upper class women wore kid leather boots during the day and slippers for the evening. Working-class women usually only had a singular pair of shoes and they were nearly always leather lace up boots, worn for their sturdiness rather than their fashion.
Men: Wealthy men wore polished leather shoes while working men, like the women, wore leather boots.
1850s-1860s:
Women: Button-up ankle boots became fashionable for wealthy women for day wear. These could be made of leather or suede. Working class women stuck to their leather boots which could now be lace up the side.
Men: Wealthy men started wearing the Oxford shoe. Working class men stuck with their lace up leather boots.
1870s-1880s:
Women: Wealthy and upper class women wore high-button boots with slippers for the evening while working-class women stuck with their own leather boots.
Men: Wealthy men's dress shoes started to become pointed at the toe in this era. Working-class men kept their heavy boots.
1890s-1901:
Women: Wealthy women still wore buttoned boots for day wear but heeled evening shoes started to pick up popularity. Working class women opted for boots with much lower heels.
Men: Wealthy men started wearing two-tone Oxford shoes started becoming popular along with regular leather dress shoes. Working class men still stuck with lace up leather boots.
Fabrics and Colour
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What clothes are made of was a tell tale style of taste, wealth and class during their era. What colours and fabric you wore heavily relied on what you could afford and what was available to buy if you could. With the Victorian age an age of new innovations and the opening new channels of trade - *clears throat *stealing - new fabrics and dyes came on the market.
Women
1830s-1840s: Wealthy women could afford most fabrics at this time but favoured heavy silks, along with plush velvets and loud patterns. For summer weather and casual wear, light patterned muslin was popular. Working class women favoured cotton and linen and wool which was often patterned. Wealthy women spiced up their dressed with trim and lace at the collar. Wealthy women favoured golds, ivories, dark blues, pinks and greens in this era. Working class women favoured darker and neutral shades because they were easier to clean.
1850s-1860s: Wealthy women started to adopt fabrics like silk poplin, moire and faille. Fringes and flounces were popular embellishments and women tended to opt for darker pallets like navy, brown and purple. Working class women still wore cotton and wool. Favourite patterns of the time were stripes and plaid and they stuck to relatively solid colours like deep blues and navy.
1870s-1880s: Wealthy women preferred silk blends, satins and brocade in this era, often heavily beaded and embroidered. Rich colours were popular, like jewel tones like ruby red, sapphire blue and deep blues and greens. Working class women started adopting floral patterns in their cotton and wool dresses thanks to mass production of cheap cloth. Deep greens, yellows and deeper greys were popular in this era for the working class.
1890s-1901: Wealthy women started opting for softer fabrics, so silk, chiffon, lace, and gauze were heavily used. Ribbons and lace were favourite embellishments. Softer colours were used, such as pale pinks, blues, peaches. Working class women wore lighter cottons and wools, still patterned and beginning to favour lighter shades such as pale reds, blues, green, and pinks.
Men
1830s-1840s: Wealthy men favoured finer wool and broadcloth. Velvet and silk were used for formal wear. Working class men worn mainly wool, cotton and linen, of a coarse weave for heat. The colour palette favoured deep blue, black, fawn and plaid for the wealthier crowd while more muted colours, like browns, deep blues and greens and black were favoured by the working class.
1850s-1860s: Wealthy men favoured greys, blacks for the city and tweeds for the country side. Silk and moire would be used for evening wear. Lighter colours would be worn while on holiday. Working class men still wore wools, linens and cotton and stuck with practical shades in browns, blacks and deep blues.
1870s-1880s: Wealthy men wore more satin, brocade and silk for formal wear while sticking the wool for their suits for the city, linen suits would be worn by the sea side. Browns, blacks and navy were popular choices for the city while lighter shades were popular in while on holiday. intricate embroidery. Working-class men wore the same wool and cotton but now their shirts were decorated with small patterns like pinstripes.
1890s-1901: Wealthy men started wearing lighter wools, silks, linens thanks to new ways of making fabric giving them sleeker looks. Working class men also benefitted from the boom in textiles, brighter colours were more widely available but still stuck with wool and cotton. Wealthy men stuck with dark greys and blacks were worn for the city with lighter shades for the summer.
Tale of Two Wardrobes
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The main thing about the Victorian age and clothes, is the clear disparity between rich and poor. From everything to colour, to fabric, to quantity and quality, you would know exactly who was who by what they were wearing.
Poorer families often made clothes by hand so most items would often be worn until they were either too small or worn away, with the scraps likely refused again. Families would hand down clothes to younger children, it wouldn't have been strange to see a child wearing boots too large or swimming in a shirt or dress. Clothes were often repaired rather than replaced. Due to the fact that making clothes was time consuming and cost money, rips were patched with other fabrics or sewn up and too short skirts were let down to give them a few more months of life. Most poorer families would have a limited range of clothes, usually two changes of clothes for day to day wear and an outfit reserved for occasions like going to church.
Wealthier families could afford to have clothes custom made by professionals. They would have had an outfit for every single need and undergone multiple changes per day, especially if they were in the upper echelon. Their clothes would be washed by servants so they tended not to mind discarding their clothes three or four times a day. They could pass clothes between siblings and from parent to child but these were often cut down to create new outfits by professionals.
Hygiene
You may imagine the Victorian age as a time for unsanitary conditions and terrible hygiene and you wouldn't be too wrong. This was the time of cholera, of rampant typhoid and consumption. But the Victorians, even the poorest of the poor did wash.
Personal Hygiene
The Upper Class: As mentioned before the wealthy did bath more often mainly thanks to the fact they had somebody else to fetch the water for them, had indoor plumbing in some cases and had more time on their hands. Teeth were cleaned with powder, mainly made of crushed seashells, chalk and charcoal for whitening. Perfumes were at their height for the era, with men and women wearing cologne and scents.
The Working-Class: The working class were not dirty because they were lazy or slovenly as many contemporaries thought. The main issue was a lack of water and time for regular bathing. This lead to people turning to public baths to wash in their spare time. Teeth were cleaned with salt or baking soda or charcoal but dental care was not a priority since most of them were working long hard hours. To keep fresh, they would have used soap and sachets of herbs.
Clothes
Upper Class: The upper class had servants to clean their clothes and care of them. Shoes were shined by hall boys and clothes were kept spick and span with regular checks. Men could get their suits and shirts pressed and starched in their own house.
Working-Class: Like I said before, water and time was in sort supply so clothes were washed a little less frequently. Very often the women or the house or if the family could afford, a washerwoman, would be in charge of washing the clothes by hand with a mangle, board and soap. It was very laborious work.
Mourning
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And finally, we get to it. The biggest trend of the Victorian age was the visualisation of mourning. This was all thanks to (takes very deep breath) Queen Victoria herself who wore mourning for her husband, Prince Albert. Victoria's dramatic and intense mourning set a new trend for dramatic rules around what one could and should wear when mourning.
Stages of mourning
Mourning came in three stages each with their own set of does and don'ts. The upper class would have followed the rules religiously but the working class would cut the mourning time down, especially if it interfered with their survival and work.
Deep Mourning: Full black, every thing black, women might even wear thick veils. Women would wear minimal jewellery but it would all be pearls or jet. Men would wear black frock coats, jackets, waistcoats and trousers along with black cravats. Deep mourning typically lasted a year and a day.
Ordinary Mourning: Black clothing with very little trim. Women might add lace or beading, all in black to their dresses. Lasted about 6mths.
Half Mourning: This was the final stage of the process where the black could be put aside and colours such as greys, mauves, lilac and lavender could be worn. Lasted about 3mths.
Changes in the decades
Men
1830s-1840s: Full mourning suits for the upper class. Working class men would wear a black armband around their upper arm.
1850s-1860s: Mourning attire grew much simpler, men could now get away with black waistcoats and an armband on their upper arm. Working class men stuck with an armband on their arm.
1870s-1880s: Mourning customs got further relaxed, a wealthy man could get away with a dark suit. The working class still used a simple armband.
1890s-1901: Mourning attire was much more relaxed, men could now wear dark colours with dark accessories. Working class men still wore an armband.
Women
1830s-1840s: Very heavy black gowns, worn with black bonnets, and thick veils for wealthy women. Wealthy women would typically already have mourning outfits ready for any occasion. Working class women often had to dye old dresses black for funerals and mourning, some stuck with a black ribbon or armband around the arm.
1850s-1860s: Mourning dresses became more structured and were often permitted to be more embellished with details such as jet beads for the wealthy women. It was the same story with the working class woman, she would wear an existing black dress, dye an old dress or stick with a ribbon/armband.
1870s-1880s: Mourning fashion was more commercialized, letting wealthy women have more of an array of choice in mourning though they still had to follow the rules. Working class women could purchase cheaper black fabric to make a mourning gown.
1890s-1901: Mourning rules relaxed and the stages got shorter, allowing for more colour sooner than before. It was the same for working class women, who typically had already shorter periods of mourning.
Mourning Relationships
If a Victorian donned black every time a person died, the era would have been boring af. So the rules called for different relationships to be marked by set periods of mourning.
Widows: Would mourn for two years, with one year for full mourning, nine months of ordinary mourning and then three months of half mourning. A widow would not be seen often in public.
Widowers: Yeah, get this. Husbands only had to mourn 3-6mths.
Parents/Children: Parents would mourn children and children would mourn parents for about six months.
Siblings: Siblings would mourn for six months.
Aunts, uncles, cousins: Three months.
Friends: Six weeks.
Helpful Visuals
Comparison between 1850s-1880s - AstaDarling
Housemaid GRWM 1890s - AstaDarling
Fit for a Queen: Victoria GRWM - AstaDarling
Casual Day Wear 1880s GRWM - AstaDarling
Evening Wear Men and Women (Upper class 1850) -AstaDarling
Corset Myth - Asta Darling
Sitting in a Crinoline - AstaDarling
Formal Men's Wear Upper Class 1890s GRWM - Pinsent_Tailoring
Working Class women in 1890s GRWM - The Sewlo Artist
Working Class Women in the 1860s - HistoryIsBeautiful
Working Class Women in the 1850s - Katelyn Kearns
GRWM 1840s Working Class - Pour La Victoire
Working Class Men 1850s - CrowEyeProductions
1840s Gentleman GRWM - Prior Attire
1830s Gentlemen Day and Evening GRWM - Prior Attire
1870s Upper Class Lady Morning/Afternoon/Evening - Sew_Through_Time
1840s GRWM with Prince Albert - CrowEyeProductions
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northopalshore ¡ 5 months ago
Text
Predicting your
wedding dress & aesthetic
through astrology
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In this post we will be looking at the 1st house as well as the planets in it in your Boda (1487) persona chart to see what kind of wedding dress & overall aesthetic you will be adorning on your special day! Only applies on the 1st house of your BPC! Note that some do not follow the traditional ruler of correlating to the sign/ house it's in due to slight differences I've observed.
୨୧ Please do not repost without consent ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ🔉
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Boda persona chart ex | Masterlist
Aries (°1,°13,°25) & Mars in the 1st House
With Aries here, there is a touch of gaminess or youthfulness to your wedding look. Flower crowns, tight silhouettes, gloves, or fit and flare dresses that have a certain sharpness to it. You may sport a shorter and more convenient to walk or dance in dress as well like tea lengths, knee length slits , brides with this placement also can prefer wearing shorter dresses. You could also go with very bright colors for your dress or your makeup. For the Grooms, it's usually tighter fitted as well perhaps showing their muscle or has a certain roughness to it. The overall theme can lead into trendy, colourful, quick and simple.
Taurus (°2,°14,°26) & Jupiter in the 1st House
Your wedding dress will look very extravagant. There tends to be a warm look to it, with a heavy gold or rose gold accent; your dress isn't complete without a hearty amount of jewelry and accessories to go with it. As you can imagine sparkles and accessories are very noticeable here. You'd go for something with layers, with a shiny tulle for example or a literal gown. The Grooms with this placement can also go for something similar in nature, very fancy looking.
Gemini (°3,°15,°27) & Mercury in the 1st House
You may wear multiple dresses on your wedding day (or have multiple weddings with the same person for example) you'd likely wear two different dresses, but when focusing on a specific theme or dress you will likely go for something that looks rather playful or youthful & flirty in nature. It almosts gives off "prom dress" in terms of silhouette as well. The Grooms with this placement likely have a similar need for two suits as well. They look sharp but relaxed, for some reason it always bares resemblance to prom night outfits if that makes sense!
Cancer (°4,°16,°28) & Moon in the 1st House
In Cancer or a Cancer degree, your wedding dress and overall look will be very feminine. Think simple silhouettes with gorgeous silky fabric, usually very simple and modest but looks "pure". Soft princess dresses, very gentle and almost fairytale like dresses. There's also a blueish hue to the dresses worn by these brides. In some cases, it literally translates to being a young bride. The Grooms with this placement usually have a looser fit to their suit with a similar blueish hue or literally a blue suit. They could prefer a bowtie, or flower in place of the usual tie or have no tie at all but still look gentleman like.
Ex: Priscilla Presley has Cancer rising (°11 Capricorn ) in her Boda persona chart. She literally looks like a doll on her wedding day; her dress because “It was something that I liked ‘cause it was very feminine, very lightweight, not too heavy, and it matched very well with Elvis’ suit,” she said in 2022.
BeyoncĂŠ also has Cancer rising in BPC she looks very feminine, and gentle on her wedding day (her dress was also picked out by her mother & had a bluish tint). She has moon in the 1st house as well! (Updated birth time).
Ex: My male cousin & Obama both have Cancer rising in there BPC, both of them wore a flower instead of a tie, and both look like fine good natured gentleman on their wedding day lol!
Leo (°5,°17,°29) & Sun in the 1st House
This placement gives the dress and aesthetic an old Hollywood flair, usually has some sort of vintage or classic elements that are complemented with a frills and puffs but it's not overwhelmingly so. Still, you will definitely make a statement (or wish to make one) through your dress and your aesthetic on what is essential your special day & you will certainly make a lasting impression here! Usually, the dress will be the main star of the show with this placement. The Grooms with this placement can opt for a similar loud but classic feel like a velvel suit or with some sort of interesting texture.
Ex: Lana Del Rey, Brigitte Bardot (°12 pisces ) both have Leo rising in their Boda Persona Chart. All of their dresses had a very classic feel to them which immediately brings people's attention to it; whether because they were surprised, mesmerized or speechless. Whatever it may be, it's usually because of the dress itself.
Virgo (°6,°18) & Mercury in the 1st House
With Virgo here, you can expect to see very clean and minimalist designs on your dress. The fabric is more important than the actual silhouette with this placement, you want the actual wedding to be the highlight of the day. That being said, it's still very elegant and naturally feminine. There is some structure and draped fabric usually at the bust area, with short or mid length gloves. The Grooms tend to wear perfectly matching suits in adjacent to their bride. Sharp, simple, comfortable with muted or neutral colours.
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Libra (°7,°19) & Venus in the 1st House
This is usually the classic (aside from Capricorn of course), the silhouette of your dress is usually elegant and body hugging but not too tight. You exude a lovely elegance through your makeup and your dress. Something about it may feel regal or classic, tends to be somewhat modest but still very stunning. The Grooms with this placement usually look very extravagant or fancy as well but more "put together" or effortlessly charming compared to Taurus. They will look good in whatever they choose to wear though there is a preference for tailored fits or certain brands.
Ex: Ariana Grande's custom Vera Wang dress is elegant, soft and feminine. She looked beautiful and somewhat innocent in her dress. In her Boda persona chart she has Cancer (° 19 Libra ) rising.
Scorpio (°8,°20) & Pluto in the 1st House
This placement always seem to add a sexy flair; something is usually dark either the makeup, the dress itself or the theme (but usually it's the makeup). There is also a tendency to lean towards tight fitting dresses as well or at least make you look snatched. Shape enchanting cut outs, mermaid tails, open backs and black wedding dresses may be in it for you. The Grooms with this placement have somewhat of a dim glow to them, almost like a corpse husband. Does that make sense? You may opt to go for a darker looking aesthetic or an opaque black that has some sheen to it (if not pitch black & morgue-esque). The contrast between black & white will be very noticeable on you ( skin vs shirt/lighting). Similar to Pisces there is a slight "haunted" feel to the aesthetic of your wedding even if it's unintentional.
Sagittarius (°9,°21) & Jupiter in the 1st House
With Sagittarius placements here, it adds a bit of a... "Thrifty" or non-conventional wedding dress/ theme, sometimes it means that your wedding isn't planned as thoroughly or ans neatly as others would expect from a wedding; perhaps what matters more to you is the devotion that a wedding signifies and not the dress or aesthetic itself. If you do have a venue wedding plan, then the dress isn't really your biggest priority. You could use things you already have for example or add your own touches to your makeup/ dress! The Grooms with this placement are the most likely to wear a Hawaiian shirts or whatever they pulled out from their personal closet. If they do wear a suit they can look rather casual or "messy" even if it's just the hair or lack of tie. Aside from the obvious use of traditional garments of course!
Ex: Cardi B (Sagittarius °27 Gemini rising) & Lana Del Rey (Leo °21 Sagittarius rising) both had some sort of diy aspect when it came to their wedding dress & aesthetic. Cardi B got married (w Offset) with no dress at her home, literally with just her, her husband and two other people. Lana got married in a Bayou, in a designer dress that she altered herself (it's so Lana of her to do that).
Another unlikely example would be Audrey Hepburn. She had Sagittarius (° 13 aries) rising and although her dress does look very Capricorn/Cancer like, her son told Vanity Fair in an interview that his mother did go to a designer but her dress itself is likely off the rack as she was “She was kind of quick to make decisions.” (Her first wedding was planned quickly & there were also a lot of diy aspect to it like her flower crown and carrying a missal instead of a bouquet down the aisle.
Capricorn (°10,°22) & Saturn in the 1st House
One word. Expensive. You are likely going to stick to a very traditional vibe for your wedding dress & overall aesthetic just with the added sophistication in your look. Elegant and poised, but in a more "powerful" looking way when compared to Libra or Cancer. There is going to be less flowyness and more structure. You can opt for something slightly conservative too like long sleeves whether mesh, silk ot satin, or have long gloves on. Instead of a flared out skirt you would likely have a slimmer silhouette with a long trail. The Grooms with this placement usually wear the classic looking wedding suit you'd see on a cake. What can I say, the look exactly like a traditional groom. An opaque black suit and tie, that enhances their masculinity. This also gives a more fitted look.
Ex: Kim Kardashian has Capricorn (°20 Scorpio) rising in her Boda persona chart; her dress is figure hugging and definitely exudes her elegance (even if some may dislike her dress, I think it does look beautiful in certain angles). You can look at them here.)
Aquarius (°11,°23) & Uranus in the 1st House
There is a very heavy emphasis on themed weddings with this placement, borderline costume-like dress with unique headdresses. You could go for something avant-garde, very personal or very much according to the theme of your wedding (which could be a spontaneous idea you had like months prior). The wedding could also be at a themed venue itself like a restaurant or Disneyland, if not completely streamed online. You'll "dress up" today as the perfect amalgamation of all that you've loved up to this moment. The Grooms with this placement usually wear something of similar nature, and are more inclined to indulge in colour and odd texture or fabric.
Ex: Megan Fox has Aquarius (°20 Scorpio ) rising her Boda PC; in her wedding with MGK. If you know you know man.
Pisces (°12,°24) & Neptune in the 1st House
Your makeup and dress will exude an innocent feel, an ethereal aura. Something hauntingly beautiful. Out of all the signs this placement usually sticks to a personal theme that you may have during your wedding; which will inadvertently affects the look of the dress. You may choose a color that isn't white but match more with the overall theme of your wedding. Grooms with this placement usually look very much on the verge of crying throughout the wedding. A similar blue hue can be seen if they choose to wear a suit; usually a little looser or big. They will look like a prince from a children's fairytale very innocent. Even if they are well built, they will look softer or unassuming in their suit or vampire-esque. Some may wear two different dresses as well or have a somewhat costume look to it /literally wear themed attire.
Ex: Anya Taylor Joy has Pisces rising in her Boda persona chart. She also has Briede (°22 Capricorn), Fama (°28 cancer), & Saturn (°3 Gemini) in the 1st house. Her wedding theme, dress & look are the epitome of this placement.
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Please understand that results vary depending on planets in the 1st house as well! Take everything into consideration! Support?
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Thank you for reading ♡
@northopalshore
@northopalshore boda persona chart 2025 all rights reserved. Disclaimer
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formulaonecrumbs ¡ 3 months ago
Note
hey junie :) this is based off an actual experience of mine: osc gets worried about reader losing a lot of blood, her period lasting almost two weeks. he finds her weak, almost passed out and has to take her to the er where she gets blood transfusions and they cuddle in the hospital bed
-🧸
let’s get colour back in your face 🤍
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Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader
summary: reader loses too much blood during a long period flare-up and ends up in the hospital.
warnings: pcos struggles, heavy period bleeding, near-fainting, hospital visit, blood transfusion
A/N: (another old req) i was gonna write more about the transfusion itself but i’m squeamish as FUCK. so no thanks 🤗 i hate that this is what u have to deal with but i do hope u have a genuinely lovely support system to help u thru it. it’s what u deserve, hun :) love u, 🧸❤️
⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘
you’ve always been good at pretending.
shrugging it off when it drags longer than it should. telling yourself it’s fine even when it’s not. one week turns into nine days, then ten, then twelve. you bleed through pads in an hour. your skin goes pale, lips dry, eyes tired.
but you keep going. brushing your teeth, making the bed, replying to texts like nothing’s wrong. oscar’s been at the sim all morning, and you didn’t want to bother him. you told him you were tired. you told him you’d rest.
you didn’t tell him you hadn’t stood up in hours because your legs were shaking too badly.
you didn’t tell him the room spun when you tried to walk to the bathroom.
you didn’t tell him how you blacked out on the floor for a second and came to with your heart pounding in your ears.
he calls before he gets home. you barely answer. your voice is slow, breath shallow.
“you okay, baby?”
“mhm.”
he knows you’re not.
he’s home ten minutes later. he finds you curled on the couch, skin too white, lips almost blue, a blanket pulled halfway over your legs, eyes glassy and barely open.
“hey,” he says softly, kneeling beside you. “what’s going on?”
you blink. “dizzy.”
“how long?”
“since this morning. maybe yesterday.”
he runs his hand gently over your forehead. your skin is clammy. cold sweat and warmth all mixed together. his voice is too calm when he says, “you’re bleeding too much, aren’t you?”
you nod slowly, like you’re ashamed.
“okay,” he says. “that’s it. we’re going.”
“no—”
“yes.”
you try to argue but he’s already scooping you up, already grabbing your bag with one arm, already texting someone on the way out the door. the car ride is blurry. you think he holds your hand the whole way.
the hospital is cold and bright and too loud. you don’t remember much—just that they take you back fast, someone says the word “anemic,” someone else says “transfusion.” oscar never lets go of your hand.
they give you fluids. blood. oxygen.
you sleep through most of it. your body heavy, but finally still. and when you wake up, you’re in a hospital bed with warm blankets pulled around you and oscar tucked beside you—legs awkwardly bent to fit on the tiny mattress, one arm wrapped under your neck.
he’s half-asleep but stirs when you shift.
“hey,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your temple. “you’re okay.”
you don’t even speak. you just curl closer to him, pressing your face into his chest. he holds you tighter.
“you scared the shit out of me,” he says, voice shaking just a little. “don’t ever do that again.”
you mumble something about not wanting to worry him.
“you worrying me is never worse than you almost passing out in the living room alone,” he says gently. “i want you to tell me, every time. even when it’s bad. especially when it’s bad.”
you nod against him.
he kisses the top of your head. “i love you, y’know.”
you hum. “i love you too.”
and even in a stiff hospital bed, in a gown that itches and an IV in your arm, it’s the safest you’ve felt in days.
THE END :>
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happypopcornprincess ¡ 1 month ago
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Four Paces Behind You
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Pairing : Bodyguard!Joaquin Torres x Princess!Reader AU [vague description of reader being shorter than Joaquin)
A/N: thank you so much for this request anon and I wanted to write only one scene but then I got possessed by a tween on sugar rush and ended up writing some 8k words AND IT JUST KEPT INCREASING LMAOO. So here I am... with a whopping 13.5K words idk I went full ballistic w this :) I kind of imagined the princess to be from a South-Asian kingdom [My only references has been the movies I have seen lol (there is a film called Khoobsurat and a lot of rules and setting is inspired from this movie)], but I have left the descriptions vague so you can imagine the kingdom how you see fit. So here you go, this is my love letter to all the soft romance delulu girls who wants to annoy a man so much that he ends up falling for them, may you all get the book boyfriends you truly deserve <3 listen to Two Hands by Tate McRae for better experience during the scene [mentioned below]
Warnings: DUAL POV. ANGST ANGST ANGST!!!! Reader is a bad girl trying to be good. Inaccurate royal people's rules ig?, mentions of destructive behaviour, self saboutage, attention seeking people, sexist themes, paparazzi being assholes, family arguements, basically reader is a princess trying to follow her dreams, mentions of forced marriage, Inaccurate F1 rules and working? [reader is a racing enthusiast], also Joaquin Torres on a bike doing stunts in Vienna, you're welcome.
Word Count: 13.5K
⋆。 ゚☁︎。 ⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。 ⋆.⋆。 ゚☁︎。 ⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。 ⋆.
Bodyguard! Joaquin Torres X Princess! Reader
Your sash poked into your neck like a velvet noose.
You blinked rapidly, the fake lashes heavy and clumped from the last-minute extensions someone insisted you needed. The tiara perched atop your head gleamed under the crystal lights, but it didn’t feel elegant. It felt like obligation, pressing down on your scalp with every inch of your heritage. Even your gown, a masterpiece of silver sequins and duchess satin... felt like armor, and the enormous flare of it made you feel less like a royal and more like a wedding cake about to topple over.
Despite the wardrobe struggle, you stood tall... you had to.
But your mind wandered like it always did. You found your focus snagged on the curtains in front of you. Deep burgundy, maybe velvet… or brocade? You weren’t sure. You wanted to run your fingers along them, and you raised your hand to feel the curtains, only for your eyes to fall on your white satin gloved hands, too sterile, too clean, and it irritated you further. the curtains were the only barrier you had between you and the bustling crowd in the halls.
Around you, event planners and makeup artists hustled past, speaking to each other, making sure the event goes smoothly. The Grand Hall of the Royal Palace overflowed with global dignitaries, foreign royalty, press, and every relevant elite worth impressing.
Today was your twenty-fifth birthday, your official introduction as Queen Regent-in-Waiting. A ceremonial declaration that once your brother, Prince Ramil, ascended the throne after your father, you would follow.
Assuming you didn’t implode first.
You fought to breathe in the corset cinched so tight that your ribs ached, but you didn’t dare shift. You had been trained for this, for the perfect postures and the Hollywood smile, since you were a toddler.
“Breathe, Your Highness.”
You didn’t have to turn to know who it was, his voice could be recognized by you in an instant. I was low and smooth, one syllable from him could cut through noise like a hot blade through wax. It always calmed you, steadied you, reminded you that amongst the plastique and fakeness of being a royal in 21st century, someone inside the palace walls was still real.
Joaquin Torres.
Ex Air Force.
Your Bodyguard.
From the corner of your eye, you saw him step closer, four paces behind you; exactly as protocol allowed. His hand reached forward with practiced stealth, brushing your fingers and leaving behind something small and familiar.
You glanced down to find a lemon candy, half-wrapped. You bit down on it immediately, the sharp citrus hitting your tongue like a jolt of electricity. Your lip twitched, and you grimaced.
“Thank you,” you murmured, barely moving your mouth, your smile still fixed.
“I heard you skipped lunch,” he replied, voice dry.
You rolled your eyes, “Don’t be dramatic, Torres. I had a large breakfast.”
“Let me guess. A strawberry Pop-Tart and black coffee.” He scoffed.
“It was two Pop-Tarts,” you hissed, and you could hear the soft huff of amusement he didn’t let anyone else hear.
Behind you, Joaquin stood at his full height. He was wearing his formal black three-piece suit; the same one he wore at all events. He looked handsome in it, better than any prince in extravagant clothing… although you liked him more in a tank top where his toned biceps were in full view. You never told him this, of course, because he would never let you live it down. Because Joaquin Torres could be a terrible flirt and a softie by heart, but he was a pillar of safety for you first… truly unshakable. He was your shadow, your shield, your most trusted friend.
He had been assigned to you at nineteen, back when your name was plastered on tabloids more often than national newsletters. You had been caught by paparazzi way too many times at places any princess shouldn’t be; clubs, celeb parties, bars in foreign countries... but mostly at illegal underground car racing events.
You were wild back then.
The media loved any chance they got to drag the royal family through the dirt, and had nicknamed you “Drift Princess” by the number of times you had been booked for driving your custom hot pink mustang at ungodly speed, so fast that your car was a blur in the paparazzi pictures. You still remembered your first photo that was everywhere in media for a month: your hot pink Mustang streaking through a back-alley track, smoke curling off tires, your grin wide and reckless.
You hadn’t cared at all back then, being the obnoxious spare to the throne, and nobody dared to stop you… until Joaquin had been thrown into your world, with his all-brooding eyes and scolding lectures. You swear you never saw his lips twitch back then, never.
You hated him at first; The way he hovered around you anywhere you went. The way he shadowed you, barked rules your way, blocked exits before you reached them. The way he cared when everyone else was just… tired of you. You fought him with everything; snuck past him, climbed walls, got black out drunk at unknown clubs, disguised yourself in hoodies and sunglasses. He found you every single time... He’d dragged you out of bars, carried you out of parties, intercepted sneaky getaways from the palace walls.
You believed he hated you too… until one night, he’d literally tackled you before you could climb over a 30 feet palace wall, one wrong step away from falling to your death. You’d been cursing him out as he picked you up and hauled you to your quarters looking ready to combust.
“your highness, You could’ve died!” he had shouted at you, practically shaking.
“Then I’d finally be free,” you’d snapped back.
Joaquin had gone still hearing that. His face dropped from angry to sadness, eyes burning with something you couldn't decipher.
“The next time you want to go,” he had yelled, “You tell me.” He pointed at you and then at himself. “I’ll take you. You can race at full speed or drink yourself into a coma with your rich friends, I don’t care. But I need to know where you are! I can’t protect you if I can’t find you!” You’d stared at him for a long time after that.
He’d been furious. You’d never had anyone scream at you like that. Never seen anyone that scared for you… not even your own family. That night, six years ago, had changed everything. He was still your bodyguard, but he had become so much more. Your secret-keeper, your movie nights partner, your only real friend, the only one who knew who you were beneath the crown.
The trumpet blared from the other side of the curtain, and you felt the anticipation of your arrival in your bones.
“It is my utmost honor,” the spokesperson announced, voice echoing around you, “to introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess y/n, first of her name, and third in line to the throne of Tavreshi!”
Your hands clenched, then released, you took a deep breath to prepare yourself as you waited for the cue of the trumpets.
Behind you, Joaquin murmured with a smirk in his voice, “Time to shine, Your Royal Driftiness.”
You bit back a laugh. “Say that again and I’ll trip on purpose.”
He leaned ever so slightly closer. “Not if I catch you first, which I always do.”
Your chest tightened at his words, but you didn’t respond.
That night at the fountain...
A heartbeat passed, and then his voice rang in your ears, this time a bit closer, “Show them who you are, princess. Good luck.”
Then the curtain opened.
The hall exploded in light and sound, flashing bulbs, camera shutters, music rising in grandeur. The applause surged like a wave crashing into your ribs as you stepped forward, looking at your family standing at the end of the staircase; Your grandfather – the king. Your parents and your brother, Prince Ramil, all beaming at you in pride and awe.
You smiled as you descended, not the plastic kind that you practiced so often. The real kind, showing your true self. And behind you, half-shielded in shadow, Joaquin followed your steps, four paces behind, hand hovered at his side.
Just in case you fell.
---/---/---
The golden ballroom gleamed with candlelight and polished marble, humming with music and gossip from the high society. You had stood beneath the chandelier, smiling through the weight of too many eyes. You had cut the huge birthday cake, and your father had danced with you first, proud of the woman that you had grown to be. After which your older brother, Prince Ramil followed, cracking a joke mid-waltz that made you want to flick his forehead.
Now, standing alone at the slightly raised podium of the room, the chatter was fading while the music grew louder, you tried not to twist your fingers. After all, this was the first time the event was in your honor.
You were twenty-five now, and officially named second in line to the throne. A future queen, in everything but title.
There were a thousand cameras clicking your every move, waiting for you to make a mistake so they can drag our name in tomorrow's headlines, well, you didn't blame them. They haven't had a bad news about you for five years now. They were hungry to see you fall. Diplomats, nobles, foreign royals watched you with curious eyes, the youngsters in awe of your rebellious nature poised so perfectly, and the elders with their judging stares.
Behind you, four paces behind, stood Joaquin Torres.
He didn’t care about the glittering gowns or the music. His serious eyes scanned the room for the 100th time. Exits, guests, and upper balconies. He was whispering into his comms again, his hand against his earpiece, tense as ever.
You glanced back slightly and muttered under your breath, “Would it kill you to relax a bit?”
Joaquin glared at you, standing straight, “Probably. Likely it would kill you too.”
---/---/---
She laughed at his deadpanned quick remark, pulling him from his scan for just a second. That was the thing about her; she could find sarcasm even in places armored with protocol and pressure.
She turned her head more now, catching his eye over her shoulder. Her smile crooked, she asked, “Dance with me?”
Joaquin blinked at her boldness, sure he had danced with her during lessons, but infront of everyone? He looked straight ahead, avoiding her glance; this wasn’t protocol, his recruiter’s voice rang in his ears, “you have to stay close to her Torres. And the minute you catch feelings, know that you have failed your duty.”
But before he could respond, he watched as a steward approached and gave a polite bow, earning her attention, “Your Highness, may I present His Royal Highness Prince Idris of Meira. He would be honored to have the next dance.”
She turned and accepted with perfect grace, as the tall tan skinned prince whisked her away to the dance floor.
Joaquin stepped back, his jaw tight, hands behind his back as he watched her take the foreign prince’s hand and let herself be led back into the dance.
“I’ve never seen her this graceful,” came a voice beside him. He glanced sideways to see Prince Ramil, y/n’s brother and current heir, standing next to him, drink in hand, posture relaxed but eyes sharp.
“She always is,” Joaquin said, neutral.
Ramil followed his sister’s slow turn across the floor. “Idris is a decent man.” He looked at his champagne, grimacing, “he’s quiet, loves to read, also, his small island nation mines diamonds for a living, so, he’s like loaded.” He slurred his words, and Joaquin’s heart raced as he glanced back at her, twirling on the dance floor, laughing.
Ramil went on. “You did not hear this from me but, the king’s planning a pact between them. He hasn’t said it directly, but it’s clear. I heard him talk to dad saying Meira is a good ally nation to have.”
Joaquin’s jaw ticked his gaze locked on how Prince Idris led you around the dance floor, looking into your eyes.
“Prince Ramil, The King has summoned you,” Sam Wilson, Ramil’s Bodyguard and Joaquin’s senior form Air Force, led him to the podium where the king sat, looking back at Joaquin and silently telling him not to spill this to anyone else.
He turned his attention back to the princess. From where he stood, it looked like they were flirting. She tilted her head, her hand resting on Idris’ shoulder longer than necessary. She was playing a part maybe, this was diplomacy and strategy and rebellion rolled into one, but Joaquin wasn’t immune to the slow, bitter burning that was silently creeping into his lungs.
Because he knew what it meant to stand too close to fire and not be allowed to touch it.
Joaquin had hated her at first. She was spoiled, entitled, downright unhinged, and the physical personification of pure chaos. She didn’t care about the rules, or etiquettes, or safety and image.
She was the poster child of what a kid becomes when they don’t hear no for an answer.
But then, he had seen her talk to the stable horses like they were old friends, he saw her take care of her cars and bikes like they were a part of her, always ending up covered in grease and dirt but with a content smile on her face when she finished. He saw her sneak into the servant’s kitchen to share a cup of tea with her maids. He saw her fighting a guy twice her size at a club in Thailand, smiling through bloodied teeth as he carried her out. He saw her cry when she thought no one was watching, in her brother’s arms after her grandmother’s funeral.
Somewhere between dragging her out of a racing pit with engine oil on her hands and staying up to argue with her about how to handle PR disasters… he fell.
He fell hard.
But the brutal truth stayed unchallenged; that knights don’t fall for princesses.
He shifted his weight. Checked his comms again. Sam Wilson, Prince Ramil’s bodyguard, muttered something over the channel about the southern gate being clear. Joaquin gave a curt nod in response, but his eyes never left her.
Their dance ended, and the hall burst into raging applause. They didn’t linger for long, but they kept talking all night. Her and Idris, walking around the room greeting guests together, sitting at the edge of the ballroom sipping drinks, smiling like they had known each other for a while, and maybe they did, after all, they both were royals.
Joaquin followed them, four paces behind, stone-faced. He couldn’t hear them, but he heard her giggle, and Prince Idris holding her closer than friends should. He saw just the flicker of her hand brushing her hair, the way she threw her head back when she laughed, something genuine and rare that only he had witnessed all these years. If anyone looked closely at his stone-faced expression, they’d think he was just another bodyguard doing his duty. But on the inside, the storm in his heart only grew. He was spiraling, seconds away from cracking as he saw Idris hold her by her waist.
The realization hit him like a truck; that one day, she might belong to someone else.
And he would have to watch it unfold, helpless.
---/---/---
It was midnight when the royal family gathered in the smaller private sitting room at the palace; a room reserved for “family conversations.” You had told him enough for him to know nothing good ever came out of that room anytime your grandfather had summoned the family there.
That meant no servants, no helpers… just good old family having a heated argument, with the tension thick enough to choke on.
The King stood by the fireplace, cane in hand, eyes sharp despite his age. Queen Miriam, your mother and King Consort Advit, your father, sat on one of the long couches, pale-faced and clearly exhausted. Prince Ramil leaned against a wall, drink in hand again, expression unusually unreadable.
You stood across from them all, still in your gown. Your heels had been kicked off, and your tiara long gone. Your voice trembled; not with fear, but with fury by what you had just heard the king announce to the room.
“You want me to marry him?” you spat. “After one polite conversation and a single dance, you think we are the best choice to be married?”
The King didn’t look at you, his gaze focused in the kindling in the fireplace, “This isn’t about romance, my dear. This is about diplomacy, the stability of our land. You were raised for this.”
You screamed, “I wasn’t raised to be sold off like property!”
“Mind your tone.” The king shouts.
“No.” you stepped forward, that made him look at you, his eyes blazing with fury as he witnessed you defy him, “I went to university. I’m the first one in this family who studied mechanical engineering. I built things with my own hands. I raced. I trained in secret because you won’t allow me to have a proper racing trainer! I almost died trying to learn racing and none of you cared! And I’m supposed to believe this is for my own betterment!”
Your mother reached for you gently, getting up from her seat, “Darling, your education was never meant to distract you from your duty-”
“It wasn’t a distraction!” you snapped, as your mother looked at you with pleading eyes, “It is my dream. It has been my dream since forever! I have told you I want to race Formula One. I want a life outside these walls. I can’t be poised and perfect forever mother!” your voice cracked, “I’m twenty-five years old, not a pawn on a chessboard for you to move however you please!”
Ramil’s voice pierced through, “You really think they'll let a royal heir drive 300 kilometers an hour in a tin box?” he moved towards you, resting his glass on the coffee table.
You turned to him, fighting tears, your eyes glassy, “I thought you would understand.”
“I do, y/n.” he breathes out, “but you cannot escape this, so accept it.”
Your father stood now, voice strained but measured, he takes your hand patting it gently, “Y/n dearest, we love you. We all want what’s best for you…”
“Then say something!” you begged, your voice trembled. “Don’t just make me accept this alliance, Help me dad, Please.”
Before he could say anything, The King’s voice rang out louder, “You will marry Idris of Meira within the year, I have made arrangements with his court. That is my final word.”
“Father, If I may…” your father’s words were cut off in an instant
“I said… that is my final word!” He slammed his cane on the ground, and it was like if time had stopped for a second.
Nobody moved, nobody breathed. The monarch had spoken, and his words were as final as a statement written on stone.
Your eyes swept the room, looking at your mother, your father, and your brother. No one met your gaze; out of shame or sadness... you would never know.
---/---/---
The doors had been closed, but the voices inside had been carried out perfectly. The servants outside stood frozen, and the bodyguards exchanged quiet glances. Some felt sorry for the princess, others were scared and somewhat anticipated of what would happen next.
Joaquin stood in the corridor just behind the corner, his jaw tight and his fists clenched as he heard your shouts and the King’s booming voice echo through the hallway.
A loud click of a lock opening broke everyone out of their trance.
He saw her when she fiercely walked back to her quarters; grabbing the front of her giant dress, barefoot, her heels in hand, her makeup smeared with tears streaking her cheeks. And despite all of this, her head was high and her back straight. She stopped in her tracks as she glanced back at the door, hoping for someone to stop her.
No one did.
Her eyes locked with his, and he saw a tear tumble down her face before she turned and continued on her way.
Joaquin moved immediately.
---/---/---
The corridor outside her private quarters was silent, save for the quiet, muffled sobs echoing from the other side of the carved rosewood door of her bedroom. He had ordered the guards to clear the area, and had updated the security protocols: only two people besides immediate family had clearance to enter the Princess’s personal chambers.
Him, and Asha, her handmaiden.
Joaquin stood still, jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides. He wanted to slam open the doors and hold her tight, but he stood at his place, his patience hanging by a thread as each sob of her tore through his heart. She needed space after the whirlwind of information was dumped on her out of nowhere, but he couldn't just stand still and do nothing.
Asha paced nearby, her petite figure distressed, worry shadowing her usually bright face, her arms folded tightly across her chest, “The Princess hasn’t cried like this in years,” she whispered, almost as if afraid you would hear her. She had seen her grow from a toddler to now, her wise eyes held the worry a mother's would for her child.
Joaquin didn’t answer, he just nodded at her as he stared at the door, waiting for you to open it.
He recalled a different version of you that would throw tantrums like these for the most illogical reasons; a wilder, untamed version.
You were nineteen when he first met you, he bowed and greeted you as you made a sour face, spoiled and recklessness reeking from your aura, of an overgrown child with a royal title and money that could buy you anything you wished for.
“Princess of Speed,” the tabloids had called you. Others were less kind: “The Royal Wreck,” “Drift Princess,” “Crowned Chaos.”
He had seen you laugh about the mess the next day, but had also noticed how the smile never reached your eyes anytime you read the articles.
He had found you half-drunk on rooftops, snuck you out of red-lit clubs swarming with creeps, yanked you from the passenger seat of cars moments before they launched into illegal drag races.
But the worst night… he still had nightmares recalling how horribly wrong it could have gone if it wasn’t for him to act rogue and breaking protocol.
---/---/-----/----/-----
[Listen to Two Hands by Tate McRae for this scene for better experience]
Six years ago, Vienna
He’d gotten the intel too late.
Oil slicks were laid down past the first curve of the track with hard debris meant to cause a wipeout. The kind of trap designed for a car like hers, the fastest cars on the track. Anything going above 90 was not coming back from it.
She was going to die.
Joaquin gritted his teeth as he tore through the roads on a stolen Ducati motorbike, the roar of the engine screaming beneath him. The underground track loomed ahead; the dark, sharp, uncharted roads calling out to her as y/n sat poised behind the wheel of a goddamn Lamborghini, seconds from launching herself into it like it was just another thrill.
The crowd parted like the red sea as he blared his horn and skidded the Ducati across the tarmac, blocking her path just as she had hit the gas pedal at the starting point. The Lambo screeched to a halt in seconds, and he heard a rather interesting curse word screamed at him, fury blazing in the princesses’ eyes before she even opened the door.
She strutted towards him, wearing a short skirt and white top with a racing jacket, ready to fight him in the middle of the road, “What the actual—!”
Joaquin took off his helmet, walking to her in a hurry, “Forgive me, your highness, but I swear to God…” he snapped, stalking toward her. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
She looked more shocked than afraid to see him, but he didn’t care. He grabbed her by the arms, grounding her, shaking her just enough to make her look at him. Her entire body shook, as she processed that Joaquin was actually standing in front of her.
“There’s a trap on the curve. Designed for you to loose control in seconds.” He screamed as the crowd roared around them, watching the race start.
She opened her mouth to argue, but behind them, he heard it; racing bikes, at least four, moving fast and close to them.
“The paparazzi. They traced your car.” He looked at her with panic in his eyes.
She froze as soon as she heard the roaring bikes, two racing past them towards the road where she was supposed to crash.
Joaquin leaned in, lowering his voice. “Y/n, hey.” He held her face, “soon they will realize you’re not racing! You need to get on that bike. Now.”
She hesitated, but Joaquin pulled her with him, “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder again.”
She groaned, rolled her eyes but climbed onto the Ducati behind him, silent as he handed her his helmet. She didn’t protest when he grabbed her hands and placed them around his waist.
“Hold on,” he muttered.
Then they were flying. The Ducati ripped through the confused crowd who wondered why she left the race, entering a maze of streets, the tires kissing death on every corner. Seconds later he heard it; bikes chasing them, the camera flashing. Joaquin zipped up his jacket to his chin, his face down, as camera flashes distracted him. Shouts echoed, calling y/n to look back, but she held him tighter, refusing to look up. He didn’t let himself feel anything; not the way her grip tightened around his body, not the way his chest burned as she grabbed his jacket.
He’d swore as he swerved his bike through uncharted streets, the pedestrians screaming obscenities his ways, but all he cared was to lose the paparazzi who were hell bent on getting a click. He knew in that moment he would do anything for her.
And if it meant risking everything; his life, his dignity, his job, his heart… so be it.
---/---/---
They lost the paps after 20 minutes of circling back and forth inside the city, and he was damn sure he was soon to be banned in this Vienna forever, if he was lucky enough not to be thrown in jail. Joaquin rode in silence, her arms still tight around his waist long after they were gone.
As soon as they entered her room, shedidn't even turned on the lights before turning on the TV... which flashed the latest news: “police have found two cars crashed into each other at the underground tunnel which seemed to have been a part of the illegal street races that had been happening at night. The perpetrators were captured, and one of them had been sent to the emergency ward with severe injuries.”
His eyes found her in an instant, standing in the middle of her hotel suite; her face illuminated by the TV's light, devoid of color, flushed cheeks, wind-tangled hair, knuckles white at her sides. The girl who was so used to take up all the room anywhere she was present, now looked small in the silence that followed as he shut the TV off.
Then she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper, “Does nobody care if I live or die?”
He blinked, his breath quickened.
“Is my life so cheap that they can sell it for mere… pictures?” Her voice cracked on the last word. She turned to face him fully, tears welling, brimming. “Is that all I am? A price tag for the highest bidder?”
His throat tightened, watching her crumble in front of his eyes. He had never seen her scared, ever. Even when he reprimanded her for trying to jump off of the palace walls.
He stepped forward, “I do,” he said on his own accord, “I care.”
Something in her crumbled as he spoke, her lips trembled into a smile, as if she didn’t believe him, tears slipped freely down her cheeks as a sob wrecked through her.
“I don’t want to die,” she whispered, her legs shaking while she hid her face in her hands.
Joaquin moved as if he was possessed, like his mind and body were saying two different things. But in three long strides, he was there. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in. She clung to him like she’d fall apart if she let go, sobbing into his chest, grief and fear and exhaustion of the entire day unraveling all at once.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” He caressed her hair, soothing her back as she shook with every sob.
That night, he hadn’t screamed at her.
When she finally cried herself to sleep on the bed, curled like a child, he covered her and took a seat. He stayed by her side the entire night, sitting in the armchair next to her bed, watching her breathe.
Vowing to himself; this would never happen again. Nobody would ever come this close to harm her. because he would reach to them first
He would cross the ends of the earth to keep her from harm, and no one would ever come close to hurting her like this again.
---/---/---
That was the night something in Joaquin... shifted. That was the moment everything changed for him, when his heart began to flutter anytime, she was sad or close to danger. His heart seemed alive when she smiled, or laughed, or dragged him off to talk his ears off about engines and races and F1, breath stopping when she would mention any racer who looked cute in her opinion.
The Princess changed after Vienna. She didn’t run away from the palace; she worked with NGO’s and genuinely worked to change the lives of the underprivileged. She took responsibility, asked him to teach her how to drive safely and not gas her car from 0 to 100 in three seconds like a rookie. He saw her join university abroad, and he followed her to keep her safe. He saw her study for hours, write reports, and her own speeches for ceremonies and public events. he kept her at an arms distance, but close enough so the creeps wouldn't dare approach her at frat parties.
And somewhere in the middle of state visits and etiquette lessons, he had stopped seeing her as a spoiled kid and started seeing her as a person. Flawed, yes, but absolutely fearless.
But tonight, she was back behind that locked door like she’d been then. It had been years since she did this. He heard another sob echo through the closed doors, and that was his last straw. He turned to the door, “Princess,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
No answer.
He tried again, this time stronger, but still gentle. “Your Highness. Just open the door and let me know you’re alright.”
Her crying paused, and he heard her footsteps come closer. He rested his palm against the wood, gulping, debating what to say next, “I don’t need you to talk,” he said. “I just...” His voice cracked, and he took a deep breath, “I just need to see you. To know you’re okay.”
Joaquin felt her presence through the door; she was standing right behind it. Asha cast him a glance, walking to the door, resting her hand on his shoulder. He leaned his forehead against the wood now. “y/n,” he whispered the name only a few were allowed to use, “please.”
A moment passed, Asha looked at him and then at the door, and all of a sudden, they heard the sound of slow movement inside. A slipper scuffing the floor, and the turn of a lock - Click.
The door cracked open an inch, just enough to reveal a tear-streaked face looking up at him, her eyes red, pouting. Joaquin didn’t move. He just looked at her, and all the rage boiling inside him softened in an instant.
“Hey.” He said, “can I come in?” She gulped, breathing hard, and finally, she nodded.
---/---/---
When the door creaked fully open, she stood right in front of him; barefoot, her hair a mess, and her cheeks still stained with tears.
She was still in her dress, but now the satin of her flared gown had been ripped open at the skirt seam, and the sleeves were ripped apart. Joaquin realized that she had tried to get out of the dress on her own, but the corset restricted her moments, and she had decided that tearing up the dress in shreds was the way to go.
And honestly, he didn’t blame her.
Asha was already behind her, muttering, “Dear lord,” before hurrying to unfasten the shredded gown from the back. Her top loosened, threatening to fall down, and he quickly cleared his throat and turned around.
Joaquin walked out to the princesses’ sitting room, standing near the threshold trying not to think about how the corset hugged your chest to push your breasts up, and he had unwillingly witnessed the swell of them just seconds ago. He instead focused on your conversation with Asha as she frantically dressed you into your night clothes and cleaned you up as you blared out an angry rant onto your ancestors for repressing the women in your lineage that had led to this... unsure if he should follow inside or wait until he’s summoned.
Y/n whined at Asha like a child, “Burn the bloody dress. I don’t ever want to see that thing again!”
Then, her voice came for him, low and tired. “You coming in, or do you need a royal scroll to give you permission?”
He exhaled slowly at the sarcasm and stepped inside.
By the time the door shut, y/n had changed into her softest, most worn-out clothing: a faded 1970’s Monaco Grand Prix shirt that practically hung by a thread, and loose trousers rolled at the ankles. Her hair was still wild as Asha tugged at the knots, but to Joaquin, she now looked more herself than she had all night.
Asha braided her hair and she flopped face-first onto the bed with the dramatic flair of someone who’d just lost a war.
“No one enters,” she mumbled into a pillow. “Except you two. Got it?”
“I told the guards already. Don’t worry.” Joaquin says softly, walking to the sofa near her bed.
Asha got busy folding up the destroyed gown with practiced efficiency, getting it out of sight before y/n decides she actually wants to burn the gown.
Joaquin took off his suit jacket, draping it on the back of the sofa near her bed, and takes a seat leaning back, his arms crossed. “You alright now?”. Y/n turned her face to the side to glare at him, her cheek pressed to the velvet pillow. She opened her mouth to slap him with some snide remark, but before she could answer, her stomach gave a loud, angry growl.
Asha’s eyes snapped to her like a laser. “What have you eaten today?” she looks at the princess accusingly, her hands on her waist. The princess winced and slowly turned her gaze to Joaquin with guilt written all over her face.
He sighed, rubbing his temples, “Ay dios mio.” He pulled out his phone, “I’m ordering food. Real food, all your favorites.”
“And boba tea, my treat.” she mumbled into the pillow.
“Obviously.” He scoffed.
---/---/---
Fifteen minutes later, the mood in the room had transformed completely.
You sat cross-legged on the bed, your mood a bit better and face a little brighter. Your lap was covered in crumpled wrappers and boxes: fried chicken, spicy fries, mango pudding, dumplings, and, yes, the largest boba tea cup money could buy. You devoured it all like it was your final meal on earth.
Joaquin sat on your sofa watching you with amused disbelief, “I swear, you eat like you haven’t seen food in a decade.”
You took a big gulp of the boba tea, and spoke, “You’ve seen our palace menus. I’m lucky I still know what seasoning tastes like.”
Asha, sweeping up the bits of tissue and packaging, sat down next to you and swiped a stray strand of hair from your face, “I haven’t seen you throw a tantrum like this since you were twenty and your new designer shoes didn’t match with any of the purses you owned.”
“They clashed, Asha. It was a fashion emergency.” You said between bites, smiling at the memory. It had taken you some time to leave old habits of getting what you want anytime you want. You had learned how to act like a decent human being and not throw a tantrum at the smallest inconvenience.
Joaquin chuckled along with Asha, as she lovingly wiped your face with a tissue, helping you so you don’t spill the food.
You smiled at the sound that you so rarely heard, watching him look at you with a smile on his face, the way his eyes crinkled, and his canines peeked out a bit behind his lips. He was a handsome looking man in every sense, but more so, he was a good man. And sometimes, he took himself too seriously. It soothed your heart watching him sit back and relax once in a while.
Asha took your hand, rubbing it, and she asked you hesitantly, “So… Are you actually going to marry Prince Idris?”
You paused mid-sip, narrowing your eyes, “What do you think?”
Joaquin shared a look with Asha, and you giggled.
Not the cute kind, but the devious one that you involuntarily let out, any time before you did something crazy. You set the drink down and leaned forward like a child about to tell a ghost story. “Alright. I’ll tell you both a secret. But it stays between the three of us. Pinky swears.” You extend your hand to Asha, and she obliges.
Joaquin raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
The princess grinned wickedly. “C’mon, soldier boy. You know the rules.”
He scoffed at his nickname that you called him just to annoy him, and with an exaggerated sigh, Joaquin stood near the bed and held out his hand. She locked her pinky with his, and smiled.
She whispered, “Prince Idris is planning to abdicate.”
Both of them blinked, taken aback by the revelation.
You smiled and continued, “I knew him before, he did a semester at my college.” You sit straight, “nobody knew he was a prince, and even if they did, they didn’t care. I had guessed he doesn’t want the throne, living like he did back then. We talked for hours tonight, and he confirmed it... he will announce it in a few weeks.”
Joaquin’s eyes widened slightly. Then he leaned back in the chair and exhaled hard, “That’s great!”
Aveline tilted her head, suspicious. She gave him a look, one he dodged expertly, to which he replied, “…for you. It’s good for you because you won’t have to marry him.”
You nod, and go back to eating your food, when Asha yawned, stretching with a dramatic sigh. “Princess y/n, with all due respect…”
You rolled your eyes, “Oh my god Asha just go! Stop with the formalities!”
She happily gathered the trash and bowed to you, addressing Joaquin as she went away, “Do not let her burn the gown in the bedroom, she can do it tomorrow in the garden.”
Joaquin nods and you mutter, “I heard that?” as Asha left, closing the doors behind her.
And then, they were alone.
Joaquin huffed out a breath, leaning back on the sofa, exhausted after a long long night.
---/---/---
Having dismissed Asha, the final cleaning duties fell on you.
Not that you mind it, you did it all the time in college. It was a way to get your mind off of things. You cleared the bed in slow movements, the weight of the night falling on you. Torn silk, broken pearls, the remnants of your tantrum were all swept aside when you finally gave up. Joaquin watched you silently after you refused his help and hissed, “sit your ass down pretty boy.” his presence was dear to you, you never felt more at ease with anyone other than him.
He somehow always knew when you were going through a hard time, as if he looked right through you. At first, it scared you, but now, alone with him in your room, it was comforting.
She exhaled sharply and looked at him, strands of hair falling across her face. “You going to just stare at me like a statue, Torres?”
Joaquin chuckled his voice low, standing up. “Here to supervise your highness’ dramatic bedtime routine.”
“Dramatic?” you quipped, placing your hands on your waist, “thank the man upstairs you weren’t here to witness my meltdown.”
“Nah, I’ve been watching it all these years,” he muttered, and made you throw your pillow at him, which he caught with his insane reflexes, his biceps bulging through his white formal shirt, his tie loose, his vest still intact after all this.
Once the bed was cleared, you stretched with a loud sigh, arms above her head, and Joaquin seemed to look away, and you instantly retreated, realizing you just exposed your midriff to him.
“Sorry.” You muttered.
Joaquin paused for a beat, watching you, and then said, “I have something for you.”
That made you perk up instantly, eyes shining, “You do?”
He reached into his jacket on the sofa, and pulled out a small, black wrapped box... neatly tied with a pink ribbon. Your excitement knew no bounds as you hurried off to him, standing a head shorter than him now that you were out of your heels, your chin tilted up to meet his gaze, arms tucked behind your back like a curious child. Joaquin looked away for a second, smiling with his teeth bared, and gave the box to you.
You gently took the box and unwrapped it, the content inside made your heart jump.
Nestled inside was a silver necklace, its pendant was an oval frame holding a pale pink gemstone the size of your index nail. It was beautiful, you hesitate to even touch it, fearing you’d break the fragile looking stone.
“It’s a star sapphire,” Joaquin said quietly, making you look at him, “I found it some years ago on a trip to Jaipur. I… I kept it, kind of… because…” he trailed off.
Your fingers brushed against the chain. “It’s beautiful, Joaquin.” You looked up at him again, speechless, your lips slightly parted, a blush crept up your neck, and you asked him hesitantly, “Help me put it on?”
He nodded, stepping behind you. His hands were steady as he lifted the chain, and you brushed your hair to a side to give him access. For a moment, his scent; musk, dawn-like, and something uniquely him… washed over you. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck, and you let out a small exhale. His hands lingered, just a heartbeat too long, his figure looming behind you, before he stepped back as he secured the clasp.
“There,” he murmured, his voice husky. You turned back to him, your hand resting above the pendant, as the pink gemstone glistened against your skin, “Thank you… Joaquin.”
You looked at him to see his shoulders slumped, his hands fidgeting, he looked up at you, almost blushing, “uh… the necklace… I know it’s not much. I… it’s alright if you don’t like-” You cut him off by grabbing his shoulders and shaking him playfully, “Don’t be stupid, Joaquin. I love it, it’s more precious than anything I’ve ever worn.” He looks at you, his eyes crinkling as a wide smile spread across his face, and you added, “also… it’s pink so it will go with all my outfits.” you trailed off as you twirled in your room, earning a laugh from him.
“Well in that case…” he pulled another, slightly larger box from behind him and held it out.
You tilt your head, puzzled at how he materialized the box out of thin air, “how did you…”
“Just take it”
“Okay.” You smile, tearing it opens with childish glee and gasped, “You didn’t!” It was your favorite pastry. Rich chocolate layers with raspberry filling and tons of whipped cream from that tiny bakery near the end of the city that nobody knew you loved… except for him.
You squeaked, actually squeaked, jumping up and down, He saw how sad you got in the past few weeks when you were put on a strict diet to fit in your birthday gown, glooming to him about how you can’t even have your favorite sweets in secret because they will know. You looked at how happy he seemed watching you so ecstatic, and you couldn’t help it. You jumped into his arms, hugging him tight, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Joaquin froze, his arms hovering before he slowly wrapped them around you. You had no idea how long you stayed like that; before you pulled away and flopped into your sofa, feet curled beneath you like a cat, already devouring the pastry. You didn’t miss how he stood transfixed at your act, and slowly moved to lean against the nearest wall, hands in his pockets. To divert your mind off of how you still feel his body against yours, you mumbled between bites, “You know the crazy part? I didn’t even eat the stupid humongous cake they made me cut today.” You looked at him, and found him amused at this revelation, “Everyone got a piece and I was rushed off to ‘get presentable for your first dance with Father!!!' ugh! I didn’t even get a bite!”
Joaquin smiled sadly, watching you, “you should have just ordered them to give you some.”
“Ha ha.” You deadpanned, licking the remnants of the pastry from your fingertips, when you caught him staring at you, “What?” you asked.
“Nothing,” he said softly. “You’re just… happy.” His smile dimmed slightly, softened. “For the first time in a while.”
“Can you blame me?” you tilt your head, and perk up, “Can I ask for one more gift?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Greedy.”
You stood and walked to the center of the room, barefoot on the fine fur carpets, extending you had to him, “Dance with me.”
Joaquin blinked, straightening his back, “What?”
“You owe me a dance, soldier boy.” You laugh, “we were interrupted by a certain prince, remember?”
---/---/---
He did remember, the scene of her being led on the dance floor while he stood helpless in the back will forever be etched in his brain, he feared.
Joaquin took her hand, and it fit into his perfectly. She placed her other on his shoulder, and his hand found the small of her back.
“Just like we practiced?” he asks her.
“Just like we practiced.”  She smiled, her face just inches away from him.
“Don’t step on my toes, princess.” He smirked, earning a slap on his shoulders, and he led her.
They moved in slow circles, the wind against the windows being the music, the low ceiling lights the witness to their waltz.
“Is your mood any better now?” he asked.
“Kind of.” She shrugged.
He looked at her for a while, the faint smile on her lips nly increased when he twirled her and bought her back in his arms, swaying. He assured her, “His majesty won’t make you marry Prince Idris if he announces his abdication.”
“I know.” She says, and her smile drops for a bit, “but there will be more prospects, better than the Kingdom of Meira… prospects I won’t have any say in.” she looked at his crooked collar, and adjusted it a bit.
“I want to drive in Monaco.” she said, eyes on him, “I want to feel the G’s on my body from an actual F1 car… I’ve studied that they are way harder than any sports car, not even a Bugatti can do that! You know, if you don’t strap in correctly in the racing pit, the G’s are sometimes so hard on your body you can get concussions.” Her smile was back, like she was imagining driving a racing car in the pit.” She took a step back and walked around Joaquin, her ands caressing his shoulders and then back into his arms, “I want to Travel more… Greece, Mongolia, Shanghai… Grandma went on a world tour when she was young, she used to tell me all kinds of stories from her days... I want to know who I am Joaquin, I can’t do that sitting in a castle.”
“Run away.” The words tumbled out of his mouth as he stopped in his tracks, realizing what he said.
“What?” She asked him, her eyes wide in shock.
He breathed out, “Run away, your highness. Don’t tell me you never thought of it.”
They stood in silence for a long moment, staring at each other in peril… hand in hand, their bodies close.
Y/n’s brows raised, he could see the gears in her head turning... And then… she smirked.
The same smirk that had gotten her into trouble too many times.
“Okay,” she whispered, eyes burning like stars. “I’m listening, soldier boy.”
---/---/---
Joaquin didn’t waste time. He stepped into the hallway to take a look; six guards, all mobile, every single one’s eyes on the door. Probably deployed by the king to give him updates on the princess. One of them, probably the newest one, seemed a bit startled to watching Joaquin slam open the doors.
Bingo!
Joaquin looked that guard dead in the eyes, and dropped his voice an octave, “Her Highness wishes for complete privacy,” he said firmly. “Only Asha and I are permitted. No one else enters.”
The guard exchanged glances with the others standing near, but Joaquin’s tone left no room for discussion. He nodded, and the guard next to him relaxed a bit but stood firm.
He needs another opening, not from the main hallway. So where? He rushed to the balconies, and saw the next one; prince Ramil’s quarters. There was a reason even princess y/n never dared to cross the balconies on her own, because the distance wasn’t the problem…it was the height. Below him there were three floors, one mistake and then fall was on concrete.
Inside, y/n began pulling open drawers and cabinets rushing to fill a duffle bag with anything she could. Asha rushed in a moment later hearing the commotion, eyes flicking from the princess’s hurried actions and to Joaquin, and she knew something serious was happening. She flexed her hands and joined y/n.
“Pack light,” Joaquin rushed in, urgency in his voice. “Clothes, cash, and jewelry. They’ll freeze your accounts the second they know you’re gone.”
Asha moved swiftly, helping y/n gather simple clothes, jewelry that could be sold easily, and a modest amount of cash. y/n, now dressed in black cargo trousers, a simple white t-shirt and her black leather jacket, stuffed the cash inside her pockets and shoes, looking at a baffled Joaquin and then shrugging, “I’ve seen spy movies, dude.” She turned to Asha, and gave her childhood handmaiden a tight hug.
“Take care of mom,” she whispered, “Tell them you were asleep, okay?” y/n said, wiping Asha’s tears, “just stay safe.”
Asha smiled despite the tears in her eyes, realizing this might be the last time she sees the princess, “You too princess, you’ve got this. Show them what you’re made of.”
With one last look around her quarters, Y/n joined Joaquin, who was already leading her to the balcony. y/n stopped dead in her tracks, “no, no, no! I am not jumping into Ramil’s quarters.”
“There are guards outside!” Joaquin hushed her, dragging her behind him, y/n whining as she followed.
Joaquin threw the bag first, and then climbed the railing and made the jump, perfectly, looking at y/n, “come on.”
“If I die Joaquin I will haunt your ass forever.” y/n looked at the sky, took a deep breath and climbed the railing. Joaquin stood guard as he prepared to catch her, but then she got down and tied her hair back.
“What the hell?” he whisper yelled.
“I don’t have Slenderman legs like you! I need momentum idiot!” saying so, Y/n ran to the end of the balcony and ran towards him with full speed, and like a cat, she jumped off of the railing to grab the other one… and missed.
Joaquin grabbed her hands as she squealed and hung on one side, trying not to scream. He pulled her up, and grabbed her waist as she hooked her leg on the railing and climbed up, breathing hard.
“You good?” he pulled her up to her feet as he slings the bag on his back. She looked him dead in the eyes, scoffed, and gently opened the door to Ramil’s quarters.
---/---/---
They tiptoe into the room, and find the living room to be darkened and quiet, the door of Ramil’s bedroom ajar, his figure under the covers. Y/n grabbed his hand as he looked ahead, the main door to the quarters was right in front of them, so they walked swiftly to cross the room.
Only to freeze as they hear the clink of a lighter opening.
Leaning against a pillar, lazily lighting a cigarette, Prince Ramil was right next to the door, his face illuminated by the lighter’s fire. Joaquin was quick to grab y/n’s arm and shove her behind him as Prince Ramil looked at the scene in front of him with his brows lifted.
“Well, hello.” he asked, voice low, “How do I owe the pleasure of you two sneaking into my quarters?”
Y/n let go of Joaquin’s hand, and stepped forward, crossing her arms. “I thought you quit smoking.”
Ramil stayed silent as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his gaze flicking between his sister and Joaquin. When he noticed the bag on his shoulder, his eyes softened, “You’re running away.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Ramil exhaled loudly looking at his cigarette, then he crushed it on the nearest brass vase, and shoved his hands into his shiny grey silk nightgown, “Well, I always said you were the brave one.”
y/n blinked, sharing a glance with Joaquin.
“Take the underpass to the airfield. I’ll have the jet ready at the private hangar.”
“Brother…” Y/n gasped.
Ramil only smiled, “I won’t ask where you’re going. Don’t tell me either, y/n.”
He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug, “Live your life, for yourself, and for me. I’ll be the lazy brat heir who loves easy money to a nonexistent nation and follow silly rules." he sighed, "I'll make grandpa regret ever thinking he had any control over us.”
She let out a soft laugh into his shoulder, “I love you, bro bear.” He pulled back with a mocking grimace and ruffled her hair, “we were having a nice moment, dude.”
Ramil turned to Joaquin, throwing him a key, “Take the back stairwell, and keep her safe. I’ll have Sam take care of the cameras.” He smacked him on the shoulder, and opened the door.
“Stay safe.” Ramil told his sister, who turned back to take one last look and then held Joaquin’s hand, running.
---/---/---/---
The corridor echoed with their footsteps as they ran together without looking back, finding the gate to the stairwell as Joaquin worked on getting the ancient lock open, and as they descended down the stairs, they found Sam Wilson, Ramil’s bodyguard running up.
“I owe you one,” Joaquin muttered as Sam passed him a data card, and Joaquin gave him the stair keys.
“I’ll make sure the cameras loop for the next and past 10 minutes,” Sam grinned, glancing at y/n and bowing, “farewell, princess.”
“Thank you Sam.” y/n smiled as she ran downstairs.
---/---/---
Y/n’s boots pounded the cobblestones of the courtyard, breath shallow as she ran beside Joaquin, the cold night air biting at her cheeks. His hand gripped hers tightly, and he looked around alert of anyone moving past. His white dress shirt was partially unbuttoned beneath his dark vest, hair mussed from all the running, his brows raised in process, “Almost there, Princess.” he said over his shoulder.
But Y/n wasn’t looking ahead.
She was looking at him.
And suddenly, her chest clenched, not from the running, but from a memory that came rushing back so vividly it was like she was living it again.
---/---/---/---
Two Years Ago, Y/n’s 23rd birthday
The palace had long gone to sleep.
Moonlight spilled across the royal courtyard, over marble benches and carefully sculpted rose hedges. You were sitting barefoot on the edge of the stone fountain, your feet splashing in the water as the fountain’s droplets fell on the hem of your gown, the heels discarded beside you.
You had excused yourself as soon as the party came to a halt, your parents always made a big show out of your birthday as to tell the world, ‘Hey, look! She isn’t crazy anymore!’. You absentmindedly toyed with a silver ring on your fingers; one you never wear out in public. It had belonged to your late grandmother, whom you loved more than anyone.
Joaquin stood a few feet away, suit jacket slung over a bench, tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He watched her in silence, arms crossed, like he didn’t want to intrude but wouldn’t leave unless ordered to.
You looked up at him and scoffed, “Are you always going to look at me like that?”
He raised a brow. “Like what?”
Turning back to watch the moon’s reflection rippling in the water, you speak, “Like I’m one bad decision away from combusting.”
He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You are one bad decision away from combusting.”
You smiled faintly, “Touché.”
He stood beside you, but not too close. Joaquin was always respectful, and always four paces behind you, especially in public.
“Why are you still here, Joaquin?” you asked, quietly.
“Because I will be fired if I don’t see you to your quarters tonight, princess.” He deadpanned.
You laughed, “no, I mean…” you took a deep breath, “You could’ve left after Vienna. No one would’ve blamed you.”
“I don’t leave people behind.”
You looked at him for a long time, your head tilting, “What if they are a reckless mess?”
He met your gaze, “Especially then.”
Silence lingered as the sound of the fountain filled the space between you.
“I don’t know if I am built for this, Joaquin.” you whispered, like a confession. “All these people, these rules. I feel like I’m suffocating under diamonds and…” she grabbed the hem of your gown, “this stupid gown. It’s not even real silk who even…” you almost got distracted until Joaquin spoke.
“You’re whatever you want to be, a princess, a high society lady, or a drag racing champion,” he said softly. “I’ll be here with you until you decide.”
You look at the sky above, watching the full moon shining down as the cold water grounded you to reality, “You shouldn’t do that,” you murmured. “Be kind to me like this.”
He turned his head slightly, looking down at you, “Why not?”
“Because I’m starting to count on it.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He let the question linger, as if deciding what to say next, “Don’t you trust me, your highness?”
You blinked, a smirk on your face, “only a little..."
He scoffed, “Seriously, Princess?”
A smile tugged at your lips “Okay, okay! I trust you.”
A breath passed between the two of you, he watched you and you played with the water.
You sat up slowly and looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, the palace around you didn’t matter. The titles, the burden of the crown, your duty as a princess and his as you guard.
It was just two people looking at each other; a woman scared to take a leap, and a man ready to catch her when she does. This wasn’t just admiration. This wasn’t gratitude. He made you feel seen, not as a crown or a scandal… but as yourself.
You see the same thing in his eyes, the same feeling in his heart as yours.
“Looks like I’m in trouble,” you said, a broken smile forming.
“I know,” he murmured. “Me too.”
You take a step closer, close enough to feel his heat on your skin, and as being pulled by an unknown force… he staggered back, looking at his feet, “It’s getting late. I’ll escort you to your rooms, your highness.”
And though nothing more was said that night… You didn’t forget the way he looked at you in the moonlight. The way he stayed silent when he could have ruined everything.
That was the night you knew, you were in love with Joaquin Torres.
---/---/---/---
In the garage, your footsteps echoed across the large basement, and your eyes searched for your prized possession; a gift from your parents on your 18th birthday; a hot pink custom Mustang. You wondered what their reaction would be when they find out about you running away in it.
You find the car, gleaming next to Ramil’s black Range Rover, and you thank your past self for the maintenance job you did for the car only days ago.
Joaquin opened the door for you and tossed the bag in as you settled into the seat with practiced ease, closing the door behind you.
And didn’t get in.
You frowned, rolling down the window. “What are you doing? Get in.”
He shook his head, taking a step back. “I’m not coming with you. Not yet.” He said, ready to run the minute you start the engine.
“What?” Your voice cracked as you get out of the car and he groaned, “What the hell do you mean not yet?”
“This is not the time for you to be demanding y/n get in the car and go!” he shouts.
“I’m not leaving without you!” you shout back.
“Hush!” he panics, slapping a hand on your mouth, something he had never dared to do, “I need to stay behind and distract them. If I disappear with you, they’ll track both of us.”
Your heart began to pound for a different reason now; panic clawing at your throat, imagining everything horrible that might be unleashed on him, “No, no, you promised, Joaquin. You said you’d keep me safe.” tears brimmed in your eyes.
Joaquin’s chest rose and fell, his vest now open and his sleeves rolled up, he looked like a cursed prince who was to be sacrificed. He took a steady breath and stepped closer to you, his eyes locking on yours.
“They’ll hurt you, Joaquin!.” You shake your head, tears falling freely, “You don’t have to do the noble sacrifice act Joaquin!”
He held your face in his hands, smiling through his own tears brimming in his dark brown eyes, “You are amazing, princess,” he said, voice low and steady. “you deserve the world, and every good thing it has to offer. You’re more than the crown, and you need to listen to me when I say this; I love you. I’ve loved you for a long, long time. And it will break my heart to watch you be chained in this palace for nothing. So, go. Now. And let me handle the rest.” A sad laugh leaves his lips, as a single tear rolls down his face, “I’ll find you. I always do.”
Your throat tightened, and you let out a laugh, “You’re such an idiot.”
You grab the front of his shirt, and smash your mouth against his.
He grabbed your waist, pulling you closer. It wasn’t soft, or patient. It was pure, raging fire… forged in years of hidden glances, of duty, the ‘almost’, and all the things you were never allowed to say to him.
You pulled back just as fast, tears brimming in your eyes, “I love you too, soldier boy.” You whisper, caressing his face. He laughed as he rested his forehead against yours, “stay safe out there.”
“You too.” You say, taking to steps back, “and I’m sorry for this.”
You throw a clean punch on his nose, maybe a bit too hard.
He winced as he staggered back, grabbing his face as blood flew from his nose, “Ow! What the fuck?”
“In case someone asks why you didn’t follow me,” you said, wincing at the blood, “You can say I knocked you down in the garage.”
Joaquin stared at you, stunned, his face bloody, his lips parted like he wanted to say something.
And then he laughed, making your heart ache, and then waving, “bye, y/n.”
“bye.” You wave back, and all you wanted to do in that moment was to hug him tight and never let go, but that wasn’t possible.
So, you got into the car, revved the engine and looked at him for one last time…
And drove into the night.
---/---/---
One Year Later
The headlines had been relentless for weeks after she disappeared.
"Tavreshi's Rebel Princess: Vanished Without a Trace?" "Royal Scandal: Drift Princess Gone Rogue" "Abdication or Abduction? The Tavreshi Royal Palace Remains Tight-Lipped"
The royal palace stood as it always had; stone cold, high, immaculate, and painfully perfect. But everything inside it had shifted. A silence haunted the marble corridors and the sunlit courtyards. It was the kind of silence that didn't come from the absence of sound, but from the absence of chaos.
Princess y/n of Tavreshi had vanished without a trace in the dead of the night. No trail, no clues. She was gone like a whisper in the wind.
And the kingdom was grueling the people within the palace with a hundred questions.
“Where is the Princess?” “Why hasn’t she been seen since her twenty-fifth birthday?” “Was she exiled because of her rebellious past?” “Was it true she was in love with Prince Idris and was heartbroken after his abdication?” “Did she abdicate and went away in secret?”
The official statement was delivered after a few weeks, delivered stiffly by a senior advisor on a podium outside the palace;
"Her Royal Highness Princess y/n of Tavreshi has chosen to abdicate her title and step away from royal duties for personal reasons. She had left the palace for a peaceful retreat, and we ask for privacy and offer no further comment. Thank you."
But behind the curtain of diplomacy, everything was falling apart.
The King had lost his temper the day after Princess y/n vanished. He'd hurled a decanter of aged scotch across the room, shattering it into a thousand glittering pieces as Prince Ramil, and the king and queen reagent watched in horror, “She has humiliated this house! This nation!” he had thundered. “And you, Joaquin, were supposed to be her shadow!”
If it weren’t for Prince Ramil and Sam physically holding him back, the King would have broken Joaquin’s healing nose a second time. The man was trembling with rage, shouting about betrayal, national disgrace, and how he knew Joaquin had helped her escape. Joaquin was detained in the palace's interrogation room for three days. The questions came in waves; from the detectives, from the security head, from the King himself.
“Did you know she would run away?” “When did you realize she is not coming back?” “Did you kidnap her? Was this coordinated with outsiders?”
And Joaquin? He stuck to one story.
“I followed the princess to the garage,” he said calmly, every single time, “I assumed it was one of her tantrums, she’s run off before. I thought she’d feel better after a drive. But she punched me in the nose, and I fainted.”
“You didn’t call security?”
“I did when I woke up,” Joaquin replied, “I didn’t know she meant to disappear,” he said, eyes blank, voice steady. “I thought she'd calm down, like always.”
Prince Ramil matched the story with his version, “She never told me anything, I was drunk and sleeping in my room and I woke up to grandpa throwing a fit.” he shrugged.
They believed him. Or maybe they didn’t.
There was no hard evidence to contradict the various interviews. No surveillance footage, no recordings. Half the palace staff had heard the screaming match in the private salon the night before; the shouting, the smashed glass, the moment the princess had run to her quarters and how Joaquin had followed her, like he had done for the last seven years. The palace staff and security, especially the princesses’ handmaiden Asha had vouched for the fact that Joaquin had saved the princess from harm all these years, and he was always loyal to the crown and would do nothing to ruin its reputation.
Every shred of evidence worked in Joaquin’s favor.
The palace dropped the case on the condition that Joaquin be dismissed from royal service for “negligence in duty.” They made him sign a non-disclosure order and stripped him of honors.
But they didn’t know that the detectives were right; He had helped her get free.
---/---/---/------/----
One Year Later || Monaco Grand Prix
The spring sun high on the track as viewers settled on the podium, energetic and ecstatic to see their favorite cars race through the city of Monaco. Down by the pit lanes, cameras clicked furiously as reporters jostled for position, all hoping to catch the perfect candid shot of racers and crew.
But today’s buzz wasn’t just about the race… it was because every team was set to unveil their newest backup racer, and the media was in a frenzy; eager to break the news, snap exclusive photos, and flood social media with the first glimpse of the rising stars.
Joaquin sat stiffly in the VIP box, his cap pulled low, sunglasses shadowing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. He was trying to look relaxed, but even Sam, lounging next to him in a rumpled polo and chewing on a toothpick, wasn’t buying the act. Sam suddenly leaned forward halfway casually scanning the box, then froze.
“Bro…” he nudged Joaquin with his elbow, trying to stay subtle but failing, “Look at the guy in front of us!”
Joaquin didn’t react, “okay?”
Sam hissed louder, “I saw him at a gala once. That guy owns, like, every skyscraper in Singapore. You know those condos with swimming pools in the sky? When Prince Ramil said he’d get us the best seats, I didn’t think he meant billionaire-adjacent.”
Joaquin smirked faintly. “There are perks to working for a prince, Sam.”
Sam chuckled. “Yeah? Shame you got fired.”
“Wow. Thanks for that?” Joaquin glanced at him, deadpan.
Sam shrugged, grinning. “Just saying.” But the smile slipped from his face when he noticed Joaquin’s focus return to the LED jumbotron above the pit lane. “You look tense,” Sam muttered. “Like you’re the one about to go zero to two hundred.”
Joaquin didn’t answer him, only shrugged. There was a reason Prince Ramil sent Sam on a ‘laid back vacation’ with a plus one ticket to the freaking Grand Prix… he hoped to see a familiar face. His fingers tapped on his bicep, his eyes narrowed slightly, watching as a glossy video montage played on the massive screen highlighting reels of roaring engines, close-up helmet shots, and dramatic overhead drone views of the circuit. The announcer’s voice came through, polished and booming over the sound system.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Introducing the reserve drivers making their Grand Prix debut!”
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Graphic cards began appearing; each with the name and stat line of a new driver, their teams and accolades proudly displayed. Sam was mid-sip of his drink when the next name came up—and he nearly choked.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the newest backup driver for Team Mercedes... a former princess who earned her name burning rubber on the streets of underground drag circuits…”
Joaquin’s stomach dropped.
Sam blinked at him. “Wait. Did they just say—?”
The announcer’s voice rang out again, louder this time, over the rising noise of the crowd.
“You know her as the Drift Princess—but from this day forward, she answers to her own name. Give it up for Y/N Y/L/N.”
The screen cut to a live feed of the pit area. A figure in a black-and-silver racing suit, hands gloved, wearing a black helmet… she turned slowly toward the camera, her long braid swinging over one shoulder. Then, she raised her helmet just enough to reveal her face.
Her expression lit with the mischief of someone who knew they were rewriting their story, right in front of the world, she waved to the crowd as her fellow racers clapped and cheered for her.
Princess Y/N. Not a ghost, not a runaway. She was alive, and grander than ever.
Joaquin felt something snap loose in his chest; like a wire pulled too tight for too long had finally given way. The world around him that was deafening loud and electric, seemed to fall away into silence as his breath left him in one slow, shaky exhale, trembling through his ribs like a secret he couldn’t keep any longer. It was like watching a dream he never allowed himself to have walk into the light.
Y/n, his y/n.
Not the girl in glittering gowns upholding impossible expectations, not the princess the world had tried to box in on her responsibilities. But the version he’d always seen since he first bowed to her; the one who was stubborn with fire in her eyes and unshakable determination, the one who breathed freedom like it was oxygen, the one who once cried into his shoulder and told him she didn’t want to die.
Joaquin’s heart clenched, painfully, he didn’t know if it was pride or grief or longing.
All of it, maybe.
The crowd clapped and whooped, but he didn’t hear them. All he could see was the glint in her eye and the fire in her smile. She did it… she did what she swore she would become.
Sam turned to him slowly, slack-jawed. “Holy. Shit.”
But Joaquin wasn’t listening anymore, his eyes were fixed on his beloved.
---/---/---
Joaquin didn’t wait for clearance. He’d spent too many years memorizing the flow of high-profile security rounds and the way they rotated the shifts.
So, when the noise of celebration roared around him as the match ended, he walked past the pit crew and to the garage like he belonged there. No one questioned him, no one gave him a second look. After weaving through people bustling around and press running to racers trying to get an interview, he found the main area where the cars were parked, his eyes frantically searching for her amongst the sea of mechanics, crew and racers.
A flash of hot pink caught his eye, and like a magnet being pulled to metal, he followed it.
Y/n was there, wearing a black and hot pink leather jacket. talking to a young girl holding a mic to her, her eyes sparkling as she expressed how happy she is to be a part of team Mercedes. Her sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back in a messy bun that looked like it had been through a storm and stayed standing anyway, her smile didn’t falter at all. She hugged the girl when the interview was over, while she was smitten watching y/n glowing in her form. She was a force untamed, who was finally free from all expectations.
Joaquin breathed as her eyes locked on his, a hand on his heart just to check if this was real, or just another one of his dreams in which he met her to be close enough and then wake up just before he could touch her.
Y/n froze, her eyes widening as she registered who was standing in front of her. For one aching second, she didn’t move, only looked at Joquin with shock and disbelief. And then she sprinted, laughing, “JOAQUIN!”
She ran full-speed at him with no hesitation and no care for who watched her or what anyone thought. Joaquin barely had any time to snap out of his trance and brace himself before she collided into him and jumped into his arms, laughing.
He caught her effortlessly, holding her tight as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders like he always had. “You’re here,” she whispered into his neck, shaking with joy. “You found me.” His heart thundered, his mind going foggy while he struggled to put his feelings into words. Instead, he held her tighter, grounding himself in the feel of her body against his, her laughter vibrating his chest.
“You did it, princess.” he finally said, trying to keep his voice steady, his eyes stinging despite the laugh bubbling in his chest.
Y/n pulled back just enough to see his face, her hands cradling his cheeks. Her thumbs brushed under his eyes, over his cheeks, his slight stubble, almost as if she couldn’t quite believe he was really standing in front of her.
“How did you…?” he asked, unable to finish the question, his voice cracked halfway through.
She stepped back with a lopsided grin, “Prince Idris helped me. After he abdicated, he helped me stay under the radar while I trained.” She held his hand, “Besides, a few of the F1 engineers knew me from the underground scene. It didn’t take much convincing; a couple races, a lot of sweat, and boom… Team Mercedes.”
“You just… walked into Mercedes and asked to join?” he said, half in awe, half in disbelief.
“I made a deal to stay in secret until today,” she laughed. “Turns out being a former princess with a crazy past has some advantages.”
"Tavreshi Royals will loose their minds over today." he breathed hard.
"I couldn't care less." she shrugged.
Joaquin shook his head, smiling despite himself, as he caressed her hand. There was a pause between them, the kind that wrapped arounds your soul like a slow exhale. The noise of the crowd outside still echoed beyond the doors, and they caught a few eyes of the crew inside, but here, right now, it was just them. His eyes softened as he looked at her; the laughter in her eyes, the fire in her soul. She was exactly who she was always meant to be.
His eyes dropped to her collarbone, where nestled against her throat, was a glint of pale pink. His breath hitched, “You kept it,” he whispered.
y/n smiled, the kind that twisted his insides, “Yes, Joaquin,” she said quietly, her fingers brushing over the pendant. “I still wear the necklace my love gave me.”
He let out a soft laugh in awe of what she just said, “You’re unbelievable.”
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, “You softie,” she whispered.
“Only for you,” he whispered back.
She stepped in closer, arms sliding around his waist. Her voice dropped, filled with a different kind of ache, “You think it was worth it? All that we gave up for this moment?”
He didn’t hesitate, “Every second.”
“Me too.” She whispered, caressing his jaw.
This time, when she kissed him, it wasn’t rushed or panicked or desperate. It was soft and slow with the weight of everything they never said. The years of what-ifs all poured into one kiss that tasted like sweet relief.
When they finally pulled away, she held his face, teary-eyed, “I love you, Soldier Boy.”
He smiled, eyes shining, “I love you too… Princess.” He pulled her into his chest, arms locked around her like a promise.
The End
⋆。 ゚☁︎。 ⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。 ⋆.⋆。 ゚☁︎。 ⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。 ⋆.
My Joaquin Torres Masterlist
My Masterlist
⋆。 ゚☁︎。 ⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。 ⋆.⋆。 ゚☁︎。 ⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。 ⋆.
I added all the blogs who were in my previous Joaquin torress fic and the blogs that reblogged and commented on the sneak peek, if you want to be removed or added in future fics pls let me know <3
@feed-into-my-delusions || @mystickittytaco || @savedfanfics1992 || @ballorawan740 || @bcystar || @mixedfandxms || @prvtt-khadijjj
@tuiccim @parkjammys @akinrawsx @asteph22 @iamthebeth @onlyhereforthefics @yikesdameron @savedfanfics1992 @amigaytho @samwilson-mylove @jenniweaslee-faves @anna-phora @giona45-5 @lieutenantchaos
@summersblogsthings @supportourgoddesses @iamthebeth @bvckys-doll @obxfan2854 @sugar-crisps @yikesdameron @rawecreek @fluffyprettykitty @dance-is-life27 @breezyez777 @davinashifts333
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fourthcrow ¡ 2 months ago
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── JON SNOW x CHUBBY!READER HEADCANONS.
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notes: this is my first time posting my work online, constructive criticism is very much appreciated! this man has me barking like a rabid dog in heat I ain't even gonna lie. not proofread oops. this is rushed because I am very sick this week.
warnings: fem!wife!reader, basic body descriptions, small mentions of insecurities, tooth-rotting fluff, written with later seasons jon in mind, sfw and nsfw. mdni. jon's a munch for his wife.
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— SFW. (slightly suggestive)
I feel like jon wouldn't care what his lover looks like, as the saying goes, beauty is on the inside, but there are pluses to having a chubby wife. a soft, plush woman to call his own.
jon loves having a hand on you at all times, and not even in a sexual way. he simply needs that contact, feeling the way your softness contrasts against his own hard build. whether it's a hand on the small of your back as you walk alongside or a steady grip on your plump thigh beneath the table during feasts, jon wants needs to feel you. his favorite thing is probably holding your hand. it's so simple and innocent, and yet the feeling of your soft skin against his own is near maddening. his palms are rough and calloused from years of swordplay and hard work, while yours seem just as delicate as the petals of a rose.
the way your body fits into dresses is one of his favorite sights. the bodice hugs the flare of your hips and outlines the curves of your beautiful body in all the right ways. whenever you wear a gown with a particularly low neckline, it offers a tantalizing view of the swell of your breasts, a teasing sight of what he already knows lies beneath, but still feels his mouth run dry like some green boy. because it's you. you, his gorgeous, sweet, perfect little wife.
if jon could curl up in bed with you and bury his face in-between your chest, in the soft pudge of your stomach, or lie his head upon your lap, and stay there forever — he would do so in a heartbeat. it's one of his favorite places. it makes him feel safe, it makes him feel loved. especially when you delicately trace over his features or run your fingers through his hair.
another thing your husband adores is the way your rounded cheeks split into a grin each time you see him. it's so very endearing, watching the way your visage shifts, enlighten by his very presence alone.
very much gives grumpy x sunshine. jon, your quiet, brooding, king in the north who only ever shows his sweeter side to you, all vulnerable and caring in the warmth of your embrace. he would not hesitate to defend you whenever needed. while jon loves your body, all its softness, all its warmth, he knows that self-love is much harder for you. some lady from the court whispered under her breath about you? not happening. a drunken lord called you a horrid name between a snicker and another swig of ale? not on jon's watch. you're his wife, his love, and he will not stand for any disrespect. he only wishes you could see yourself through his own eyes.
and then there's the more practical side that comes with the extra bit of weight you carry. winters in the north are harsh and unforgiving. jon doesn't want some frail, delicate woman who he fears won't make it past the season. you come with a bit of extra hardiness, extra warmth.
another aspect of such topics is the prospect of carrying children — if that was something you both would wish for — again, jon doesn't want a fragile thing to worry about. he doesn't want you to break while you're carrying his child, and while he will still worry, he knows your body is practically made for bearing his little wolf pups.
— NSFW.
we already know that jon is canonically a munch. between your legs is surely better than whatever paradise comes after death. the way your fingers thread through his dark curls, tousling them from their bun, your pliant body squirming beneath him. oh, it's his own personal heaven. jon loves the way your plump thighs wrap around his head as he worships you with his tongue and lips. he could spend an eternity there, slurping up your nectar and suckling on your swollen clit. it has him groaning against your cunt and grinding against the featherbed.
jon loves the sight of your body sprawled out beneath him, your hair splayed across the pillows like a silken halo, framing you as his angel in the flesh. he loves to watch the way your flesh molds to his fingers as he grips your thighs or waist, the way the skin ripples with each one of his thrusts.
and your boobs. gods, your boobs. it doesn't matter what shape they are, or how big they are, he would kiss and suck and knead them until you were whining, crying out for him for more. I am a firm believer that jon snow is a boob guy.
his favorite thing when you are intimate is simply holding you as close as possible. with one strong arm tucked beneath your body, keeping you pressed against the hard planes of his chest as he drags his hips against yours. his other forearm is propped beside your head, keeping him up so he can watch the way your face scrunched in bliss, the way you look up at him like he's your whole world. his hand cradles your cheek, thumb reverently stroking your skin as he keeps you close and makes you cum.
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otto-s-alskling ¡ 1 year ago
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TF141 X Fem!Reader
"Dress Up"
Shopping for disguises is something that the Taskforce sometimes dreads and sometimes are excited about. But when the mission called for having you dressed up for the supposed Gala that you are all to attend to, they immediately scrambled to the nearest boutique to find the best gown for you.
The four men sat at the dress boutique, an odd bunch as the sales lady assisting you was inside the changing room to help with the lacing and fixing up the dress. So far, the picks have been good, none of them totally into it because some have been a
... Questionable.
Soap chose a dark navy blue dress that showed so much of your back, which in return immediately got him hit on the back of his head by Ghost.
Gaz chose a rose colored dress but the slit reached almost your hip and Price couldn't have shoved you back in the changing stall so fast to hide you.
Price chose a red dress, a quite regal looking one that's a halter neckline and a glittery mermaid style that got a few appreciative nods.
Ghost, however, picked something that no one else expected him to ever choose. It wasn't goofy or ugly or anything. Quite the opposite.
You stepped out the changing stall, blushing, as you stared at the mirrors and the men all froze, especially Ghost. The three immediately looked at the masked man before looking at you again and they all sported a red shade on their cheeks and ears, refusing to look away from you.
Ghost chose a dress with sweetheart neckline, slightly fitted at the top with a sparkly plain skirt. Nothing too flared or anything but still gorgeous on you. Was even nice enough to get you a silver belt too. The fucking color of the dress? White.
Ghost picked a wedding dress for you to try on.
Imagination ran wild between the men before you cleared your throat. "I don't think I'll wear this one... Cause..." Your voice trailed off when they didn't even move a muscle, just busy gazing at you.
Nobody answered for a moment before Price clears his throat. "That uhm... Looks great, love but not for this occasion. I think we should get the halter one. You pick the color."
I nodded and went to the sales lady, leaving the men in awe at what they just saw. Ghost looked at Soap who was grinning as he held up his phone. Sneaky Scottish bastard managed to take pictures and Gaz immediately requested for a few copies, making Price chuckle.
Secured with the dark blue version of the halter dress and the same silver belt that Ghost picked, the team headed out of the boutique.
•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•
Ghost went back the next day, and bought the dress he picked and a veil himself,gazing at his new phone wallpaper of you in the very same dress. You never know when you might need it ;3
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a-d-nox ¡ 11 months ago
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astro hypothesis: dress for the occasion
everyone is always mentioning to dress like your venus sign. recently, i have seen a lot of tiktoks where people are like dress like your crush/boyfriend's venus sign to look like his dream girl. and i was like what about dressing for the occasion? which brought me here! grab your venus persona and take a look at the houses.
paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu
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5h - prom, dances, dates, and clubs
5h cancer (4°, 16°, 28°) and/or 5h moon: elegance is key. you might be drawn to long, flowy gowns with shimmery fabric. something light but glowy! often the fabric is dark (black or midnight blue) or slivery/white. a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder cut tends to look beautiful on these people. often you are drawn to semi-sheer fabric as it adds some mystique to your appearance.
5h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 5h venus: light pastels or ivory are likely to grab your attention but a plain white or black dress is likely to give you that elegant/timeless look that you want most in pictures to remember your day (otherwise, you might take pictures in a colored dress and turn on a black and white filter). you want the wow factor! so a-line, a ball gown, or fit-flare dresses might be your go to look. a floor length dress is likely a must for you. silk, satin, chiffon, and/or organza are likely on the tags of these dresses even if you don't know what these materials are by the naked eye. dresses with a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder sleeves are likely to make you feel elegant. you may like very simple accessories - plain earrings, a dainty bracelet, small pendant necklace, classic heels, etc. a v-neckline, bateau, or strapless design is likely to fit your elegance same could be said about a low back dress.
5h aquarius (11°, 23°) and/or 5h uranus: you are likely to be drawn to the blue family (sky, sea, ocean, water, turquoise, etc.). iridescence/holographic/shimmery material might draw your attention in a store. you often go for something very atypical in the store (might be from seasons ago - its likely the last of its kind). something a-line, flowy, and/or high-to-low might be of interest to you - the cuts of a dress bring interest to your favorite parts of yourself (example, maybe its a two piece dress). something high neck or off the shoulder is likely of interest to you as well. a loose braid and/or waves might be all you need to finish out your look.
7h - wedding attire
7h aries (1°, 13°, 25°) and/or 7h mars: as a bride you should be wearing pure white. nudes or off-whites aren't likely to hold your attention anyway. grab the pure stark white. it is likely that reds are going to be an accent of this wedding - roses, nail, polish, bridesmaid dresses, etc. but if you aren't in the wedding party, go for the red whether its a fiery red or a deep burgundy, its the way to go! no matter if you are the bride, the guest, or a member of the wedding party - you should opt for a fit flare dress or mermaid silhouette. or be really dramatic and go for a deep slit, a plunge neckline, or something backless! the devil is in the details too so things like careful beading, sequins, or embroidery should be something critical to your look (if not the fit and/or the drama). alternatively, minimalism/modernism might be something you enjoy for your look.
7h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) and/or 7h mercury: as a bride, you might lean towards ivory or whites with an undertone of some color (like a blush). you don't tend to go for the traditional white color, in my experience. if you are a guest or in the wedding party it is likely you will find yourself in soft pastel colors! movement is of the utmost importance to you so opt for a-line or flowy gown. you might also enjoy wearing things that are asymmetrical - the hemline might be high to low or you might like the one shoulder strap design. these people also like details in their dresses whether it is lace, embroidery, beading, ruffles, tiered skirts, or glitter - the options are endless. chiffon, tulle, or organza might be the fabrics for you because they are light and breathable.
6h - everyday clothes and workwear
6h pisces (12°, 24°) and/or 6h neptune: soft fabrics like cotton, silk, or jersey in gentle, soothing colors such as ocean blues, seafoam greens, lavender, and soft pinks. loose, flowing clothes like maxi skirts, wrap dresses, or wide-legged pants that move gracefully. style would likely be bohemian and free-spirited, incorporating layers, delicate patterns, or subtle prints (florals, paisley, etc.). clothes would be cozy and easy to wear—think oversized sweaters, soft cardigans, and flowy blouses. might like jewelry that is delicate, handmade, seashells, pearls, and/or celestial themed.
6h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 6h venus: these people have a natural sense of style and an appreciation for their appearance. outfits would likely be classic, well-tailored pieces in soft, neutral tones like blush pink, dove gray, cream, and pastel blues. the fabrics would be light and luxurious - like silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, or satin skirts. well-fitted blazers, A-line skirts, and or high-waisted trousers make them look polished and graceful. they effortlessly blend comfort with sophistication. everything else is minimal yet thoughtfully chosen - delicate gold or silver jewelry, a stylish handbag, etc.
9h - graduation and religious events
9h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or 9h venus: elegance, luxury, and comfort ("it has pockets too!"). a sleek, well-structured dress in an earthy tones like emerald green, soft brown, or blush pink. the fabric might be luxurious, like silk, satin, or velvet. a silhouette would likely be timeless and flattering - a wrap dress or an A-line dress that cinches at the waist, emphasizing femininity and grace is well suited for this placement. delicate embroidery or subtle jewelry accents. understated but beautiful accessories, like a simple gold necklace or pearl earrings.
9h leo (5°, 17°, 29°) and/or 9h sun: bold, glamorous, and attention grabbing. vibrant colors like gold, fiery red, or royal purple. the fabric might be something that shimmers or catches the light, such as sequined, satin, or metallic materials. a silhouette could be daring and statement-making, like a fitted flair dress, a high-low hemline, or an off-the-shoulder design. ruffles, a thigh-high slit, or an open back, ensures all eyes are on them. accessories would be bold—think large, sparkling earrings, a dramatic statement necklace, etc. yes, realize what my sub-header is for this section.
9h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter: it's never just one graduation or church event and thus never just one dress/opportunity. the dresses would likely have a regal, flowing quality to it. jewel tones like deep sapphire, royal blue, or amethyst. flowy, A-line, and/or empire waisted dresses that gives a sense of movement. fabric might be lightweight and ethereal, like chiffon, tulle, or silk. intricate embroidery, beading, etc. accessories would be tasteful but luxurious, like a delicate gold bracelet or a jeweled hairpiece.
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on-a-lucky-tide ¡ 7 months ago
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Jack I’m afraid you’ve infiltrated my thoughts because I was thinking of bruised up Price, and it turned into Nik finding out he’s obsessed with bruising John up, had no idea about it before, but after their first night together, Nik finds him leaning against the counter with his mug, still buck ass naked, and there are p e r f e c t bruises in the shape of Nik’s fingers on his hips, and John jumps when Nik slowly aligns his fingers, laying his hands there
While is mind is very much malfunctioning
When this came in, Nikki, the sound I made.
Nik likes marking what is his. And John likes being marked.
cw: consensual bruises/hickies, possessive behaviour.
Nik woke up to find a steaming mug of coffee on the bedside table. He had heard footsteps that had carried it there in the background of his subconscious, but it had been the smell - fresh ground coffee beans from Columbia - that had lured him back to the land of the living. He flexed his fingers against the cotton bed sheets and then let the stretch run the full length of his body, vertebrae and joints clicking, as he surfaced from the most restful sleep he'd had in a long time.
No John, obviously. For if there had been a John, then there would have been no coffee.
Last night had been... breathtaking. Years of yearning, of tentative steps back and forth towards an uncertain destination, of circling each other, too nervous to ruin what they already had. It had been by mere chance that Nik had broken the stalemate; a panicked kiss snatched as John exited the Black Hawk for a mission based on bad intel, even by Laswell's standards. Come back to me.
And he had. They had barely stumbled through the front door of John's flat before their hands had started burrowing beneath their clothes, teeth and fingers biting into the firm topography of flushed, eager bodies. Nik had never had sex like it. Sex where he felt like he had burrowed beneath his lover's ribcage and taken refuge in his chest, every gasp, every flex, like it had happened beneath his own skin. He had never wanted to possess, consume, protect, as strongly as he did with John.
Nik gathered John's pillow to his face and took a deep breath, searching for the smell of him deep in the cotton and goose down. It was there, but too faint. John had been awake long enough for the warmth to fade, and his scent along with it. Nik was left with no recourse but to leave the comfort of his bed in search of the source. With any luck, he could coax John back.
It was cold outside and even though John had agreed to turn the heating on, Nik grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the door and threw it on, leaving it to hang open at the front and off one shoulder as he strolled into the living room, otherwise naked. If he happened to pocket the lube on his way out, well...
The television was on, with some innocuous breakfast show host chatting about Storm Darragh on a plastic looking sofa, her too-white too-straight teeth bared in a smile that looked more like a grimace.
But no John.
Nik followed the sound of plates and running water towards the kitchen, and found what he was looking for washing up last night's dishes. The radio was on softly, a background track to the slosh of soap suds and the rattle of cutlery. Nik wasn't really paying attention to the song, because John hadn't seen fit to pull on more than a pair of boxers, leaving the rest of his magnificent body on full display. Nik's eyes dragged down the length of him, lingering just above his waistband.
Dappled across John's freckle-dusted skin, some faint, some vibrant, were blueish-black ovals in the shape of Nik's fingers. They flared over John's hip where Nik had clutched him tightly the night before. The sight of them made Nik's mouth run dry, his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his thighs, twitching against the edge of the dressing gown.
He remembered relishing the way John's body had felt in his hands, how his strong thighs had clamped down hard when Nik had pinned his wrists, how the give of the flesh over his hips, of his full, shapely backside had looked when Nik had turned him to breed him from behind. How every time John's voice had broken into a moan, Nik had held him tighter, held him down until he had come, wailing and begging. How John has felt so tight and so warm around his cock, his body the perfect, eager cock sleeve. Their first time had been just as passionate as he'd always dreamed, and it had left bruises like footsteps on John's skin.
Nik watched John with hungry eyes, lower lip rolling between his teeth. John felt his presence and Nik saw him tense a little, like a prey animal caught in a predator's ambush.
Price had risen early out of habit, leaving Nik to rest after his athletic performance the night before. The only time he ever managed longer than seven hours was after a particularly gruelling op, and even then it took several days for his mind to settle to the point his body could rest. He hadn't bothered showering, but tidied up the flat, checked some emails for anything urgent, and now he was rinsing out last night's beer glasses. He felt Nik's arrival rather than heard him, and his chin tilted down, watching Nik's reflection in the stainless steel of his toaster. He chewed the inside of his cheek when he realised Nik was naked but for his dressing gown, his thick, masculine physique flaunted with mouthwatering confidence that made Price weak.
His skin prickled under Nik's scrutiny, every nerve on tenterhooks as the memory of the night before still echoed through his body, a glorious, bone-deep ache. His body still remembered the shape of Nik's cock, and Price had admired the evidence of his hunger in the bathroom mirror as he'd brushed his teeth; a rainbow of bruises on his neck, his shoulders, his hips and thighs.
And yet, he was desperate for more. Desperate to feel Nik's hands on him again; holding him down, spreading him open. Desperate to latch onto his broad shoulders and huge biceps, to feel his full chest push down against his back, the firm peaks of his nipples contrasted with the softness of his fur. Price stared at the stream of water spilling over the mug in his hands because, other than his sight, every other sense was tuned into Nik.
Nik sipped his coffee more to stop his mouth from watering than anything else, and closed his eyes briefly, if only to focus on the light sting of scratches up his back where John's blunt nails had caught him in his desperate ecstasy. Nik remembered feeling the first graze, but his mouth had been sucking a mark into the arch of John's throat at the time. Just below the beard line so it could be hidden by John's shemagh. Only just.
John was beautiful. His skin, a patchwork of freckles, scars and uneven tan lines, overlaid a trim, muscular body that was narrow and broad in all the right places. His waist was the perfect shape, slotting into Nik's hands like John had been forged with the shape of them in mind, and his muscular back had flexed so beautifully when Nik had thrust into him. He wanted to see it again.
Nik drifted over, leaving his coffee mug on the dining room table as he drew close enough for John to feel his body heat.
"Mornin'," John murmured, the crackle in his voice from a night spent moaning and begging sent a little shiver of pleasure through Nik's core. John was ethereal, ruffled, the morning sun spilling through the kitchen window giving him a soft, warm glow at the edges. The clash of relative innocence with the traces of their debauchery made Nik want to sink his teeth in, to renew his claim on the strong, unyielding body before him.
"Good morning," Nik replied, leaning forward to place his mug on the counter. He had to lean close enough for his breath to ghost over John's skin, his chest hair to perhaps tickle his back, but he didn't touch, not yet. He closed his eyes and leaned in to John's shoulder, inhaling a long, deep hit of the bed-warm scent still lingering on his skin; faded cologne, clean sweat with deodorant, the warm musk of a man that had slept in clean sheets after being fucked into them.
"Surprised ya didn't have a lay in." Price was trying to keep his voice level, but even he could hear the tremor of anticipation, so subtle below his gravelly rasp. Oh, he wanted to be possessed again. John Price, so in command on the battlefield, wanted to be utterly dominated in his bed like he had been last night. The thought might have concerned him in the past, but ever since his romantic feelings for Nikolai had exploded into a ravenous sexual attraction, he had wanted those big hands holding him down, whether to ride his cock or fuck his hole, he hadn't cared. His only desire had been to have Nikolai over him, possessing him.
"The bed is cold without you in it," Nik murmured softly, his face tilting into the side of John's neck, the tip of his nose hovering close as he breathed him in.
Every hair on Price's arms stood on end, goosebumps rushing over his shoulders, the tremor of anticipation running through Price's core. His fingers curled against the counter at the edge of the sink, his nipples hardening, cock thickening in his boxers. Even after just one night, Price was conditioned for Nikolai's attention. He wanted nothing more than for Nik to scruff him and push him down, add more marks to establish his ownership.
Nik's lips touched John before his hands, pressing over the bruise they had marked on the back of his shoulder. He lingered there, sucking the tender flesh gently, the traces of sweat salty on his tongue. John let out a faint, low moan, his arm curling up so he could bury his fingers in Nik's hair. Nik ran his fingers over the bruising on John's hip, pressing down just enough for John to feel the rub of his calluses, John's skin dimpling under the pressure. John startled, and Nik could feel the roll of tension coil up his spine, hear the gasp of bewildered pleasure, so Nik pressed down a little harder, earning a soft, wrecked little moan.
Price's knees shook as Nik pulled him close, his chest pressing to Price's back, hair soft and enticing against his skin from shoulder blades to the base of his spine. He looked down to see that huge hand slope over his waist, encompassing it effortlessly, weathered fingers retracing the path of the bruises on his body with possessive glee. Price felt the shaft of Nik's cock settle in the clothed cleft of his arse and his bare toes curled against the tiles. Nik was so hard, searing heat so close to John's hole, the heavy weight of his sac brushing the undersides of his cheeks. Price tilted his hips up eagerly, lifting onto his tiptoes.
"You were so beautiful last night, and just as beautiful this morning, you drive me crazy..." Nik whispered into bruised skin, running his lips up the side of John's neck in slow, wet kisses. "Did you enjoy last night, detka? Did you like it when I made you spread your legs, take my cock deep?"
"Yeah, Nik... It was good, so fuckin' good," Price rasped, his breathy whisper breaking into another low moan as Nik's hand slid into his boxers to squeeze the length of his prick. Price looked down to watch Nik touch what he wanted, take what he wanted, fondling the fragile heft of his balls before stroking Price's shaft in long, lazy pulls as the other arm slanted over his chest to keep him close.
"You are ravishing, with my marks all over you, like I have claimed you as mine." Nik grazed his teeth against John's neck and felt a thrill when John's head flopped back and to the side. "Do you like them?"
"Like you lookin' at 'em," Price replied, his voice like treacle in his mouth. He rocked his hips a little into Nik's hand, rubbing back against Nik's cock, pinned as it was between his arse and Nik's belly. "Like you touchin' 'em. Wan'..." He trailed off, the intensity of his desire somewhat embarrassing.
"What do you want, John?" Nik squeezed John's glans gently, milking a few thick beads of precum that he smoothed down John's shaft. Listening to John's stuttering gasp, he shifted his hand across to squeeze one full tit, massaging the muscle against his palm as he sucked a deep, possessive kiss into John's neck.
"Hnng, wan' ya... t' make more, Nik. All over. Forever. Mark me up... please." Price's entire body hummed under Nik's hands, his cock twitching and leaking in Nik's grip. Fuck, his hand was so big. Price's prick wasn't small; respectable, perhaps slightly above average, but the way Nik's warm hand enveloped him, Price's wet, drooling cockhead pushing through the tight hollow of his fist, looked obscenely hot.
Nik pulled John away from the sink and turned him towards the centre island dividing the kitchenette from the living room, one hand sliding to his hip while the other took him by the back of his neck and pushed him down. Nik's nails dragged down John's spine, making those strong muscles flex, until his fingers hooked beneath the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down his thighs, leaving them to pool around his ankles. His arse was perfect, two full globes with tidy whirls of body hair between them that trailed down over the swell of his balls. Nik licked the tip of his thumb and smoothed it around John's puffy, pink rim, teasing it into a twitching, sensitive response. "Mm, beautiful."
Price stretched his hands over the wooden surface of the island, his hole, still sore and used from the night before, fluttered greedily under Nik's touch and Price wanted Nik to press inside, demand more. It ached so good. "C'mon, Nik... Fuck me. Please. Need ya so bad."
"Mm, detka. Ya budu tebya yebat' poka ty ne budesh' umolyat' menya ostanovit'sya," Nik whispered, gripping the base of his cock to rub the slick head around John's hole. He watched his pucker stretch and shift around it as he dipped just inside, teeth biting on his lower lip. The tortured little noises that John made sent a thrill up Nik's spine, and he reached into his pocket for the lube.
Price moaned when Nik's slick fingers teased into him, already slack enough for the sensation of being stretched to feel good, and he relaxed effortlessly. He felt filthy in the best way, hollowed out by Nik the night before, ready to be his cock sleeve again. The squelch of his fingers, the soft, approving rumble, the feel of his fingertips circling and stroking over his prostate, made Price's cock flick and leak onto the kitchen floor. It felt like his mind was melting, nothing but putty to be manipulated by Nik's hands and words, just as his body was. Mark me, take me, own me.
"Mm, John. You are so loose, so ready to be fucked."
"Oh, Nik, please, ahh, I'm gonna come."
"Then come, detka, but you will still take all of me, I will still mark you up again, inside and out."
"Oh, fuck, Nik... C'mon... Please, 'm yours, need yer, please."
Nik weighed up whether he would make John come on his fingers, gliding them in and out lazily, John's pretty hole glistening and butter soft, so hungry. But the thought of stuffing him full properly again, the way John was squirming so deliciously on the countertop, made his mind up for him.
Nik drew his hand away and slid it down the inside of John's leg, lifting it until the side of his knee and his inner thigh were resting on the counter too. Like this, his cock hung so prettily, his cheeks spread to show off that perfect hole, begging for Nik's cock as lube glistened down the back of his sac. "Ty vyglyadish' chertovski seksual'no..."
Price arched his back and cocked his hips, damp lips parted as he panted. He felt the soft hair of Nik's legs against his inner thigh and then the thick head of his cock against the taut muscle of his hole. He sheathed himself slowly, pressing forward in one thrust, stretching Price open until he was buried to the hilt. Price panted, channel flexing through the pressure of so much girth and length demanding space inside him. "Haa, ash, a ty okhrenitel'no khorosho... upravlyayesh'sya... svoi chlenom."
Nik chuckled, his hand sliding up John's spine to wrap his throat and arch him back. There was a reason Nik wanted him here. There was a long mirror in the hallway to their left, just by the front door. It was just broad enough for John to see himself take Nik's cock, see the way he looked so beautiful, marked up in surrender. Nik held John's jaw, hooked two fingers into his mouth and made him watch as Nik began to roll his hips. He slid his other palm over his thigh, thumb pushing into the swell of John's arse, teasing those bruises, pinning John to his countertop as he was fucked slow and deep.
Price's eyes widened, his nails biting into the wood beneath his hands at the overwhelming fullness, the burning stretch that was fading quickly into an ebb and flow of pleasure that made his mind go blank. He watched the thick, glistening length of Nik's cock slide into his body in the mirror, bewildered by the sight of his own body, held still, so thoroughly possessed by the beast of a man behind him; the delicious illusion of powerlessness, of willing surrender. Price wasn't used to being handled, to being so thoroughly subdued and possessed, and he was delirious with the pleasure of it.
Nik had let the dressing gown slip off, leaving him gloriously naked, his thickly muscled body with its satisfying layer of fat and dark rug of hair moved with an impossible amount of grace for a man his size. It was elegant, measured and controlled. There was no sordid slap of skin, only the glorious drag of his cock, a sweet, deep fullness and a constant pulse building in Price's hips as Nik took him apart with every thrust. "Nik, ahh... you know... Ahh, mm, the perfect spot... Fuck, oh fuck, it feels so... ahh, ahh."
"You were... made for this, John. Made for me to please. Keep watching, detka. Keep... ahh, watching me fuck your pretty hole. Look at how well you... take me." Nik kissed the back of John's neck, his back, leaned his nose and forehead against his spine as he began to grind deeper, thrusting harder.
"Oh Nik, oh Nik, ah, ah, fuh-uck..."
Nik drank John's moans down like a god consuming the prayers of the devout, but he needed to see his face. Needed to suck those full tits and possess his mouth just as he possessed his arse and cock. He ground deep once more before drawing back to guide John round to face him.
Price whined as Nik pulled out, leaving his twitching hole gaping and empty. He dropped his foot stiffly as Nik turned him and lifted his hips, sliding back onto the countertop as Nik stepped between his thighs and licked into his mouth. It was a demanding kiss and Price yielded, moaning as Nik's fingers bit into his hips, exciting and renewing those bruises, their cocks sliding together, slick with lube and precum. When one big hand snagged his hair and pulled his head back, Price surrendered his throat and spread his legs wide, wanton and exposed, keening as Nik sucked another brand into his skin.
Nik licked the sweat from the hollow of John's throat and rubbed his face into the damp hair on his chest, nuzzling his nose between his gloriously full tits as they heaved with each laboured pant. Every inch of John was a masterpiece, every scar, every freckle, made to be consumed by the devoted. John may be breathing Nik's name like a prayer, but it was Nik who worshipped at the real altar. He slid his arms beneath John's thighs, urging John towards the edge of the counter enough to guide the tip of his cock into his rim before his fingers scooped beneath the meat of his arse to lift him.
As Price slipped into Nik's arms, his body sank back down the full length of his cock, seated flush against Nik's hips in one easy glide. A low, filthy moan tore from Price's throat as Nik fucked so deep it felt like he was in Price's damn guts. "Oh, oh, fuck, Nik," Price groaned, latching onto Nik's shoulders as the two strong hands cupped beneath his arse moved his six foot two, ninety kilogram body along Nik's cock like a fuckin' fleshlight.
Nik slammed his hips into every thrust, knowing his cock was sliding over that perfect spot in John's body, as he stooped forward to kiss and bite at his chest. With each sucking bruise he left, John's voice grew louder, his pleas and groans increasingly more desperate. Wet, hard cock flopping between their bellies, neglected, but John was so close just form being fucked. Nik could feel it in his legs and hips, a rigid tension, see it in the flush of his skin and the misty distance of his eyes. He writhed in Nik's grip, body rocking itself onto Nik's cock, meeting his thrusts.
Price spread his legs wide over Nik's arms, hands at his shoulders, back bowed so Nik could bite and suck his ownership over his tits. His head fell back, his balls drawing tight, and he spilled in thick ropes over their bellies just as Nik sucked hard on one of his nipples. "Nik, Nik, Nik!"
Nik moaned, slowing his pace to long out the aftershocks of John's orgasm in that sweet spot just before overstimulation, greedily drinking in those delicious, wanton moans as Nik's cock teased his clenching channel. "The way your arse sucks on my cock... o, kak zhe ty goryach..."
Nik was so close, teetering on the brink in a heady, tingling liminal space before the fall, and he savoured the breathless moment. The sight of John's body in his arms, his head thrown back in abandon, his skin sheened in sweat. It was the flash of those blue eyes that looked at him with such unbridled adoration, so bright, so full of ecstasy, that dragged Nik's orgasm from him mercilessly. It spread like the rolling shockwaves of a nuclear warhead, cock throbbing with each thick pulse or cum as Nik held John flush to his hips, his entire body rigid as he snarled into John's chest.
Price groaned as Nik's orgasm spilled into him, Nik's cock buried to the hilt to make sure Price's body took every drop. Nik had marked him, inside and out, the throb of new bruises on his skin mixing with the warmth of Nik filling him up; it was raw, animalistic, and Price never wanted to fuck any other way.
Nik stumbled a little, settling John's rear on the edge of the countertop as he withdrew his cock, the sound of wet suction as lube and spend dripped out of John's hole was deliciously filthy. Nik peppered gentle kisses on John's jaw as he kept his legs raised and spread over his arms, making him linger in that hollowed out feeling that came after being fucked so full.
Price basked in the deep recesses of an afterglow that seemed to muffle the rest of the world out. He tilted his face to Nik's and kissed him lazily, sucking on his tongue, his lips, his body humming with warm bliss. When Nik lowered his legs, Price stumbled, held up by the strong arms that wrapped around him. "Bloody 'ell, yer've fucked me boneless..."
"That is a good thing, I hope," Nik said softly, cradling John's body to his chest, nuzzling kisses into the mess of his hair.
"Oh yeah. Can't believe we've wasted twenty years not fuckin'..."
"Not wasted. We had to allow the chemistry to reach its natural conclusion."
"Hmm." Price closed his eyes and took a deep breath of Nik's musky scent, knowing his own cowardice had held him back more than any damn chemistry, but it didn't matter. He had Nik now, and he was going to enjoy every part of him from this point on. "Feelin' a bit woolly in the 'ead, might shower, lie down."
"Of course. Come." Nik pressed a palm to John's forehead briefly, just to check, but found only the natural, post-coital warmth beneath his skin. He scooped him up anyway, much to John's amusement.
"Eh, wossis?"
"You are boneless and therefore cannot possibly walk."
"Ha, fine, fine, but if yer tell a soul, 'll nail yer bollocks to the nose of yer Heli."
"Your terms are acceptable."
Price slumped in Nik's arms with another rueful chuckle, and let himself be carried into his en suite. They shared the shower, and Price tried not to look too closely at the thrill he got when Nik washed him, those large hands working over his intimate areas possessively, over his cock and balls, between his cheeks, beneath his arms and up his back and chest; a full body massage with soap and water that left a tingling pleasure in its wake.
By the time they stumbled back to bed, Price was nursing a semi, but felt too spaced to do much about it. He curled against Nik's chest, burying his nose in his soft chest hair, and basked under the caress of strong fingers down his back.
Later, they would cook a late breakfast and head out for a walk, and Nik would touch the marks he had left through John's clothes, nuzzling the hickies on his neck through his scarf. "Mine," Nik whispered against John's throat when he pushed him against the trunk of a broad oak tree to kiss him, a hand sliding into his waistband.
"Yeah, Nik, yeah... All yours, fuck. All yours."
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it-happened-one-fic ¡ 7 months ago
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Bridal Visions: Photoshoot #5 - Fontaine Bridal - Your Groom
Summary: Chiori teasing you when your stand-in groom for the modeling photoshoot of her Fontaine inspired bridal line was Wriothesley was to be expected. And she wasn’t being entirely subtle either. But you also couldn’t deny that Wriothesley did make a charming groom and that today was going to be a memory you treasured for years to come.
Type: Female reader/ 800 Followers Event/ series/ sfw/ fluff/ teasing/Chiori is shipping again/
Bridal Visions Series Masterlist
Word Count: 1906
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I stared at myself in the mirror, my gaze sweeping over the pristine white dress that was accented with delicate lace. But I had genuinely wondered what sort of gown I’d be wearing when I’d agreed to be a model for Chiori’s new wedding line. I really didn’t think I could have been wholly prepared for what greeted me, though, and I stared at my reflection with slightly widened eyes.
“Like it?” I blinked and turned, immediately making eye contact with Chiori before I felt a smile cross over my face.
“It’s beautiful, Chiori,” She smiled at my words. Nodding her head like she’d already known that was what I was going to say as she walked over and casually began adjusting little things that I hadn’t even noticed about the dress.
Smoothing wrinkles that were in the lace that coated both my arms and shoulders, tweaking folds in the wrists of the sleeves where they flared as she spoke, “I made some adjustments when the Traveler told me you were going to be the model.”
I blinked, feeling myself smile amusedly as my eyes followed her, “Oh?” 
I couldn’t keep the humor out of my tone, and her gaze flickered over to meet mine, a slight sparkle of amusement in the red depths of her eyes as she spoke, “That’s why it’s backless. It’ll be fun seeing how your groom reacts.” 
I snorted at her words, dry even despite their teasing nature, and I shook my head even as I chuckled, “Wriothesley isn’t going to react.”
“Don’t all grooms look forward to seeing how their bride looks?” Her tone was perfectly blasé in a way that could only be described as very Chiori, and I rolled my eyes.
“Maybe, but Wriothesley’s not my groom. He’s just modeling the clothes alongside me,” Chiori stepped back as I spoke, her gaze meeting mine.
Her eyebrows arched slightly before she lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, “Well, we’ll see. And you look marvelous anyway.”
I laughed but followed her out, lightly lifting the fitted, lacy skirt of the dress as I went and ignoring the way it dragged behind me in a short train that only added to its rather grandiose look. 
I blinked into the sunlight as we emerged from the dressing area and watched as Wriothesley turned to look back at me with a ready smile on his face that automatically had me smiling back at him.
His outfit wasn’t that drastically different from what he usually wore. It was a suit in his usual shades of grey with flashes of maroon. But his choker, gloves, and fluffy coat were gone so that he looked a bit more cleaned up, and his boots were replaced with dress shoes.
And I honestly figured Chiori might be the one woman on earth that could force Wriothesley to actually clean up his appearance, even if it was just for some photos. 
But then, who knows. Perhaps he would look exactly this way if it were his wedding day.
Chiori shifted so that she was no longer blocking his view of me, and I got to watch as his pale eyes widened in surprise before he schooled his expression back to a more easygoing smile. Though I didn’t miss the knowing look Chiori gave me as she walked over to the photographer that almost had me making a face at her before I joined Wriothesley.
“What was that look about? Some sort of girl talk that I’m not allowed to know about?” He was grinning at me as I stopped in front of him, and I shook my head fondly.
“No, Chiori’s just been teasing me,” I waved away his question with a smile, but it did little to dim the glimmer in his eyes.
“Ah, about what a lovely bride you make, I’m assuming,” It was almost impressive how quickly he caught onto at least a portion of what Chiori had just been picking on me about as he crossed his arms.
I rolled my eyes slightly at his words before nodding, smiling all the while. But there was no way I was about to let him know the specifics of her teasing or that fact that it was genuinely nice to be complimented. Even if I weren’t a real bride.
But I also wasn’t going to take his teasing lying down, and I grinned at him, “Shouldn’t you worry about yourself? Many folks see you looking like that, and you might just become the most sought-after man in Fontaine.”
He snorted at my words, nodding his head with a devil-may-care grin as he responded with characteristic sarcasm, “Oh yeah, that’s totally me. Wanted dead or alive.”
I shook my head at his words, crossing my arms as I eyed him, “While I’m sure you’d make a very cute zombie, I imagine most would prefer for their groom to be alive for the wedding.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug before grinning at me once more, “Eh, details.”
“Alright, lovebirds,” At Chiori’s voice, we both turned to see her walking over. And it was beyond obvious that she’d long since abandoned her teasing in favor of a more businesslike position. Even if she was still picking on both of us lightly with her choice of words.
She pointed at Wriothesley, and I watched as he straightened like he was at attention, doing my best not to laugh at him as Chiori spoke, “You’re a big boy, so here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to scoop up Y/n bridal style, and we’ll go from there.”
I blinked at her words, briefly surprised, before I glanced over at Wriothesley, who merely shrugged, apparently unbothered by the plan, “I suppose bridal style is fitting.”
Chiori ignored him as she continued, turning to face me, “Here, this’ll be your bouquet.”
I accepted the flowers hastily, a small arrangement of rainbow roses, before I glanced back over at her in time to see her turn on her heel and start walking off. Her exit from the space our signal to get into position.
I glanced over at Wriothesley, who was eyeing me expectantly, before I stepped closer and shifted my bouquet to one hand as I reached up to rest a hand lightly on his broad shoulder. 
He hesitated only briefly, glancing with slightly raised eyebrows at my exposed back that he could now see before he shook his head with an amused smile. Almost like he somehow knew about Chiori’s plot.
But then, as quickly and easily as could be, he scooped me up like I weighed nothing at all. One of his arms wrapping around my back while the other hooked itself under my knees so that I was cradled against him as he straightened.
I felt my eyes widen as I hastily wrapped my arm around his shoulders so that my hand rested against his neck while my other arm flailed slightly with the bouquet. And I could feel him chuckling at my startled reaction.
I frowned at him slightly as he adjusted his hold, bouncing me slightly in a move that I was positive was intended to get yet another reaction from me.
“I didn’t expect to go up that fast,” Even as I scolded him while simultaneously defending my reaction, I could feel myself steadily relaxing and trusting him to hold me up as he grinned at me.
“Apologies,” Despite his words, I was almost certain that he didn’t feel bad in the slightest. His tone certainly didn’t make him sound that way, and the mischievous glimmer to his eyes wasn’t convincing either.
I frowned at him for just a moment longer before I looked towards where Chiori stood beside the camera, her expression thoughtful as I called out to her, “What now?”
Silence stretched as she frowned at us thoughtfully, and the photographer leaned around her camera to look at the two of us after briefly glancing at the designer, “How about you two improvise something? Anything romantic should do.”
“Improvise…” I trailed off and looked over at Wriothesley, whose eyebrows had arched at our instructions.
He shook his head slightly, half-glancing my way. And I could almost see the cogs in his head turning as he muttered to himself, “Something romantic, huh?”
I tilted my head, adjusting my grip on him slightly so that I wasn’t quite so stiff as I felt a teasing smile slip onto my face, “I guess you could always sing or do something equally cheesy like they do in the movies?”
He snorted, automatically shaking his head as he shot down my playful suggestion, “Yeah, no.”
He paused, looking over at me with a grin that was steadily spreading across his face and had my eyebrows arching at him, “I might have an idea, though.”
“Oh?” I questioned him before nodding slightly, because at least he had an idea. I couldn’t say the same for myself, “Well, what do you need me to do then?”
He was grinning fully now in a way that promised that either a snarky line or some form of shenanigans was coming. But he only said one word, with amusement already coating his tone: “Relax.”
Barely even had time to frown at him in confusion before he spun, causing my eyes to widen before I abruptly started laughing in surprise at his antics as my skirt swung out in response to his motions.
I curled forward and towards him as laughter bubbled out of me, and I could feel both my skirt and veil fanning out around us as we spun with him holding me tightly to him.
Distantly, I could hear the camera snapping pictures at the speed of light, catching every moment of our interaction until he slowed to a stop. Laughing along with me, now with our foreheads pressed together from where he’d leaned down slightly.
And after a brief moment he let out a sigh as our laughter trailed off, and he set me down, still grinning from ear to ear, “Alright. Down you go.”
I was only briefly wobbly as I found my footing while I leaned against Wriothesley, and Chiori walked over with a slight smile on her face as she watched the two of us with crossed arms and a far too smug expression, “That should be perfect.”
She paused, glancing at Wriothesley thoughtfully as she gestured towards me, “What did you think of the exposed back?”
I whirled to look at her, her name slipping from my mouth in a shocked, half-betrayed exhale as he nodded. And, calm as could be, he gave a shrug paired with a slight, “I thought it was a nice touch.”
She looked at me with a smug smile, her eyes glimmering, “See? I told you.”
I all but scowled at her as she turned to walk away, abandoning me as Wriothesley turned to look at me with arched brows. Leaning forward slightly as if he were sharing a secret as he half-whispered his question, “Is that what the girl talk was about?”
I glanced his way, briefly meeting his gaze before looking away again as I thought of Chiori’s teasing. Because I knew exactly what she was getting at with all of her remarks about me being his bride and him being my groom, but I wasn’t about to mention all of that to him as I trailed off, “Amongst other things……”
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kaleidohscopic ¡ 1 year ago
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SWEET — BBH
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PAIRING: baekhyun x female reader SUMMARY: it's one thing to run into the guy you maybe, used to have a little bit of a thing for at your mutual friends' birthday party. it's another thing to find out he maybe, used to have a little bit of a thing for you too. GENRE: friends (ish) to lovers! au, romance, a hint of smut, some pining if you squint WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol consumption, jenkai (humour me), wayyyy too much sexual tension, it gets a little hot and heavy towards the end but nothing super explicit (bc idk how to write that stuff sorry!), general mature content and themes WORD COUNT: 4.4k NOTE: super self-indulgent w barely any plot or characterisation (basically four thousand something words of foreplay lol), i saw that video of baek at one of the lonsdaleite stops unbuttoning his shirt and it drove me a little loopy ngl...
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The last time you had seen Byun Baekhyun was two years ago.
Graduation. Gowns. Bouquets. There was probably a photo of the two of you, along with the rest of your cohort, sitting around somewhere in the depths of your camera roll, fresh-faced and eager to take on the exciting new world outside of 3000-word essays and 9 am tutorials. Four years taking variations of the same courses and bitching about the same tutors meant you were far from strangers, but sadly, the friendship had dwindled once you’d left the classrooms for good — something you had been just a little gutted about. These days, his appearances in your life were rare, save for the times he’d come up in conversation with the friends you both shared back in the day, or his sporadic likes on your instagram posts.
Except now, of course, as you watched him climb up the stairs to the rooftop bar, gift bag in one hand and suit jacket in the other.
“Happy birthday!” he beamed, enveloping your best friend in a hug. The fabric of his shirt strained against the movement of his arms, and you caught a whiff of his delicious woody cologne as he approached. 
You had known there’d be a possibility he’d show up today. This year, Jennie had made the enlightened decision to throw a joint celebration with her boyfriend, and obviously that entailed inviting all of his friends — which honestly, wasn’t even that many extra heads since Jongin only ever spoke to the same eight people. You’d seen Baekhyun’s name on the guest list that you had helped her put together, and seen it again listed under the ‘going’ tab of the event, but having the real deal in front of you was another experience entirely.
Crisp white button down with the sleeves rolled up, fitted slacks, and just a glimpse of his toned chest peeking out from where the top few of his shirt buttons were undone.
He looked fucking good. 
Even better than he did two years ago.
Jennie squeezed him back with just as much fervour. “So glad you could make it! Jongin’s been stuck to my side all night with no one to talk to, he’s going to be so happy you’re here.”
He pulled back with a chuckle, and it was then that he finally laid eyes on you, seated next to the birthday girl, holding matching martinis, and doing your best not to look like you had been shamelessly checking him out for the entire 45 seconds since he had arrived. His eyes widened slightly with recognition as your name left his mouth.
“You haven’t forgotten each other, right?” Jennie laughed. The descent of his eyes down the length of you was quick, but not careless, and heat flared in your body all the same. When his gaze returned back to your face, the beginnings of an appreciative smile were shaping the curve of his mouth.
“Not yet, I hope,” he answered her, but his eyes were still on you. “Nice seeing you again. You look good.”
“So do you, Baekhyun,” you replied, because it was the truth. His smile only grew. 
Jennie tipped back the rest of her martini and bade the both of you a hasty farewell, saying something about fixing up the photo zone as she hurried towards the other end of the rooftop. A few of the girls, too excited about the open bar, had knocked the cushions onto the ground, and were doing a poor job of rearranging them back on the wooden swing.
He slid into her now-vacant seat, elbows resting on the bar counter, giving you an excellent view of the shape of his forearms and the veins that adorned it. 
“You’re not going to have that?” he asked, nodding at the sad little olive that sat all alone at the bottom of your empty glass. 
“Not a fan of the saltiness,” you answered, and offered it to him. You watched as he plucked the garnish stick out of your fingers and put the olive in his mouth with no hesitation, eyes lingering a little too long on the movement of his throat as he swallowed it. “I like sweet things better.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he chuckled. “You used to only ever drink vodka cranberries.”
Suddenly, you were twenty-one again, peering through the cafe window and getting a little too giddy at the thought of meeting up outside of the stuffy tutorial classroom to work on the project you had both been assigned to. You’d be lying through your teeth if you said that a crush on Baekhyun was something you never entertained throughout your four years of university together. And maybe it had been reciprocated, for the briefest of times, just after that joint presentation on data structures, where the thought of stepping over from friendly more-than-acquaintances into something more had crossed your mind enough times for you to lose count. There had been something there, or at the very least a hint of something, in the nights spent crammed into a tiny library booth meant only for one person, poring over stale and tedious papers on algorithm organisations in each other’s company.
But nothing had happened. He hadn’t made a move, and neither had you, laden with the fear of rejection that was so indicative of youth. And maybe that had been a huge misplay on your part, because a few weeks after wrapping up the project that had brought you together, he was at your faculty’s monthly pub crawl, introducing you to his new girlfriend, who had actually asked him out just the day before. 
Safe to say that had been the end of that. You were not the type to homewreck.
“How long has it been? I feel like I haven’t seen you since — god, it must have been graduation?” 
“Something like that,” you replied through a smile. “I still have the photos on my phone.”
“So do I,” he said, flashing you a boyish grin. Then, as if doubting the accuracy of his own words, he promptly pulled out his phone and began scrolling towards the top, brows furrowed with determination. It was a few seconds later that he found what he was looking for, turning the screen towards you with a triumphant noise. 
The picture had been taken outside the ceremony hall, set against the familiar sea of graduation gowns, but that was the only familiar thing about it. In the foreground stood just you and Baekhyun, not stiffly posing for the camera as you had been in all of the group shots that existed on your phone, but turned towards each other, faces bursting with elated smiles. Neither of you looked to be aware that there was even a camera on you. The you in the photo had your mouth half open in the tell-tale way it always did when you were about to laugh at the ridiculously corny jokes he loved to crack. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, partially from the glare of the sun overhead — the weather had been phenomenal for the usual gloominess of May — and partially in delight at your reaction, having cracked said joke. 
“I’ve never seen this one before. Did you forget to Airdrop this to me on the day?” you asked, a joking accusation colouring your voice. 
“My mum only sent it to me a whole month later. I didn’t even know she had taken these,” he said, zooming in to better see the expressions on your upturned faces. “We look so happy here,” he added, voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.
“And young,” you agreed, but not without a sigh. The you of two years ago had yet to know the pains of having seven different bills to pay every month, and watching the money trickle out of your bank account like water from a leaking tap.
He gave you a gentle, teasing nudge with his elbow. “We’re not that old now. We could definitely still pass as twenty somethings.”
“That’s probably because we are still actually twenty somethings,” you countered with a laugh. 
There was an unprecedented ease with which you fell into conversation with Baekhyun. Despite the considerable gap of silence between now and the last time you had seen him, there was nothing in his demeanour or your own that indicated just how much time had passed. It was rather comforting to see a face from your university days, and even better that that face was still as gorgeous as ever.
You watched as he flicked through a few more photos from the day, mostly of him and his friends from university — one of whom was the other main event of tonight — until he landed on a picture of him with his girlfriend. You recognised the photo, seeing as you had been the one who offered to take it. He had an arm around her waist while she carried a huge bouquet with a teddy bear sitting atop the arrangement.
“Didn’t I help you order that thing?” you asked, pointing to the flowers in her hand. He hummed in agreement, but didn’t say much else, scrolling through to the next photos with his parents, which had also been taken by you. They stood on either side of him, beaming with pride, and then there were a few after that with his girlfriend as well, the four of them all standing together and looking picture-perfect. 
Perhaps the you of today would have chosen differently, found the balls to ask him out first — because what was the use in sitting and waiting around for the guy to make the first move? — and maybe you’d be the one in the photo instead, smiling up at the camera, an integral part of the family portrait. Maybe he’d be running his fingers across the inner curve of your wrist, instead of along the rim of the gin and tonic he had just ordered.
“She couldn’t make it today? Or was she not invited?” you asked, having not seen anyone walk in behind him. Although you hadn’t been paying much attention to anything else since he arrived, and if she had been here, you doubted she’d be all too pleased with how close your heads were, even if he was just showing you through his camera roll. With that in mind, you drew back slightly, just enough to catch the expression on his face twisted with an odd sort of surprise.
After a second or so, it melted into an easy-going grin.
“We broke up a while ago. A month or two after graduation, actually.”
Oh.
You and your big mouth.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know — I shouldn’t have —”
“Don’t be, it’s fine,” he reassured, waving off your clumsy apologies. “Things just didn’t work out and we weren’t right for each other. It was a pretty amicable break, all things considered. But now, I get to sleep however I want in my own bed, so I really can’t complain,” he added, fishing another laugh out of you.
“Nothing beats starfishing in your sleep after a long day,” you hummed in agreement. Wednesday nights in your bedroom after a full day of client meetings could attest to that.  
Baekhyun took a slow sip, pulling the drink into his mouth with a contemplative carefulness, and weighed up his words before he spoke again. 
“What about you? Still with Jinyoung?” he asked, tone light and regarding you with curious eyes. Without meaning to, you let out a groan, and his left eyebrow quirked with interest. 
“Don’t even go there,” you half-grimaced, reminded of the fling you had towards the end of fourth year with the business major. He was pretty, and had been nice enough, but by the fifth time he blew off spending time with you so that he could track the world stock indexes, it had become pretty clear that the two of you were on different paths in life. The sex was okay, but it had not been enough to warrant any more than a few late night rendezvous. For all you knew, he was probably now a very successful investment banker with 90 hour work weeks and making a shit-load of money you could only dream about having. 
You sighed, drumming your fingers against the counter. “Let’s just say, he was more interested in looking at his dividend yields than he was in me.”
Baekhyun’s gaze flickered over the rest of you again, taking in the ridges of your collarbone and the soft curve of your waist, the touch of his eyes hovering above your skin like a tangible thing. You tried your best to look unaffected, forcing yourself to remain still under the weight of his stare despite the way it was melting you down to your bones.
“He definitely did not have his priorities in order,” he said, once his eyes ended their journey and returned back to your face. “You’re much nicer to look at.”
His words settled beneath your skin, pulling a sweet warmth to your cheeks that slowly radiated through the rest of your body. You watched as his mouth curved around the rim of his glass again, and followed the path of the drink down the length of his throat. 
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”
He rewarded you with a sly smile. 
“Then maybe you don’t know any better.”
Christ. Those were definitely bedroom eyes.
Your lips parted again, though you had little idea as to the words which were preparing to come out of them. Forming coherent and decent thoughts proved to be a great struggle when he looked like he was undressing you with his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and you swore you could have crumpled right then and there if it hadn’t been for the bar stool underneath you. 
“Baekhyun, you’re finally here,” said a giggly Jongin, suddenly appearing between the two of you with Jennie in tow.
The tension from seconds earlier dissipated as quickly as it had formed. 
Someone (the birthday boy) had evidently made good use of the open bar to shed the self-imposed shell that came with introversion before the arrival of his friend. “I’m so, so happy to see you. We need to do some shots right now,” he said, now all serious, leaning over to peer at the drinks menu that he himself had signed off on. 
Baekhyun was the first to break eye contact, turning to flash Jongin a fond smile. “Sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had,” he said, before downing the rest of his gin and tonic. 
The birthday girl requested tequila shots, and the bartender was quick to supply, lining up four glasses and filling them with the clear alcohol that was a recurring character in all your worst hangover episodes. You passed them around, but not before turning back around to the bar for one more thing. 
“And a vodka cranberry, please,” you added, catching the amused smile Baekhyun threw your way. 
“For old time’s sake.”
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It was approaching the early hours of the morning when the remainder of the party retired to the hotel suite Jennie had booked for the night. One of her chill, moody, late-night R&B playlists had been queued up and was playing softly on the speaker system in the living room — she had a playlist for every conceivable mood and situation — and you could just make out the melody of a Daniel Caesar song, quiet and soothing against the nighttime.
“Okay, you win,” Baekhyun conceded with amusement, sitting up to grab the soju bottle from your outstretched hand. “I’ve never had someone throw up on me, at least not on the first date.” He settled back against the pillows, bringing the bottle to his lips to take a small, slow sip. 
“Thanks, but it’s a victory I’d rather not have. There’s no pride in knowing I’m the only person I know to have a guy spew all over my shoes within ten minutes of meeting me,” you said, leaning back and letting your hands sink into the plush comforter. 
Some thirty or so minutes ago, you had found yourself in one of the smaller rooms of the suite, sitting across from Baekhyun with nothing but a few inches of egyptian cotton separating you. All night, you had felt his presence, whether it was the light brush of his warm fingers across the bare skin of your shoulder to grab your attention, or the weight of his stare from across the rooftop bar while you posed for pictures with Jennie and the rest of the girls. He had infiltrated your senses, occupying his own little space in the corner of your consciousness. Right now, having the whole of him so unobstructed before you, being the sole focus of his attention within the four walls of this small room — it was obvious that the alcohol wasn’t the only thing bringing a heady warmth to your face.
He levelled you with a careful look, and instead of handing the bottle back to you as he had done for the last thirty minutes, he set it onto the nightstand beside the bed with a soft clink. You raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.
“I think you should probably slow down,” he said, catching the curious tilt of your head. “Wouldn’t want you to do something you regret.”
You let a coy smile turn the corners of your mouth upward, shifting your weight off your hands and leaning towards him ever so slightly. “Trust me, I know my limits,” you said, and moved to grab the bottle. 
The hand you placed on the top of his thigh to steady yourself as you reached over him was deliberate, and you failed to hide the deepening of your smile when you felt the muscles flex beneath your fingers. You also didn’t miss the dip of his eyes below the neckline of your dress as you hovered over him, only pulling back once the cool glass of the bottleneck was firmly in your grasp. The glimmer in his eyes, previously light and boyish, had darkened imperceptibly.
You were playing a dangerous game, and you both knew it.
Beyond the door, Jennie’s playlist had changed to something a little more sultry, Kehlani’s honeyed voice now floating among the sounds of the city from below. His gaze remained on you as you raised the bottle to your lips, tilting it back and letting the tartness of the grape soju fill your mouth. 
The song wasn’t the only thing that had changed. There was a palpable shift in the room, a simmering heat gradually seeping into the atmosphere, brought on by your brazen touch. Still, he kept a safe distance, giving you the reins and the freedom to dispel the tension you had created. 
Which you had absolutely no intention to. 
You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, relishing in the way his eyes immediately left yours to track the movement. “You know,” you began, turning the bottle over in your hands, “I used to have a bit of a thing for you.”
His eyebrows raised with interest, but there was also a hint of surprise layered beneath.
“Third year, that data algorithms project. I thought a lot about asking you out, actually,” you continued, watching as his face slowly took on a smile at your words. A soft laugh escaped those pretty lips, as if he was enjoying some private joke that you weren’t in on. Without meaning to, you leaned in, drawn to the sound, wanting to understand the amusement behind it. 
“You wanna know something?” he asked, to which you weren’t sure if you had actually nodded, or if you had only imagined that you did, too preoccupied by the inviting curve of his mouth.
He was all too willing to comply with the unspoken request behind your curious eyes, moving forward at a languid pace, until his lips hovered just over the shell of your ear, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the fluttering pull of air with each of his inhales and exhales. You could smell him too, his cologne now infused with the scent of his skin over the course of the evening, smooth and sweet, and much too dizzying. 
His cheek brushed yours for a fraction of a second before you registered the conspiratorial whisper in your ear.
“So did I.”
You hadn’t even realised your own eyes had closed until they were fluttering open with his departure from your space. He pulled back, eyes gleaming with a furtive satisfaction like he had just let you in on some big, juicy, forbidden secret. It took a while for your chest to start pulling oxygen back into your lungs again. How he could render you so breathless when he had barely even touched you — you would’ve been embarrassed if not for the foggy warmth circling your head and radiating throughout the rest of your body, leaving you oblivious to everything but the sheer force of how much you wanted him.
He reached for the bottle, now almost empty, and you fought the flinch when you felt his fingers close around your hand. This time, you didn’t complain when he removed it from your grasp and set it back on the nightstand. The warmth of his hand did not leave yours, flipping it over to trail his fingers lightly across your knuckles. 
“These are pretty,” he murmured, thumbing at the rings decorating your fingers. You could only manage a noncommittal hum in response. His touch had stolen your voice right out of your chest, along with all the rationality usually contained inside your mind, leaving you with nothing but the feeling of your own blood thrumming in your veins, hot and fast beneath your skin. 
All night, you had danced around each other, stealing furtive glances and exchanging flirty smiles, carefully toeing around the edge of politeness and propriety. And maybe Baekhyun was just too polite, too respectful, letting you take the wheel and steer tonight in whichever direction you wanted, despite the want that was so clearly etched on his face. 
Surely, your face was a mirror of his own. Surely, he could tell.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, looking up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, unfurling your fingers to lace his own through them. The press of his warm skin against yours had you light-headed and almost delirious, but you forced your gaze to stay steady on him while you tried to find your voice again.
“I’m thinking,” you began, low and breathy, “about how you’ve been eye-fucking me this whole night.” 
His sharp inhale was unmistakable above the quiet of the room. A meteor could have landed right outside the building and you wouldn’t even have noticed, held captive by his dangerous touch and the hunger flaring in his eyes. 
“And,” you continued, “how I’ve been waiting for you to do something about it ever since you shut that door.”
The second after the words left your mouth seemed to stretch across an eternity. You watched as he registered them, transfixed by how his whole body seemed to cloud over with desire, pushing out any remaining trace of restraint.
One moment you were sitting on the bed, revelling in the delicious tension you had created, and the next he had pulled you flush against him. His mouth was on yours, hot and needy, the self-control he had been so meticulously keeping to for the entire night disappearing the instant he felt your lips move against his own. You were no better, hands leaving his to fist desperately at the fabric of his shirt. An airy moan left your throat when his tongue brushed against yours, letting you taste the sweetness you had been imagining ever since you laid eyes on him on the rooftop. He swallowed the sound, the plump flesh of his bottom lip tightening into a pleased smile at your reaction.
Baekhyun pulled away first, lips leaving yours to trail across your cheek and down the side of your neck, where you felt the light graze of his teeth over the skin, and then the wetness of his tongue following the same path. His hands had snaked around you, fingers digging into the curve of your waist, keeping you in place while he nipped at you, drawing stilted gasps out of your parted mouth. When he pulled the flesh into the warmth of his mouth and sucked it to a nice, dark bruise, the heat coiling in the pit of your stomach flared, violent and hungry. 
You were going to lose your mind.
“You know, you could just try again,” you managed to get out between heaving breaths. “Ask me out.”
“Would you say yes?” he asked, and you felt his lips shape the words against your skin. They dragged back up the column of your throat, capturing your mouth again with another heated kiss that had your head spinning. He shifted, and your knees came to rest on either side of his leg, the firm muscles of his thigh pressing against the part of you that ached for his touch. In the haze of this moment, you didn’t know much, but you knew you would’ve said yes to absolutely anything to come out of that sweet, tempting mouth. 
Still, you played along, letting a devious smile pull the corners of your mouth upwards. “That depends on how tonight goes.”
He drew back slightly, fixing you with a wicked look that held promises he was nothing short of determined to fulfil. You could see yourself reflected in the darkness of his blown-out pupils, flushed and already wrecked just from the attention of his mouth. Anticipation and thrill jolted through you like lightning, zipping through every cell in your body as your mind drifted to what he might have in store behind those enticing eyes. 
You weren’t left wondering for long. His hands left your waist and moved to your calf, pushing up the silken fabric of your dress as they slowly crept upwards, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The brush of his fingers against your inner thigh drew another shuddering breath out of you. 
His next words were not unlike an oath.
“Then I’d better make tonight fucking spectacular.”
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llamagirl28 ¡ 8 months ago
Note
For choosing our outfit for the wedding, I was curious if you have any reference photos?
Pictures under the cut, categorized by the choices in the game
You donned Lothian clothes. A linen dress with puffed sleeves, cinched at the waist.
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You donned Lothian clothes. Linen shirt with puffed sleeves and high-waisted breeches. (Couldn't find the breeches, Mordred has to go butt-naked)
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You donned Lothian clothes. Linen robe with flared sleeves that falls loose and straight, paired with an open vest. No pictures here, but the embroidery is similar to what is above.
You donned Tintalian clothes. Flaring sleeves, a gown that flows along the shape of the body, loosely belted. It'll garner attention, but you don't care.
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You donned Tintalian clothes. Flaring sleeves, a tunic that flows down to your knees, loosely belted. It'll garner attention, but you don't care. (This is the best I could do. It is Gawain's fav tarot card tho.)
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You donned a Camelotian gown. It has a bodiced kirtle, ample skirts and fitted sleeves.
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You donned a Camelotian outfit. A lavish doublet with breeches and knee-high boots. (Again, no breeches, or boots. Butt-naked.)
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You donned a Camelotian gown. It has puffed sleeves, satin skirts and a highly ornate stomacher.
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You donned a Camelotian outfit. A lavish jerkin over a puffed sleeves shirt, breeches and knee-high boots. (Finally found some breeches.)
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You donned an Avalonian outfit. A linen gown pinned at the shoulders, creating an overfold over the bust, cinched at the waist. Since it's sleeveless, you wear a shawl. (In Avalon, this is worn by people of any gender.)
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guemarasims ¡ 2 months ago
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Download (Public)
Bring vintage glamour to your Sims wardrobe with this strapless evening gown. Featuring a fitted silhouette, subtle mermaid flare, and button detailing on the back, it’s perfect for formal events, black-tie parties, or red carpet moments. Designed with a soft Maxis Match style to blend seamlessly into your game.
Thank you very much for your support!
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