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dulcewrites · 1 year

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Unnerved

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (kind of lol), implied aegon targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: Being at court is a game, and your favorite opponent is a certain long haired Prince.

A/N: I sort of adapted this from my fool me once series. I got an idea of the reader being slightly more ambitious. But then realized that would change the story so this kind of a new one lmao. Some elements are from like Aemond being married (this time to Floris Baratheon) and possibly cheating 👀. But anyway just wanted to explore Aemond and reader being haters but also having crazy sexual tension. *insert something smart about Aemond hating someone that is a mirror of him*

The heavy fabric of your dress seems to drag more than usual.

The extra care given to your appearance hopefully will not go unnoticed. The gown is your most expensive. A deep blue Lyseni cut dress with beaded bodice, and silk sleeves that slip open and ripple like water.

Walking the halls of the Red Keep is at night is not something you frequent. Working up the courage was always something that made you falter. But the result would make it worth it.

You bite back a smile when you see Ser Arryk not near his post. For a moment you consider knocking, worried that Aegon may be in the room with someone. The thought never bothered you till recently. A surge of confidence overtakes when you just open the door instead.

The fireplace in his is uncharacteristically blazing at this point. You stop in your tracks when you notice long legs extending from chair near the fire. Long silvery blonde hair catches your eye, and your heart sinks. Before you can turn around to make a beeline towards the door, an eye flick towards you.

“My Prince,” you bow your head softly. “You are back from the trip.”

You try to keep you voice bright, and unassuming but you are sure disappointment colors your tone. Aemond gives you sly smile.

“Come to look in on my brother, I assume,” condescension laced through his voice. He gestures to the book in your hand. There were days Aegon did enjoy hearing you read, but most of the time the conversation dissolved into other things. He would start at the seats in his room, you at his desk… till the you ended up on his bed. Faces close, and whispers soft.

“Yes, Prince Aegon always enjoys hearing about the histories.”

Aemond’s polite disposition drops, and he lets out a short laugh. “Right, I am sure he enjoys hearing about the histories from you.”

You feel yourself falter. An unnerved and unprepared feeling burst in your stomach.

But a lady is never those things. Not ever. Your mother’s voice rings in your head. A true lady never worries. The best of them can turn negatives into a positive.

You put on the sweetest smile you can and nod.

“This week we read about all about Maegor the Cruel.”

Something flashes behind his eye that you can’t quite put your finger on. He hums softly, giving you a once over. Inspecting your dress, your hair, your face. The hair jewelry holding back your hair starts to feel like it is digging into your scalp. Not feeling comfortable standing and letting him dissect you, your feet lead you to sitting in the chair opposite him.

“I do hope Prince Aegon is well.”

“What you mean to ask is where is he,” Aemond corrects. “He was not here when I arrived. He may be out on a late-night joyride with Sunfyre. Perhaps wandering the Street of Silk for another type of joy.”

You say nothing, laying the book flat on your lap. It should not shock you. Aegon is not getting that from you. You know Aemond does not believe that by the false innocuous way he mentions his brother’s indecisions. Every bit of attention Aegon puts elsewhere is a win for him. He decides to twist the knife more.

“I bet the discussions you two have are ravishing,” Aemond replies sarcastically, leaning back further in his chair. It only makes you more aware of your posture. More of mother’s words - Back straight, chest out, and head up my dear girl. “Aegon has always been known for his ability to hold a riveting conversation.”

“I think you underestimate your brother. He retains information quite well, and loves to debate,” your hands trace delicately over the large book.

Aemond’s eye doesn’t leave yours. The enjoyment wiped from his face. He just stares soberly.

“You know the sad part is that I genuinely think you believe that. You think you will be able to carry on like this. Pretending this all for companionship and light reading.”

Your eyes drift to the fire. A part of you wonders what it would be like to just stick your hand in it. Would there be excruciating pain or would the numbness that you force into you mind spread through your body? The old wives’ tales Aegon tells of Targaryens being fireproof pop into your head. Maybe that is where Aemond’s gall comes from; the inability to burn the way others would. You wish you could test the theory. What a sight it would be to see him engulfed in flames.

Aemond lip curls a bit. “But at least you can pretend with the best of them. First born sons deserve the best, even the best whores.”

The harsh words are strangely tinged with pity.

“Tis a shame, the way court changes a girl.”

Your eyes snap back to him. “I am not a girl, my Prince. The same way you are not a boy.”

The two of you are the same age. The superiority in his voice is not needed nor appreciated. You must bite your tongue not the bring up the stories of youth Aegon has told you about. His life has been court fodder many times over. It would be too easy to bring up the strife a young Aemond had to go through. Too unladylike to bring up the little boy you know is still tucked under the bravado.

He would revel in taking you out of yourself.

“You could get out of it, before it is too late,” he pushes the subject more. “Marry some lord and be swept away from here.”

The possibility sounds nice. Away from court, away from your family. Maybe a different version of you would agree with Aemond. Acknowledge that being at court, that striving for more has stolen something from you. A life of simple monotony away from the Red Keep sounds lovely. But you are not a different you. You were made and pushed into the world in your parent’s image. Simple is not enough, monotony is not enough.

“I appreciate the advice,” you smile calmly. “But I would miss everyone too much to do that just yet. I would miss Prince Aegon, along with Princess and the children. As well as you and sweet Floris.”

Aemond stands abruptly at the mention of his sister and wife. The light from the fire reflects on the side of his face. He looks like something out of a fairy tale. You are sure he wants to look intimidating but looks more ethereal if anything. He shares that trait with his siblings.

He goes to leave without another, but a sudden urge washes over you.

“Wait, my Prince,” you set the book in the chair and go to where he is near the door.

You wet your thumb slightly, watching his eye linger on your mouth.

“You have a little rogue there.”

Your thumb traces over the vein on his neck, and you feel him stiffen under your light touch. You flinch a little when his hand grabs your wrist firmly. For a moment, you don’t trust your instinct fearing your boldness has taken you to a point you cannot tip toe back from. You become acutely aware of blade resting snugly against his hip. He could slit your throat easily. But you have seen him training; he would go for a more gruesome approach if given the chance. Slow and painful.

Instead, he gently placed your hand at your side. His hand making a route from your wrist to the delicate tips of your fingertips. There is a coldness left when he lets go.

He leaves without another word.

“I will tell Prince Aegon you stopped by,” you lie as you call after him.

Aegon does eventually show up. Riding gloves on, and cheeks splotched, pink from the cold. He goes on and on about something Sunfyre did. You sit, pleasant and accommodating, the way men like him want. Hanging of every word as if you would die not hearing the next one spill from his lips.

Despite the dragon drivel, your mind does not drift often, liking the easiness that comes with speaking with an agreeable Aegon. But when it does, it only fixates on one thing.

First sons deserve the best… even the best whores

“She is not pregnant, Your Grace.”

The maester seemed nervous to tell the Queen. Aemond bites back a breath of relief when the words come out, eye fighting to go back to outside the window next to the wall where he leans. Floris’ face scutches into a frown.

Alicent chews on her cheek in clear aggravation, a tell Aemond can pick up from years of noticing his mother’s ticks. But like any good diplomat, she quickly replaces the disappointment with smile towards Floris.

“Well, it can take time,” she tries to give a good-natured shrug. “No reason to worry.”

Alicent had gotten good at giving her kids the same empty placating statements sprouted to her by her own father. Everything is going how it should. No need to worry. You will be fine.

They do not believe her the way she does not believe Otto. She can at least say she knows her children well enough to see they do not believe it. Alicent is sure her father still deludes himself into thinking his halfhearted attempts at warmness work.

Even the smartest man in the Seven Kingdoms can be mind-numbingly daft at times.

The maester and Alicent jump into words of encouragement and ideas to help a seemingly upset Floris. Aemond assumes he should join in, comfort his wife but his legs don’t catch up with what his brain tells him is best. Instead, he stares out of the tower window, a flash of deep red and black catching his eye.

He sees you walking through the castle with such sure steps, in perfect tow with his sister. A creep of bitterness works its way up Aemond’s throat. The way you have encroached into the inner fabric of his family leaves him feeling uncomfortable. As if you were always meant to be here. A harmless addition, but he knows better. There is nothing harmless about the way Aegon looks at you.

The only vindication he gets is his mother’s shared hesitance. But in the end, he knows Alicent is too tired to say anything unless true harm is being done. Even she can appreciate Aegon having a singular focus for once, even if it not his wife. And she is undoubtedly fond of your strait-laced yet kind nature. You knowing your place makes all the difference. But Aemond sees hints of boldness and rashness.

It feels odd watching a woman not of his family so garishly wear the color that matches the walls of the castle. But too terribly fascinating to look away from. The black dress with Ruby red trimming sits off the shoulders elegantly. Your hair pulled up showing off a swan like neck that he has only seen on his mother.

Poised, well-read, quick witted, and all wrapped up in a pretty package. You are the ideal vessel for a royal bastard; he knows you see it too, you are too bright not to. A perfectly placed temptation.

He knows his brother is foolish enough to try it.

Mindlessly, his hand goes to his throat. The touch is not the same as yours. His sword withered hands nothing like the dainty soft one that danced across his nights ago. He swallows thickly.

“Aemond, are you listening,” his mother voice breaks through his thoughts.

He nods. As he pushes himself from the wall, he swears he can feel eyes looking up at him.

— — —

Aemond starts to wonder if all his thoughts will be tinged with violence and paranoia.

Simple ideas can be quickly shifted into something morbid. He does not when it started. After he lost his eye? After watching Aegon and Helaena get married? After learning about get married himself. It is easy to have this to turn into dust and ashes in this family.

Though Floris is a welcomed difference. The right amount of different yet bland enough that his thoughts on her dissolve into nothing. Sweet, and palatable; things could be far worse he guesses. He could be stuck with far worse. She lets him do as he pleases. Finds ways to occupy herself that has nothing to do with him, a comfort.

When he hears laughter coming from their chambers, he assumes she must be with one of her ladies in waiting. He internally groans at the small talk he must make with them. Pretending to care about whatever court gossip they dither on about. But when he walks in he sees a table full of tea and treats.

“My love,” Floris hops up from her seat, a bright smile on her face. A warmer disposition than the one she had been sporting since the news of not being with child.

Before he can reply, the person in the seat turned away from he springs up with equal vigor.

“Prince Aemond,” you curtesy, polite smile on your face.

For today, the cold, silk targaryen-esque garb had replaced with a lace emerald green and gold gown. Coils falling in way that create a halo around you. He should add chameleon to the list of attributes. The transformation is remarkable. The typical icy demeanor being washed away with a young, sheepish, and girly smile.

Aemond bites back a sneer. His body feels like it vibrates whenever you are near. He has not figured out if it is anger or something entirely different.

“We were just having tea,” Floris looks at you then at the wine on the table, and you two share a knowing giggle. “Chatting away.”

He waits for the moment you finally excuse yourself, but it never comes. The two of you continue to whisper and giggle as if there is an inside joke no one else will be in on. He tries not to focus on it as he takes off his riding gloves, and cloak.

A guard comes into the room asking for Floris. He sends a prayer to the Gods that his wife will take you with him. But all she does is tell you that she will be back soon.

“Did you have a nice ride,” your voice rings through the room. Aemond lets out a deep sigh, turning from the clothing cabinet. He turns to find you lounging in the chair, goblet in hand.

He doesn’t answer, just stares at her leaning against the wardrobe.

“I have always thought about it,” your lips are stained red from the wine. “Taming a dragon, riding a dragon. Your wife is very lucky.”

Aemond blanches at the image that passes through his head. The vibrating feels like it is starting to radiate inside to outside. You down the rest of the wine.

“I am assuming she had ridden on Vhagar with you.”

She had…. once. Aemond had assumed it would romantic or a deep connection would be had. His at the time future wife meeting his first friend. She threw up afterwards, politely saying that she would never want to do that again.

Dragons are not for everyone.

“Maybe my brother will finally put you out of your misery, and let you ride his.”

Your lips curl into a cruel smile. “I would like that. I hear one good ride always clears the head. I am sure you have needed that lately.”

Aemond frowns not understanding what you mean.

“Floris was telling me about your problems. Do not fret Aemond, impotence is very natural while under pressure,” your eyes travel down his body, and you give him a fake pout in pity.

Aemond is sure he is about to lunge at you. His vision goes red for a second. “I am not impotent,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Nothing of what my wife and I do is any of your business.”

He shouldn’t feel the need to explain himself to you. Insolent girl with too much time on her hands, and too many ideas in her head. Aemond slightly curses his brother for being the reason you even come around. You hold your hands up innocently.

“Your wife invited me to tea, and she brought up the conversation. I am only now trying to extend my support.”

Aemond always thinks the people around him are too trusting, too open. Helaena is painstakingly warm to whoever shows her an ounce of kindness. Aegon is easily swayed with pretty faces or a sense of camaraderie. His mother’s whole being shuts down at the sound of compliments. Floris is alone at court, in need a friend. You meet all of their needs in ways he cannot begin to. You know it as much as he does.

He should feel upset at his wife, but he doesn’t even have the passion to do that.

So, all he can do is focus on how you bring on a nagging tug in the pit of stomach. How he trusts absolutely nothing you do. How embarrassed he feels about you knowing any intimate details about him.

“But if I could give some advice,” you get up from your seat, walking towards him. “If your wife is not doing the trick, perhaps thinking about other things may help. Something that makes the blood pump a little faster.”

Aemond’s throat bobs. He glares, trying to think of cruel insult to dismiss the notion, but he finds his mouth dry and his tongue heavy.

The moment is interrupted by Floris coming in with a smile. “What did I miss?”

The transformation happens again, Aemond thinks. The low voice you had put on, and the hazy look in your eyes instantly go away. You turn to her with a chipper smile.

“I was just telling Prince Aemond about how I am looking forward to going to the orphanage with you, Princess Helaena, and the Queen on the morrow.”

You lock arms with her, and all Aemond can do is watch.

Wretched girl.

—— —

Later that night, when he feels Floris’s lips on his neck, and her hand working down his chest. He tries to think about how lucky he is. Floris is pretty, and kind. He has bolstered his family through the marriage. It should make him happy.

Despite himself, he finds himself thinking about other things. About berry red wine-stained lips, and a perceptive mind. A wet thumb tracing where his wife’s lips are. Heat pulls in the pit of his stomach at the thought of you wanting to ride a dragon. That night he cums harder than expected.

Maybe second sons deserve the best too.

#this weirdly being one of the fav things Ive written and I did it in like a couple of hours wimfksnf #like once an idea stick… it is STUCK I fear #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd aemond #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x fem!oc

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avatar-anna · 11 months

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first time harry sees prof all dolled up maybe for a fancy date or something and is just lost for words. and then maybe prof gets a little hurt that he doesn't find her natural self that attractive but he explains that he was shocked?

First Date Jitters

The Professor Series

this takes place right after the series ends (after part V)!

*.*

Standing in front of the mirror of your Manhattan apartment, you weren't quite sure if you were satisfied with the reflection staring back at you.

"What do you think, Trajan?" you asked, looking over at your cat, who just stared back with a bored expression. Narrowing your eyes at the Emperor, you said, "I'll remember your lack of support in this moment, you know."

The cat just continued with his cool indifference, clearly not worried about your potential grudge. When you determined that your conversation with your cat was just toeing the line of insanity, you turned back to the mirror and sighed.

Objectively, you would say you looked fine. Your dress nipped your waist just so, and you liked the way the red string tieing the bodice contrasted the sweetness of the garment's pattern. It was sweet and romantic, but there was something mature about it too that couldn't be ignored.

The dress was fine, and the socks with the ruffled ankles matched perfectly, so that was a plus, but as you looked yourself over for the twenty-seventh time, you couldn't help but feel like your reflection was an imposter.

You'd had the dress for a few months now. It had called out to you on a rare shopping trip in SoHo, and you bought it on impulse. It hadn't left your closet since, but when Harry left your apartment the morning after you reconnected and said he wanted to take you on a proper date, you knew it was the perfect dress.

You watched mirror-you's frown deepen as you remained flummoxed by the situation at hand. You didn't think you looked bad, but something was just...

"Missing. It's missing something."

Style and fashion weren't things you didn't pay much attention to. You had a particular style that made you comfortable, a small circle of interesting but not out-there that you thought matched your personality quite nicely. You had your comfy sweaters with cute patterns, your corduroy pants and mismatched socks and the clips and headbands and colorful scrunchies you used to keep your hair out of your face so you weren't constantly annoyed by it.

But the dress just seemed out of place in all of that. You liked it enough not to take it off, but you needed something else to make it feel like it was actually you wearing the dress, not the other way around.

Not enough color, you soon realized. There was a pop of red from the laces, but other than that, you were just wearing white, something you rarely ever wore. You liked color, and decided that if you were going to confidently wear this dress, it needed a little more whimsy.

You rummaged through your things—shoes, shoelaces, earrings, colorful eyeshadow shades—searching for just the right element. It took about three minutes, but when you found a forgotten jewelry box stashed under some old files, you remembered what lay within.

In seconds, you were fastening the necklaces around your neck, knowing that Harry would arrive at your apartment any minute. As you struggled with the clasp, your mind flashed to all the times Harry had shown up on your doorstep in Cambridge, ready to talk about just about anything with you.

Things were so much easier then, you recalled. You never second-guessed your attire, never once wondered if Harry would notice that your shoelaces didn't match, or find your sweater with dancing mushrooms on it bizarre, or question the strand of beads that held your glasses like a necklace. Even now, you knew Harry wouldn't mind if you were dressed up or down, and yet you found yourself fretting over your appearance tonight anyway.

As you layered the last of your necklaces, a mix of colorful beads and stones with a gold heart-shaped locket at its center, you heard a knock on your door. "Shoot," you muttered, fingers slipping now that your nerves were kicking into full gear. Pausing your battle against the tiny brass clasp, you left your room to get the door, words tumbling out of your mouth before Harry could even make a sound.

"I'm not ready yet, I'm sorry. I got so caught up in going over the conversation topics I picked out that I forgot I actually had to physically get ready for tonight, which took much longer than it should have, and now I can't get this infernal necklace to clasp because my hands won't stop sweating, and every time I think about you or tonight my mind quite literally stops working for a minute and I forget what I'm doing. And all of that is to say that I'm not ready. Yet. I'm not ready yet."

Harry blinked as he processed everything you'd just said, and your face flushed because, really, did you have to reveal how nervous you were the nanosecond you opened the door?

"That...was all in one breath," he finally said. "I'm impressed."

Your whole face felt like it was on fire, but even though it had been a year since you'd spoken, you could tell that Harry wasn't teasing. He really was impressed.

"Do you mind helping me? With—With the necklace? I don't think I'll be able to get it, and it'll probably be easier if you just—Edward?"

Shoot, you thought. You hadn't meant to call him that. "Harry, I mean. Sorry. I don't know why I said that."

Even after messing up and correcting yourself, you still hadn't managed to garner his attention. Well, you had, he just wasn't looking at your face.

Harry's gaze was thorough as he took you in, his eyes lingering on your hips, then your chest, which was tastefully on display due to the cut of your dress. You felt his stare, almost as intensely as if he was actually touching you, though you knew that was quite literally impossible. But you still felt it, your stomach flipping around giddily as his gaze became heavy-lidded.

"Am I...dressed appropriately?" you couldn't help but ask, which seemed to get Harry's attention.

"Huh?"

"You never actually said what we'd be doing, and I read this article about the top nine date activities, and going to a restaurant was number one. Nine and ten were bike rides and amusement parks, but I took my chances. Hedged my bets, if you will."

God, did you sound like this all the time? You told yourself that you were rambling more than usual because of the added stress of going on your first-ever date with Harry and told yourself you would stop once you crossed the threshold of your door and officially started your date. But one quick look at Harry's tousled curls pushed to one side and the cozy sweater that made him look adorable and sexy—a winning combination if there ever was one—you knew you'd be tongue-tied for a while.

"You're perfect."

Your eyes widened, surprise and delight taking over your entire body. Smiling, you offered him a quiet thank you before asking him to clasp your necklace again, turning around before he could see the blush on your cheeks.

Harry's fingers were delicate as he draped the necklace over your collarbones and fastened the clasp into place. You could feel his shallow breaths on the back of your neck, leaving goosebumps on your skin and making your toes curl. You know you and Harry agreed on a proper date, which meant, you actually had to go on said date and not just skip to the end. But as the pads of his fingers began to glide across the exposed skin of your shoulder and down your arm, his lips puckering against the rapid beating of your pulse point, you wondered if you could just skip all that.

His hands came around your waist and felt along the front of your dress and squeezing appreciatively where he pleased. It made you feel molten inside, like clay that could only be shaped by his hands. You sagged against him a little, taking pleasure in his admiration of your body.

A breathy sigh escaped your lips as Harry continued to knead and squeeze and pinch, cold air biting at your neck as he dragged his lips across your skin.

Every thought, every topic of conversation you'd prepared, every worry you had, evaporated into thin air, like it never existed in the first place. You couldn't feel anything but serendipitous pleasure as you both indulged yourselves on feelings that had been locked deep in your hearts for perhaps far too long. There was logic that needed to be considered—your tornado-stricken room, the cats, the actual date itself—but logic and reason seemed to have retreated too far into your mind to grasp.

"The—The date," you managed to say, though Harry practically swallowed the words with a kiss, his nose nudging yours playfully before capturing your bottom lip with his teeth. You hissed, but leaned in closer so he could do it again.

Harry didn't answer for a moment, two moments, three, not in any rush to go anywhere but further into your apartment, do anything but suck your tongue into his mouth. You whimpered, struggling to hold it together both physically and mentally.

"You're exquisite," he murmured, like he hadn't even heard your measly attempt at bringing up the date you were supposed to be on.

Your heart raced at the compliment, but a seed of doubt flickered irritatingly in your mind. You willed it away, but it was as stubborn as a splinter in your hand or a piece of fuzz in your eye. You wouldn't be able to focus on anything else until it was gone.

"I—"

"Don't think for one second it's just the dress," Harr said calmly but firmly. You had no idea, but he could feel you tense at his compliment and knew exactly where your mind drifted. He knew you. "You came up with things to talk about on our date? Research before our date? Fucking hot, Professor."

You couldn't help but giggle, especially when the nips to your skin became more playful. "Don't tease."

"I'm not," Harry insisted. For the first time since this impromptu kissing-and-feeling took place in the middle of your apartment, Harry tipped your chin up so he could look you in the eye. You saw nothing but sincerity there, his lips swollen and a deeper shade of pink than usual as he grinned. "I told you before, Y/n. I find every little thing about you mesmerizing."

You knew it wasn't physically possible, but you felt like your heart swelled in your chest from just those words alone. Any minute doubts in your mind turned to dust right then. Harry knew you, knew all of your quirks and odd habits and tendencies and behaviors, but he never once faulted you for it or tried to change you.

Kissing him once on the cheek, you said, "I know the last four and a half minutes might have proven otherwise, but I really would like to go on our date."

Not a single flicker of disappointment crossed Harry's face at that. His eyes just crinkled as he released you from the circle of his arms, but not before kissing you one last time. "Me too. I have something pretty interesting planned and I would hate to let it go to waste."

"What did you have in mind?"

"A place called the Russian Tea Room," Harry said, offering you his arm once you'd straightened out your dress and fixed your hair, both of which had been thoroughly rucked up by him. "I figured a little Eastern European history with our date couldn't hurt."

You resisted the urge to jump on him right then and there.

For a whole year, you'd gone without talking to Harry. That came with its own slew of pain and regret and resentment, but above all of that, you really just missed his companionship. It wasn't that you just missed talking to someone in general about history and novels and astronomy, but you missed talking to him about all those things. And to think that he picked out a date that would capture the essence of your old "book club" sessions, it made you love him all the more.

Harry was just so...Harry. Because of course he would pick out something that would have educational value. You loved to learn and share knowledge, loved discussing history, and he loved to listen and engage with you like no one else ever bothered to before.

"We should probably call and tell them we might be late to our reservation," you said as you walked down the streets of New York toward the subway. You figured with all the time you spent fooling around in your apartment, you'd definitely be late for any reservations Harry made in advance.

"You might have to call," he said, sounding the slightest bit sheepish.

"Why?"

Harry grinned and patted his pockets. "I was so nervous about tonight that I left my phone at the hotel."

Unable to stop yourself, you snickered, leaning against Harry's arm to try and muffle the sound. "You? Nervous? I don't believe it."

"I'm serious!" he insisted. "I kept changing my clothes and my shoes, not realizing that I was running late to pick you up, and I just left. Without it."

You laughed, and Harry did too. It was comforting to know that Harry had been just as anxious about tonight as you'd been, to know that you scrambled his brain as much as he scrambled yours.

You kissed his arm, running your thumb up and down the thick knit of his cardigan. He felt so cozy, looked so handsome. It made you want to kiss his cheek until a dimple appeared and run your hands beneath his shirt at the same time.

But even so, the idea of a Russian-themed tea room was too intriguing to not talk about. There was too much to talk about, in fact. It would probably be for the best if you started on politics now so you could talk about the fun stuff like architecture and art styles when you got there.

When you asked Harry how much he knew about the Tsars and Tsarinas of Russia, he shrugged and said, "As much as the next person, I suppose. I did a little research beforehand so I could at least try to impress you, but go ahead. Tell me about it."

You squeezed his arm excitedly began, trying to decide on the best course of action. "Well, you see..."

#harry styles #harry styles x professor y/n #harry styles x professor yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot

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kirstydreaming · 7 months

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Renée Murden

#Renee Murden #Renée Murden #feminine fashion #pink dress #tulle dress #lace & bead bodice #beautiful model #feminine inspiration #cinderella divine #CD0174 #high resolution #kirstydreaming

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booklovershallway · 10 months

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Kim Kassas Spring 2023 Wedding Dresses — “Oh Romeo” Bridal Collection

[Inspired by the love story of Romeo and Juliet]

FLORENCE - A corset based ball gown accentuated by a beaded lace peplum layer with a matching belt and a detachable hood

VERONA - A mini corset dress made of embroidered Italian lace with crystal embellishments featuring a voluminous sheer skirt extension with a front slit

SHAKESPEARE - A modified a-line dress featuring a corset bodice, lower waistline and a pleated asymmetrical ankle length skirt design with 3D embroidered detailing

GINOVANA - An Indian lace corset dress featuring pearl beaded accents and a voluminously panel silk chiffon skirt. The dress is paired with a matching statement cape made of Indian lace

WILLIAM - A mini corset dress made of various lace fabrications with accentuated sleeve puffs and an attached pleated silk chiffon skirt train at the back

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inkwingart · 1 year

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Vietwardian look 2/? — This Vietwardian socialite is prepared to stab a man with her letter opener if she hears one more word of nonsense out of his mouth.

This gown is based on a classic áo dài, but with an Edwardian train and cold-shoulder lace sleeves. The black bobbinet overlay retains the raglan line of an áo dài, combined with a sweetheart neckline. The body panels are linen damask draped over a structured under-bodice, embroidered and beaded with glass jet and cut steel. Rather than traditional trousers, the gown is worn over a frilly black cotton petticoat. The gold bib necklace is inspired by traditional Vietnamese kiềng, particularly the beautiful styles worn by the Hmong, and Art Nouveau enameled jewelry. Her khăn đóng is cloth of gold.

Do not remove my caption, crop, edit, or repost on any platform.

#my art #vietwardian lookbook #illustration #god i desperately want to make this look #added an explanation of the design!

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edwardian-girl-next-door · 4 months

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Trained Silk Ballgown, c.1912

Silk charmeuse, empire waist, short sleeves, bodice trimmed with cream lace & gold beading, silk illusion draped over-skirt.

first photo via nivifer on pinterest, who I think has lightened it from the original posting.

second photo directly from augusta auctions

#fashion history #historical fashion #history of fashion #edwardiana #edwardian dress #edwardian era #edwardian fashion #titanic era #early 20th century #20th century fashion #extant garment #1910s #1912 #1910s fashion #e

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chic-a-gigot · 2 months

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La Mode nationale, no. 45, 5 mars 1887, Paris. Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur. No. 17. — Costume de voyage. No. 20. — Robe de ville. Maison Vidal sœuers. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Nos. 13 et 15. — Dos et devant d'une robe d'intérieur en molleton crème. Jupe unie, froncée derrière, ouvrant devant sur une sous-jupe plissée, volant en bas. Tout le davant de la robe est garni par une dentelle légèrement froncée. Une longue ceinture de velours vient se nouer négligement à la taille. Le milieu du dos est garni par des bands de pékin, formant pointes, alternées avec de la dentelle. Plastron et manches en pékin formant chevron.

Nos. 13 and 15. — Back and front of a cream fleece house dress. Plain skirt, gathered at the back, opening in front onto a pleated underskirt, ruffled at the bottom. The entire front of the dress is trimmed with slightly gathered lace. A long velvet belt is tied casually at the waist. The middle of the back is trimmed with strips of pekin, forming points, alternating with lace. Chevron-shaped pekin bib and sleeves.

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No. 17. — Costume de voyage en tissu pékin prune et héliotrope, et en cheviotte unie. Jupe plissée à larges panneaux, garnie dans le bas par un petit plissé. Longue draperie, très froncée à la taille, formant pointe devant et pouf drapé derrière. Corsage-veste, très ouvert, à revers, ouvrant sur une chemisette bouffant en faille à petits pois. Manches longues et plates, à parements de pékin. Grand chapeau de feutre, garni d'une longue plume amazone, dont le pied est caché sous un large nœud de ruban.

No. 17. — Travel suit in plum and heliotrope pekin fabric and plain cheviotte. Pleated skirt with large panels, trimmed at the bottom with a small pleat. Long drapery, very gathered at the waist, forming a point in front and a draped pouf behind. Very open bodice-jacket, with lapels, opening onto a puffed shirt in polka dot fault. Long, flat sleeves with pekin facings. Large felt hat, trimmed with a long Amazon feather, the base of which is hidden under a large ribbon bow.

Métrage: 5 mètres tissu pékin, en 1 mètre de large; 5 mètres cheviotte unie, 1 mètre faille.

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No. 20. — Robe de ville en faille noire. Le devant de la jupe, encadré entre-deux darperies droites, plissées, est ornée par une broderie au passé. La jupe, très froncée derrière à la taille, retombe en pouf droit. Le corsage-veste, à très longues basques est également brodé au passé sur la poitrine; il croise sur un long gilet en velours noir. Parements également en velours.

No. 20. — City dress in black faille. The front of the skirt, framed between two straight, pleated darperies, is decorated with embroidery in the past. The skirt, very gathered behind at the waist, falls in a straight pouf. The bodice-jacket, with very long basques, is also embroidered on the chest; it crosses over a long black velvet vest. Facings also in velvet.

Métrage: 14 mètres faille noire, 1 mètre velours.

Capote béguin en tulle perlé garnie sur le devant par une fantaisie en plumes.

Beaded tulle bonnet trimmed on the front with feather decoration.

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Nous rappelons que tous ces élégants costumes sortent de la Maison Vidal sœurs, 104, rue de Richelieu, dont les expositions de robes et de manteaux ont toujours un si grand retentissement et un réel succès. Ce succès est si grand, qu'il nécessite un agrandissement d'ateliers et de salons, pour lequel les sœurs Vidal préparent une magnifique exposition des nouveautés d'été, à laquelle elles convient toutes nos lectrices, dès que la date en ser fixée.

We remind you that all these elegant costumes come from the Maison Vidal sisters, 104, rue de Richelieu, whose exhibitions of dresses and coats always have such a great impact and real success. This success is so great that it requires an expansion of workshops and salons, for which the Vidal sisters are preparing a magnificent exhibition of summer novelties, to which they invite all our readers, as soon as the date is fixed.

B.V.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1880s #1887 #on this day #March 5 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #house #bustle #suit #Modèles de chez #Maison Vidal #devant et dos

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