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corroded-hellfire · 2 months

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The Boy Is Mine (Red's Version) - Eddie Munson x Reader

For @carolmunson’s writing event! Thank you for hosting this fun and uniting challenge 🥰

Summary: A romantic evening at Eddie’s trailer where you finally put a long-time dispute to bed.

Words: 2.2k

“Mmm,” Eddie moans as he stretches his arms out over his head. His tight back muscles loosen at the movement, having become stiff from sitting in one place so long to watch a movie. This is the third week in a row you two have had Star Wars Date Night and even though you both love it, neither of you realized how sore you’d get sitting in one spot for hours or how many times you would need to get up and use the bathroom during the long films.

Your boyfriend looks down at you, where you’re resting your head on a throw pillow in his lap. He smiles as he gently traces his fingertips down your cheek.

“Ready for bed, beautiful?” he asks.

You roll onto your back to look up at him. A rogue curl falls down in your direction and you take the opportunity to wrap it around your pinky.

“I guess so,” you say.

Reluctantly, you sit up and push yourself off the couch, allowing your boyfriend to do the same. The whole walk down the hallway to his bedroom, Eddie has his hands on you: gripping your hips, sliding them along your waist, tugging at the hem of your denim shorts.

“I’m capable of taking my own clothes off, you know,” you muse as you step into his room.

“I know. I just think I can do it better,” Eddie mumbles against your shoulder, pressing kisses there and up the side of your neck.

“Can I change into my pajamas and then you can grope me? Does that seem fair?” you ask.

Eddie chuckles and takes a step away from you. The moment you move further away from him though, he grabs his chest and acts as if your distance from him is literally killing him.

“Aw, damn,” you mutter as you pick your bag up from the floor and set it on Eddie’s bed. “Looks like I killed my boyfriend.”

The overdramatic metalhead drops to his knees, making the thin walls of the trailer shutter, and crawls towards you as if you’re an oasis and he’s been in the desert for days.

“Need…my…girl.”

Rolling your eyes at your boyfriend’s theatrics, you tug your shirt off over your head. Eddie’s eyes go wide and watch you like a hawk as you take off your bra and jeans as well. You slip an oversized Metallica t-shirt on and put your clothes back in the bag. Something pink and sparkly catches your eye and you perk up.

“Oh!” You pull out a small notebook, covered in stickers in all its glittery glory.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, finally standing up from the floor. He tosses his own shirt aside and undoes his handcuff belt.

“Just something to prove to you that I’ve been right all along!” You point the notebook at him like it’s an accusatory finger as he strips down to his boxers.

“About?” Eddie asks. He grabs an old yellow scrunchie you left over a while ago and ties his hair back at the nape of his neck.

Instead of answering him, you sit down on the bed and turn yourself until your ass is up against Eddie’s pillows. Then you lay back and kick your feet up to rest against the wall, leaving your body at a ninety-degree angle.

Eddie situates himself the opposite way, his body lying the typical way with his head coming to rest right next to yours.

“This,” you say as you open the notebook and begin to flip through the pages. Eddie tilts his head up to try and get a look but all he can see is swoopy handwriting in black ink scrawled across the white pages. “is the diary I kept in fifth grade.”

“Oh God,” Eddie says, running a hand down his face.

“I found it when I was cleaning my room this morning. Maybe now you’ll believe me!” you exclaim, and you begin to flip the pages with more fervor. “Aha! Here we are. My eleventh birthday.”

“Babe, you only invited me to your birthday party because you invited the whole class. It’s okay.”

“No!” you groan in exasperation. “I mean, yes, I did invite the whole class but that’s not why I wanted you there.”

“Right,” Eddie says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “it’s because you had a crush on me.”

“Ugh!” The fact that he doesn’t believe you drives you up the wall. But now you’re holding proof. It’s right here in black and white—and clearly not in your current handwriting. “Prepare to be proven wrong.”

You clear your throat before you begin to read your pre-teen self’s diary entry.

“Dear diary, it was a pretty great birthday. I got a new bike from mom and dad. Chrissy gave me some new gel pens and Heather got me a Rick Springfield poster. But the best part of all was EDDIE! Duh! I didn’t see him when I cut my cake so later I grabbed a cupcake and punch to bring to him. I found him in my treehouse and we sat there for a while. Together. Just us! I wanted him to kiss me soooooooo bad but I knew he wouldn’t. It’s dumb to think he’d like me the way I like him. I can’t help it though. I just wanna take Eddie Munson’s face in my hands and kiss him until our lips fall off.”

You stop reading when you and Eddie begin laughing.

“See?” you say, nudging Eddie’s shoulder with your own. “I bet you don’t even remember that day.”

Your boyfriend lets out a loud bark of laughter before raising his eyebrows at you.

“Wanna bet?”

The backyard is set up with long tables covered in colorful plastic tablecloths, grilled meats or snack foods laid out for guests to nibble on. The day is bright and sunny, but not blisteringly hot to be outside. It seems like half of your class is in the bounce house as you walk past it. A couple of your friends call your name, urging the birthday girl to come join them, but you have other plans.

In one hand you hold a cupcake and the other a cup of Hawaiian Punch. You couldn’t find where your mom put the extra cups from this party, so you had to settle for the Fairy Princess themed paper cups you had from last year’s birthday.

Squinting to keep the sun from your eyes, you take another scan of the backyard. Some neighbors talking by your dad over by the grill, a few of your aunts walking inside the house with your mom, and kids scattered around the yard like dice thrown across a Yahtzee board. But not the one kid you’re looking for. Still, you don’t give up. He was here before and you’re sure you would’ve noticed if he just left.

As you come to the back corner of your yard, it’s both cooler and much quieter. The shade from the looming maple tree brought a sense of calmness to the small, tucked away area. You take a few steps closer to the trunk of the tree and when you look up you see the treehouse you built with your dad and uncle two summers ago. And hanging out the front entrance of your hideaway fort you see two dirty white sneakers, one looking a little worse for wear than the other.

You walk around to the other side of the tree where planks of wood are hammered into the thick bark; your makeshift ladder. It’s a little difficult to climb with the confection in one hand and a full cup in the other, but you manage to do it without dropping or spilling either. Eddie’s head turns to you as you climb up the hole in the floor behind him. One corner of his mouth quirks into a smile and it has butterflies rushing throughout your stomach.

Determined to not make a fool out of yourself in front of the boy you have a massive crush on, you set the cupcake and beverage down as you pull your body all the way up into the tree house. Once you’re securely up, you scoot over to sit next to Eddie. Your legs dangle next to his out what could be considered the front door of the fort.

“What’re you doing up here?” Eddie asks, not unkindly but not exactly warmly either. His eyes never meet yours, instead gazing out ahead, in the direction of children laughing.

“You missed cake,” you tell him.

Eddie looks at you from the corner of his eyes and you realize he’s trying to determine if you’re being sincere or not. Anger settles in your veins and you’re suddenly ready to single-handedly take on any bullies that pick on this sweet boy.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Eddie finally replies.

If only he knew how wrong he truly was. It seems like you’re always aware of where Eddie is in relation to you. Whether it be seated behind you in class, down the table at lunch, or halfway across your own backyard.

“Well, I did,” you say, trying to quell the heat in your cheeks at your response. “And I brought you this.” You reach behind you and grab the Hawaiian Punch in the Fairy Princess cup. The reminder of what you’re giving him this beverage in has your cheeks getting warmer again though. “I ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?”

Eddie takes it from you and raises it to his eye level to inspect the different creatures depicted on it. An amused smile graces his lips, but he doesn’t laugh.

“It’s good. Fairies are cool.”

His response makes you feel lighter as you wrap your fingers around the polk-a-dotted cupcake wrapper and present the vanilla dessert to him.

“And this,” you say.

The boy takes a sip of the punch and sets it down next to him before accepting the cupcake.

“Thank you,” Eddie says softly. It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard him speak before.

“No problem,” you answer, just as quietly.

Slowly, Eddie peels the wrapper from the cupcake and takes a large bite that envelops half the treat in his mouth. As he chews, you notice he has a little vanilla frosting smeared above his top lip. You can’t help but smile as you gesture to the area on his pretty, pale face.

“You’ve got a little…”

Eddie sticks his tongue out and runs it around his lips, cleaning off the mess.

“Actually,” Eddie says, tilting his head as he looks at you, “so do you.”

A frown of confusion creases your brow.

“But I didn’t have a bite.” Your hand goes up and feels across your face. “Where?”

“Riiiiight…” Eddie swipes his pinky through the white frosting and dots it at the very tip of your nose. “There!”

The way your face crinkles up makes Eddie’s heart beat a little faster. And when your laughter joins in, Eddie swears he’s in love.

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t like you,” Eddie says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Honestly, I thought you liked Chrissy.” You roll on your side and nudge Eddie’s earlobe with your nose. “That’s why I tried to copy her look as much as I could for a while. Didn’t work that well, but I tried.”

“Chrissy?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to look at you.

“Mhmm,” you affirm, not meeting his eyes. “Actually, I thought maybe you liked her again last year when you guys were chemistry partners. Or maybe that you’d never stopped liking her. I mean, she is really pretty and the sweetest girl, and—”

Eddie stops you with a gentle hand caressing the side of your face. He turns on his side so you’re nose to nose and slowly swipes his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true. I didn’t like her last year. Or in fifth grade. Or ever. I’ve liked you since the fifth grade, though.”

You slip off of the bed and rotate yourself so you can lay by Eddie’s side. He tucks you under his arm and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Sorry,” you say softly. “Guess I had a throwback moment after reading that adolescent angst.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I never get insecure.”

“Or jealous,” you add, but with a small smirk.

“I guess, yeah,” Eddie agrees, cheeks flushing pink at the admission.

“And possessive,” you say, tightening your grip on your man.

Now, Eddie has an amused expression on his face as he studies you.

“And you like that?” he asks.

“It’s hot,” you explain bluntly with a shrug.

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly and presses his lips against your temple, leaving them there for a moment.

When he reluctantly pulls away, he reaches behind him and turns off the light. The moment he’s back down beside you, you’re clinging to Eddie like a koala bear. He doesn’t mind one bit as he holds you just as securely.

After a little while, his eyes start to slip closed. But before he falls fully asleep, he feels your leg slip in between his. Your knee lifts until your thigh is pressed right up against his cock. Suddenly, he’s not so sleepy anymore.

“If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem,” Eddie grumbles out, making you giggle.

“I would hardly call that a problem.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic

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forever-rogue · 8 months

Note

If you'd like a request maybe older!eddie with reader who has insomnia? So either she's not getting enough sleep or she keeps waking up every hour and older!eddie who's dealt with it before knows the trick?

AN | Sleepless nights can be the worst. Luckily Eddie always has the answers 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 3.4k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You stared at the ceiling, trying to pick out shapes in the pale moonlight. You tried to contain your sigh, mindful of the handsome man lying next to you, fast asleep without a worry. His arm was draped across your waist, his face buried in the pillow as he snored lightly. You delicately traced some of the dark ink on his arm, admiring how it contrasted with his pale skin.

"Eddie?" You whispered softly, keeping your voice as quiet as possible. You were almost positive he was asleep but figured it couldn't hurt to try. When he didn't reply and continued sleeping, you slowly started to move out from under his grip. Before sliding completely off the bed, you paused and looked him over to make sure he wasn't disturbed.

He kept on sleeping, looking almost angelic with his curls spread around him like a halo. You covered him with the duvet before padding out of the bedroom and heading over to the kitchen. You found that your sleepiness nights were getting more frequent and in turn so were your hot chocolate and late night reading sessions. Had it been any other time besides halfway through the night, it might have been a peaceful thing.

Once your hot chocolate was finished, you made your way to the living room, curling up on the couch as you grabbed your current read from the coffee table. You grabbed the soft, dusky pink blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around your body. It was your favorite blanket; Eddie had gotten it for you shortly after you'd moved into his apartment because you were often complaining about being cold.

You weren't sure how long you'd been sipping on your cocoa and reading when you heard the creak of the floorboards. When you looked up, you found Eddie standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You looked at your phone and saw that it was nearing three in the morning, which caused you to scoff slightly.

"What are you doing up, love?" You set your mug down and closed your book before making your way over to him. He yawned before raising an eyebrow in question, "its late, Eddie."

"I could be asking you the same thing, sweetheart," he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against his warm body. You mumbled something incoherent as you smushed your face into his chest. His soft laughter vibrated as you almost melted into him, "aww, pretty girl. What's wrong?"

“It’s nothing,” you huffed, having to fight back giggles as he picked you up and carried you over the couch, plopping down and sitting you in his lap. You sighed softly as you sat there facing him. He had really become your safe space ever since you’d met him, “really, Ed.”

You put your hands on his face, admiring how pretty he was, only getting better with age. You traced your fingers along his jaw, littered with the day’s stubble before ghosting along his face. His skin was soft and plump - something he attributed to you giving him a five-step skin care routine - with delicate lines around his eyes, nose, and mouth. He claimed he looked like he was an old man, you insisted otherwise. He was handsome, growing even better with the passage of time. You brushed your knuckles along his cheek, but he gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Pretty girl,” he was singing softly, for your ears only, as he rubbed a hand soothingly up and down your back. Electric chills and shivers ran down your spine as goosebumps welled up all over your skin, “won’t you tell me what’s troubling you? Penny for your thoughts? Let me take away all your troubles and hold them for you.”

You weren’t sure when the tears had welled up, but you felt Eddie gently wipe them away. He leaned in and pressed soft kisses to your cheeks. You nudged your face into his hand and made a small sound that went straight to his heart. It was silent for a few minutes, only the sound of late-night New York traffic interrupting the peace. You’d gotten so used to it over the years that it was almost soothing.

“There’s nothing wrong per se,” you whispered after a few moments had passed, his chocolate brown eyes searching yours, “I’ve just been having a hard time sleeping lately. And I don’t wanna keep you awake either, so I've been coming out here and reading.”

“And drinking hot chocolate,” he teased, a soft lilt to his voice. You looked at your empty mug and nodded, already feeling better from just having him there with you, “tell me, my queen, how many books have you knocked since you’ve been dealing with these sleepless nights?”

“I don’t wanna…” you couldn’t help the small shriek that escaped your lips as he tickled your side. He was determined to get an answer out of you, and you knew that he’d never take no for an answer, “five! Five! Have mercy, please.”

"Five books?!" He groaned playfully as his head lulled onto the back of the couch, "baby, that's gotta be at least three weeks worth of sleepless nights."

"To be fair, a few of them were short books," you smiled sheepishly as his large, warm hands settled on your hips, "and it hasn't been consecutive nights. So…"

"So…" his mocking was soft and gentle. You could still hear the sigh of concern in his voice nonetheless, "I wish you would have told me instead of dealing with this on your own."

"It's not a big deal, love," you insisted, already knowing full well that Eddie wasn't having it, "I've dealt with much worse back when I was in college."

"So like yesterday?"

"Stop, old man," you stuck your tongue out at him before pressing yourself into him, clinging on like a koala, "you're so busy and doing so much I didn't wanna bother you with something so trivial."

"Nothing about you or that concerns you is trivial," he insisted firmly, a kiss placed to the crown of your head, "got it?"

"Yeah," you loved him. You loved him ridiculous amounts, "I dunno, it's just…life I guess. I can't get my brain to turn off at night."

"I know how that can feel," he'd wrapped his long arms around you, "its rough sometimes. Anything particularly nagging at you?"

"Ugh," yes, was the immediate answer that came to mind. But you couldn't just say that because you knew that it would lead to more questions. Eddie was never one to let things go, especially when it came to those he loved. You swallowed the lump in your throat down, "not really. Just stuff."

"Stuff and things?" He added, chuckling softly when he felt you nod. The man knew there was more to it than that, but he knew it wasn't his place to push. You'd always go to give when you were ready to, "you want to go back to bed and try to get some sleep?"

"Mhmm," you were already getting more tired, lulled and soothed by listening to the steady beating of his heart, along with his soft hands on your skin, "I think so."

"Alright princess," you wrapped your arms and legs as he slowly stood and started heading to the bedroom, "hey - next time you can't sleep, just wake me up, okay?"

"Ed-"

"It wasn't really a question," he grinned when you looked at him with wide, sweet eyes, "its more of a request."

"Okay," you nodded slowly, overwhelmed by the love he always showed you, "love you so much, Eddie."

"I love you too, princess."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The night after Eddie discovered your little late night rendezvous, you were convinced things would get better. That first night, back in bed and in his arms, you'd been able to find solace in getting a couple hours of sleep.

Despite your best efforts, the bliss didn't last. A few nights later you found yourself unable to fall asleep for hours and then after you'd finally managed to doze off, you weren't able to stay asleep. You'd considered waking Eddie up, just as he'd told you, but he seemed to be dead in his sleep. Despite your best efforts, shaking him and calling his name, he remained asleep.

It was with a heavy sigh and heart that you climbed out of bed and headed into the kitchen. This time, however, as you made your hot chocolate, you decided to take a hot bath to see if that would help. Eddie had just suggested a hot soak with some Epsom salt and bubble bath and you decided that it was better than nothing.

You tried to be as quiet as possible and by the time you were under the warm water, surrounded by the soft, lavender scented bubbles, your body was finally relaxed. You hoped that would translate to your mind.

You laid there for a while, sipping your hot chocolate and scrolling around on your phone. You'd been so engrossed in what you were doing that you didn't even hear Eddie push open the door and stick his head in.

"Baby."

You almost shrieked in surprise, tossing your phone due to the shock. Luckily Eddie was able to catch it, stepping inside and offering you a sheepish grin; you offered the same look in response.

"Hey my love," you leaned over the edge of the tub, crossing your arms and resting your head as you looked at him. Eddie sat right down in front of the tub, looking at you with a soft expression, "didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he promised, reaching over and brushing a few wet tendrils of hair out of your face, "needed some water and saw the light on. Couldn't sleep again, huh?"

"And couldn't wake you for the life of me-"

"How hard did you try?"

"Enough…" you hid your face, warmth settling all over face, "but not too much."

"I had a feeling," he tutted at you gently before grabbing your scrunched off his wrist and pulling his curls into a bun on top of his head, "got room for one more?"

"Always," you scooted to the side and watched as he undressed, dark ink all over his skin. You took a moment to admire him as he got into the other side of the tub, watching you intently, "don't look at me like that."

"Like what, pretty girl?" He playfully flicked a few bubbles at you, bringing a big smile to your face, "tell me."

"Like…like I'm the best thing in the world," he always looked at you with starry eyes and a reverence that he held only for you. You swallowed thickly before leaning back, "I'm nothing that special."

"You're so wrong," he shook his head, wondering where you'd ever came up with this ridiculous idea. The realization hit him like a tidal wave - you didn't see yourself nearly the same way as he saw you, "is that…is that what's been bothering you?"

"I…" you couldn't even lie. Especially not to him. The tears welled up almost immediately and you tried to blink them back to no avail, "its something like that."

“Oh my lovely girl,” he let out a long breath, not of exasperation and certainly not at you, trying to compose his thoughts, “why didn’t you say anything? You can tell me anything.”

“How can I tell you that I don’t think I’m good enough for you?” your question came out sharper than intended and you could see that Eddie recoiled slightly. You sighed and wiped away the tears that had liberally run down your cheeks. You felt ridiculous, but it seemed like everything was going to come out now and there was no stopping it, “how am I supposed to tell you that I feel so…inferior and unworthy without you trying to convince me otherwise?”

Eddie was quiet for a few moments, mulling over his words. He hated, loathed entirely, the idea that you ever had a moment of doubt that you were good enough for him. The idea was…so asinine that it was shocking. He was to reach for you, but decided against it, letting the soft popping of the bubbles fill the silence between the two of you. You wished he would say something…almost anything at this point.

Eventually, to your relief he finally spoke up, “you’re right. You’re not saying that to me and not expect me to say something in return. You should know by now that is definitely not my style.”

“Yeah,” a stiff, bitter little laugh escaped your lips, “I know that. You’re so stubborn sometimes but it’s one of the wonderful things about you.”

“It’s one of the things I like about you too,” he eased the tension a little bit by giving your leg a gentle squeeze, “don’t shut me out, please. Talk to me.”

“Eddie…” he was right, it wouldn’t be fair to him to completely shut him out, “I just…you’re you. And I’m just me. I just feel like…I don’t know what you see in me. You’re….everything and I’m just a dumb girl you met in a bar. I feel like you can do better than me and find someone more worthy of you. Someone on your level.”

Eddie waited for you to finish before sitting up and leaning towards you. He wiggled his fingers and motioned for you to lean closer. You took a moment before mirroring his position, making a small sound of surprise when he gently took your face in his hands. He brushed his thumb over your cheek before pressing his lips to your forehead.

“May I speak my piece now?” he brushed his lips against yours and you nodded softly. He pulled slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. It always felt like he could see right into your soul, “I love you - I am in love with you. It doesn’t matter where or how we met. It doesn’t matter that it was at a bar - it would have been the same if it had been the bookstore or coffee shop or the park, yeah?”

“I guess…”

“C’mon baby, you can do better than that,” he brought a smile to your face as you huffed and give him a more assertive response, “there’s my girl. I don’t think that you’re inferior or anything of the sort? You’re perfect for me. You’re my everything. It doesn’t matter that we’ve had different pasts and I’m a little older, or anything. What matters is what’s in your soft little heart and that we love each other. And you’ve got the best part and I know you love me and I love you. That’s all that matters.”

“I do,” you agreed softly, a wistful little sigh escaping your lips, “I love you very much.”

“I’m glad to see that we’re on the same page,” when you looked at him you could see that beaming grin on his face. It was pretty, almost too pretty to be fair, and adored it, “I don’t know how to tell you that you mean the world to me, but I hope I can show it. If I’m not showing you that enough than I’m not doing my job right.”

“Stop,” you snorted in amusement, “you’re such a dork, Eddie Munson.”

“Umm, duh,” he offered you a cheeky little wink, “but I’m your dork.”

“Yeah?” your lips had settled into a pout and Eddie wanted nothing more than to kiss it away.

“Always,” he promised, “what got you feeling this way, huh baby?”

“It’s stupid,” you huffed at yourself, reaching for his hand and playing it with both of yours, “I don’t want you to laugh at me.”

“I’m not going to laugh,” he squeezed your hand, “try me.”

“It was weeks ago now,” you bit the inside of your cheek for a moment, “after one of your shows. I was hanging around the bar waiting for you to get down, ‘member? Well, I heard some people talking, they were just gossiping, but I heard them talking about us. That you were great and amazing and all that but that you dating me was basically a joke. That you didn’t really want to be with me, you just wanted me because I’m easy and young.”

“People really don’t know how to mind their business, do they?” the fact that he was taking this so lightly made you feel minutely better. At least he didn’t seem to think their contentions held any weight, “that’s the dumbest shit I’ve heard in a long time.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, more relaxed than you had been in a long while. He shook his head, a few curls falling loose from his bun and framing his face prettily. You reached over and gently twirled one around your finger. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pressed a kiss to your hand.

“Baby,” he looked at you, a serious look on his face, “I’m a part-time rock musician and a full time music teacher. I’m not as cool and rock’n’roll as people like to think. I’m just…a guy. A very average guy. And our age difference is not that huge. You’ve got your own career starting and going on, and you don’t rely on me for anything. I’m lucky you gave me the time of day, honestly.”

“You’re being too much,” you splashed him, causing him to scoff playfully, “just say you’re in love with me and worship me and leave it at that.”

“I’m in love with you, I adore you, and I happily worship at your altar any time of day or night,” he reached for you, hands on your waist as he pulled closer to him so you were sitting on his legs, “my lovely girl.”

“You don’t think I’m just some hoochie that wants your money and sex and conned you into letting me move into your apartment?” you were sure what his answer would be but you still wanted to hear it at the same time.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “I know it’s because you love me just like I love you. Whatever you want you can have it. What’s mine is yours, you know that.”

“Same,” you grinned at him, “but just so we’re clear, I do want the sex. The rest doesn’t matter. Only you.”

“There’s my girl,” he gave your sides a gentle squeeze, causing you to squirm with ticklishness, “I’m gonna marry one day.”

“Oh really?” you looped your arms around his neck and pulled him close, “is that so?”

“Mhmm,” he pressed big kisses to your cheeks, causing you to giggle, “right when you least expect it. But it’s gonna happen.”

“You continue to surprise me,” you nudged his nose with yours before kissing him softly, “I love you so much, Eddie. Thank you for…this.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he insisted softly, “I just hope that this eases any worries you had. And that now you can actually get some sleep instead of worrying.”

“Me too,” you hugged him tightly, pressing your chest against his, “do you think we can go to bed now?”

“Of course,” he kissed the side of your head, “we can sleep in. But now, you can rest easy. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine #older!eddie #joseph quinn #st

621 notes · View notes

gigabyte-flare · 8 months

Text

He Comes Alive (Part 1)

Summary: Dropping out of college and moving back in with your parents is embarrassing when you live in a small town, where news and rumors spread fast. You have a chance encounter with a man that just moved into town, not realizing your life is about to get a lot more exciting.

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: vampire/plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Biting, blood, gore, murder, unprotected p in v, masterbation, oral (m and f receiving), stalking, pet names, implied kidnapping, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future entries]

A/N: It was only a matter of time before I did a vampire au. I wanted to do a twist on Las Plagas where it turns people into vampires, also I was very much inspired by @nexysworld's vampire!Leon bot (which is excellent huehuehue). This fic takes place in the late 1980s, so canon stuff is completely thrown out the window so if that's not your thing, kindly move along.

Oakvale is a fictional town nestled in the heart of New Hampshire's White Mountain region and based heavily on my own experience growing up in small town New England. Shout out to my fellow New Englanders! 🥰

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

Title inspired by Jason performed by The Midnight

Line break Divider by cafekitsune

You stand at the end of the walkway leading up to your childhood home in Oakvale, New Hampshire, holding your luggage in one hand. You take deep breaths, preparing yourself for a nasty welcome home. You can still hear your father’s rage filled voice from your phone call a few days prior. You had decided to drop out of college. You were failing your classes and you couldn’t cope with hectic college life. Your mom, on the other hand, while disappointed in your decision, understood that this was your choice and that you were an adult now.

You had gone to college at the University of Illinois majoring in accounting under your father’s strict guidance in hopes that you would graduate and then run the finances for his car repair business. He was only going to help pay for college if you majored in accounting, so you had agreed begrudgingly. You were terrible at math and hated working with numbers, it was no wonder you were struggling.

You collect your thoughts, exhale loudly and approach the front door, wheeling your luggage behind you. You stand before the front door, giving it a few light knocks. You hear movement inside the house and the sound of your mother yelling down that she is coming. The front door opens and you’re greeted with your mother’s smiling face; a very welcome sight, beating the alternative.

“Sweetheart!” your mom exclaims, wrapping her arms around you, “how was your flight?”

“It was alright, I was able to sleep most of the way,” you reply as your mom leads you into the house.

You glance into the living room as you walk into the house, seeing your father watching the weather channel. He won’t even look at you or acknowledge you. Your mom sees the distress in your face. She stands in front of you, grasping your arms gently.

“Pay him no mind, sweetie, I’ve given him strict instructions to not talk about college with you. Give him time, he’ll get over it,” your mom lets go, continuing to lead you to your bedroom, “he needs to understand that you are an adult and can make your own decisions. He knew going into this that you hated math, it’s his own fault for pushing you so hard.”

You're comforted by your mother’s words as the two of you reach the precipice of your bedroom. She opens the door for you and you are met with your childhood bedroom, exactly how you left it before you went off to college three years ago: floral bedding, light pastel pink walls, matching white furniture and boy band posters and polaroids of you and your friends attached to the walls. You make a mental note to redecorate, but that can wait until later.

Later that evening, you join your parents in the dining room for dinner. Your Mother made your favorite: pasta in tomato sauce with kielbasa, squash and zucchini. Despite the fact it was late September, the family garden was still providing fresh vegetables. At first, you all eat in silence; you don’t dare make eye contact with your father. He seems to be too absorbed in the newspaper anyway. After agonizing minutes of silence, your father finally speaks to you for the first time since you came home.

“I got you a job at the gas station, you start Monday.”

You stop mid-bite, looking at your father dumbfounded before glancing at your mother, who smiles at you. He’s referring to the one gas station in town, just on the edge of town leading to the highway.

“Th-Thank you, Dad… that’s very kind of you…” you say before continuing your meal.

All the while, you hear the TV that’s still on in the living room, playing the news, “Fish and Game is still searching for 25 year old Alicia Walker, who hasn’t been seen since Wednesday when she told her family she’d be hiking up Mt. Lafayette--”

“Oh dear… they still haven’t found that hiker, Mick?” your mom says, looking over at your father.

Your father shakes his head in dismay, “nope. Seems to be happening a lot lately, that’s the third hiker in about a month, too.”

“Hikers are going missing?” you chime in before chewing your food.

“Unfortunately. That’s what happens when you go hiking in the Notch unprepared. Promise me you’ll never hike alone,” your father says to you in a stern tone.

“Of course, Dad, I’m not stupid.”

“Good,” your father replies with a nod before he continues eating, “pasta’s delicious Sandi.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The weekend goes by in a flash and, before you know it, it’s Monday; your first day at your new job at the gas station. It’s an easy enough job, just working the cash register as people come in to buy things and get gasoline for their vehicles. What your father had failed to tell you, however, is that he got you the late shift: 6:00pm to midnight. The day shift person, an older woman named Peggy, who also trained you briefly, let you know that police officers often stop in at night to check on things, giving you some comfort. Oakvale wasn’t a bad town by any means, but this gas station was also close to the highway; anyone could come in.

That is made apparent when the chief of police himself stops in around 10:00pm, Chief Robert Dion, but most people in town just call him Chief Bob or just Chief. He was a burly man with a large mustache that he used wax to curl the ends; he almost looks like a cartoon character. His hair and beard are starting to show his old age. You recall he’s a nice man; you smile at him from behind the cash register as he walks through the door.

“Chief Bob! Long time no see!”

“Well, hey there little lady! Mick told me you were working at the gas station now! When did you get back into town?”

“Friday afternoon. I’m… not cut out for college, I guess…” you reply, your tone becoming morose.

“Hey! Don’t get down! Take some time to yourself and try again.” he says, leaning up against the counter on one arm.

“Thanks Chief. What’s the latest gossip in town? I’m sure I’ve missed a ton in three years.”

“Mostly about those missing hikers. I’m sure you heard--”

The sudden roar of a motorcycle cuts him off as a Harley Davidson motorcycle pulls up to one of the pumps outside before cutting the power. You watch from your peripheral vision as the driver gets off the bike. You draw your attention back to Chief Bob.

“As I was saying… I’m sure you heard about the missing hikers.”

You nod, “yeah, it was on the news when we were having dinner on Friday.”

You hear the electronic chime on the door go off as someone walks in and that’s when your eyes settle on what is quite possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your life. Tall, with short blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a leather jacket with worn denim jeans and work boots. Chief Bob moves out of the way to let the man come to the register. Your heart can’t help but race in your chest as your eyes are locked on the man.

“Can I get $5 on pump uh…” the man leans to look out the window at the number of the pump he parked at outside, “four?”

“S-Sure, of course! $5 please,” you reply, kicking yourself internally for stuttering.

The man pulls his wallet out from his back pocket, setting down a five dollar bill. Your eyes drift to his hands to check to see if he’s wearing a wedding band on his left ring finger; you don’t see one. Shifting your gaze back up, you see that his eyes are suddenly locked on yours; he gives you a playful smirk and winks before he turns to walk out.

“You’re out awfully late,” Chief Bob says to the man as he walks by.

“Had some errands to run. Take care Chief,” the man replies before walking back outside to fill his bike.

Your eyes are once again locked on the man before Chief Bob’s voice draws your attention back, “I think that’s the guy that bought ol’ Archie Mason’s place about a month ago.”

Archie Mason. Now that’s a name you haven’t heard in a while. You knew him as Mr. Mason, a curmudgeon of a man that lived on a dead end road in the woods by himself in town. As kids, you’d dare each other to go to his house, knock on his front door and see who could run the fastest before getting caught. Mr. Mason hated children.

“When did Mr. Mason die?” you ask as you get the $5 bill the handsome man gave you into the cash register.

“I think… two years ago? The house finally went through probate and was sold. That guy moved in and has been fixing it up ever since. Usually see him at Rocky’s.”

Rocky’s is a hardware store in Oakvale, a popular spot for all the younger and middle aged men in town, right up there with Moe’s bar, which was conveniently right next door to the hardware store. You hear Chief Bob talking to you still, but you can’t focus. Instead, your attention is on the mystery man pumping gas into his motorcycle, your heart all aflutter.

You wake up around 9:30am Wednesday morning, shuffling over to your closet to put on some clothes. Afterwards, you go into the bathroom to fix your hair, brush your teeth and put your makeup on. All the while, you can hear your father hard at work in the garage on someone’s car through the various open windows in the house. You decide to pay him a visit after you get yourself put together.

You go outside, walking over to the adjacent auto repair shop, stopping to glance up at the sign hanging off the building: Mick’s Auto Repair. Every business in town had this unspoken rule that their business had to have their name in it; Mick’s Auto Repair, Rocky’s Hardware, Moe’s Bar and Grille, Sally’s Sew Shop, just to name a few. You continue walking, walking into the shop through the open garage door.

“Hey Dad!” you call out, looking around before seeing your father’s legs sticking out from under the car he’s working on.

You watch as he rolls out from under the car, his face, clothing and hands covered in oil stains. He looks up at you, his eyes squinting from the sun leaking into the garage.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.

“You didn’t tell me Mr. Mason had died.”

“Oh… yeah… died in his sleep. The old fart was 92. Didn’t really come as a shock to anyone.” your dad replies, rolling himself back under the car.

“Do you know anything about the guy that bought the house?” you continue to pry, crossing your arms as you look down, addressing your father’s feet.

“Yeah, his name’s Leon, I think. Moved in from D.C. if I heard right. What about him?”

“Oh… nothing… he came into the gas station the other night…” you reply, your voice trailing out as the butterflies stir up in your gut thinking about him.

Leon… that suits him, you think to yourself.

“Now don’t you go getting any ideas, the last thing you need right now, young lady, is to be distracted by some boy. He’s too old for you anyway-- oh fuck!” your father curses as you hear something snap from under the car, rolling back out with a broken wrench in his hand.

“That’s not good,” you comment, watching as your father shoots you a glare.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, “can you run over to Rocky’s real quick and get me another one? I’d go but I’m caked in oil. Don’t need Rock yelling at me for tracking oil into his store again. I’ll pay you back.”

“Sure, no problem! I’ll be right back!” you say, heading back into the house to grab your purse from your bedroom.

You grab the broken wrench from your father so you make sure to get the right one and head out. The hardware store is about a 15 minute walk from your house, so you decide to just walk, enjoying the crisp hair and sun of early fall. Coming upon Rocky’s Hardware, you step inside, a bell hanging off the door ringing as you walk in.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t Mick’s little girl! How’s it going, sweetheart?” Rocky says from the cash register.

Rocky is another older man, medium build with a head full of gray hair and a big, bushy gray mustache.

“Hey Rocky!” you reply as you pull your father’s broken wrench from your purse, “Dad broke another wrench, sent me to get another one for him.”

“Jesus… they don’t make them like they used to, do they? Aisle 6 dear, on the left.” Rocky says, gesturing into the store.

“Thanks Rock,” you say before proceeding to the aisle in question; however, when you turn to walk down the aisle, you stop dead in your tracks.

Leon, the man from the gas station the other night, is standing in the aisle looking at hardware, which is on the opposite side of the tools. You stand there, staring at him like an idiot, your heart pounding in your throat. As if sensing your presence, the man turns to you, giving you that same smirk from the other night.

“You’re that cute girl from the gas station,” he says; it wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

He remembered you. He also called you cute, making your stomach twist in anxiety.

“Y-Yeah…” you manage to say before working up the courage to walk into the aisle to look at the tools.

Leon’s eyes stay on you as you approach, watching as you draw your attention to the tools.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a hardware store?” he asks playfully, you can hear him smirking as he moves to stand next to you.

“Oh… my Dad broke his wrench. He asked me to get him another one.” you reply, trying desperately not to let your nerves get the better of you as you show Leon the broken wrench.

“Oh dear! Let’s see…” Leon starts as he looks up at all the different tools, reaching up to grab one of the wrenches hanging off the display, “this one looks like the same wrench, here you go.”

Leon hands you the new wrench, his fingers lightly caressing yours as he pulls his hand away, a gesture that is not missed by you. You feel your cheeks flush as you tuck the broken wrench back into your purse.

“Thank you mister…?”

“The name’s Leon Kennedy. But please, just call me Leon.” he replies, making eye contact with you, “what’s your name?”

You pause for a moment before you practically stutter your name out. You watch as Leon smiles at you, his eyes taking you in as he looks up and down at you.

“That is a lovely name,” he says, the compliment hitting you straight into your core; you feel your panties become slick.

“Th-Thank you… you have a nice name, too.”

Leon gives you a gentle pat on your shoulder, “I gotta go pay for my stuff. Hopefully we can see more of each other, yeah?”

You stare at him in awe for a moment before nodding, “Yes! I… I’d like that, too…”

He gives you a wink before he turns to walk out of the aisle and up to the cash register, where you hear him make small talk with Rocky. You are frozen in place in a desperate attempt to calm yourself down. You wait until you hear the bell on the door ring before you go up to the register to pay for the new wrench.

You couldn’t get home fast enough, your entire being a bundle of nerves. Once you get home, you walk through the open garage door to give your father the wrench. You find he’s not in the garage, so you walk back into the house, only to find him standing in front of the TV in the living room, watching the news.

“Dad, I got the wrench--” you begin to say as you cut yourself off, seeing there’s a breaking news report playing on the TV, “what’s wrong?”

Your father turns to you, his look is forlorn, “another hiker went missing, they were last seen Monday.”

That night, after getting home from your shift at the gas station, you toss and turn in bed, unable to get comfortable. You can’t get Leon off your mind. Tossing your comforter off you, you lay on your back, propping your legs up and spread them as your right hand dips under the hem of your underwear, your fingers finding your clit to rub slow circles into it.

As you lose yourself to your own pleasure you moan Leon’s name softly, closing your eyes to picture the way his beautiful blue eyes looked up and down your body earlier today, the way his jeans hugged his slender hips. You could almost smell his leather jacket. Your fingers pick up the pace on your clit, causing your hips to buck into your fingers as you chase your high, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning loudly.

You turn your head towards your windows, slowly opening your eyes, only for your breath to be caught in your throat as you spot a pair of glowing red eyes peering into your window. You watch as the eyes suddenly dart away from the window, thumping sounds quickly following. You quickly pull your hand out from your underwear and practically jump out of bed to your window, throwing it open to look out. You look around, seeing nothing in the darkness. Your bedroom is on the second floor, it couldn’t have been a person. People don’t have glowing red eyes.

You take deep breaths, realizing your thoughts are only psyching yourself out. It was just your imagination in the heat of you getting yourself off, you decide, before you shut your window, locking it. Just in case. You walk back over to your bed, collapsing into it, your arousal having been scared out of you, so you quickly drift off to sleep.

Part 2

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #vampire!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy #gigabyte writes #he comes alive

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

Text

Sorry, Not Sorry!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 947

Summary: Bucky does something bad and you get mad (ha that rhymed :)

Author’s Note: So my lovely 💕Nat @blackwidownat2814 shared this hilarious tik tok with me HERE and we both thought it was something Bucky would do so here we are with this fun. Thank you so much my sweet and for helping me work out the whole scenario! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics thank you! 🥰

Warnings: fun fluff, silliness, curses, playfulness, Bucky’s a dope but it’s all good :)

GIF NOT MINE: Credit goes to @quantum-widow thank you lovely🥰

“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU BUCKY!” you shout as you stomp past him and toward the bedroom. “You know those are my favorite and I really need some right now!”

He’s hot on your heels, his soft apologies already flowing past his lips.

“Baby doll, I’m sorry! Don’t be mad.”

When you step into the bedroom you grab the door and slam it shut and lock it.

“Doll…”

He shakes and turns the knob several times before his head thuds against the door.

“You locked me out,” he says woefully.

“You deserve it,” you answer, crossing your arms in a huff and sitting on the bed.

“Please open the door doll face,” he asks.

“No.”

You hear the shuffle of his receding footsteps and let out a long exhale, your shoulders slumping as you mutter under your breath.

Just as you start to get comfy you hear the sliding and shifting of paper and a movement at the door catches your eye.

A white sheet of paper appears from under the small space at the bottom of the door.

“I’m sorry, can I come in?” is scrawled across it in Bucky’s handwriting.

“No,” you huff, falling backwards on the bed.

More crinkling and folding.

You sit up with a roll of your eyes, his long fingers pushing the next piece of paper under the door and holding it against the bottom of the frame.

“Pretty Please!!!”

“No way Buck!”

Before he can try to pull the newest note away, Alpine’s white paws slide under the door and start to grab at it, flicking it this way and that before he sinks his claws in and tries to rip it back his way.

You can’t stop your giggle.

More frenzied crinkling and shuffling of paper.

“I heard that! Come on doll, let me in!”

The newest note appears and your smile turns into a frown.

“No. But Alpine can come in!” you answer.

As if on cue Alpine’s white paws slip back under the bottom of the door and start to knead the paper.

“Come on buddy,” you coo. “I know you can fit under!”

You see his pink nose next but as quickly as it appears it’s gone when Bucky carefully pulls him away.

“HEY!” you shout.

Another note.

“I can’t believe you won’t let me in doll :(“

“Yea well, I can’t believe you finished off my cookies without even leaving me ONE! You’re not coming in!”

Bucky’s metal fingers slip under the door to feel around for the paper and the thin rays of sunlight that dance across the floor brighten them, especially the gold band that’s wrapped around his ring finger.

He gets a hold of the paper and pulls it back to his side.

“I said let me in! ><”

“Not happenin’ Buck. And gimme the cat!”

Alpine meows and you see his paws again as they scratch at the rug with a stretch.

The last piece of paper slides under.

You let out a horrified gasp.

On it is drawn a hand with a very long middle finger sticking straight up.

In your renewed anger you frantically search for an object, any object and the first thing you see is your stuffed white wolf on the bed.

You take it and throw it hard at the door.

“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU BARNES! Now you’re never coming in!”

Silence.

You walk over and pick up your wolf, cuddling it to your chest.

“I can’t believe him!” You mumble into the fluffy stuffed animal. “How rude!”

When you hear the jingle of the doorknob and some loud banging your eyebrows draw inward and you cock your head to listen.

“What the….? Bucky?”

There’s more clanking and noisy shifting before the door pops off the hinges to reveal a smirking Bucky.

He stalks toward you with purpose, pulling the wolf from your hands and dropping him on the bed.

“That was easy,” he grins.

“You’re an asshole!” you sniff. “You gave your wife the middle finger!”

“You give it to me all the time,” he retorts, taking a step closer.

“Well…that’s different!” you huff, clenching your fists at your sides.

“How?” he asks, slowly backing you toward the wall.

“It just is Buck!”

You widen your eyes and push out your bottom lip.

“Aw baby doll,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your mouth as his thumb softly brushes over your lip. “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you all the cookies you want forever!”

“And promise to never eat them all again!” you say, sticking your finger into his chest.

“Promise,” he smiles. “As long as you promise never to give me the finger again!”

“Never gonna happen,” you admit.

“I don’t know about those cookies then….”

“BUCKY!!!” you whine, trying to hide your smile. “You are the worst husband ever! First you eat all my cookies…then you basically tell me to fuck off! UGH!”

“You mean the best husband ever!” he counters, closing the distance between you and lining his body up with yours.

“Worst,” you sing, lifting your chin defiantly.

“Best,” he answers back, taking your chin between his metal fingers and bringing your eyes level with his.

“You don’t have a leg to stand on Barnes! You know I’m right,” you tell him as you slide your palms up his chest.

“Best,” he repeats, lifting his flesh hand to cradle your face and bring it closer to his.

“Not if you don’t get me my cookies,” you whisper, grabbing the chain of his dog tags.

His nose skims your cheek before his lips lightly brush against yours.

“Best ever…” is the last thing he says before his lips steal any other words you have.

@book-dragon-13 @dreamlessinparis @hiddles-rose @goldylions @seitmai @peaches1958 @lookiamtrying @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @randomfandompenguin @rebel-stardust @loki-laufeyson-1054 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #sebastian stan x reader #tik tok

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havensins · 11 months

Note

It’s my birthday 2day! 🥳

How would

Tony

Steve

Bucky

Miguel

Celebrate with me?🥰

happy birthday anon :))) i decided to do this one with just bucky and miguel bc i don’t think i could be original enough to have four separate thoughts on this, hopefully that’s okay! [also a reminder that my asks are currently closed!! i will open them back up once my inbox is cleared. you can still come say hi or talk to me though :> ]

(tw, lingerie)

for bucky. at first, bucky wouldn’t know what to do for you or what to get you for your birthday. and as he’s thinking about his options, his mind wanders to all the times you call him pretty and especially the time you’d made an offhand comment about how he’d look in some pretty garters or panties…

and from there he falls down a rabbit hole and ends up purchasing the set he’d assume would get the most rise out of you. it was a pretty navy blue set that came complete with panties and garters and lace stockings.

and when they finally come, he’s surprised at how good he feels as he tugs on the panties over his thighs and his hips. he finishes with the garters and stockings just in time. he’d called out for you the moment you entered the house and seeing bucky in the sexiest pieces of cloth you’d ever laid eyes on was not what you expected.

he’d be slightly nervous at first, but once he could see the physical proof of how affected you were, his nerves died down and his lips rigged up into a crooked smile. “are you gonna come take apart your birthday gift or what?”

(tw, mentions of oral (reader receiving) and bondage?)

for miguel. miguel wouldn’t have to think too hard about what he could for for you for your birthday, after all, you were constantly telling him how wonderful his mouth was when he blew you.

and that’s how that went. he had a pink ribbon, the really thick kind that was strong enough to hold him in place when he wasn’t using his strength. he had managed to tie his hands together in front of him. he was stark naked and kneeling on your bedroom floor only a few feet away from the door.

you’d see him immediately as you came through the door. he would be so obviously embarrassed, with patches of dimmed red splotching down his chest from his cheeks. you eyed him as you dropped your things, taking in his pretty he looked all wrapped up for you.

“use my mouth however you see fit,”

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drowsynyuu · 6 months

Text

LATE NIGHT KISSING ミ★ choso

NSFW BELOW~ jjk masterlist!!

cw: jerking off choso 🥰, just a little ff eat well luvs, hint of dacryphilia, praise, choso is very subby in this, use of “good boy”, you call him “baby” like twice

a/n: he’s so pretty and i just wanna make him cry 🥰

- - - - -

his soft whimpers echoed throughout the bedroom as he kissed you back, bucking his hips into your fist. he loved the way you felt, the way your hand squeezed his cock as you jerked him off.

his lips parted as he moaned, whimpering as you kissed him more. he was breathless, little tears staining his face. he blushed as you broke the kiss to look at him sweetly, stroking his cock more to make him gasp and whine.

“d-don’t stop.. f-feels so good..!” he whined, crying onto your shoulder as he needily fucked your fist.

“doing so good for me..” you muttered softly, your thumb brushing over his tip. you could feel his precum leaking from his tip, cock giving a pretty pink look on his tip as he struggled in your grasp. “you gonna cum?” you teased, chuckling as he whimpered. “look at me, baby..” you spoke softly, smiling as he looked at you with those pathetic eyes.

“..’m looking..” he whined softly, moaning as he felt you stroke and squeeze his cock. “w-w-wait!! i’m gonna cum! p-please..” he panted, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt you stroke him faster.

“you can do it, baby..” you spoke, your free hand stroking his hair sweetly. you smirked as he came all over your hand, whimpering into your shoulder as he fucked your fist. “good boy..” you muttered, gently helping him through his orgasm. “that’s it..” you said as he panted softly. “feel better?” you asked, looking at him softly. you smiled when he nodded.

“k-kiss..” he pouted a little, a soft sigh escaping his lips as you kissed him gently.

#🩷.drowsynyu.🩷#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso x reader smut #choso jjk smut

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c-nstantine · 5 months

Note

OMG I read your recent nanami x black reader fic and it was SO GOOD🥺 after watching the latest jjk, I’m not okay😭our boy needs justice😭

Can Nanami and black reader have a good ending after the Shibuya arc I refuse to accept his fate 😭 it could be Nanami and black reader living in Malaysia on their beach house. And nanami reading his books while reader is pregnant and has children (as many as you want) they just living happy is what I need. Your such a great writer🥰 take your time

and on this episode of fix-it fiction

word count: 0.7k

It was always hard sleeping without him. It felt foreign to not have his strong arm slung across her waist and being pulled close. Her worrying about Kento kept her up at night and the sickness of her stomach definitely wasn't helping. She was planning on telling him when he came back but every hour that felt like less and less of a reality. However, hearing her bedroom door crack open in the late evening soothed all of her worries.

"You're back," She gushed, her eyes watering and her lover had only been standing in the doorway for a few seconds. He quickly made his way to the bed where she was lying and wrapped his arms around her neck. He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of her favorite lotion before bed.

"Of course, I am," He could feel her tears slip onto his neck. She knew the risks of his job but it still didn't help when he was gone. Especially, after she was told what they were up against. She had complete faith in her man but the dangers of the world made it scary.

"I had a dream that you-" She could barely finish the words and just wanted to be closer to him.

"Shh, it's okay," He wanted to settle her emotions. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay but if he could get her to stop crying that would be enough for now.

"I have something to tell you," She pulled away from him ever so slightly. He hadn't noticed what she was wearing before but the soft pink silk nightie with spaghetti straps fell perfectly on her and matched her bonnet. He noticed just a small bump coming from her stomach before he left but he thought that maybe she had been stress eating again.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He said looking at her up and down. His hands rested on her cheeks as he looked for a physical ailment.

"We're gonna have a baby," She whispered as she took his hands from her to her stomach. A small smile grew on the blond man's lips.

"Yeah?" He whispered back.

"Yeah," She nodded with excitement. It's safe to say that Nanami Kento made some lifestyle changes after this moment.

- Nanami took a deep breath as he exited their beach house. He worked hard so that he could see this view. He made sure that his wife and child were safe. Walking along the beach, he found his wife on a lounge chair in the sand in a one-piece bathing suit that complimented her rich and dark skin. He placed a kiss on her forehead and stood next to her.

"How are you, my love?" He asked looking outward and seeing his daughter work diligently on her sandcastle. For a five-year-old with pigtails, she was very serious but she got it from her father. Her attitude came directly from her mother, and Nanami blamed the fact that Gojo annoyed her the entire pregnancy.

"Our daughter is a hard worker like her father," She said pulling her phone out of the beach bag to take a quick photo of their daughter's precious moment. The girl turned to wave and smile at her parents before continuing to shovel dirt into her bucket.

"But she's stubborn like her mother," He said without missing a beat.

"Haha," Y/N faked a laugh before handing her husband his sunscreen. As much as Nanami enjoyed the beach and the sun, he was prone to burning.

"Itadori is coming for a visit," He stated with a bit of pride in his chest. Yuuji had grown to see them as a second family and visited as much as he could.

"She adores him," Y/N stated adjusting her overly floppy hat and looking up at her husband.

"Maybe it's time we give her another sibling," Now that he had retired there was no reason for him not to have the family that he always wanted.

"Is that so?" She whispered.

"Mhm," He leaned down and kissed her. Kento also may or may not have asked Yuuji to babysit while he was here. Let's just say he was more than ready for another kid.

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #nanami x black reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami kento #jjk x black!reader #jjk x reader

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riahollywood · 3 months

Text

the lucky one | christian pulisic

notes: just a whole load of fluff that i wrote when feeling like absolute shite at the weekend. enjoy 🥰

the shooting pain in your lower stomach awoke you from your slumber, shifting your lower body in the bed and clenching your eyes shut as you waited for the particularly bad pain to settle down.

you picked up your phone and after seeing no notifications unlocked it to go into your conversation with christian, your lips forming a pout when you noticed the message had still not been delivered.

after being together for a couple of months, you had spent many a lazy day bundled up under the covers of christian’s cosy bed. whilst you much preferred your boyfriend to be cuddled up with you, staying wrapped up under the luxurious duvet on his cloud-like mattress sounded like the much better option for your period pains compared to the basic set up you had at your uni accommodation.

it had been easy making the decision to bail on uni for the day, deciding to stay put till your pains eased up and you made any attempt to drive home.

knowing christian would be worried when he returned from his training session to his apartment and saw your car still parked where it had been when he left hours ago, you managed to type out a quick message letting him know you were blowing off your classes and hoping to sleep the pain off a little longer.

upon hearing the rattle of christian’s keys unlocking the front door, your concerns about worrying him were soon confirmed as you heard him shout your name as soon as the door closed.

“‘m here.” you called out weakly, knowing there was little point as he wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

noticing the lounge and kitchen untouched from when he left earlier that morning, christian rushed down the corridor to his bedroom, his heart racing in his chest when he saw the bedroom door closed. just how he had left it earlier so he would not wake you when leaving.

he swung back the door, his heart twinging in his chest when he saw you cuddled up on his side of the bed, pale face resting on his pillows that carried his musky smell, able to bring you a little bit of comfort through the pain. your cheeks were flushed and stray hairs clinging onto your clammy forehead, worrying christian immensely.

you managed to lift your head slightly to take in christian’s appearance, that familiar warm, fuzzy feeling overcoming you as you looked him up and down. he had clearly had a shower at training, his fluffy curls looking fresh whilst he was dressed in grey jogging bottoms and his black puffer coat, clearly in too much of a rush to check you were okay to take it off.

“baby, are you okay?” he rushed over to you, perching himself on the edge of the bed and cradling your pale face in his large hand.

“‘m okay, i just- i have the worst cramps and i just wanted to stay in your bed all morning. i’m sorry, i did try to message you, i’m not sure why it wouldn’t send.”

christian’s heart swelled at your words. he felt awful knowing you were in pain and there was little he could do about it, but knowing you felt safe in his space, that you felt comfortable enough to just stay there, that made him so happy.

too caught up in his mind, when he didn’t reply, you started to get a little worried.

“you- you don’t mind that i stayed, do you?” feeling your already pink cheeks burning as concern filled you. he had been at training all morning after all, the last thing he probably wanted was to come back to you moping about. “i’m sorry, i can go if it’s a probl-“

christian furrowed his brows, shaking his head. “no y/n, i-, i’m so glad you felt comfortable enough to stay.”

you matched his smile before a particularly painful cramp took over. the discomfort on your face made christian’s heart ache.

“is it bad?” he asked softly and you nodded. “stay here, i’ll be back in a minute.” he planted a soft kiss to your forehead making your heart swell.

in that moment christian was grateful he had grown up with a close relationship with his sister, feeling fairly confident he knew what to do to ease your pain as much as possible. he hurried around, not wanting to leave you waiting too long. preparing a hot water bottle before grabbing a cold bottle of water and some pills from the cupboard.

when he returned, you all but melted at how thoughtful he was.

after gladly accepting the water and pills, christian stayed stood next to the bed, unsure on his next move. “is there anything else i can do to help?” he racked his brain for what his sister would do when she was suffering. should he get you some chocolate? ice cream? or was that all a cliche. he remembered his sister throwing up sometimes. would that just make it worse?

a dazy smile took over your face. despite the pain, you couldn’t help but soften at the sweetness of your boyfriend. “i think a cuddle would help.”

he gladly obliged, slipping himself under the duvet and settling down before immediately opening his arms up for you to fall into his chest.

christian was quick to wrap one of his arms around your body, the other reaching to reposition the hot water bottle, holding it to rest on your lower stomach.

“is that okay, sweetheart?” he moved his other hand to stroke softly back and forth at your hip just above where your pyjama shorts sat.

“mhm.” you let out a satisfied sigh, the warmth from the hot water bottle immediately providing you with a little relief. you managed to edge yourself closer to christian and tangle your legs with his, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

“you want to try sleep it off?” he asked and you just nuzzled yourself further into his chest, the steady sound of his heartbeat and being wrapped up in his arms settling you.

“what did i do to deserve you?” you lifted your head up slightly to look at christian, your insides bubbling at how beautiful he looked. his dark honey eyes staring into yours, the freckles scattered across his face, his rosey pink lips turned upwards into a smile at your words.

he hummed, leaning down and brushing his soft lips against your forehead once more.

“i think it’s the other way around, sweetheart.”

you shook your head, grinning as his hand slipped up the back of your pyjama top to rest on the small of your back, the feel of his cold hands on your burning up body welcomed.

“i’m definitely the lucky one.” you grinned till a further pain erupted in your lower tummy, causing you to clentch your eyes shut and let out a small groan.

christian’s expression dropped seeing you in pain.

“come on, let’s have a nap, see if you can sleep it off, baby.”

you nodded, resting your head back against his chest and closing your eyes, gladly accepting his embrace as you managed to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

#christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic

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your-nanas-house · 6 months

Note

Can you make a late 70s Elvis x reader in which she's shy to be with him naked despite being together for a long time? Make it smut and thanks

Wow direct 😂 sounds more like an order than a request, dear. (I'm kidding 🥰) I can, sorry for making you wait and thanks for the Elvis' request!!!

Little one

◇ Pairing: 70s!Elvis Presley x fem!reader

◇ Warnings: smut, shyness, age gap (Elvis is in his 40s, they are both adults), insecurities, bathtub

◇ Summary: Elvis wants to take things to the next step but you're too shy. (You already had sex together but you are too shy to show your naked body to him)

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

Elvis wanted to bring things to the next step in your relationship, you've been together since a few years now— since nearly a year after his divorce with Priscilla.

He missed a bit the warm skin of a woman against his even just for in an innocent way like cuddling; reason because he wanted to take things further with you. He needed your young and attractive body against his, just like your momma made you.

He was honestly just waiting for the right moment to act and that night felt like the right time for him, he just needed to find a way to seduce you and not scare you off.

Elvis noticed how shy you were and he respected that but he really wanted to show you that you didn't need to be that shy to show your gorgeous body to him or let him show you some love behind closed doors.

He was thinking at that, sitting in his big bathtub by himself, surrounded by warm water that relaxed his sore muscles.

His need for you in that moment grew and grew and he was 100% sure that he was going to have you just like he was longing you.

"Hey, uh, Satnin—?" He started, raising his voice to make sure that you could hear him

"Got time for a little something later...?"

Elvis asked softly, hoping for one of your usual soft spoken replies or a short yet flirty gesture.

He was a simple man, and in reality was just nervous to initiate the action due to fear of denial or possibly hurting you in someway but his worry vanished as soon as he heard your reply

"Of course, love" you replied sweetly, searching him in the empty bedroom, wondering where he was; your gaze moved all around the room and it quickly stopped towards your shared bathroom when you heard a noise coming from there.

Elvis softly chuckled, moving the bathtub plug a bit to make some noise as his lips curled into a smile once he heard your footsteps approaching the room

"In here, darlin'!"

A soft smile appeared on your face, you were pretty excited to see your Elvis since you had been all day out of Graceland, leaving him all alone.

You walked in with a rushed pace, expecting him to be in front of the mirror busy shaving or brushing his teeth— finding him instead in the tub completely naked and comfortable, an amused smile on his face, his fingers, still adorned by his rings, brushing against his heart-shaped lips as he looked at you with his blue eyes.

A soft gasp escaped your mouth as soon as you registered what was happening, a heavy blush appeared on your cheek as you covered your eyes with your hands, turning your back towards him to leave him some privacy even though he really didn't want that at that moment

"S-Sorry, baby" you apologized quickly, blushing even more as you heard his low laugh

"Don't you be covering up that face, woman. C'mere'" Elvis softened his voice, his own cheeks turning slightly pink as he at your reaction, the smirk still present on his face.

He reached his arm out, wanting to bring you into the tub with him, not really carrying about the fact that you were still dressed, he just wanted or needed you to be close to him.

You moved closer to him, letting him grab your hand and try to pull you on him

"Not so fast, sir" you scolded playfully, stroking softly his wet hair

"Don't want you to get me all wet—" you murmured, slapping his arm softly when you noticed his smirk that made you quickly understand what he was thinking about

"Oh, I intend to, Satnin'!" Elvis said with a sly smile, his hand brushing against yours

"Now, come on—" he murmured, pouting slightly as he tried again to pull you in the bathtub, making you blush even more

"Not that way..." you murmured shyly making him laugh again

"Aw, my little lady being all bashful? I don't believe it. C'mere, I wanna snuggle some bit" Elvis replied as he leaned in to softly kiss your neck to tease and make you agree to his "plan".

You strangely agreed and asked him to close his eyes so you could remove your clothes and join him in the bathtub.

There was a mischievous smirk on Elvis' chubby face, his bottom lip continued to be molested by his teeth, while his eyes remained slightly open even though it looked to you like they were closed.

"No peaking" you warned as you got ride of your dress before climbing carefully in the warm water, exactly in front of your love.

As soon as your body was surrounded by the heat and the few bubbles, you covered your intimate areas as best you could before allowing Elvis to look— your gaze not meeting his lustful eyes, your cheeks a soft blush.

"Look at ya" his low voice murmured as he eyed you slowly, focusing on your hands

"Trying to cover up what's daddy, huh?"

Your face heated up even more, you were blushing harder and harder, expecially when you met his eyes because of his sudden grip on your chin

"Show daddy what he's missing, lil' mama" Elvis growled softly, chuckling softly at your shy self.

You weren't completely sure to want that but you went along with his order, removing slowly your hands to reveal your fully naked (and now wet) body at him.

As minutes passed, you became more and more insecure— but as soon as an animalistic groan escaped the King of Rock'n Roll's mouth and his big hand manhandled you on his lap— you knew that he liked what he was seeing.

Expecially when his right hand started to knead your breasts and his left hand went to your ass, causing your pussy to grind against his hard rock erection.

Elvis' mouth started to abuse the sensitive skin of your neck and jawline, shoulder as well when you moved the tip of his cock at your eager entrance— which swallowed his length completely, clenching and pulsing around it, almost holding it inside of you for dear life.

"Y-Y-Ya're s-so damn p-perfect, Satnin'" he groaned softly, holding you close to his hairy and board chest.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter

#elvis presley fanfiction #70s elvis #elvis the pelvis #elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x shy!reader #elvis aaron presley

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joanquill · 2 months

Text

Caught making out

IM SO SORRY TO BE SO LATE!! ITS STILL A FEW HOURS BEFORE ITS 17TH FEB IN MY COUNTRY SO I HOPE YOU CAN SEE THIS REQUEST 😭😭🙏 How about Prompt 4 With William Moriarty Obv it'll be a romance 😭 And pls fluff no angst 😭🙏 IM REALLY SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE

William James Moriarty

A/N: And this is the last for the Valentine's event, thank you, everyone! 🥰 Tag/s: Established Relationship Warning/s: Suggestive? Mention of Hickeys

"Hmm..." you muttered, staring at the variety of Valentine's gifts on display, analyzing each one.

You sighed in defeat as you stepped back.

'It's no use... I can't think of a way to surprise Will...' you begrudgingly thought, remembering how all your old attempts to fluster your boyfriend failed.

Since you two started dating, William has never failed to tease you and make your face turn red, whether in private or with other people present.

You tried to do the same, but he was always ten steps ahead.

At this point, even just a little startled expression would be enough.

"If you keep staring like that, the chocolate's gonna melt," Bonde warned as he patted your head, making you turn to him.

"I'm sure Will-kun will like any gift you give him," he reassured with a teasing grin, making your face flush as you removed his hand from your head.

"The chocolate's for everyone," you reminded with an awkward cough, making Bonde roll his eyes.

"Right... That's why we're on our third department store for the day," Bonde added as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders with a smirk.

"Haha... Yeah... Thanks again for coming with me,"

"Don't mention it! Besides, you promised me you'd buy me that new perfume, remember?" he reminded, walking up to one of the stalls with various colognes and perfumes.

"Yes, yes..." you chuckled, looking at the selection as Bonde started trying on some of the samples.

As you continued to look through the store for Bonde's perfume, an idea popped into your head.

'That could work...!' you thought as you rushed to Bonde.

"Hey, can you help me pick out a perfume?" you asked, catching him by surprise.

"Sure, but why? Are you buying one for Will-kun?" you shook your head in response,

"No, it's for me. I have an idea,"

'All right!' you smiled as you took out the perfume from the bag, testing its spray before the surprise.

"(Y/N)? The meeting is about to start," William called out as he walked into your shared bedroom, making you hide the perfume behind you as you turned to him.

"Okay! I'll be out in a minute," you innocently replied, making him raise a brow as he walked up to you, making you step back.

"What are you hiding?" he asked with a knowing smile, making you nervously laugh.

"It's just the perfume Bonde and I bought," you answered honestly, showing him the bottle.

"But the real thing smelled different from the samples we tried," you added, spraying some into the air.

"It smells off..."

Curious, William leaned into the spot you sprayed and smelled the perfume.

"I don't think-" you gently held his chin and kissed his lips, feeling your face flush.

William pulled away as he looked at you in surprise, making you step back and look at him for a reaction.

"Pfft," he quickly covered his mouth and turned away, making you furrow your brows.

"It didn't work!?" you asked in exasperation, making William chuckle.

"Well... I wouldn't say that, my love," he replied, showing his cheeks flushing pink.

"Ah-" you muttered, letting out a sigh.

"Fine... I'll take it as a win," you murmured with an exhausted smile, making William lightly laugh.

"All right, let's go to the meeting-" as you were about to leave the room, William grabbed your hand and pulled you to his chest.

"Will? We're gonna be late," you reminded, seeing a mischievous smile on his lips.

"We still have a few minutes to spare," he reassured, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kissed you, his free hand laying on the back of your head as he deepened the kiss.

"Did you truly think you could pull a stunt like that without consequences?" he whispered against your lips before kissing you again.

"Where are they?" Sebastian grumbled, looking around the meeting room for you and William.

"I wonder..." Bonde thought out loud, trying to piece together your plan for the perfume.

"Do you know why Mr. William and Mx. (Y/N) are late?" Fred asked innocently, making Bonde grin.

"I have an idea..." he replied, getting out of his seat and leaving.

"And where are you going?"

"To see if I'm right!" Bonde answered as he headed straight for your and William's bedroom, getting ready to kick the door open and announce to the whole manor that you two were late and see why.

BONUS:

"Now that we're all present..." William started the meeting casually as you sat in the very corner of the room.

Steam was practically coming out of you as you hid behind your scarf, hoping to hide the hickeys William happily gave you.

"Why the hell were you two late?" Sebastian whispered to you, making your hide further into the scarf.

"I don't want to talk about it..." you replied, hoping the curious eyes of everyone would leave you.

"So, I guess your plan worked?" Bonde asked with a grin, making you flush and lightly hit him.

"That was not my plan!" you corrected, making him laugh.

"What was?" Fred whispered, making you hide behind your hands in horror.

"Can we please focus on the meeting...?"

#yuukoku no moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #valentines #william moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #william moriarty #jq valentines event

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makeyoumine69 · 1 year

Note

Hi, about the challange.

My choice is bondage and breeding kink. 🥰

Craving

◥ PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: When it comes to breeding you, Patrick's going to show how dedicated he can be.

◥ WARNINGS: NSFW │ oral sex (reader receiving), handcuffs, hard railing from behind, creampie, dirty talk.

◥ WORDCOUNT: 1.3k

◥ A/N: So, I can say— writing breeding kink with Patrick became a very unforgettable experience for me. Thank you so much for this request, I hope you like it! 👉👈

◥ LINKS: │Bingo Writing Challange Masterlist│ │Main Masterlist│

When Patrick told you he wanted to have a baby with you, you didn’t expect him to rail you almost every day until he made your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and your pussy was drowning in his warm cum. Like a feral beast, he was pressing you against any surface he could fuck you on, covering your little body with his muscular one and forcing you to cry out from his rough thrusting. No one could stop him from doing this as Bateman was so obsessed with you, especially with making you pregnant–he was a fucking perfectionist, and that evening would not be an exception.

Thrilled just by one thought of you, Patrick was looking in the wide window in his living room, waiting for you to come back from the bathroom as you were taking a routine bath before a spicy “love session” that was coming after. With every second, he was becoming even more impatient; his beautifully shaped palm was sliding against his soft hair, fixing them as he watched his reflection.

Just as Patrick was about to check on you, he heard your quiet footsteps and turned around to face you:

“Well, look who's here,” he smirked, looking at you from head to toe. “I was getting tired of waiting…”

“Oh, really?” you asked, smiling like a brat. “Daddy can’t wait at all?”

Patrick only chuckled in response, watching your cheeks turn red and saying in a raspy voice: “Wanna try to be a brave girl tonight?”

With measured steps, lilting from the weight of his muscles, he was coming closer, as a predator chasing its prey; his brown eyes were piercing through your body, sending shivers down your spine and forcing you to stay still.

“I have an idea to try something interesting….” he crooned in a sweet tone, lifting you by the chin and making you look at him. “Only if you decide to be bold enough for your daddy.”

Shamelessly, his large palms cupped your ass, pulling up the edge of your white robe and causing a loud gasp to escape your pink lips. With a guttural sound, Patrick let your fingers run through his silk-like hair as he peppered small kisses all across your neck and collarbone; your moans were getting needier whenever his hot mouth touched your skin. Groaning, he pulled you closer, and you had to stand on your toes, as he was getting lower to your cleavage, leaving behind a trail of wet hickeys.

“Sweetheart,” he purred and tug on your tensed peak. “I need to be inside of you, right now…”

“Patrick!” you yelped as he suddenly lifted you up as you weighed nothing. “Wait!”

Obviously, Bateman didn’t listen to your protests and the only thing you had left to do was kick your legs in the air, but then he spanked you several times, so you had to calm down and just submit.

When you finally reached his bedroom, Patrick lowered you on the floor near his massive bed, taking off your robe swiftly. A chilling breeze pierced through your body right away, your nipples became even harder.

“(Y/N), get yourself on all fours.” He demanded in a stern voice before he came closer to his right bedside table.

Tempted, you took your place on his perfect white sheets, grabbing a pillow to make yourself more comfortable. And then, you noticed something shiny in his hands and there was something animalistic in the way he was watching you swallowing hard from a sudden fear.

“Not so confident anymore?” Chuckling, he got closer, so you could see him spinning the metallic handcuffs on his finger.

“Where did you get them?”

“I have to say, you keep me on my toes,” he murmured with a devilish smile on his face as he walked behind you. “Didn’t expect you to ask this question, my little curious girl…”

One precise motion and your hands were cuffed and restricted behind your back. You had to stifle a wail, biting your lip and feeling yourself aroused as hell from being so vulnerable to him.

Meantime, Patrick undressed himself as quickly as he could, his inner beast was craving for your body, and this desire was worse than thirst or hunger.

Breathing heavily, he knelt right behind your trembling form and leaned down to your ear, only to whisper: “Are you ready, love?”

“Y-yes, daddy,” panting against the pillow, you mewled when he placed a kiss on the nape of your neck. “I’m all yours…”

Satisfied, he purred in reply as he started his way down to your back, leaving small pecks here and there. When Patrick finally reached your sweetest place, he licked his lips, forcing you to spread your legs wider.

“A-aah, P-Patrick…” You moaned, feeling his fingers rubbing against your blushing pussy.

His palms were so huge, he could easily finger fuck you and stimulate your clit, but now he decided only to tease you, petting your little nub with barely sensible touches.

“Mmm, already so wet for me,” he smeared your slickness between his digits before he took them into his mouth, enjoying your delicious taste. “Do ya want to make daddy so proud?”

“A-aw, yeah… All for you, daddy.”

“How fucking cute.” Bateman groaned in a low voice before he made one long lick across your pussy.

Sobbing, you arched your back as you suddenly found yourself so close to the edge and his warm tongue, buried inside your pussy, was making the current situation even harder.

“Pat...Patrick…” Your muffled wails were only spurring him to eat you out more intensively, gripping your buttocks for better control.

His skillful mouth was devouring your pussy like a thirsty man was drinking water, and soon a tensed coil in your lower belly snapped as a vivid release washed over you. Jolting in pleasure, you wanted to cling onto something so badly, but these fucking handcuffs gave you no chance.

Seizing the moment, Patrick rammed into your throbbing cleft in one smooth thrust, as he was not going to wait for you to come back from your high.

“(Y/N)…” he let out a moan of pleasure, from the way your walls were still clenching and encircling his cock perfectly as ever. “So fucking tight…”

“Mmmhm, daddy… You’re so big, please…” you cried out when he grabbed you by the handcuffs, forcing you to bend over even more. “Please, not so deep….A-ah, Patrick!”

A pure lust covered his vision and he couldn’t control himself anymore, fucking you roughly into his bed and growling as he watched his beefy shaft sliding in and out your pussy so easily.

“My brave kitten. Soon you’d be so round… Your breasts would be so heavy…Fuck!” his sloppy thrusts signified he would not last long. “I’m gonna seed you so deep…”

“O God…Y-yes, please!” you begged, hearing nothing but shameless slaps his big balls were making, whenever he was slamming into your little shivering body. “Claim me, daddy! Claim my womb with your seed!”

A white pillow beneath your face was so soaked with your tears and saliva as he was fucking you senselessly, his huge cock was hitting your cervix with merciless pressure.

“Baby…” he squeezed your ass with one hand, while his other hand was still holding the handcuffs. “Tell me… Tell me to cum!”

“Mmmmhm… Cum for me, daddy! I need to be bred so badly! A-awww!”

Twitching like a snake who was fighting for its life, you bit your lip almost till the blood, so Patrick had to fixate you in one place as he finally crested his high, painting your inner walls in white with a feral growl.

“Stay still, brat!” he sneered in a husky voice as he was still pumping you with his seed, until it ran down your thighs. “Do ya know what I’m gonna to do after the baby is born?”

“W-what?” You asked breathlessly.

“I will put another one inside you…” with these words, Patrick drew near your neck, marking your sensitive skin, and it seemed like he didn’t plan to pull out of your dripping pussy. “Next round, love?”

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman headcanon #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman #slasher x reader #bingo challenge #slasher smut #christian bale smut #christian bale

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months

Text

Comet Donati [Chapter 1: History]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+) and drugs, alcohol, smoking, astronomy, mental health struggles, Missouri.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

* * * I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world. 🥰😘 * * *

@borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @randomdragonfires @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @libroparaiso @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain @darkenchantress @doingfondue @atherverybest @namelesslosers @skythighs @moonlightfoxx @partypoison00 @bellameshipper @coffedraven @greenowlfactif @catalina-howard @babyblue711 @marvelescvpe @heimtathurs @ammo23

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 💜

“You are a professional,” you tell your reflection threateningly, like it owes you money. Your hair is painstakingly tidy, your makeup neat, subdued, businesslike. You are wearing a black blazer, a white blouse, and Cookie Monster pajama pants. You are in your one-bedroom apartment in Kansas City, Missouri: grey, thunderous, humid as hell, June raindrops on the windows. “You have a master’s degree and hundreds of clinical hours and you are not afraid of clients. Not at all! Not even a little bit!”

You check your phone. 2:55 p.m.

“Oh God,” you whine to the checkered tiles of the bathroom floor, to the floral wallpaper. You clutch the cold porcelain of the sink: rose-pink, 1950s, diners and Thunderbirds, housewives and Valium. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t do this. Oh my God.”

But there is no escape! You hurry, sweating profusely, to your laptop. You start the Zoom meeting and wait for your client to arrive, chewing your thumbnail until it bleeds, a scarlet semicircle of dull warm pain, a crescent moon like spilled merlot. You glance at your notepad again. David Mills, 25, married, anxiety upon relocating to a new city and beginning employment there.

Wait.

You confirm with a quick Google search in a new tab. David Mills was the protagonist in Se7en.

You sit back in your swivel chair, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The blue-white luminance of the screen glows on your face like moonlight. Your client is either a coincidence or a liar.

So what? People lie. People lie about therapy especially. So he wants some anonymity. Big deal.

“Strange,” you murmur to yourself.

You have no further opportunity to mull it over. A gratingly cheerful ding announces your client’s arrival in the Zoom meeting waiting room. No avatar, name still listed as David Mills.

“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Here we go.”

You shake the tremors out of your hands and admit him. He pops onto the screen like a bloom of ironweed, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s nighttime wherever he is. The background is dark and indistinct, shadowy; lamplight cascades across his face, topaz and fool’s gold. You are startled to realize that you already know him. And his name is definitely not David Mills.

“…Aegon?!”

He grins, sly and cocky but never cruel. “Hey.”

“Aegon Targaryen??!!”

“That’s me!” he concurs brightly. “What’s up, Stargirl?”

And instantly, you are transported back to almost exactly one year ago: a rooftop bar downtown, neon signs coiled in shades of violet and rhodonite and sapphire, night wind, constellations, ice clinking in misty glasses, locks of his hair skating between your fingers, the sting of his teeth on your throat, the Weeknd. “Hey,” you say softly. And then again, with more enthusiasm: “Hey! I saw you on Good Morning America last week!”

“Yeah? Was I good?”

“Jace was good. You were slightly offkey.”

“Aw shit. I usually am.”

“That’s okay. You’re the hot loser, right? That’s your character?”

“That’s me, baby. That’s why it works so well.”

It’s impossible: time has passed, thousands of miles have opened up between you, and yet it’s like he’s right here in the room, he never arrived, he never left, he’s always been here for life to grow up around like the framework of a house, a trellis, a skeleton. “How did you find me?”

“I couldn’t remember your name, but I figured you must have finished school by now. So I Googled therapists in Kansas City. Do you know how many there are?”

“500,” you guess.

“712,” Aegon says. “At least, that’s how many I scrolled through before I found your photo.”

“Wow.” You’re smiling; you can’t take your eyes off him. A lot of girls have that problem. That’s why he’s worth $100 million. “Couldn’t remember my name, huh? I guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

He chuckles, a little bashfully, sweeping his blond hair off his face. “No. No, you definitely made an impression.”

So did he. In the downstairs bathroom of the bar, tucked beneath a staircase, stark white florescent lights and red walls, lip biting and ripped seams on your dress. He’d finished in approximately thirty seconds—which, oddly, felt more like a compliment than anything else—and then promptly snapped off the condom, dropped to his knees, and went down on you until you came not once but twice, a rarity for you. But that wasn’t the best part. Afterwards you’d gone back up to the roof together, sat in a quiet corner booth until the bar closed, talked about anything and everything with your bodies folded unconsciously into each other, origami, blended watercolors, whispers and murmurs, your palm on his thigh, his fingertips ghosting the underside of your wrist.

“So,” Aegon says through the laptop screen. “Are you, like, kind of unemployed currently?”

“No,” you reply, palpably defensive. Embarrassing! “I’m clearly working right now. You literally made a virtual appointment with me. I’m just…getting my practice off the ground.”

“Yeah but you seem lowkey unemployed.”

“You are so fucking rude.” But you’re laughing.

“I’m just saying, you had a lot of appointment times available. A lot.”

“I’m recruiting clients!” you exclaim. “I’m not like you. I can’t simulate sex with microphone stands to sell tickets.”

“That was one time!”

You smirk at him, eyebrows raised.

“That was…four times. That I recall.”

“I’m a professional. A serious, grown-up, certified professional.”

“You’re a glorified hobo, admit it.”

“You’re a dollar store Harry Styles.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, clutching his chest. “Okay you win.”

“Why did you do this? Why did you track me down in order to make some fraudulent therapy appointment?”

Now Aegon is something you’ve never seen from him before. He’s nervous. “I, uh…I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Well, not me specifically,” he amends. “We need your help. Comet does.”

Comet. What he means—what screaming fans all over the world mean when they drop this name in Reddit threads or Twitter hashtags or Tumblr gifsets—is the boy band Comet Donati. Three albums, five members: Aegon, Jace, Luke, Cregan, Daeron. The lineup has changed recently. Everyone knows why. “Help with what?”

“I mean…I’m sure you heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you say, somber now. Six months ago a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck at the Nippon Budokan in Tokyo. It hit Aemond, costing him six inches of flesh on the left side of his face, his sight in one eye, and his position as the undisputed, archetypal fearless leader of Comet. The celebrity gossip sites had reported that he was taking time off to recover, and then that his younger brother Daeron would be filling in for him at a few shows, and then suddenly Daeron was the fifth member of the band, and everyone was so charmed by his distinctly buoyant, sunshine-and-rainbows quality that Aemond faded from the discourse almost entirely, a ghost, a phantom, an antiquated word like telegraph or courtship or laudanum.

“So things are different now,” Aegon continues. “Things are…not always easy. And I think it might be a good idea to have you around.”

“Look, I’m not…like…” How can you put this? It’s something you have difficulty admitting out loud. “I’m not a real therapist, you know? You’re right, Aegon. I’m basically unemployed. I’m fresh out of my master’s program, I don’t have anywhere near the kind of experience that someone would need to adequately help Comet. So, maybe I could recommend some people to you, but other than that I don’t think I can—”

“It has to be you,” Aegon says.

You shake your head, gazing through the screen at him, through the space and the time. “Why?”

“When Comet performed in Kansas City…when we met at the bar that night…” He is hushed, meditative. “I don’t really remember what we talked about. But I remember exactly how you made me feel.” He smiles, the sort of smile you didn’t know he had in him: soft, pure, nostalgic, without edges. “I think Aemond could use some of that.”

The walls fall down around you, this apartment, this city, this life. “Where are you right now?”

“Capri.”

“Where?”

“Capri,” he says again, amused. “But we’ll be in Rome tomorrow. You can meet us there.”

“In Rome,” you repeat, like it’s Mars or one of Jupiter’s moons.

“Catch the next flight out. The band can reimburse you. We’ll get you a contract of some sort. Nothing too long-term, so you won’t be locked in or anything. A few months. Then we can reassess.”

“Okay, but…I don’t feel comfortable serving as an official therapist to you or anyone else in Comet, Aegon. The circumstances are less than orthodox. And not just because of the…um…bar bathroom situation.”

“Fine, whatever.” He’s high on the victory; the details don’t matter so much.

“Okay,” you say. And then again, giggling wildly at the ludicrousness of it all: “Okay! I guess I’ll see you in Rome tomorrow!”

“Cool. Let me give you my WhatsApp.” You exchange information, and then he grins at you, crafty and radiant through the screen. “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

“We’ll see,” you reply distractedly, already opening Expedia in a new tab.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Midwest, the East Coast, the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, Southern Europe, green to blue and then green again as the plane descends into the Leonardo da Vinci Airport of Rome. You roll your single carry-on bag through the corridors, peering out the windows at cloudless cerulean skies and towering stone pines. Aegon meets you at the bottom of an escalator. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and matching Crocs. He’s slightly chubbier than you remember, just as beautiful, just as chaotically charismatic, the sun made flesh. He’s standing with a man you don’t recognize.

“Benvenuta, bella!” Aegon proclaims, nearly tackling you with a hug before taking your bag. He smells like beer, sunscreen, Axe body spray, summer air that unfurls warm and golden in the lungs.

“Oh, thank God,” the other man—possibly Italian, definitely gorgeous—exhales with great relief. “Aegon said he needed to meet someone at the airport and I was 90% sure that you would be a drug dealer. But you do not look like a drug dealer. You’re not a…are you a…?”

“No, I’m definitely not a drug dealer.”

“Okay. Great. Hello.” He extends a hand, tan and muscley. “I’m Criston, I’m the tour manager. It is my job to keep everyone alive and uninjured.”

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” Aegon says. And then, when Criston is clearly distressed by it: “Uh, anyway, there’s an Escalade waiting outside.”

The SUV is massive and black with tinted windows. As you follow Aegon into the backseat, several paparazzi appear on the sidewalk and begin snapping photos, calling out to you and expelling rapid-fire white flashes like lightning. Aegon ignores them. You’ve been travelling all day, and the sun is setting now in Rome. The sky is the color of embers, autumn leaves, Saturn. Criston climbs into the passenger seat and gives instructions to the driver. The Escalade wheels out of Arrivals, paparazzi sprinting down the sidewalk after it to take a few final pictures.

“So,” Aegon says, smiling. He pops open the mini fridge and hands you an ice-cold can of San Pellegrino. “Do you have a boyfriend back in Kansas? Or, maybe, boyfriends?”

“Missouri,” you correct him automatically. “And no. None worth mentioning.” A guy you’ve had lunch with twice, a guy you made out with at an Olive Garden, a guy you hooked up with back at UChicago who you’re still texting, guys who flit in and out of your mind like birds through the sky, impermanent, inconsequential.

“You still on the pill?”

“Yes.” You’re not offended. Aegon is teasing, and so are you. It occurs to you that talking to Aegon is a bit like talking to yourself; there are no awkward lulls, and he rarely says anything that shocks you. “But that’s not why I came to Rome.”

“That’s fine. That’s not why I invited you.”

As the Escalade zooms by iconic landmarks—the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, the Piazza del Popolo—you ask Aegon about them. He has no idea; he makes things up instead.

“That’s the duck waterpark,” he says as you pass a fountain that’s over 1,000 years old. Then he points to a naked statue of an extremely buff Mercury. “That’s me before I started eating carbs again.” His only snippet of accurate trivia comes as you drive by the twilight-lit Colosseum. “Holy shit, that’s where Taylor Swift made out with Tom Hiddleston!”

“Surely more important things have happened there at some point in the past two millennia.”

“I doubt it,” Aegon replies, frowning out the Escalade window, taciturn. “I wish I got to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum.”

Comet Donati is staying at the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, which closely resembles a palace. When the Escalade stops at the front doors, you drag your luggage out onto the cobblestones.

“No no no,” Criston says, grabbing the rolling suitcase from you. He gives it to a white-gloved butler along with a room number and then escorts you and Aegon to the top floor. It’s not until the three of you are in the elevator that you realize you are still wearing your highly unsophisticated travel-day attire: yoga pants, flip flops, a tie-dye hoodie with Louis Tomlinson’s face on it that you purchased from Etsy last winter. Aegon catches you scrutinizing your reflection in the mirrors that line the inside of the elevator.

“Traitor,” he says with a grin, massaging your shoulders. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror. His touch is—just as it was a year ago at that bar in Kansas City when you were home from school on break and he was a transient visitor, fleeting like a rainstorm—familiar somehow, pleasant and comforting but not profound, welcome without being necessary.

“Don’t hate him ‘cause you ain’t him. When was the last time you wrote a #1 hit single?”

“Never,” Aegon readily admits. “Although I got into the Top 5 in Norway once.” No, everyone knows that Aemond was Comet’s Louis Tomlinson: their best songwriter, their relatively unproblematic and grounded team captain, their protector, their compass. And now he has no official place in the band at all.

When the elevator doors open, Criston leads you and Aegon down the hallway to a bustling suite. Inside there are white leather couches and gold-colored lounge chairs, a bar, a staircase that leads up to the loft bedroom, people wandering in and out of air that is hazy with whispers and cigarette smoke. There are men in suits, women in short tight dresses, leather and velvet and sequins. You are woefully underdressed. Fortunately, so is Aegon. He is greeted with a dizzying array of cheers, waves, and toasts. Someone shoves an emerald green bottle of Peroni into his grasp. Kesha’s Your Love Is My Drug is vibrating through the speakers mounted on the wall: “What you’ve got, boy, is hard to find, I think about it all the time…”

“Hey, hey, listen up!” Aegon shouts, stepping on top of an ottoman, and the chatter lowers in volume like a radio being turned down.

You scan the smokey room until you’ve located all five current Comet Donati members: Aegon the disaster playboy, Luke the sensitive and kindhearted one, Daeron the energetic ray of sunshine, Jace the heir apparent in the power vacuum created by Aemond’s departure, Cregan the brooding, mysterious, sexy Northern Englishman. You know them, and yet you don’t. You know the characters they play, their reputations, their public personas…but that doesn’t mean you know them. Aegon is the only man you spoke to at the rooftop bar that night in Kansas City a year ago. So far, the mythical version of him seems quite consistent with reality.

Cregan is slumped at one end of the couch by the window and knocking back shots of what appears to be straight vodka. In the night sky beyond the glass, you can see stars and the illuminated Rome skyline: modern skyscrapers, ancient rubble. At the other end of the couch is Aemond. He’s smoking, drinking something iced and bloody pink, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, all in black like he’s trying to disappear. His left eye, the blind one, is an ethereal cloudy blue that reminds you of renderings you’ve seen of Neptune, Uranus, exoplanets, the Earth from space. He glances up at you and holds your gaze for just a few seconds too long. Then he looks away, bewildered, taking a drag off his cigarette.

Aegon introduces you to the room as you stand beside the ottoman, awkward and ashamed in your Louis Tomlinson hoodie. “She’s a friend,” Aegon says. “And she’s also a therapist.”

“Good, you need one!” Jace shouts through cupped hands, and there are tipsy titters and guffaws.

“Not for me,” Aegon snaps. “For you deranged bitches.”

As Aegon descends from the ottoman—klutzily, stumbling, clutching onto Criston like a baby lemur to its mother—Luke approaches to present himself. He has a mess of dark curly hair that falls over his face and large, honest eyes. There’s a black spiral notebook and a white gel pen in his left hand. He offers you his right. “Hi! I’m Luke Velaryon.”

“Yeah, I know. I spend a lot of time on Comet’s Spotify page.”

He groans. “I look so bad in that header photo.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s the nose. I have a pug nose. The label has been trying to convince me to get it fixed for years.” He turns to a girl who is practically hiding behind him: arrestingly beautiful in a fragile sort of way, gentle like a doe. “Maybe you can help Rhaena talk to people.”

“I have social anxiety,” she explains apologetically. Her voice is very quiet yet lyrical. There are weights tied to her confession, years of shame and despair. Luke throws an arm across her shoulders and hugs her to him, touching his forehead briefly to hers.

“That’s okay.” You give Rhaena a reassuring smile. “It’s super common, and there are a lot of strategies you can try that might make it more manageable.”

“It wasn’t a big deal at first, you know?” Rhaena says. It comes out in a rush like water through a cracked dam. Luke looks astonished but pleased. You have been known to have this effect upon people, a compulsive sort of disclosure that drains, empties, unburdens. Aegon is watching from several feet away, beaming between swigs of Peroni. “Luke and I met before he got famous and we could just hang out around the neighborhood. Ice cream, public parks, Pret a Manger, riding the Tube together. But now…now he’s always meeting new people and there are all these events I’m supposed to go to with him, and I can’t sleep properly for days leading up to each one, and half the time I end up hiding in the bathroom or being too nauseous to eat anything, and…”

Jace is at the bar and slurping a vesper: shoulder-length curls, flashy blazer with nothing underneath it, a contemplative appraisal of you. There’s a stunning girl sitting beside him that he’s not listening to.

As you are explaining the potential benefits of exposure therapy to Rhaena and Luke, Daeron bursts through the crowd to greet you. He’s their Niall Horan: warm, uncomplicated, disarmingly friendly, beachy blond hair, a golden retriever on two legs. He hugs you—spiritedly, like Aegon did—and then compliments your flip flops.

“So you’re our new therapist?” Daeron says eagerly, like this is something he knows they’ve needed.

“Well, I’m a therapist, but I’m not really your therapist. Because I can’t hang out with you guys all the time and also be your therapist. It’s unethical. But Aegon thought I might have some good ideas, I guess. In a strictly unofficial capacity.”

“Okay! Cool! And you and Aegon are…friends?”

“Um…yeah. Sort of.”

“Remember that show in Kansas City last summer?” Aegon tells Daeron. He’s supernaturally gifted at making everything sound blissfully casual, like there couldn’t possibly be more to the story. “I met her at the bar we went to afterwards.”

“Totally,” Daeron says. “Great city. Awesome barbeque.”

Criston asks him: “So, uh, how’s your mom doing?”

Daeron is puzzled. “Fine…?”

“Criston, please stop asking about my mom,” Aegon says. “It’s getting weird. It’s been weird. It was weird four years ago and it’s weird now. She has a husband.”

“Yeah, but is that…you know…is that still going well?”

“Yes, Criston.”

“Fantastic,” Criston mutters, pouring himself a Scotch. He uses the glass to gesture to you. “So what the hell am I supposed to bill her as? Aegon’s friend?”

“She’s a…” Aegon considers this, waving his Peroni around in the air. “Human resources mental health consultant.”

“She’s a what?”

“She helps resolve both intra and interpersonal conflict.”

“That sounds imaginary.”

“Well then you figure something out!” Aegon says, exasperated. “Isn’t this what you get paid for? To make problems go away? To keep us happy? To stop us from killing each other? You figure it out.” He saunters off to grace the drunken masses with his presence. Criston sighs and goes to stand by the wall with a herd of stone-faced businessmen in suits, record label guys, guys who only know how to see the world in terms of contract clauses and account balances.

Rhaena goes to stand by Jace’s companion, who—as you conjure up vague recollections of celebrity gossip sites—is named something like Bella or Bailey. Daeron is commandeered by a gaggle of adoring Italian women. Luke is showing Aemond something in his notebook: black pages, sparkly white ink. Aemond is nodding and giving critique, not that saccharine, generic, brainless kind of praise but authentic encouragement: try to think of a more specific word here, move that line up to the first verse, I love the use of this metaphor. Aemond’s voice dredges up memories you didn’t know you had of him on talk shows, in YouTube compilations, in songs you’ve been streaming on Spotify for years. Smoke drifts from his lips. Ice jangles in his organ-pink cocktail. And again, he looks up at you, inhaling poison as Luke makes his opal-ink edits.

“What’s that drink called?” you ask the bartender, and he squints across the room to where Aemond is seated on the snow-colored leather couch to discern it.

“A Bramble,” he says. “It’s named after blackberry bushes.”

“Can I get one?”

“Sure.”

You procure your drink and when Luke leaves the couch, you whizz past him like a meteor as you walk towards it.

“Hey,” Cregan flings impassively, not knowing why you’re here, not caring either.

“Hey,” you return.

And then you sit down next to Aemond, deliberately on his blind side. He glances over at you, his brow crinkling with confusion. Because—surely, undoubtedly—no one ever speaks about his injury, but it’s veined through everything they do, it’s a perpetual undercurrent that steers his life and yet cannot be voiced without breaching those vigilantly constructed levees of propriety. It’s the elephant in every room. It’s a ghost rattling doorknobs and tapping on windows. And sometimes the only way to free yourself of something is to throw the cage door wide open and set it loose.

“I accidentally wore your competitor’s merch,” you say. “I didn’t want you to have a good view.”

Aemond laughs, and the strangest thing happens: everyone in the room turns to look. On their faces are expressions of shock, bafflement, relief, wonder. Aemond shifts so he’s facing you, one elbow propped on the back of the couch. He sips the Bramble in his right hand, puffs on the cigarette in his left. And there it is, what people like to call a spark, but it’s something deeper than that: organic chemistry, neurotransmitter plumes, wells of marrow that sing to each other from beneath the darkness.

You nod to his cigarette, Benson & Hedges according to the shimmery gold pack that lays open on the glass coffee table. “You think that makes you cool?”

“I know it does,” he says. His gaze flicks down to your Louis Tomlinson hoodie…or what’s under it, perhaps. “Wouldn’t work on you though. Too far gone.”

You hold out your hand. After a few seconds, Aemond passes you his cigarette. You—very stoically, very nonchalantly—take a single drag and then erupt into a coughing fit, eyes watering, lungs gasping, surrendering the cigarette emphatically. Humiliating! Irredeemable!

“Told you,” Aemond notes. But he’s rubbing your back with a hand that is large and strong and yet careful. You smile at him. Aemond smiles too.

Criston pulls one of the suit guys aside and says: “Get her on the payroll.”

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x you #aegon x y/n #hotd fanfic #hotd

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miss-conjayniality · 10 months

Text

Miss Domme

pairing: sub!jay x dom fem!reader

genre: smut (+ fluff)

word count: 2.9k

warnings: MINORS DNI, unprotected s3x (wrap it before you tap it irl daahhlliingggs), dom reader, submissive husband jay, usage of toys (ribbons and c0ck rings), mild degradation (reader teases jay a lot and calls jay a filthy s*ut, but is mostly a soft dom throughout. definitely heavy on the petnames!), sub top x dom bottom dynamic

synopsis: you’re a famous international beauty pageant winner. you’re incredibly successful and beautiful. you’re kind, charitable, and giving. you’re the epitome of beauty and brains. a real-life princess. you also happen to be the wife of a very wealthy, prominent, powerful gentleman - jay! some people think he has lost his mind and become possessed by you because of how deeply in love he is with you. I mean, do we blame him? you’re literally so gorgeous, intelligent, and gracious.

and of course………………….you two share an extremely filthy secret together. you may be miss *[y/c] to the rest of the world. but behind closed doors? you’re Miss Domme…..

*[y/c] = your country

A/N: you know….i’ve been binge watching a LOT of beauty pageants lately. i was in the middle of watching the swimsuit segment of a miss universe show. and suddenly this idea randomly STRUCK me ……..… literally out of NOWHERE 😳……………………………………………

A/N #2: my debut fic alas! miss-conjayniality hot debut let’s goooo! 🤪🥰 this took me sooooo long to complete 😮‍💨 good gawd….I intended for this to be shorter but i kept adding more and more ideas to it, briefly encountered writer’s block in the midst of it, AND kinda rewrote some of it too…..nonetheless, it’s finally out! 🤌🏼

you confidently strut into your shared bedroom, igniting the scene with your sexy, flirty walk. the same charming walk that made you win over the nation. you’re donning a silk blush pink bikini with a sarong, beige chinese laundry teaser2 tippy top platform heels, black acrylic nails, curled hair, dewy makeup with pink lip gloss, a mouawad diamond crown, and a sash that says Miss Domme on it. yup, you read that right - miss domme…….

jay, sitting on the bed, takes the time to just stop and stare. to let the moment sink in. to appreciate your beauty. your regal and poised nature, your ethereal presence, and the way you light up the room the moment you enter it. he has so much love inside for his mesmerizing wife. every day, he is immensely grateful for you.

he then notices the two black ribbons and vibrating ring in your hands and already knows what’s gonna happen next. he unbuttons his dress shirt and you’re welcomed by the sight of his stunning, tanned, godlike top half. he leans back against the plush pillows of his smooth, luscious black silk bedsheets, and spreads his arms out, demonstrating his eagerness to get tied up already.

and don’t even lie….it’s tempting to just cut to the chase and devour him right away just at the sight of his bare chest and his needy temperament. but you know it’s best to maintain your decorum and start out with your foreplay of long-winded seduction before the big attack. you give him a content smile and tie the ribbons around his arms against the metal headboard of your shared bed.

you do a quick check-in with him and ensure he’s still feeling comfortable before proceeding. no matter what, it is always of utmost propriety and proper decorum to you that consent is granted.

“are you feeling okay pumpkin?” you ask as you softly look him in the eyes and scratch his head. “do you still wanna do this?”

“yes miss domme. i am all yours as always.”

“good. let me know if at any moment you aren’t feeling okay and I’ll stop. got it angel?”

“of course. I love you so much, miss domme. I always trust you no matter what. you are my everything.”

you flash a relaxed, content grin and a peck a playful kiss on his forehead. he’s so effortlessly adorable sometimes. it drives you crazy. you can’t tell if you wanna pinch his cheeks or devour his soul with a flurry of butterfly kisses all over his body. we’ll wait and see!

you are jay’s trophy wife - a beauty queen who is the living personification of elegance, intelligence and glamour. you’re a real life princess. someone passionate about community service, and advocating for social justice causes close to your heart. miss [y/c] indeed - a proud representative of your home country. someone who aims to create change in the community and spread awareness to the issues that matter to you and your country the most.

you have a heart of gold and it’s evident in the way you treat both yourself and others with respect. some even find you cold and intimidating because of how beautiful you are, how you conduct yourself, and how much you’ve accomplished in your life. but the moment you smile at them and converse with them, their nerves are eased.

people either love you or hate you. there is no between. you’re either seen as the epitome of beauty and brains, or you’re seen as a superficial gold digger who leveraged her sex appeal and beauty queen status to ensnare a wealthy, dignified man like jay. others see beyond that and know the value you bring to the community and acknowledge that the inner beauty of your soul shines just as much as the outer beauty of your charming smile.

either way, jay is extremely head over heels in love with you. he sees you as a living goddess. he views you as a poised lady with the magnetism of aphrodite and the wisdom of athena. some people swear he’s lost his mind ever since he met you because of how deeply he is in love with you. but he doesn’t care because you’re his precious, beautiful wife whom he’d move the earth and sky for. he’s highly protective of you. he’s a VERY passionate lover. you’ve seduced him into a trance. you are his spoiled princess whom he adores with all his heart. he will lavish you with grand gestures as a tribute to his seismic adoration for you. he worships the ground you walk on.

that being said, you two share an extremely filthy secret together that contributes to the some of the aforementioned traits of your marriage. while it certainly isn’t the only reason why he’s so whipped for you, it sure is a major weakness of his….

and what was that dirty secret again? 🤨 oh right - miss domme. the moment he sees you donning your skimpy little swimsuits, chinese laundry tippy top platform heels, your rhinestone crown and your signature miss domme sash, he crumbles. he’s at your mercy. whenever he’s on a business trip where he can’t bring you, he packs one of your bikinis and uses it to get off in order to blow off some steam at the end of his long days filled with busy projects and mind-numbing meetings. he then films himself doing so and sends it to you. but HMMM…that’s a story for another day daahhllinggsss…..

whenever you seduce him with your velvety, graceful words, he is done for. you may be Miss [Y/C] to the rest of the world. but behind closed doors? you’re Miss Domme…..

“so cute seeing such a powerful, dignified gentleman like you turn into someone so needy for my touch,” you coo to a tied up jay. “beneath that cold, chic, manly dilf exterior of yours is a filthy slut who thrives off of getting pleasured to oblivion by his pretty little princess. isn’t that right, buttercup?”

“hnngh- ….. y-yes miss domme. you’re right,” he softly winced.

his top half is bare, yet his suit trousers still remain on. you rub your crotch on his clothed bulge, and then lean into his shoulders, start caressing his bare skin, and start moaning into his ear as a way to incite more arousal. you then face him and begin making out with him, leaving behind the taste of your buttery lipgloss that he LOVES.

you then move down his neck, and to his chest because you want to leave behind even more of your beloved shimmery, buttery gloss until it’s fully wiped away. the sight of his tanned, toned body marked by your lip gloss is indeed a priceless work of art worth ogling at forever……….

jay winces at the sensations. “m…m-miss domme? when can I touch you?”

“soon, i promise,” you reassured.

you continue showering jay with kisses all over his body for another minute. then, you pull down his pants and are welcomed with the sight of his freed, erect shaft sprung up by your provocations….

before beginning, you adjust your crown. you start off by licking your way up to the tip. jay releases a hiss because despite it being such a minuscule action, he will take absolutely anything from you because of how needy he is right now.

now….here comes the fun part. first, you grab the vibrating cock ring and insert the ring around his throbbing member. with the remote in your hands, you turn it on at the lowest setting.

jay gasps at the sensation of the sudden change. whiny moans & cries IMMEDIATELY leave his mouth the moment you press that button.

the sight is endearing. it takes you every ounce of willpower to not stop, stare and drool at the sight in front of you because truthfully? you’d cum just at the sight of that. but we still have so much more left to do……

next, you slowly engulf his cock into your mouth. jay DESPERATELY wants to thrust his hips down your throat so he can feel even more of your heavenly mouth alongside the vibrating ring. but he’d rather not risk it because he wants to be a good boy to his beloved miss domme and not get punished. 🥺

jay’s breathing becomes more frantic, chest heaving really fast.

“AH-……hnnnng. ugh F-FUCK …..miss domme please spare me,” jay begs with tears sliding down his face. you briefly take his girth out of your mouth and strike a smirk at him, your hands on his cock temporarily replacing your mouth as you respond to him.

“not yet cutie. be a good boy and take whatever i give you. understood?” you assert before heading (no pun intended) back to engulfing his length.

“yes m…mi- AH…..m….miss domme,” he struggles to let out through choked sobs.

what a sight to behold. a sweaty, whiny, needy jay shuddering at the verge of tears because of how deadly you are….how cute….

you allow all the drool from your mouth to salivate itself onto his girth to make it even more wet, and start bobbing your head deeper - still taking it slowly, but gradually picking up the pace. you choose to continue taking it slowly and just……having fun with it. playing around with his kisses, licks, and moans around his shaft that make his brain short-circuit at the sudden vibrations of your voice and sends shivers down his spine. his buzzing cock ring certainly adds more fuel to the fire….

“AH- miss domme…p-please…fuck…I don’t think I can take it any longer.” he pleads. his winces and grunts continue to get louder and louder.

you continue moaning around his length and pleasuring him with your tongue. it seems like his orgasm was around the corner. therefore, you slyly take your mouth off his cock and turn off the toy. he lets out a loud wince at the orgasm denial because he was so close.

“don’t cum yet my love,” you chuckle, “we aren’t finished yet.”

“when will i finally be able to?” he pouts.

“I haven’t even untied you yet cupcake. don’t worry. we’re getting there.”

as you untie the restraints from the headboard, jay immediately gets up, wraps his arms around you, and starts kissing you.

“Mmm…..love…you….miss…..domme…” he says in between each kiss.

his cute, mushy kisses are hard to resist. after all, he is a very affectionate sweetheart. but you still pull away because you had other intentions in mind. “aw buttercup, I love you too. but let’s make out later because right now, i am eager to get you ruined like a slut.”

you lightly push him back against the pillows. you start strip your swimsuit off, piece by piece. starting with the untying of your sarong, then your bikini top, and of course, sliding away your soaked thong. because your thong was so tiny and skimpy, your wetness is prominent from all the provocations you’ve made tonight.

you look him in the eyes as you caress your miss domme sash to draw special attention to it. then, you swiftly slide it off and carefully place it on the nightstand beside your shared bed, alongside your crown. the shoes stay on though….cuz you LOVE the way those sexy beige platform stilettos elongate your body AND complement the warm, golden complexion of your naked body.

despite his eagerness for the slow and painful teasing to stop, he drools at how you striptease your way into your raw, wet, and naked glory. his heart skips several beats and his breath hitches a little. his erection stiffens as each part of you gets revealed one by one. his desires ignite him into a trance.

once you’re complete with the unveiling, you grab his dick and position it so that it’s in front of your stomach. your arms make your way around his shoulders and you’re leaned against him.

“alright loverboy. show me how desperate you are to fuck my soaking pussy. you’ve been such a good little whore for your beloved miss domme,” you chuckle. “it must’ve been hard work to try and hold back all your lustful impulses. I consider that a significant feat, considering how irresistible i am. you did a great job at demonstrating restraint. you’re now free to let go of those stipulations and let loose.”

jay is speechless and bewildered by your words. he expected you to ride him because he was ready to fully surrender and whore himself out to you. only to realize that you want him to prove to you how desperate and needy he is to get his dick wet to you. to prove to you how much he craves the raw feeling of your soaked cunt.

“ah, m-miss domme. i-….i don’t know if i can. you always feel so good and it makes me so weak and-,” he nervously utters.

“it’s okay jay. you got this. i have full faith in you. i can help you start,” you respond with encouragement.

before inserting it in, you first slide your folds back and forth on his shaft. a couple moans exit your mouth, and it isn’t helping jay’s antsy feelings one bit.

“m-miss domme. please….i’m so needy that it hurts. i need it so much. i-”

“don’t worry, we’re getting there.”

you intertwine your hands with his and give him a reassuring kiss, and continue holding his hands throughout.

once it’s been slid inside you, he doesn’t hold back one bit. you enjoy staring him down - seeing his frantic, fucked out expressions as he wets his painfully stiff cock, desperately jerks himself off, and whores himself away to the sensation of your tight heat.

“fuck, jay. you’re doing so well. so…s-….so well for miss domme. keep going babe…you got this,” you praise.

for a while, he’s able to plunge himself erratically because it helped him release his pent up desperation. but eventually, he tires himself out, yet still wants more.

“miss domme….miss domme….m-…miss domme,” he keeps sputtering over and over again like a broken record.

that’s when you finally start riding and bouncing on his dick, skin slapping noises inundating the room. his wails get even louder with each undulation of yours. jay is writhing for you.

it really boosts your ego to see such a strong, sexy, powerful man like jay get reduced to a pretty little slut who can’t live without your touch. he loves to let you use him for your own personal pleasure and milk every drop out of him until there’s none left. he finds it so hot how much power you possess over him. it gets him off just as much as it gets you off.

gradually, the excessive ramming led you close to your climax.

“jay,” you grunted, “m’ close. just let it all out love.”

jay’s eyes were left wide open at the sight of you convulsing and the sensations of your heat throbbing. the sound of your moans and grunts are pure music to his ears. he loves that he makes you feel good.

your release led to his own orgasm shortly thereafter. you kept bouncing through his climax to keep milking his seed and overstimulate him a little.

“AHH-…M- ….. I-…SSSS D-…..DOMME,” jay screams out. each undulation of yours intensifies the spasming sensations, gradually leading to a second peak for both of you.

jay slides out of you and both of you lay on the bed, hurried breathing being the only sound to take over the room.

“how are you feeling pumpkin?” you worriedly ask as you face his direction, “are you feeling any pain?”

“nope. you made me feel so good tonight miss domme. just a little soreness but it’ll go away. what about me? did i make you feel good?”

“of course jay!” you exclaim as you wrap one arm around him, “there isn’t a single moment when you don’t make me feel good.”

jay blushes at that remark and leans in for a hug, “i love you miss domme. i love you with all my heart. every day, i am so grateful and blessed to be married to a woman like you. i can’t stress this enough. you are my everything.”

“awe jay, you’re so cute when you get all mushy after getting all fucked out,” you giggle, “you’re the sweetest husband ever and every day I am grateful to be married to a man like you. you’re a kind, selfless, protective gentleman who has done so much for me. now let’s get cleaned up shall we?”

you grabbed the two water bottles and chocolate chip granola bars on the nightstand.

“here, have some water and have a granola bar or two. need to ensure we both stay hydrated and that none of us get dizzy.”

you two take a moment to sip some water and briefly snack. you two were gonna massage each other but decided to reserve that for the next morning when both of you are more well-rested. you head to the edge of the bed and slip off your tippy tops to head to the bathroom with him to wipe each other with warm towels, pee, remove your makeup, and then head off into a cozy, cuddly, good night’s sleep! 🥰

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