#flat top aviator sunglasses

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 3: Steal My Girl]

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you so so so much for the love this fic has received. I wanted to give you a heads up that I will be co-leading a field trip to Japan from July 4th-14th and will therefore have much less time to write. HOPEFULLY I won’t have to skip a Sunday update, but I wanted to make you aware just in case. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!!! 💜

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+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, Aegon-induced chaos, ANGST, Iceland, you cannot escape the Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Word count: 8.3k (wtf I need to chill).

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

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜  

Athens, Madrid, Porto, Vienna, Stockholm, and now: descending into Reykjavik through clouds like iron. The North Atlantic is an endless sheen of cold overcast blue, a mirror of the sky. The earth is rocky and anemic. There are no jewel tones here, no sapphires or emeralds or aquamarines or fire opals or topazes. It is impossible to look down at Iceland, this dominion of impassionate jaggedness, and not think of how the Vikings had to reap their treasures from every other corner of Europe, silver and gold and glass and slaves piled into ships to be rowed back to the hostile earth they clung to, perhaps just to prove they could.

Across the aisle of the private jet—more like a penthouse than a plane, posh neutral colors and hand-stitched leather—Luke is showing Aemond his latest lyrics, loops of silver on matte black pages. They’re good, from what you’ve heard. They’re really good. And that tells you what kind of person Aemond truly is as he helps Luke polish rocks into gemstones. Anybody can soften the blow of mediocrity. It takes courage to build ladders for people who might one day outclimb you.

Daeron is playing his Nintendo 64, which is hooked up to a 98-inch flat screen tv; Mario is leaping through paintings into worlds of lava, ice, sentient ticking bombs. Criston is answering emails. Cregan is sprawled across a couch with his sunglasses on, presumably sound asleep. Jace is leering at you, dark hair hanging in his face and slurping a Vesper.

You ask him half-mocking: “What tattoo are you going to get for Reykjavik?”

He yanks off his sequined red blazer—nothing underneath, as usual—and twists around to show you the puffin on his left shoulder blade. Comet, at some point in time that preceded you, has already been to Iceland. “Cute, right? Wanna pet it?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I asked.”

He grins. “No you’re not.”

Aegon kicks the back of Jace’s chair. He’s scribbling some notes of his own, which is unusual. In place of a spiral notebook with onyx pages, Aegon is writing on crinkled Starbucks receipts with a Sharpie. He’s wearing his favorite aviator sunglasses, khaki cargo pants, an excessively bright cyan tank top, and matching Crocs.

Baela stares blankly out the window for a few seconds—like she’s buffering, a lagging connection—and then she looks to you hopefully. “Shopping when we land?”

“Does Iceland have shops…?”

“Probably more than Kansas,” Aemond says, then smiles mischieviously.

“Missouri,” you fling back. He returns his attention to Luke.

“They totally have shops in Iceland,” Baela assures you.

“Then I am amenable. I need more concert outfits.” You mostly wear your boy band t-shirts from home, which has become a joke: One Direction, Backstreet Boys, New Kids On The Block, NSYNC, the Jonas Brothers, Boyz II Men, 98 Degrees, BTS…but never Comet Donati. Anyone but them. Aegon calls you a traitor. Aemond teases, smirks, tries to hide how much he watches you the same way people contemplate art on museum walls, a little confounded, a little entranced.

“Rhaena?” Baela says. “Hello? Hello? Hola? Bonjour? Rhaena?”

Rhaena startles, peering up from her novel: Jurassic Park. Once upon a time, as you’ve learned, she had planned to study paleontology. She wants to be alone in the middle of a field someplace digging up bones. Well, no great tragedy there; one is never too old to be a paleontologist. She can take off five years, or ten years, or twenty, or thirty to see Luke through his touring days and then pick back up her own ambitions like keys left on a hook. But Baela gave up a ballet scholarship to follow Jace across the globe, puddle to puddle, land to land, and in your albeit limited understanding, ballerinas age in something like dog years. Their career is a brilliant, lightning-brief flash and then long, anonymous decades running out their mortal clock as choreographers, backup dancers, personal trainers, instructors for blue-blooded five-year-olds. Baela won’t be able to reclaim that dream for much longer. It might be too late already. She is out of practice; but she misses ballet. When Jace is being snide or oblivious, you’ve seen her gazing out windows—Escalades, hotels, jets—wondering if it was all worth it. You gut yourself for someone and they don’t even have the courtesy to put up a gravestone. It’s only natural to develop a propensity to haunt.

“What?” Rhaena asks.

“Shopping. This afternoon. Interested?”

Rhaena’s eyes go wide. She fidgets: closing and then opening her book, touching a hand to her earrings, delicate strings of small silver hearts. “Um…I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Oh, not this again,” Baela groans.

“Just go without me. Bring me back something, you know what I like.”

“What’s the problem?” You are investigative but not accusatory. The tone is essential.

“She’s scared of store employees,” Baela says.

“Well you don’t have to make it sound like that—!”

“What’s so scary about store employees?” you ask Rhaena, calm, cool, collected, nonjudgmental. Aemond glances over, as he often does when you’re working, like he can’t get enough of watching that switch flip, when you slink covertly into therapist mode like a water moccasin weaves through swamps, subtle ripples in the muddied water and vigilant eyes.

“I just hate it when people are watching me,” Rhaena says, twirling an earring. “They’re always waiting right by the door—especially at the posh places like the ones Baela goes to—and they want to know what I’m shopping for, and they want to make suggestions, and they follow me to the fitting room and ask what I like and what I don’t. And I can’t get rid of them! Even if I’m like ‘Just looking, thanks!’ they’ll circle back every five minutes to check on me. I can’t stand it. I get so frazzled I can’t decide how I really feel about a skirt or dress or whatever because I’m too busy trying to make conversation with someone I don’t want to talk to anyway. I end up with a headache and a shopping bag full of regrets. I’d rather click a button on my MacBook Air and save myself the suffering.”

You nod sagely. “What is it about talking to the employees that stresses you out so much?”

“I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing. I don’t want to cause problems.”

“But it’s not like you’re going to do anything they haven’t experienced before. They see hundreds, maybe even thousands of customers a month. And even if you did something ridiculously, dementedly embarrassing, like…um…hey, Aegon, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done while clothes shopping?”

“I fell asleep in a fitting room. I pissed on the floor. I set something on fire. I vandalized One Direction merchandise.”

“No, there was that other time,” Daeron says. Mario is swimming through rings of underwater coins; they chime gleefully as he collects them.

“What other time?” Aegon says.

Daeron grins. “Come on. You know.”

Aegon remembers. “Oh yeah. Once I bit a girl’s feet until I accidentally ripped off part of a toenail and she bled everywhere. But that wasn’t my fault. She was begging for it. It was consensual.”

Criston, not looking away from his emails, says: “And that’s why Aegon is now banned from all Michael Kors locations for life.”

“Right.” You turn back to Rhaena. “So you would never do anything that deranged. But even if somehow you did, what’s the actual worst-case scenario? What, realistically, could happen as a result?”

Rhaena considers this. “The employees will think I’m weird, I guess.”

“So what you’re so concerned about is that the store employees—who are literally paid to be inconvenienced by you—might think you’re weird? Which they’ll remember for, what, maybe an hour before some other customer gives them a more memorable calamity to focus on? You don’t think they’re more annoyed by purse-dog-toting heiresses screeching at them or cokeheads pissing on their floors?”

“Rude,” Aegon says.

Rhaena smiles guiltily. “I mean, when you put it that way, it does sound stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you insist. “Just out of proportion.”

“Okay,” Rhaena says. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Okay. I guess I’ll go shopping.”

“Yes!” Baela cheers, already scrolling through Reykjavik shops on her iPhone.

“Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, and then hurls something at you like a frisbee. It’s an Amex Black Card.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What’s my budget?”

“No budget. As long as it’s slutty.”

“I will buy nothing but cardigans and mom jeans.” You crane your neck to peek at his receipts. The black Sharpie squiggles aren’t words; they’re shapes, pictures. “What are you drawing?”

“New merch designs!” Aegon holds up the receipts so you can see.

“Circles…?”

He is somewhat wounded. “Donuts!”

You don’t even know where to begin. “Why donuts, Aegon?”

“Because that’s his code word for doing lines in the bathroom,” Criston says.

“No!” Aegon objects. “Because Donati sounds like donuts! So we could have all these mini donuts, print them on hats or shirts or whatever, and then in the frosting where the sprinkles would be we can put tiny stars, suns, moons, planets, galaxies…and comets, obviously.”

Jace scoffs. “I think you spend a little too much time thinking about donuts.”

Aegon goes quiet. So does everyone else. Gazes flit nervously around the cabin. The only sounds are the roar of the jet and Mario 64, although Daeron has turned his back on the cheerful Italian protagonist and is looking pensively over his shoulder at Jace. Aegon resumes sketching his cosmic Sharpie donuts, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” you say to Jace, and then once you have his attention, wicked dark eyes: “Shut the fuck up.”

“What?”

“It’s a great idea. It’s a really adorable idea, actually. Let’s see you come up with something better. Go on, whenever you’re ready. I’m waiting. I’m still waiting. But you’re not much of an ideas guy, are you, Jace? Fortunately, you’ve always had other people around to pull that weight.”

Jace opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it shut as Cregan stands up. He towers over you both, as tall as Aemond but more muscly all over, in the chest and the shoulders and the legs. He lowers his sunglasses to show his eyes: greyish, cold, flinty. He glares at Jace, and then at you, and then at Jace again. Jace holds up both hands, showing his palms. You bow your head in capitulation. Cregan lies back down on the couch and repositions his sunglasses just as the pilot turns on the fasten seatbelts signs. As you click yours into place, you exchange a glance with Aemond across the aisle. He is smiling, foxlike and approving, as if he can’t wait to see what else you have left to show him.

“So!” Baela says. “Guess who found a shop in Reykjavik that sells Gucci!”

The jet glides through mist and fog to make a rather bumpy landing at Keflavik International Airport, fighting against gusts of wind coming in off the North Atlantic Ocean, the same water that swallowed the Titanic, the Faucett Peru Boeing 727, the Free Life hot air balloon, whaling vessels and Viking longships, countless cruisers and destroyers and submarines that blasted holes into each other during the world wars. As the band prepares to disembark, Aemond reaches into the front pocket of his shirt—black, with white circling koi fish—and slides out a pair of sunglasses. He doesn’t like wearing them. They limit his vision even more than it already is. But he never walks into an airport without sunglasses on, you’ve discovered. Just in case paparazzi are there snapping photos.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell Aemond.

He gestures to his scar and his blind eye, a pale cloudy blue. “I’ve thought about just getting it cut out. But then I’d have to worry about shoving in a fake one.”

“I think it’s kind of beautiful,” you say. “It reminds me of Neptune or something.”

And the look he gives you, the look, like he’s never heard anything like this before, like he didn’t know that words could fit together in that order. You hold out your hand to him. He lays the sunglasses in your palm. You put them on, grinning up at him.

“Now I’m the one who looks like a multi-millionaire popstar.”

“Hey, we match!” Aegon says as he follows you and Aemond out of the jet, massaging your shoulders and clopping noisily in his Crocs.

There are paparazzi at the airport, but only two of them, young men in black hoodies who dart around loosing flashes into the stuffy, aggressively heated air. Jace, Baela, Daeron, and Aegon beam and wave, radiant, magnetic, born celebrities. Rhaena smiles politely but hides behind Luke. Cregan saunters and smolders, knowing exactly what his devotees expect from him. Criston and the security guards are loaded up with suitcases like pack mules. The paparazzi don’t pay much attention to Aemond—a former heartthrob, a cracked relic, a fossil or a ruin—but one of them snaps a few pictures of him. Aemond turns his face so they’ll get his good side, his unmarred side…and then he grabs for your hand. You try not to reveal how ecstatic you are, how wildly, uncoolly, over-the-moon thrilled. Your expression might end up commemorated forever in a tabloid, after all.

Shopping in Reykjavik is mostly wool sweaters, hiking boots, and weather-proof jackets, but Baela leads you and Rhaena to a boutique that carries something more her speed: Gucci, Burberry, Balenciaga, Valentino, Saint Laurent. You and Baela try to distract the employees as much as possible; still, they find time to nettle Rhaena with those bothersome, predictable, unnecessary questions. She gets a little flustered, but she fights the instinct to run and hide, to allow herself to sink into a frenetic puddle of self-inquisition. You can almost see the words scrolling behind her dark gentle eyes like a news ticker: They get paid to help me. They aren’t going to remember any of this in a few hours. I’m not on a stage. I’m not being judged.

In the fitting room, you take two selfies to send to Aemond’s WhatsApp account: one in a flowing neon yellow gown, the other in a short, velvet, sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars.

You ask: Day or night?

He answers before you’ve changed back into your jeans and pink Harry Styles hoodie. Night, obviously. And then he adds: Which constellation are you? Vulpecula the fox? Cygnus the swan?

“God, he’s such a dork,” you murmur to yourself, smiling. You have to think for a while before you reply. You don’t know many constellations; that makes it difficult to rattle off something witty. Then you are inspired. You type: Definitely not Virgo :)

He responds immediately: :)))))

“What does that mean?” you whisper to yourself in the solitude of the boxlike fitting room. “What the hell does that mean???” He spends nearly all of his time with you, but he rarely touches you. He’s never made a move. He’s never even kissed you. You wouldn’t mind if he did. No, fuck the coyness that women are supposed to cloak themselves in to preserve their worth. You’re waiting for him to kiss you like someone drowning waits for a gasp of air.

Despite Aemond’s vote, you can’t help yourself. You buy both dresses. You don’t look much like an Aegon Targaryen, but the cashier doesn’t seem too troubled by this. Baela and Rhaena are still trying on outfits, so you swing your bag around boredly and wander over to see what Criston is up to. At Aemond’s insistence, he accompanied you on this shopping expedition and left the rest of the security detail back at the Reykjavik EDITION, a luxury hotel overlooking the harbor. Criston is in the jewelry section and holding up a medallion necklace, rotating it to see how the light reflects off the speckling of tiny gemstones, the wise golden face. His own face is distant and melancholy.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Criston!” you say. “All those emeralds. Who’s pictured on it?”

“Saint Jude. Lost causes.”

Interesting. “Are you religious?”

“Not especially. But Alicent is.”

“Who…?”

Criston walks off to the cash register. You watch him go, curious and perplexed.

Back at the hotel, you enter your suite to find a blond Targaryen lounging in your bed…but perhaps not the right one. Aegon still has his Crocs on and is, for some reason, clutching a plushie puffin. He glances over at you, noting your shopping bag.

“Fashion show?” he says. “I hope it’s nothing but miniskirts and bikinis.”

“Don’t you have places to be? Substances to snort?”

“Cregan is currently trying to locate some.”

“That’s really not good for you. Physically or mentally. You might be addicted.”

He barks a laugh, like it’s absurd. “You can’t get addicted to coke, Stargirl.”

“You definitely can.”

He suddenly looks panicked, like he’s never considered this before.

“So.” You hesitate. “Aemond.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept.”

“He’s insecure. Very insecure, though he’s learned how to hide it.”

Aegon throws and catches the puffin, bouncing it off the ceiling. “I wouldn’t disagree.”

“It goes deeper than the accident, I think. The scar, his eye, what happened with the band…that awakened it again. That freed something that he’d had locked away. But where did it start?”

Aegon stares up at the ceiling. He tosses the puffin a few more times, abusing it terribly. “Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know? If you’re popular and beloved and understood, you carry a certain self-confidence into the rest of your life with you like a suitcase. It’s an assumption that people care about what you have to say. It’s a conviction of your own value. It’s a presupposition the world would have to wrestle away from you. But if you’re a loser in high school, that stays with you too. And it’s one hell of a heavy suitcase to lug around.”

You try to imagine seeing Aemond through eyes that aren’t awed, craving, quietly adoring. It’s simply not possible. “He was alone?” you ask softly, dreading the answer.

“I had friends. He had grudges.” Aegon’s mouth twists as he tries to stop it from trembling. “My father…”

“I know, Aegon.” Your voice is gentle. “You told me in Kansas City, that night at the bar. You don’t have to say it again.”

He is relieved. “Yeah. So people respond to that in different ways, right? I lived in the present. I talked to anybody who would listen to me, and I partied and I got high and I got laid, and I was the antithesis of the kind of son my father would have wanted just to spite him. Aemond escaped into the past. He read books, traced bloodlines, collected old obsolete things. Maybe that gave him hope that a better place was waiting for him out there somewhere, a better time. He got to be cool for three years. That’s it, and that’s all he’ll ever have. He was the one with vision. He said he was going to audition for The X Factor, and I only went with him to meet girls. Then he made it through the first round and I did too. And when they were going to cut us, he found Jace and Luke and Cregan and convinced everyone to start performing together. The show wanted to replace Luke, did you know that? They thought he was too boyish, too innocent. Aemond fought for him. And then Comet finished in second place, and all the sudden we were signed to a label, and we were selling millions of records and we were touring, and we were winning Grammys, and we were buying our parents and siblings houses…and two months after our third album came out, Aemond was maimed at the Budokan and it was time for him to get off the ride.”

You stare at Aegon, tremendously sad, not knowing what to say. Sometimes the right words don’t exist.

Aegon smirks. “He really likes you.”

“Maybe.” And then, with guileless vulnerability: “I hope so.”

“That’s dangerous.”

Your brow knits into fearful grooves. “Why?”

“I know how to enjoy something without owning it. I don’t think Aemond does.”

You don’t want to ask, but you have to. “What was Shelby like?”

Aegon considers this for a long time before he answers. “She was simultaneously too good for him and not good enough.”

Too gorgeous. Too cool. Too Pinterest-board perfect, airy like summer. But not deep. A river, a glimmer, but with no understanding of the abyss. You aren’t sure how you know that this is what Aegon means, but you do. You don’t want to think about Shelby anymore. You pivot. “So Aemond is the past and you’re the present. Who’s the future? Daeron?”

Aegon smiles, lazy and warm. “I think you’re the future.”

“Yeah right. Get your Crocs off my bed.”

He complies, groaning, flopping onto the floor gracelessly.

“Where’d you get the puffin?”

“Some Icelandic kid recognized me in the elevator. He wanted to give me a present. In return, I signed an autograph and got him and his dad front row seats to the show tomorrow. So I’d say it was a very favorable exchange for him.”

“You’re a saint,” you say, and then find yourself thinking randomly of Saint Jude again. Lost causes. Lost causes.

Aegon grins at you as he crawls to his feet and makes for the door. “Patron saint of mayhem.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re watching old Comet Donati performances on YouTube when the hotel fire alarm goes off. And it’s strange, because the unscarred, clear-eyed boy on the screen is Aemond but also isn’t him; he smiles more easily, he looks at people without suspicion, he is ebullient and confident and carefree like kids blowing bubbles on front porches. When you open your suite door, dressed in your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants and an oversized New Kids On The Block t-shirt, Aemond is just arriving.

“Oh good,” he says. “You’re still awake.” And then he walks with you to the nearest stairwell.

Outside, the hotel guests are clustered together with their travel companions, shuddering under coats and sweaters and blankets clasped around their shoulders like capes. Even at the start of July, Iceland is cold: fifties during the day as Americans like you measure in Fahrenheit, forties at night, nearly always overcast. It’s 11 p.m., but the sun won’t set until midnight, and even then only for a few short hours; the sky is wearing the colors of dusk, lilac, rose pink, pale blue, fire and gold. You’re shivering, rubbing your bare forearms and feeling the goosebumps that have risen there like braille. Aemond tugs off his black and white Calvin Klein hoodie and offers it to you. As you pull it over your head, you breathe in the pieces of him that have snared in the fabric: smoke and cologne, gin and soap and the brine of the seaside air. Now wearing only his jeans and his koi fish shirt, Aemond lights a cigarette and gazes up at the hotel, postmodern angles and semi-transparent glass.

“No one’s going to give me a hoodie?” Aegon says, quaking in his cyan tank top. Criston reluctantly unzips his bomber jacket and hands it over.

“Did you do this?” Criston asks him, meaning the fire alarm.

“What?! No! No way, man! It wasn’t me!”

Criston turns to Cregan for confirmation. Cregan shrugs, ambiguous. “I knew it!” Criston exclaims. He is distraught.

Several fire engines arrive, red lights strobing, and firefighters enter the hotel to investigate. Baela and Jace are standing near each other but not speaking, arms crossed, faces tense. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are watching an episode of The Crown on Luke’s iPhone. Cregan lights a cigarette and manages to take two drags before Criston notices and lunges to bat it out of his hand.

“Stop it!” Criston orders. “You’ll ruin your voice!” Nobody tells Aemond not to smoke. His voice doesn’t matter anymore.

Aegon asks you, his hands buried in the pockets of Criston’s jacket: “Would you run into a burning building to save me?”

“Why would you be in a burning building?”

“That’s really not the point.”

“I’d think about it.”

Luke says, the glow of his iPhone dancing across his face: “Wow, Prince Charles is a bitch.”

“You’d think about it?” Aegon says to you. “You’d think about it?!”

“You have no excuse to be in a burning building. You have now experienced an evacuation, you know exactly how to leave a building successfully, if you’re still in it for some reason then that’s your problem.”

“You hear that, Criston?” Aegon says. “This is a good thing. Now everyone knows what to do if there’s a real fire! And we’re in hotels all the time, so this is super helpful!”

“Please shut up,” Criston begs.

“Hey Cregan, share with the class, what did you learn about fire safety from this fortuitous occasion?”

“I already knew what to do.”

Aegon is grinning. “Yeah? What’s that, Cregan?”

“Get in the shower and wait for the fire department to come rescue me.”

Everyone laughs—even Jace and Baela—and Cregan’s lips quirk up in one corner, the only hint that he is joking. A parade of firefighters exit the hotel. One of them is carrying a toaster. Black smoke pours out of the slits in the top.

She says something in Icelandic that you can’t understand, then repeats in English: “Who was trying to cook hotdogs in a toaster?”

The guests chatter incredulously among themselves: Who would do such a thing?

You, Aemond, Luke, Rhaena, Daeron, Cregan, Jace, Baela, and Criston are mindful to look anywhere except at Aegon. You gaze out at the horizon, the kaleidoscopic midnight sun. Aegon peers down at his Crocs, hair tangled and blue eyes wide.

“Very well,” the firefighter with the toaster says, a little smugly. “We will consult with the hotel staff and see which guest was registered to that room.”

“Goddammit!” Criston hisses, and shoves by the band to go meet the firefighters. You can’t hear what’s being said, but his hands move in exaggerated gestures of humiliation, apology, restitution. Fortunately, the Icelandic people seem to be forgiving.

Daeron turns to Aegon. All he says is: “Why?”

“I couldn’t figure out the buttons on the stove!”

Criston comes trudging back to the band. Guests are being admitted into the hotel to return to their drinks, their television shows and mystery novels, their families, their lovers, their beds. “Alright, it’s taken care of. Go to your rooms. All of you, right now, go.”

No one has the heart to argue with him; he looks half-broken already. Everybody disperses. You and Aemond end up alone together as the elevator zooms to the fifth floor. He takes his small, square metal lighter out of his jeans pocket and toys with it, repeatedly flicking the lid open and then shutting it again.

You point to it. “Vintage lighter. Vintage bike. And yet you write with glittery gel pens instead of quills and ink. Poser.”

“I like old things,” he says, smiling. “I think history is important.”

And you hear Aegon’s words like an echo: That’s dangerous. You start pulling off Aemond’s hoodie to give it back to him.

“No,” he says, sounding pleased. “You keep it.” So you do, finding excuses to bring the sleeves close to your face—touching your hair, your lips, your eyelashes—so you can inhale him.

Aemond leaves you at the door of your suite, but you don’t go inside. You wait for another five minutes until Criston steps out of an elevator and into the hallway, alone and agitated. Still, he has concern to spare for you.

“You okay? Locked yourself out?”

“No. I was just hoping to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” Criston is tired, but his eyes, dark like fertile earth, are attentive.

“When Aemond was hurt…when the label yanked him out of Comet…no one fought for him?”

“Luke did,” Criston says.

And then he continues down the hall, shoulders low, a man troubled by both the past and the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Blue Lagoon is like Aemond’s sightless left eye: a milky blue, opaque, something you could drown in. The band spends several hours splashing and wading in water warmer than the blood in your veins. The white silica mud that forms the floor is soft beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes; people spread it over their skin like a skin shedding its scales in reverse. Criston orders strawberry-banana smoothies from the in-water bar, trying to distract Aegon and Jace from the beer and the wine. Currently, Comet’s most worrisome performers are locked in combat: Daeron is on Aegon’s shoulders, Luke on Jace’s, entangled in a spirited chicken fight. This is much preferable to their first choice, Marco Polo, which led to Jace ‘accidentally’—and repeatedly—bumping into various early-twenties female tourists, whereupon he would inevitably profusely apologize, introduce himself, and pose for selfies, beads of turbid mineral water dripping from his curls. Cregan has drifted to the other side of the lagoon, floating on his back and basking beneath the overcast midday sun.

“I can’t believe they made everyone shower naked before getting in here,” Rhaena says, drinking her smoothie, submerged in rippling blue up to her collarbones. She had nearly refused to go through with it—I’ll wait in the car! I’ll be fine! I’ll just watch The Crown on my phone for three hours!—until you and Baela offered to hold up your towels to shield her from view and insisted that none of the other guests (all female, as the showers are sorted by gender) were paying attention. Nudity is not a big deal in Iceland. It’s quite a far cry from Missouri.

“You gotta honor the local culture, babe.” Baela flashes Rhaena a teasing grin. “Scandinavians are super progressive. No shame about bodies or relationships. Very sex-positive.”

“Well Jace is certainly blending in.”

Now Baela isn’t grinning anymore. She frowns broodingly out over the lagoon. Rhaena, regretting that she said it but knowing it can’t be taken back, noisily slurps at her smoothie even when it’s gone. You and Aemond exchange an uncomfortable glance. Baela has never broached the topic of her relationship with you, but you know it’s coming. You can sometimes see her working up the nerve like a bucket filling with water, drop by drop.

You change the subject. “See, Rhaena? The naked shower thing wasn’t even that bad. It was over in two minutes, and absolutely nobody was judging you. And if you hadn’t done it, you would have missed out on this amazing experience!”

“You weren’t nervous?” she asks you. “Not at all?”

“I little bit, yeah. Of course. I’m an American.” Everyone chuckles. “But logically, I knew no one would really be watching me. I’m not that interesting. And also…I wasn’t truly naked.”

“Huh…?”

You wiggle your eyebrows and, smiling radiantly, spin around and point to the black-ink tattoo between your shoulder blades, underscored by the straps of your swimsuit that cross just below it: a comet with a streaming tail, lyrics that Aemond dreamed up in a kinder world. Rhaena laughs.

“Oh, right, of course.”

“You are obsessed with that thing!” Baela says, but she sounds relatively happy again.

“It’s true. I am. I admit it.” Sometimes you find yourself staring at it in hotel bathroom mirrors still foggy with steam, wiping away condensation to marvel at the irrevocable ways in which Aemond has marked you, ways you are thankful cannot be erased. When you wear anything that reveals your upper back like a spilled secret, you often catch Aemond gazing at it too. Now he reaches over and skims a fingerprint along the circle that his lyrics form around the comet:

I’ll come back for you if it kills me

Comets clip by again after eons and so can I

There’s a jolt down your spine like lightning, but more eager than jarring. All other thoughts vanish from you. You look over at Aemond, and he looks back, his lips slightly parted, his right eye beckoning to you. And you know it will be good with him, if it happens, when it happens. It will be more than good. It will be laced with an intensity, with a dire breed of necessity that you’ve never tasted before. All at once, you and Aemond realize what you’ve done and drift away from each other again, weakening gravity, elliptical orbits.

“No shame, guys,” Baela quips, raising her smoothie glass in a toast. “Sex-positive, remember?”

After the 45-minute drive back to Reykjavik, and after the concert, the band coalesces in Jace’s suite. There aren’t many hangers-on for this stop of the tour; Reykjavik is isolated and peaceful and not particularly desirable for friends of convenience who are more interested in clubbing and drugs than camaraderie. You wouldn’t trade nights like this for anything in the world.

Aemond is reading off his latest notes, white ink on black paper, stars on the backdrop of the universe. A Benson & Hedges cigarette smolders between two fingers on his left hand. Smoke curls up around his face. “Aegon, you were three steps behind the choreography for basically the entire show.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose.”

“It wasn’t,” Aemond counters, but he can’t help but smile.

“Women love a tragic disaster of a man who is screaming to be fixed.”

“Daeron,” Aemond continues. “I really like that hair flip you’ve started doing…”

Aegon is knocking back dark glass bottles of Gædingur Stout and slurring, very drunk and sinking deeper by the minute. In the absence of coke, he has resorted to other crutches. You are squeezed between Aemond and Baela on one of the couches. And Aemond isn’t really touching you, but he also is: the delicious subtle pressure of his thigh against yours, occasional nudges of his elbow, ostensibly unintentional grazes of knuckles and palms. He’s drinking his usual, a Bramble, and so are you, swirls of slow-moving pink like drops of blood in open water. And you think in a hazy bliss like listening to ground-level conversations from the bottom of a swimming pool: Tonight, tonight, tonight, he’s going to come back to my room with me tonight.

“Oh great,” you mumble as you check your Facebook messages on your iPhone.

“What’s wrong?” Rhaena asks. She’s nestled against Luke on the opposite couch, twirling locks of his hair around her benign, delicate fingers. Jace is sitting beside Luke, drinking a Vesper and trying not to make eye contact with Baela. Daeron is in the fuzzy white sheepskin lounge chair, Cregan perched on a bar stool, Criston standing watchfully with a vivid green bottle of Perrier in one hand. When he briefly steps out onto the balcony to take a call from the label, you can hear only the most dim, indistinct murmurings through the thick tinted glass, sounds but not words. Aegon is sitting—and occasionally crawling around—on the floor. The Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way is playing.

“I’m subletting my apartment in Kansas City and there is a strict no pet policy. But my neighbors snitched on the new tenant and apparently she’s got a Flemish Giant rabbit living there with her.”

“Not even a normal rabbit,” Baela muses. “A giant rabbit.”

You sigh. “All the rugs are going to be chewed up by the time I get back.” And Aemond glances over anxiously, like he doesn’t want any reminders that you won’t always be around.

“What’s your apartment like?” he says.

“Old. Vintage. Most of it hasn’t been updated since the 1950s. You’d appreciate it, actually. It would match your aesthetic.”

“Maybe I’ll have to see it sometime.”

You smirk at him, flirtatious, baiting, the silver stars on your dress reflecting golden lamplight. “Maybe. If I invite you.”

He leans in to whisper so only you can hear: “You will.”

“I think I’d be a landlord if I wasn’t famous,” Jace says, nursing his Vesper meditatively like an aspiring philosopher. “I’d just sit back and collect the checks as they rolled in. And you get to raise the rent every year.”

“Yeah, that sounds like you,” Aegon says, grinning up at him saccharinely.

“What would you be, Stargirl?” Jace asks; and you realize you hate the sound of him using Aegon’s name for you.

“I mean, a therapist.” And everyone laughs, even Criston.

Jace flushes, brushing his curls back from his face with one hand. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”

You look to Aemond. “You’d be a historian or an archivist or something.”

“Or a writer,” Luke says.

“Maybe,” Aemond agrees, a tad uncomfortable with the attention. “Or an animal activist, maybe. I’d like to do some sort of good in the world.”

Aegon shouts, far more loudly than necessary: “What would you be, Criston?”

“Thousands of miles away from you.” More laughter, riotous; but Criston is smiling a little.

“What about you, Cregan?” Jace asks. “What would you want to be if Comet didn’t exist?”

Cregan downs a shot of Absolut Vodka. “A plastic surgeon.”

“What? Why?”

Cregan shrugs. “You get to see tits all the time.”

There are scandalized squeals and guffaws. Baela says: “I would not let you anywhere near my tits.”

“And not just tits!” Daeron adds brightly. “Don’t they do, what’s it called, vaginal rejuvenation?”

Cregan points at him with his empty shot glass. “Exactly.”

“Oh God, that sounds painful.” Rhaena hides her face behind a flute of champagne.

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I’m interested.”

Aegon snorts, drips of Gaedingur Stout flying from his nose. “Like you’d ever need it. You’ve got a pornstar pussy, fucking gorgeous.”

A hush sweeps through the room like a dust storm. Baffled glances dart around wildly. Immediately, Aegon realizes his mistake. He gazes up at you from the floor with large, glazed, drunken blue eyes that glisten with apology. You gape back, half-furious and half-petrified.

“Wait, what?” Aemond says. Ashes build on his cigarette, forgotten.

“Oh, wow.” Jace gestures from you to Aegon. “You guys…you guys have…?”

“It was once, a long time ago,” you say quickly. “Like, a really long time ago. Over a year ago.”

Aegon is trying to help. “Ages ago. Ancient history.”

“Where? In Kansas City?!” Baela gasps, stunned.

Aegon tells her: “You remember that bar we all went to after the show, right? The one on the roof?”

Baela is blinking at you, not comprehending. “You hooked up with him? In a bar?! Aegon?!”

“Um, yeah.”

Jace brays out a laugh, shaking his head. “Damn, Stargirl. I thought you had better taste than that.”

You feel like you’re fighting for your life. You feel like you can’t breathe. “It really wasn’t serious…” Not the sex part, anyway.

“No, no, it totally wasn’t,” Aegon agrees gamely. “It was like, what? How long were we in that bathroom? Maybe ten minutes total?”

Daeron is giggling. “Bruh, stop roasting yourself!”

As the chatter flies, you hide your face in your hands; beneath your palms, your cheeks are hot. You can feel Aemond pulling away from you, spaces opening up between your thighs and shoulders and arms like the ever-expanding void of the universe. When you steal a glimpse of him through the cracks in your fingers, he is staring down at the floor. He is silent, but you can see the thoughts—the images—riddling him like bullets. You can see him filling up with them like a punctured ship fills with seawater. He smokes until his cigarette is gone, and then immediately lights another.

Luke is the one to mercifully intercede. “Hey, Criston, where are we going next?”

“Uh,” Criston says, trying not to gawk at you or Aegon. “Let me think. Uh. Oh, right. Paris.”

Jace cackles. “The city of love! How appropriate!”

Criston ignores him. “You have some press interviews and then you’re doing two shows at the Accor Arena on July 7th and 8th…”

Aemond gulps down the rest of his Bramble and then walks out onto the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs miserably, then guzzles his Gaedingur Stout.

You bolt off the couch and go after Aemond. The heavy sliding glass door growls as you roll it open and then shut it again. Outside, Reykjavik is cold and windswept. The midnight sun is aflame. It’s still too bright to see the Northern Lights; even if they were there, you would have no way of knowing. Aemond is smoking with his back to you. He’s looking out over the boats bobbing in the harbor, sunbeams glinting on the crests of waves. Flapping gulls swoop and scream.

You say cuttingly, like a surgeon slicing away malignancies: “So what, you don’t like me anymore?”

Aemond flicks ashes over the balcony railing. “I just think I understand you better.”

“What does that mean?”

He whirls to you and says pointedly: “Why are you here?”

A disorienting question. Too easy. “I followed you out onto the balcony.”

“No, here with the band, here in Reykjavik, why are you here?”

You know how the truth sounds, but you can’t rewrite it. “Because Aegon asked me to be.”

“Because he asked you to come fix me, right?” Aemond demands. “To crack open my skull and stir things around until I’m okay with the fact that my life ended seven months ago.”

“No!” you shout into the wind. “I mean, yes, he thought I’d be able to help you, to help Comet, but that’s not what this is about for me anymore—”

“Why would I believe you? You’re a liar, you’re a confirmed liar, why would I believe a single goddamn word of what you have to say?!”

“I didn’t lie to you!”

“Friends!” Aemond roars. He doesn’t touch you, but his rage is horrifying, ageless and deep like lava bubbling beneath tectonic plates. “You said you and Aegon were friends!”

“We are friends—”

“No, you’re not. You met him, you fucked him, and then when he invited you to join the tour you dropped everything to do it, why, because you still want him? And I’m the charity case? Or I was just next in line? Maybe you were planning to work your way through the whole band. Who’s next, Jace? I don’t think he’d object.”

“No—!”

“You and Aegon. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me.”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation, the one where you eviscerate me for something that happened before I even met you!”

“You chose him,” Aemond says, venomous. “At the bar in Kansas City, you chose him.”

“What?! Aemond, I don’t even remember seeing you, I don’t think you were there at all—”

“I was there.” He glares at you, thunderstorms, tornadoes, the earth splitting in two. “Last June. Rooftop bar. String lights. View of the river. I remember it, I was there.”

“Well then you didn’t notice me either and you probably spent the whole night with Pilates princess, Malibu Barbie Shelby, so what’s the fucking point?!”

He glowers at the horizon. Iceland DOES have jewel tones, you think erratically. But they only come out at night, like owls or bats. “It’s different.”

“It’s not different! You’re so convinced people don’t like you that you do insane, irrational things that make people not like you! It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy! It’s a fucking circle, you idiot!”

“I’ve had enough psychoanalysis, thanks.”

“No, you could use some more of it, you could use a lot more, you have so many demons it’s like Paranormal Activity in your brain, they’re in there all day tearing things off the walls and kicking over chairs and sabotaging anything you dare to care about and you let them!”

He turns away from you. “Just go the fuck back to Kansas.”

“I’m from Missouri!”

Aemond pitches the end of his cigarette over the balcony. His good eye flicks to the sliding glass door. The curtains rustle as the faces that hovered there just seconds ago disappear back into the suite. Very muffled through the thick glass, you can hear Criston chastising people.

You ask Aemond, embers in your throat: “This is really something you consider unforgiveable?”

He shakes his head, mournful, violently disappointed. “You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.”

Slut. It’s not the word, it’s the way he said it, with dismissiveness, with condemnation, the same way men love to use it as a blade to carve off every other piece of you—kindness, coldness, ferocity, loyalty, wit, passion, talent, triumphs, failures, ghosts—until that one little word is all that’s left. You’re dismantled into a clutter of loose bolts and bent nails. You’re a beef cow that was led into the maze of a gnashing, metal-and-blood processing plant and came out the other side a brainless, raw-pink patty just the right size to fit in a Big Mac box, something to be consumed but not remembered. “What did you say to me?”

He’s staring out into the twilight sky, both hands on the balcony railing. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I…”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t believe I got your lyrics tattooed on my fucking back, what am I supposed to do about that now, rip my own skin off?!”

“So get it covered up. I’m sure Aegon would be thrilled to help you choose a new design, or Jace, or Cregan, or Daeron, or whoever.”

“You know what I think?” you say, caustic like acid.

“Don’t say it,” he threatens, low and dark.

“I think you haven’t fucked anyone since the accident, and you’re terrified to. But you shouldn’t be, Aemond. Because there’s nothing wrong with you. There has never been anything wrong with you.”

But he doesn’t hear that part. He only hears the first thing, what you never should have said at all. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean you should have said it. “I hate you,” he says softly, and you can’t think of a reply. The space between you fills up with wind, cold, dying sunlight. Aemond looks at the sliding glass door. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Well, we’re five stories off the ground, so you’ll probably have to.”

He studies the series of balconies that run along this side of the hotel, each separated by perhaps three feet of open air. Then he starts climbing over the metal railing.

“Aemond, don’t!”

But it’s too late. Fortunately, he has long limbs. He scrambles onto the next balcony, and then the one after that, and then one more, until he reaches the balcony for his own suite. He tries the sliding glass door—locked—and then sits down to wait for someone to open it. You go back inside Jace’s suite, where everyone pretends to have been talking about something other than you.

“Where’s Aemond?” Criston says, alarmed.

“He’s on the balcony of his suite. You should go let him in.”

“What?!” Criston yells, and then sprints out into the hallway.

You flee too. Both Baela and Aegon try to stop you, try to talk to you. They’re asking what Aemond said. They’re asking if you’re okay. You tell them you’re fine and that you want to be left alone. They argue. You insist. You walk back to your own room and start packing.

Your suitcase fills up with crumpled clothes and souvenirs: a Colosseum pencil sharpener from Rome, a tiny alabaster Apollo from Athens, a Spanish fighting bull refrigerator magnet from Madrid, handmade soap from Porto, a bar of chocolate from Vienna, a moose snow globe from Stockholm, a silica mud mask from the Blue Lagoon, a tiny stuffed comet that Rhaena crocheted for you. You reach back to touch your fingertips to the comet tattooed over your spine, tears biting in your eyes. If I had told him from the start, would that have made a difference? If I had met him first, would we have had a chance? You are gathering up your makeup when you hear a knock on the doorframe.

Cregan lurks there. When he speaks, he sounds startled; he sounds afraid. “You can’t leave.”

“I’ve literally never had a conversation with you, so thanks for the input but I’m still going.”

“No,” he says, persistent. “You can’t leave.”

“Aemond doesn’t want me here.” Your voice is fragile, shattering. “I can’t help him anymore.”

“It’s not just about Aemond. It’s about everyone. They’re all fucked up. They all need you.”

You stare at Cregan, not understanding. “I really don’t think I’m equipped for this.”

He fixes his cool greyish eyes on you. He is harsh but somehow not unkind. “You would never be able to comprehend where I came from. I’m not going back to that. The band has given me everything. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from me. You have to stay. You have to fix Comet. You can’t leave.”

He watches you, and you watch him, and you aren’t sure who has the upper hand here, who is the predator and who is the prey. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe everyone is a patchwork of strengths and deficits, fields of gold strewn with landmines.

At last, you relent. And Cregan doesn’t vanish until you’ve begun taking your souvenirs out of your suitcase and placing each of them—carefully, reverently—back on your nightstand where they were before.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aegon x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aemond x reader

[icallhimjoey]

Picture this: y/n comes home very drunk from a night out with her girlfriends and is trying to jump his bones the whole time while Joe is taking off her make up, giving her water, and changing her into comfy pajamas 🥰

just in time for halloween, i themed this request for all of my spooky babes (a little, it's whatever) enjoy! Wordcount: 2K

----

Soft Hands

“Fuck. So, none of them fit?” you said, speech slurred slightly, giving your set of keys another double take. You tried to focus your eyes extra hard on them properly, again. Then you gave it another go, holding a key you knew wasn’t meant for this lock, but, maybe it was, you know? Couldn’t hurt to at least give it a little try.

Joe was laid out on the sofa, TV displaying a random Halloween film that was on with its volume turned low, his attention mostly on the phone in his hands.

He’d heard you from the moment the taxi doors had opened, filling your quiet street with loud girly screeches that shouted drunken heartfelt goodbyes and laughed when you had tried to slam the door shut, but missed the door entirely with your hands. You’d already committed your body weight into it and practically launched yourself onto the pavement. One of your friends had to then also climb out to make sure you were okay and had to drag you away from the car by your arms, so they’d be able to drive off without catching any of your limbs under the tires.

You were all giggles and swirly vision, which was ultimately why you’d tried to open your front door with the wrong keys.

After finally locating the right key, missing the lock with it about six times, suddenly, it fit, and you stumbled into your flat.

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself as he’d listened to you muttering swearwords under your breath outside on the doormat, eyes still glued to his phone.

He hadn’t gotten up to help but had instead been curious how long it was going to take you, gaging how drunk you were before he’d even laid eyes on you.

“Hands up, it’s the– it’s the police,” you spoke into your flat after slamming the door shut behind you and you heard Joe snicker from the sofa.

“Eddie, you’re a wanted fu– fugitive, give yourself–” you hiccuped as you slowly took careful steps into the living room, trying your very best to remain steadily on your feet.

“Give yourself up to the law,” it was difficult to remain stood up with your arms unable to help you balance yourself as you held out a plastic toy gun that scanned the room before it landed with its barrel pointed at Joe.

“Hopper...” Joe said from his spot on the sofa in an American accent as if he was stood face to face with his arch enemy.

Then he paused for just a second before laughing loudly and exclaiming, “Your full bum is out!”

It took you a second too long to pan your eyes down, noticing how your skirt had fully run up over your cheeks, exposing your underwear through your sheer tights.

You huffed a laugh at the look of it.

“Oh,” was all you could say before sloppily trying to straighten your outfit, but it was to no avail. You wanted to get out of it, anyway.

“Did you have fun?” Joe put his phone down and grinned at your messy hair, the aviator sunglasses all tangled up on top of your head, and Joe thought back to how just hours earlier you’d been faffing at it for ages with your straightener.

It had been a while since Joe’d seen you like this, a full mess of a girl.

You’d been stupidly excited for Halloween this year, but your boyfriend hadn’t been. For obvious reasons. Not in the mood to pose for a million photos with people dressed like Eddie Munson, he’d decided to just stay in for the night and maybe hand over some sweets if kids were to ring your doorbell.

You’d been all pouty and sulky about it – “Come on, dress up as Eddie yourself, no one will assume it’s actually you! – and even tried convincing him to come along by dressing up as a stupidly slutty sheriff, overdoing it completely.

Like you were meant to, on Halloween.

When your friends had picked you up earlier that evening, you'd pointed at your boyfriend and confidently said, "Don't wait up," before immediately regretting it, laughing, and saying, "No please wait up, I'm going to get so drunk.”

You'd been right.

When you’d stopped sending Joe pictures of you with random people dressed as Stranger Things characters and instead, had started trying to Facetime him, he knew it was only because you were too far gone to text coherently.

 “I got hit on tonight,” you replied to Joe’s question giddily, almost erratic, like you’d revealed a very exciting secret and stalked your way towards him.

“Did you?” Joe chuckled, still in the same relaxed position on the sofa, legs outstretched along the seats, moving them apart slightly as you got closer, bracing for impact.  

“I did,” you smiled until your eyes went squinty, so pleased with yourself for it.

“Everyone loved sexy Jim Hopper,” you let yourself fall onto Joe.

“Sexy Jim Hopper got a lot of free drinks tonight,” you sighed heavily, the alcohol thick on your breath, and you pressed your face into Joe’s chest. You could just go to sleep right there.

“Mmh, well,” Joe mused as he gave you a squeeze. “Sexy Jim Hopper smells like it too, come on,” Joe patted you on the bum, urging you to get up off of him as he tried to sit up himself.

You didn’t do anything to help him, eyes already closed, making Joe grunt loudly as he fought against the bodyweight of the two of you. He continued to push you back up onto your feet before guiding you to the bathroom by your shoulders.

Joe ended up having to curl his arm around you to open the bathroom door, because when you reached it, you just stood in front of it and held your toy gun in your hands, pressed up to the side of your face.

When the door swung open, you stretched your arms out and as you did, the toy slipped from your hands and loudly clanged as it landed in the tub.

“Jesus Chr– how many times have you done that tonight?” Joe ducked down and flinched in reaction to the sudden loud noises. You just gave him a dumb smile, remembering the amount of times you’d scurried across the length of the several bars and pubs you’d visited to retrieve your prop.

“Guns can be a weapon in more ways than the obvious one,” you tapped a finger to your temple as if you were feeding Joe a crumb of great wisdom. If you’d said it any slower, you’d have been talking backwards.

Joe pulled down the lid to the toilet seat and made you sit on it. He then reached for your toothbrush, dotted on a bit of toothpaste, and turned back to see you slumped back, head hanging totally unsupported, and your eyes closed.

“Baby, come on,” Joe said, not getting a reaction out of you. He looked at you a second, reached a hand over, hesitated for a moment, and then went for it anyway.

Hunching over you, he grabbed your cheeks in his hand and squeezed his fingers together until your mouth opened. He was ready to brush your teeth for you like you were a toddler. You whined loudly, frowned deeply, and smacked his hand away before he could, though.

It resulted in your toothbrush falling from Joe’s hand and landing face down onto the tiles.

“What are you–” Joe started, then sighed, frustration building.

“Bed,” you moaned, reaching out to use Joe for leverage as you wanted to get back up on your feet.

“No, no. I remember you specifically telling me that I wasn’t allowed to let you fall asleep in your make-up,” Joe pushed you back down before reaching for your toothbrush and tossing it into the sink.

As his face moved closely in front of you, you suddenly grabbed hold of it with both hands, your grip entirely too strong for it to be cute or endearing. You squished his cheeks together, leaving his mouth a funny shape that you pressed a few rough pecks onto.

“Look at this man,” you said, and let your frown grow deeper as your grip became stronger.

You wanted to crush him like you’d want to squeeze cute kittens, entirely unable to handle the overwhelming feeling of adoration you felt.

“So handsome.”

Joe wrapped your hands into his own softly and then slowly pried them off him before pressing a kiss onto your lips. Drunk you had a weird way of showing affection, but Joe was kind of into it and he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged on his cheeks.

“I’ve been saying it all night,” you said, head now falling back against the wall behind you as you watched Joe reach for your make-up wipes.

“No thanks, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Thanks for the drink, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Shame my boyfriend’s not here, he’s very handsome.”

“Eyes closed,” Joe said, now holding a still folded wipe in his palm and when you closed your eyes, he swiped it across your cheeks with an incredibly careful touch.

“No,” you corrected him and pressed his hand harshly into your face. “More pressure, soft hands,” Joe huffed a laugh at the given nickname. 

Joe obliged, but when it came to your eyes, he didn’t want to hurt you. With soft downstrokes over your lashes, Joe wasn’t getting rid of any mascara or any eyeliner.

"Your hands, they're too soft!" you whined in annoyance before taking over, rubbing harshly at your eyes over the wet fabric.

“Careful!” Joe directed. “We’re removing the make-up, not your actual eyes,” and you giggled until it made you go floppy.

It took entirely too long, and way too much effort to eventually untangle the sunglasses from your hair, get you out of your outfit and miraculously to also brush your teeth.

When Joe finally announced that he was going to take you to bed, you’d wiggled two tired eyebrows at him suggestively.

“Oh yea? What’s my handsome boyfriend going to do to me?” you tried your best to be seductive, failing miserably in your drunken haze, barely able to carry yourself into your bedroom.

“Your tired boyfriend is going to make sure you don’t get any sick on the sheets or choke on your vomit,” he said, pushing you into your bedroom by the shoulders like he’d gotten you over into the bathroom earlier too.

“No, you’re so boring, I didn’t dress like that all night for you to just go to sleep,” you said, hands reaching behind you to grab at his crotch. Joe only narrowly managed to avoid them.

The second you saw the bed, though, you were gone. Plummeting into the pillows, you didn’t even bother getting under the covers properly.

So, Joe helped, slinging your legs into the bed, pulling the covers over you, placing a bucket down next to you alongside a tall glass of water on your bedside table with a painkiller carefully placed next to it for when you’d wake up the next morning.

When he got into bed next to you, Joe was surprised when you moved over closer to him as he got comfortable.

“Come here,” you said with your eyes closed, and Joe wasn’t sure if you were still awake, or talking in your sleep.

“Get it up here near my face, I’ll suck you off,” and Joe paused to look at you, a laugh stuck in his throat, ready to slip out at a moment’s notice, but then he swallowed it when he saw that you’d truly fallen asleep now.

“Sleep tight,” Joe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, wrapping an arm around your waist, fingers curling 'round the side of it and nuzzling into you before letting himself drift off to sleep as well.

-----

(yea i added that pic after the portland '24 con bc of what he said, sue me)

-----

The Taglisted: @ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @nobody-000 @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @thefemininemystiquee @dirtyeddietini - add yourself  

#requested #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fluff #joseph quinn fluff #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #soft hands

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none, but almost main character death lol

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

I

Tom stayed away for a few days. He stalked around some other rare book stores but found none of what Caractacus Burke was searching for. Still, it gave ample enough time for her to forget about him. He needed to be out of her mind before he carried out his plan.

He sat at a café outside her store one evening, waiting to see her go home again. Not able to stand another cup of coffee, hot and bitter, he decided to try something he’d seen so many other locals eating. It was called ‘gelato’. A frozen treat, it looked like clotted cream and was eaten with a little spoon. Tom regretted ordering it the moment it arrived, but with each bite, he became a little fonder of it. It was cold and vaguely sweet with a drizzling of cherry jam on top. He reached the bottom of the cup before he even realised, and licked the spoon clean afterwards.

She stepped out later this time, at around six o’clock. Tom got up not long after but he didn’t follow her. His gaze trailed after her from behind a pair of aviator shades — her white shirt fluttering with each step, hair soft upon her shoulders — and let himself enjoy the view until she disappeared beyond the curve of a building that bent like a wave. Then he turned the other way, the way she came from.

The lamp lights were just coming on, bathing the marble a sulphuric yellow. He took his sunglasses off and tucked them in his shirt as he slid through the narrow street the shop was on. There was nobody around, but he could hear the echoes of other people through the walls of the nearby buildings. The area was a mix of domestic and commercial, small old flats and little shops which made it quite unpredictable. It was a very intimate setting, and dangerous for that very reason — few escape routes should anyone appear.

He peered through the glass first at the organised chaos inside, the clutter and piles of precious old things that lifetimes would not suffice to explore. Between them, Tom saw his reflection staring back. He aimed his wand at each lock and muttered an Alohomora. The spell let him in like butter.

The shop was just faintly lit from beyond the large display windows, rendering every book and smooth wood surface into a little sunburst. The air was light with dust, and dry, and cold in the way libraries often were. The pillars that held the ceiling high were cinder-black, and carved so finely that the wood seemed lace and pillow soft. A sweet scent lingered in the cavernous construction. It really was a marvellous atmosphere… Tom wouldn’t have minded staying if circumstances were different. His grandfather’s ring trilled around his finger.

Regardless of how old the building was, the interior was certainly built to order. It had a hint of the Victorian with a Renaissance flair. Tom had been in enough rich people’s houses to tell. It amused him how much they were all alike in taste, as if they were part of the same secret breed.

He stepped further in. The floorboards creaked and, looking down, a small amount of dust flew up. Curious. Perhaps it really didn’t get that many customers so often. The other shops he had visited this week all seemed to have at least another two clients while he was there… Strange, as this shop was bursting with books, and in an accessible location too. Tom could only guess that either they were prohibitively selective with their clientele, or the place had a bad reputation.

He found her ledgers tucked underneath the desk. They were split into three themes: Letteratura, Religione, and Esoterismo. He opened the latter.

It was detailed, thick, and finely indexed with the most minuscule writing. Instead of listing their catalogue, it listed all the authors they seemed to have an interest in, whether or not they held any of their books. Prices were next to certain volumes, along with purchasing dates. Others were annotated with the shop or collector that held them. From Agrippa to Cheiro to Crowley, from Novalis to Paracelsus, Roerich, and Sepharial, they had their eye on everyone. He turned toward the end, pale finger brushing through the T’s.

They had nothing by Tamisso, another author on his list, although they did have a copy of The Lost Word by Trevisan — a more recent edition than the 1870 one that Mr. Burke wanted, but still serviceable. But what he was really looking for was Torchia.

And he found him. A whole half-page was dedicated to him, even if the books were few and three-quarters of the space was empty. They must’ve expected to find more of his works in the future.

But as he was reading, the ring started feeling heavier, like its black stone wanted to pull loose. Oftentimes, the splinter of his soul that was trapped inside was a bit of a canary in a coal mine, more sensitive to changes in Tom’s surroundings than he was… He gazed suspiciously toward the ring and put the ledger down.

Tom looked up at the ceiling. It was tall and too dark to see, absorbing the most highly placed volumes like a black hole, like a void. Looking down, between the floorboards, the same infinite darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps the place was cursed. An unlikely idea given that it was a building belonging to muggles, but he’d seen stranger things. And after all, he still didn’t know who the owner was.

He looked at the catalogue again.

Torchia, A.

Key to Captive Thoughts, 1653 — four three copies

A Curious Explanation of Mysteries and Hieroglyphs, 1655 — one copy sold to H. Àristos, 1949

The Three Books of the Art, 1658 — one copy, private ownership → Luce

He scanned further down the line, and there it was: Delomelanicon.

It wasn’t written up like the others. It had no number, no mention of its year of publication, nor even where it was. All it had was a strange symbol next to it, like a plus sign with a downward arrow. Tom couldn’t guess what it meant.

But they had it, they must have. He closed the book with satisfaction and an overflow of greed, and carefully put it back in its place.

II

With the bookshop all to himself, Tom explored at his leisure. He stepped lightly, almost reverently, through its misty dusty rooms veiled by growing darkness. He cast Lumos when entering the second room, which had no windows to the outside world. A thick red carpet muffled his steps.

His first stop was at the section where she had searched for Helena Blavatsky, assuming the shelves followed the logic of the ledgers and were organised thematically as well as alphabetically. He pulled the ladder over and started to climb, holding the wand between the tips of his fingers.

Names spread before him, ancient and powerful. Some of them were only mentioned in the most proscribed of texts, others he hadn’t even heard of. It was one thing to see them listed so economically, and another to see their naked spines, crack them open, part them, and touch their wavy pages.

He had to pause once he came across a 17th-century copy of the Cyranides. How many men died for merely reading this book… What horror, what beauty. He turned to the page on the use of bezoars and smiled. The illustration braided around the page was of a watersnake, unmoving, done with an almost childish hand. It was from a more innocent time when such magical knowledge was a thing of fear and wonder, exclusive and yet renown, whispered about, admired. Not hidden away.

Holding the wand between his teeth, Tom pulled the ladder and himself a bit further to the right. Its wheels were loud enough to make him wince.

He found a wealth of books in this place that made him feel things he had not felt in a while: greed, desire, admiration… He hadn’t seen so many wonderful tomes since Hogwarts. For long moments in large swaths, he forgot his mission. Eagerly, his hands picked up any volumes he could reach without the ladder tipping over, and he sipped in eager drops the ancient wisdom, a few pages at a time, admiring the crude but honest illustrations before, with a heavy heart, putting them back on the shelf.

Finally, he reached Torchia. A few of his works were there, the same ones mentioned in the ledger, but not the Delomelanicon. Tom brushed his finger on the shelf, and it came up with a fluff of dust. Hadn’t been touched for a long time…

It occurred to him as he climbed down the ladder that they could have had hidden compartments, as such bookstores sometimes did. Borgin and Burkes did too, although theirs was hidden by magic. Muggles would have had some contraption hidden behind a painting or shelf. He cast another glance around him before moving forward again, step by heavy step. Between those dormant shelves, he saw another surreptitious doorway toward another room.

III

The place grew labyrinthian. Tom felt as though he was disturbing a tomb, and without even needing to his steps grew gentler. The ring around his finger ached again, but he ignored it.

He was exploring a glass case with a pyramid of skulls in the corner of a room three doorways from the entrance, further in the building and blissfully chill on the exposed skin of his arms and neck, when suddenly he noticed something about the creaking of the floorboards: he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Tom looked down, his shoes soft on the carpet, and shifted his weight. No sound, but there was a bit of a tilt beneath him as the wood moved. He moved to the side and toed the carpet away. At first glance, he noticed nothing strange, but when he cast Revelio, a piece of metal shone and the edges of a trapdoor revealed themselves before him.

“I’ve got you now,” he grinned.

He stepped away, grabbed the edges of the carpet, and folded it further back. It was a trapdoor alright, large enough for two people to fit through. The area was clean, as if it saw regular use. Could it be a secret way into and out of the shop? Well, he’d seen her always use the front door, so it was most likely a storage area.

He dug into his trouser pocket for something, anything that he could use, and found the Swiss army knife he’d gotten from Clement. The thought occurred to him that it was a misuse of a gift to rob a bookshop with it, but that thought died quickly in Tom’s heated mind. He had a job to do.

He slid its blade between the folds of wood and pressed the handle down. Marvolo’s ring squeezed and pulled at his finger, and Tom cursed at it to be quiet. The trapdoor undulated at the strain as he moved the blade around, but the thing was as good as nailed down on all sides.

“Come on, you piece of muggle trash, open,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

He pushed, edging the wood upwards, and the bit of leverage made it flap as far as its hinges would allow. Holding the wand between his teeth for light, he moved it slightly, checking in every direction for a keyhole. The only thing he found was a burn mark that shone in the faint light, small and round and crested. It was probably a hidden button or a kind of keyhole, the kind of which he’d seen before in a couple of places both at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Tom grinned, moved the blade there, and pressed harder right beneath it.

“Aaaah!” he groaned, nearly dropping the wand from his teeth.

The ring was shooting pain all the way up his arm now, and his muscles strained. He clenched his teeth and pressed the blade in further, deeper, but the longer he tried to get it open, the more useless the attempt seemed, and he was overcome with a feeling of wrongness — as if he actually cared that he was trespassing.

He got up, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his brow. The feeling of guilt that had been bubbling in his stomach crested and crawled up his bones until he felt the sickness in his throat. He was overcome with the desire to leave and put this place behind him. A traitorous thought…

No, he wasn’t feeling sick. That nasty little door was enchanted. There was probably a curse on it, not too dissimilar to those placed on Egyptian tombs, meant to ward prospective thieves away. The emotions that swirled in his breast, the guilt, the shame, none of it came from him. It was something he was forced to feel by whatever enchantment guarded the place. What an insidious little spell… He frowned and pointed his wand down at the trapdoor again.

“Finite incantatem.”

Nothing happened.

“Finite incantatem!” he said again, more clearly and imperious.

The trapdoor mocked him with its silence. Tom looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.

“Of all the damned… Revelio,” he cast again, but nothing new appeared. “Alohomora!”

And that was when it struck him.

The spell worked, but just for an instant before it was undone and something fired back at him. A shard of death crawled up his spine and pooled inside his heart, pushing him backwards into the sharp edge of a table. The lamps on it rattled from the impact.

He felt dizzy for a moment, his body numb and cold, then nauseous when his senses came back to him at once. Pain billowed at his lower back so hard it filled his throat with bile. He clung to the edge of the table and kept himself just barely standing, managing the breath to groan.

“By Salazar’s f-fucking… Ow!”

Among all the sudden pain, he noticed that his arm was numb. The ring had stopped hurting him. It got its point across… The door was cursed, and so severely that, if not for his Horcrux, he surely would have died.

Tom clenched his teeth and hissed at the bothersome little entrance, cursing it in parseltongue. He kicked the carpet back over it and rubbed his aching hip where he already felt a bruise forming. There was nothing else he could do there, at least not tonight. He’d have to go back to his hotel, hopefully not limping all the way, and plan his next steps.

“I’ll get you yet,” he muttered with a parting glare. “And whatever mongrel of a mage made you.”

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

[princesscolumbia]

Double Isekai - Chapter 7

I like this 'writing well in advance of public posting,' I should do more of it.

Summary:

Ranma & Nodoka start working on serious plans for the future

Preview below the cut:

"Oh, no way!" purred Nodoka in a deeper timbre than usual.

Ranma recognized that exclamation, it was often her 'default' in their previous life when they saw something that was both shockingly unbelievable and yet extremely welcome and so deserved the appropriate pronouncement. "What...?" she looked up and saw her mother staring fixedly at one of the display towers featuring sunglasses. She roved her eyes up and down the display, unsure of what her mother spotted at first until her eyes landed on a particular pair in the style of... "Yer kidding?!" she blurted out.

Nodoka reach over Ranma and, using her significantly longer reach, grabbed the pair of mirrored aviator shades off the display and held them out reverently. She grinned wistfully at her doubled reflection in the shades, then the grin turned a little wicked and she looked down at her daughter, "You know, I am a redhead."

Ranma gave her a flat look, "Yeah, but y'aint Maori."

Her mother sniffed at her primly, "We work with what we have." So declaring she turned the shades and gingerly lined them up, sliding them onto her face and hooking them over her ears. She turned to a mirror mounted nearby to see how they looked and, with a minor adjustment, grinned hugely, "Oh, yes!"

Ranma scowled, "You look like a tool!"

"I look badass is what I look like!"

"You look like a soccer mom who's watched too much Top Gun."

Nodoka smirked and, in her best (which was honestly pretty lousy) working-class New Zealander accent, said, "You're just jealous that I," she combed her fingers back through her hair with both hands, pinning the longer tresses behind her head, making her hairdo strongly resemble the close-cropped cut of a butch lesbian and lifting her arms into a pose that was not too dissimilar to what might be seen in a muscle magazine's pin-up pages, "Make this look good."

Ranma just stared at her, deadpan, for several beats before pulling a lip back and sneering and, in her best posh, upper-class New Zealander accent, said, "You look ridiculous, Griddle! I'm not jealous in the slightest! You haven't even got the musculature needed to wear those glasses let alone swing a zweihänder!"

"You couldn't even lift it, it'd be taller'n you by a mile." Nodoka replied with a cocky grin, continuing the use of the horrible accent.

"I certainly could lift it, and I wouldn't even need a fraction of my power to do it. Now take those off before you make an embarrassment of the Ninth House!"

"But, my miniature night-maiden, you're already an embarrassment of the Ninth House!"

"Not as much as that pathetic excuse for a weapon you insist on carrying around. You are, by far, the worst cavalier I've ever taken into the field."

"I'm the only cavlier you've taken into the field."

They kept their gazes locked, Nodoka's eyes covered in mirrored lenses and mouth cocked in a sassy smile while Ranma's eyes were hooded and glaring, and her mouth pursed in a disapproving mou. A heartbeat more passed before they both broke down in giggles.

"What accent was that?!" Blurted Nodoka in her normal speaking voice, laughter making her words slightly musical.

"You try doing a proper Kiwi accent in Japanese!" Ranma cackled.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" they turned to see the receptionist at her desk, "Your daughter can be seen now."

Nodoka hugged Ranma and gave her a kiss on the head, "Remember, don't let your father's toxic nonsense that he dropped on you for ten years get to you."

Ranma nudged her mother with a shoulder, "I know, this isn't pass-fail, I can't 'win' at eye test." Her tone was a bit 'teenage whiny,' but her smile was warm.

(Start from the beginning on AO3)

#ranma 1/2 #ranma ½ #ranma #ranma x akane #ranma x shampoo #ranma x ukyo #nodoka saotome #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #isekai #web novel #au #alternate universe #tlt reference #tlt #the locked tomb #bad imitations #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #there be sexytimes here #rated t #for teen #but just barely #like #I wouldn't want my own daughter reading it #but wouldn't be surprised if she did and didn't blink an eye

[david-tennant-sunglasses-id]

I should really be grading what am I doing?! Zooming in on David Tennant's face, that's what!!! Since the last post was mostly glasses I love (or at least would totally wear) I decided to post a few I don't care for but are still objectively fashionable, which means it's an AVIATOR PARTY

First, Much Ado About Nothing:

I'm not going to figure out Tate's glasses here* because this is not a Catherine Tate Wearing Sunglasses blog (go make one and we can be weird friends). I've spent more time than is sane trying to determine whether David is, in fact, wearing Oliver Peoples BUT NOT JUST ANY, NO! I think these could be the same OPs that Brad Pitt wore in Fight Club. It makes sense! Playing Benedik as a freewheeling sorta lovable douche is what he definitely pulled off here and these glasses are exactly that vibe.

There's a chance I'm just connecting-strings.jpg and they're Valorosos though. This is where I admit that I go by known price range and brands that David tends to wear a litttttle bit when stuck between almost identical styles (the rest is magic) (obsession magic).

10th Doctor:

Again, Oliver Peoples...but these are different than the ones above, which is why I have a more positive ID. It's the shape of the top bar, mostly. I think I like the inner teardrop shape on his face, but 1. he has a great face anyway and 2. these ones still kinda dominate his features even if the side angles soften the effect. Definitely can pull off the eyebrow bar though.

I'm tired of spending hours IDing aviators...

...but they're pretty!

You, Me And Him screening:

These are definitely by Bottega Veneta, based on the mirroring and the gradient. You can still buy these new if you have a spare $500 in your sunnies budget! There are very similar shaped Michael Kors dupes out there in resale land for closer to $120, but the lenses are boooooring.

This is the best eyebrow bar ever. Really enhances how he has the perfect Muppet face, but in a good lookin way. David tends to wear glasses which are flat on the bottom to compliment his square chin thing (I am guessing) but rounded glasses with horizontal attributes just go SO HARD on those cheekbones, man. And oof but I'm a sucker for classy mirrors. The glasses just wear your face with em, but in a good way. Fashion.

Still wouldn't wear these even if David gifted them to me personally, but I'd stare at them longingly sometimes.

Enough about my face. He looked pretty great here, I'll add a gif for our viewing delight.

*fine, I think they're Coach. but I'm not checking.

#fashion icon david tennant #david tennant wearing sunglasses #sunglasses id #no more aviators for a while ugh #they are SO HARD to identify since the difference in shapes and bridges and end pieces are subtle af #its the end pieces that usually give it away of course the HARDEST PART TO SEE IN PHOTOS

[warwickroyals]

90s minimalism: slip dresses, little black dress, tube tops, all things suede and velvet, midi and mini skirts, “metallic” fabrics, slim pants, ballet flats, casual chic, sequin dresses, spaghetti straps, opaque black tights, neutral colours, animal print, plum/navy/chocolate

00s vintage revival: low-rise boot-cut jeans, paisley patterns, Mary-Janes, beads/rhinestones/seashells, aviator sunglasses, tunics and pea coats, capris, babydoll dresses, chunky sandals and flip-flops, floral shift dresses, wedges, jeans under skirts, “boho” maxi skirts and blouses

2010 hipster grunge: NEON, skinny jeans, leather jackets, crew neck stripped shirts, black leggings under EVERYTHING, chevrons and zigzags, booties, “chunky” metallic necklaces, crackle nail polish, lace dresses/blouses, Peter Pan collars, peplums

#warwick.text

[teribst]

A Weekend At The Lake part 2

A Weekend At the Lake 2

A story By Teri Best

Discovering each other

After parking the truck in the sailboarding parking lot Teri tossed her shorts and Mike's shirt in the little beach bag she had put together and left in the truck. She had on little other than her big floppy hat and aviator sunglasses with flat sandals. She looked at him as she slid forward on the truck seat stopping as she got behind the steering wheel. Looking at him she lifted her arms up above her head. He smiled as her top pulled up showing about half her nipples and all of the bottom part of her boobs. Teri had grown up in the Bronx of New York and liked to slip into her Bronx Puerto Rican accent when she was being bad. Mike guessed it was her way of being someone else “Dis Mista es a safety check. I'm ok more, more than ok in me’s tanga and me’s tink going out en dis half top will be fun but as yous can see me’s tits might fall out. I’s gots me’s an uder top in da bag if in yous wants me to change.”

Mike knew this was a test of sorts because he knew it was quite one thing being exposed around the camp where one or two people might see her but walking off onto the shoreline here was quite another. Thinking to himself that he didn’t want to push her too hard said “Why don’t you put the other top on and leave it unbuttoned or maybe just do a couple of the buttons at the bottom of the shirt.” There were people walking through the parking lot “I mean this is all pretty new to both of us and much as I like what we are doing, honey what I need most of all is for you to be comfortable. Teri, I love you and you're all I got in this whole fucking world.”

She smiled at him “I know,” She reached down into the bag on the floor of the truck and pulled out the blouse. “I Ken wear dis fo us.” 

She pulled the half top off and was setting topless in the truck “shit” Mike whispered looking at how hear her nipples were as she pulled on the blouse 

“And if you tie the front like this.” She slipped out of the door as she finished adjusting her top. “Then my tits are free to do this.” She shimmied at him laughing. She went up on her toes. “I would have worn the other top if you asked, but I do like this better.” She kissed him “Thank you.”

~

They spent some time watching the young men and women doing tricks on the kit boards then Mike was looking over at the marina. “You know it looks like a boat show or something over there, and we can pick up a snack if you would like to go look.”

“Sure that could be fun.”

Mike smiled as they picked up the large towel they had been sitting on and after shaking the sand out of it put it in the bag. He took the bag from her and as they started walking she took his hand. It was not that far to walk and they stopped along the way here and there looking at this and that as Mike snapped pictures. “How come you never show me your pictures?”

He had just taken a picture of one single flower in a planter with nothing else there but that flower then he’d snapped several of Teri. “You never seemed to be interested.” he knew that was a half-truth. “And like I said before getting you to pose was out of the question.” He stepped to her side “Stand just like that and bend your right knee some. Perfect, now put your right hand on your right knee and lean forward.” He had been moving around her taking pictures as he said “Look at me.” She did “Now with your left hand reach up to your top and pull it open…That’s it! Now hold it!” and he shot five or six pics. He took her hand and they started walking again “Crap those are going to be hot!” Teri found she liked the way it made her feel when saw him smile.

They hadn’t spoken until they were almost to the marina and it was her that spoke up with some excitement in her voice. “Look at all the different kinds of boats! I think it's an open house.” She kind of did a little dance letting her breasts move with a mind of their own.

 “I’m surprised to see you happy to do this.” He pointed around “I mean to want to look at these boats and things.”

She gave him a sideways look “I like car shows and stuff too.”

He frowned “It seems there is a lot about you I don’t know my lady.”

After he posed her she kinda knew what “Why Mista maybe yous shoulda axed.” he was looking for as she stopped in front of a 1949 19’ Chris Craft boat and she started posing for him.

“I guess maybe I shoulda.”

They spent the next couple of hours looking at this and that as she ate popping corn and he had a corn dog. They talked about boats and cars and even about airplanes with Mike being gobsmacked at how much she knew about things. She took his hand in hers looking up into his handsome face. “Think a girl like me could get a fella to kiss her Mista?”

He pulled her up into his arms lifting her off the ground as his lips met hers. Keeping up her goofy accent she smiled as he let her down “tanks Mista I was a needen dat.”

They were about halfway back to the truck and it was late enough in the day the crowd had thinned out a lot. They were kind of but not really behind a big flowering bush when she pulled him to a stop digging into the bag “Shhh Mista but you oughta get your camera out.” There was fire and mischief in her eyes as she pulled out the crop top. Watching his reaction she pulled her blouse off over her head and stood topless as she put it in the bag. 

She sat the bag down laughing as she turned a full 360 degrees stopping to pose as his camera clicked away. Then she pulled the crop top on. Still laughing she took his hand “Ded you get all dat Mista?”

Now he was laughing “I think I’m going to owe you a lot more than a fiver.”

~~

In the truck heading back to the camp, Teri asked “Have you ever hired models?”

“Not since I met you.”

“Have you ever sold any of your pictures?”

“Yes I have sold some but it was before us, I did weddings and parties and all that stuff.”

They were getting out of the truck and when he turned to let her she slid out of the seat into his arms looking up into his eyes. “I guess I didn’t think about any of it except I figured all you wanted to do was take dirty pictures of me.” Her hands went to his shoulder as her forearms rested on his chest “Now it’s me looking at you and saying how did I not know?” she ran her fingers over his cheek “I guess you were right we were boring as hell. Babe, you need to promise we won’t stop talking to each other.”

She was smiling as he pulled her to him hugging her tight “aaa” She groaned in pain whispering “Shit!” 

He stepped back “Did I hurt you?”

She started to laugh “No silly, but I am so sore from all that Kegel work. If I move wrong it hurts like a bitch down there.” She was still laughing “On the good side though, I can crack walnuts in my pussy!”

Now Mike was laughing too.

~~

Tuesday morning he had her coffee waiting for her when she came down. Always before she had come in and given him a peck on the cheek as a good morning kiss. This morning her cheeks were pink and she was smiling as she stepped up onto her tip toes and kissed him. “You know that cheeky little bitch you ran around with all weekend?”

He had to think for an instant and then smiled “Sure how could I forget that hot little number.”

“I was thinking she might pop in a little more from time to time.”

“Umm...Yes, I’d like that a lot.” He ran his hand across her butt in her tight-fitting suit pants “I have to drop off some stuff by you today. Want to have lunch?”

“Sure 11:30.”

“Cool!”

~ 

He had one picture of her that he had taken on the weekend that was as they say picture perfect. He had worked on it since 4:30 am and was going to have it made into an 8x10 and then put in a frame. It was one of the first ones he took of her in her thong and open buttoned blouse and Mike felt it was one of if not the best picture he had ever taken. He was going to give it to her when they met for lunch. He wrinkled up his lips to one side thinking “I don’t think it too risque for her office.”

~~

The company she worked for had a huge Deli kitchen and the food was not only good, it was cheap. He was 5 minutes late and when he walked in he saw Teri sitting at a table waiting for him. He also saw she was angry and saying something he could not hear to a man facing away from him,’ Larry Al Bright. 

Even though she feared Mike was going to hurt him, Teri's face showed nothing when she saw Mike walking toward them. As Mike's right hand went to the man's shoulder he leaned in placing the picture wrapped in plain brown paper on the table. “Teri, I can see your upset. Honey, is this man bothering you?”

“Mike I have told him three times I want him to stay away from me or I’m going to HR.”

“I see.” Mike's hands were like vices and as Al Bright started to stand up Mike roughly pushed him back down. Now his grip grew tighter on Al Bright's shoulder blade as he leaned down putting his lips near Al Bright's ear and he spoke very softly. “Larry, didn’t you get the text I sent you the other night?”

“Yes I did but you can’t, AAAA! Fuck man! You're hurting me!”

“Shhhh. I haven’t even started to hurt you yet. Did MY wife tell you I would cut your cock off and leave it in your hand if you didn’t leave her alone?

“Ye, YES! FUCK MAN YOUR KILLING ME.” He hissed.

“I meant it. You leave her alone or I’ll kill ya.” Using that collarbone as a handle Mike pulled him to his feet looking at a building guard. “OFFICER! OFFICER! Can I get you to help me?”

Seeing Mr. Al Bright in trouble the guard rushed over “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

“I came to have lunch with my wife and this man keeps touching her in her privates.”

Mike was squeezing Al Bright's shoulder so hard he was almost in tears.

The guard looked at Al Bright “Mr. Al Bright Is that true?”

Al Bight felt the hand grow tighter. “Yes, yes I grabbed her ass.”

Mike knew Al Bright's arm would be numb for at least an hour and as the guard called for help on his radio Mike whispered into his ear. “I will blow your fucking head off if you don’t stay away from my wife you fucking idiot. You find some other poor girl whose life you can fuck up.”

Teri had never seen Mike like that. He was calm, he was not loud, screaming or cussing,

He had simply done what needed to be done. He didn’t even seem angry. She looked at him thinking “I don’t think I have seen him mad or angry in our 5 years.” She smiled “He is a scary fuck though. I kinda find that hot!”

~ 

After Al Bright was gone and things calmed down she pointed to the package “Haya Mista, whatcha got en da paper sack?”

He laughed, “And there comes my little troublemaker.” He pointed to the deli line “Food first. I’m starving.”

Teri stood up coming around to his side of the table. She was smiling as she hooked her arm in his giggling, “Did I just hear that little hussy?”

~

Teri opened the package as they ate and when she saw the picture she stopped kind of stunned as she looked at the picture of her, but it wasn’t her. She looked at him then back to the picture “Is that how you see me?”

She looked up at him just as a tear ran down his cheek “So beautiful.” Teri stood up quickly moving around the table. She pulled him to his feet as her arms went around his neck “Seeing me through your eyes is much different than how I see me..” She looked at the photograph “Come on we are going to my office.” She took his hand pulling him along. Up 6 floors in the lift down a hall then she stopped at a door and knocked before stepping in. “Hi Teri.”

“Mr. Anderson, this is my husband Mike.”

“Sounds like you walked in at just the right time Mr. King.” He looked at Teri “Are you ok?”

“Yes sir.”

“Has Albright done this to you before?”

“Yes sir. I have been telling him no for weeks.”

“Mr king I got this now.” He looked at Teri “Did you need something else, Teri?”

She showed him the picture of her standing posed with her hand on her knee. “My husband is a photographer and he took this last weekend. Is it too over the top to put on a shelf in my office?”

“What a beautiful picture.” He looked at her “Wow he really captured you in this. Teri no it will be fine and thanks for asking first.” He smiled looking from her to Mike “That’s really a great shot.”

Mike smiled as Teri said, “Thank you, sir.” And she was pulling Mike out the door. He nodded to Mr. Anderson and they were down the hall 4 doors and going into her office. She took the picture over and put it on the 3rd shelf up so it was in plain sight but not directly in the eye. “Mista I no’s a girl what wants ta dos bad tings to yous.” She shook her head “Yous no safe wid hr Mista.”

~

She was home when he got there. She had the BBQ going and as he walked in the door she was plopping a couple of stakes down on the grill. She had on footless tights that were a sheer seamless black and totally see-through with her 3” wedge sandals. At her waist, the tights were rolled down way low so most of her pubic mound was on show and about half her ass crack. Her boobs were encased in a sheer black tube top that just did hold them in and she was smiling as she moved to him. She put her hands on his biceps, squeezing them as she leaned in kissing him softly on the lips. “Hi.”

“Mmm..that was nice, hi.”

She pointed to the coffee table. “Those three boxes were on the porch when I got home and they were all addressed to you.”

“That’s fun.” He wagged his eyebrows up and down as he smiled looking at the boxes. “Maybe after dinner, we can look at them.”

Now she smiled “Mmm… yes maybe we can!”

~~

He helped set the table then got her a glass of wine and himself a beer. They were in their own thoughts as they did things, then she put her hand on his arm “Thanks for today.”

“You are very welcome. I’m glad I got there when I did.”

“Mike, I have never seen that side of you. You're kinda scary.” she blushed, “It's kind of hot.”

His eyes burned into hers “Oh Teri honey! Please don’t ever be afraid of me! All I want is for you to be safe and happy.” he looked at his plate pushing it away “That’s a side of me I hoped you would never have to see.”

She stood up walking around the table then pushed it back away from Mike and moved to sit in his lap. “I think it was good for me to see and know that there is a beast in my man.” She kissed his forehead “And it’s another one of those things we are learning as we move through our new life together.” She kissed the tip of his nose “Babe I have no fear of you, none at all.” She stood up pulling his hand up with her. “And I am dying to open those boxes!”

~

In the living room, she sat on the couch in such a way he could look at her. She knew he had been about half hard since he came home and saw how she had dressed for him. She was really enjoying the attention. “You pick a little lady, the big box, the middlebox, or the small one?” He pushed the coffee table so it was turned sideways and sat on the floor next to it and in front of Teri.

She kind of bounced excitedly up and down in her seat “I think the middle one!”

Mike slit the tape with his pocket knife tossing the packing paper aside. Right on top were 4 packages of barefoot sandals that were jewelry for her feet.

 There was a sting loop that went around her middle toe with all kinds of stones that sparkled as it went up her foot and wrapped around her ankle. 

Teri squealed when she saw them “Hole shit I have always wanted some of these!” She quickly opened one pack and put one of the sandals on her right foot then opened another putting one from that pack on her left foot “Fuck these are so cool! Mike, I love these!” She was again bouncing up and down just a little as she put her hand in her lap trying to calm herself and it made him smile.

The next box had 4 different style nipple rings that went on and then were squeezed slightly to clamp them to the nipple. She held them in her hand looking at them for a moment before she pulled her top down and put on a pair. She got up and went to the hall mirror looking at them, “I like them.” She said as she was walking back. “Mike, would you like it if I got my nipples pierced? Um.. maybe my belly button and clit too?”

“Yes. I think that’s sexy as hell.”

“I have thought about it for a long time but didn’t know what you would think.” She smiled wagging her forefinger “Communication right.”

Next were some toe rings and then there were 3 long boxes and two more mid-sized boxes. He opened one long one that had a long bar in it with clips on the ends. The next box was the same. She looked at him confused until he opened one of the smaller boxes that held lined leather cuffs in it. “For your ankles, they hook to this” He pulled it open “And this keeps you open to whatever I want to do.” He set the other box out “Cuffs for your wrists and this bar can be hooked to the other one or just used to hold your hands away.”

“Well see about those things.” she smiled.

The last box contained a magic wand vibrator with a cord about 8 feet long. He smiled “For his or her pleasure and for simple bedroom play it had the best rating of any of them I looked at.”

“Do you think we need that in our bed?” She asked

“I don’t think we need it but I think it’s something we might enjoy.” He shrugged, “We’ll see.” He pointed to the other boxes “Big or little?”

“Little.”

He smiled knowing what was in it. Once open he held out a pink football-shaped thing that was a little bigger than an extra large egg with an 8” pink tail. 

“This is what I wanted to see.” He said, “It’s a remote control vibrator and it is designed for vaginal and anal pleasure.” He handed it to Teri.

Turning it over in her hand she said, “Oh, honey, it's quite soft. I don’t know why I thought it would be hard plastic.” She smiled at him “So if I have this in me and we are at the campgrounds or a car show or maybe the H. E. B. You can just buzz me whenever?”

Mike was grinning “Yes but there is more to it than that. The remote works through our cell phones. So if you have it in and are at work I can turn it on and buzz your ass from my work. I could be in Austin and you in Round Rock and get you off.”

“Shit.” She pointed frowning as she set it down and for some reason a little shyly said, “Ok Mr. The big box.”

The big box had several toys for working her Kegel as well as some butt plugs including one that was a fox tail. 

She held it up looking questioningly at him “And what do you want me to do with this?”

Mike held up 2 more of the steel bullet-shaped things “These and that are butt plugs. You put them in and wear them around. It keeps you stimulated. And the one with the tail is worn with a short skirt so that it hangs out from the bottom of it. A person in the know would see it and know you're in public and plugged in. A lot of the time you will see ladies at the Renaissance fair wearing them.”

She laid the fox tail in her lap and picked up one of the other plugs. “We have never talked about anal.” She looked at him, “I never have.”

“I know.” he smiled “It can be very nice when done right but when done wrong it can hurt like a bitch.”

Her eyebrows went up “So you have done it?”

“Yes.”

“Hrumph.”

“Another life and you know I had one before there was an us.” He shook his head “Let me show you this.” He pulled out a big box “This is called a sybian and it is made to be…”

Teri held up her hand “That I know about. My friend Elain has one and the things she has told me about it would make your hair fall out.” She smiled “It also has a long cord for the controls so you can run it while I take it for a ride.” 

~~

It was late by the time they had washed all of the new toys and put them away. They had talked about the whole butt plug thing as well as her getting her nipples done and both Mike and Teri were quite happy as the light went out.

They had laid in the dark holding hands for a few minutes and she thought he was almost  asleep when he said “Tell me about this strange girl that keeps showing up.”

Teri turned onto her side facing Mike “That’s Cindy Robin. She has been my constant companion since I was 10.”

Now he rolled to face her. “10?”

 Teri’s voice got very soft “yes.” She was whispering “I have never let her out around anybody before the other day.” Teri held his hand a little tighter “she is a bad girl, a very bad girl.”

“How did you meet her when you were 10?”

“She showed up the first time I did the nasty thing momma told me to never do between my legs and I touched myself. Cindy Robin talked me into it.” Mike understood that if Teri could pretend to be this other woman it would free her up from her very religious upbringing “I’m not crazy. I know that she is just an alter ego and isn’t real, but she is a part of me and well I like her.”

“So do I.”

Teri smiled into the dark “So you don’t care when she is around?”

“Not at all… I have to confess I kind of think she is hot!”

“That is probably a good thing because Cindy Robin will be more likely to let you do some of the things to her that we talked about doing tonight than I will be.”

He moved closer to her understanding things a little better “So when we went camping it was Cindy Robin washing the truck windows and who I bent over the picnic table.”

“Yes.”

“Was it her with the Kegel balls?”

“Yes.”

It was you that changed from that cropped top to the blouse and then it was her that put the crop top back on. Do I have that right?”

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“She is always listening.”

It was quiet then and he was almost dozing off when very softly he heard “mista wes boff lovs yous.”

He was smiling when he slept.

~~

A couple of weeks went by. Teri had her nipples, belly button and clit pierced but other than that things went back to normal.

Then one afternoon he called her “Pick up some chinese or burgers or sumpin cuz I got things to show you tonight.”

“If it’s the thing in your pants I saw it all ready, but hey if that’s what it takes to not have to cook well alrighty then.”

He laughed, “See you soon.” 

He was home first with a big new monitor for his computer. It took some doing but he had it all hooked up by the time she walked in with sacks of chinese food. She chuckled “Is that what I get to see?”

He grinned “Hey you're not cookin.” He had plates on the coffee table and moved to help her with the bags.

She laughed softly as they set things out, “Point made sir.” She kissed him softly as she pushed her pants off letting them fall to the floor. Now in just her top, skimpy panties and her 3 inch wedges she helped finish by getting them both a coke.

“So I have never let anyone see these. I don’t know how to explain this to you. They seem to be my heart or part of me. I know that's crazy but my pictures are very personal to me. I know how bad this is because it’s you and it’s us and I love you with all my heart, but I didn’t want to share it.”

She frowned “Even with me?”

He shrugged, “Not with anybody.” He looked at her, seeing hurt in her eyes. “I’m sorry it’s selfish I know and I didn’t think about it till we talked the other day about you not seeing them.” He looked a little sad. “Now this is me opening up to you, it’s about me sharing all of me with you.” He shook his head like it hurt as he went on “It took me a few days to put this together and I hope you like it.

She said nothing as he turned the lights down low so they were eating in almost romantic dim lighting as he pushed a button.

A sign came up year 1

Teri watched as she came onto the screen and was at once taken by the way he captured her image. There was image after image of her and the house and everything you could think of, but mostly her.

Year 2, 3, 4 were more of her and just stuff but again it was mostly candid shots of her and beautifully taken.

Year 5 A new beginning

It was the camping pictures! “Oh!” There she was putting the ball in her. There were a couple of hundred pictures of her, the camp and the things they did with the boat show that day. The nudes were well done and she liked them a lot but it was the quick posed ones at the boat show and the candid photos he had taken of her that she really loved.”

~

He had sat quietly eating, watching her smile at some things and shake her no, then laughing at others. But every once in a while she would go, “Oh my or tum-hum’ and that’s what made him happy. He started to get up and pick their empty plates and bowls. He stopped watching as Teri stood and pulled her blouse off over her head dropping it to the floor. She smiled watching him look at her as she reached back undid her bra letting it fall to the floor as well, his eyes eating her tits up as her nipples grew stiff. “Can you start the camping ones over?”

“Sure.” Mike smiled

Mike didn’t say anything as Teri moved around the kitchen naked except for her panties and 3’ wedges. He could see she was watching the slide show and she would stop looking at something as she fidgeted around doing things until finally she sat down looking at him

 “When I look at the woman in the mirror she is not the woman in your pictures. I have no idea who that is, but she is not even close to the woman in my reflection, the woman that’s looking back at me.” she shook her head “The woman in the pictures is young and beautiful and you can see she is full of mischief and fire.”

“Teri, I think you're right.” She frowned as she looked at Mike “I think the woman in the pictures is Cindy Robin.” He watched as it registered on Teri’s face “and I think when you let Cindy Robin out she is the real you.”

~~

Since the camping trip the dynamics of their love making had changed and for Teri it had changed for the better. Mike had always been a good lover and she had always enjoyed sex with him very much. But suddenly he seemed more in tuned to her, her movements, how he touched her, listening to the sounds she made and following the good sounds and stopping if the sound was off a little. Oh he could still be rough and tumble simply fucking her when that was what she wanted, but she really like this guy in her bed.

That night their love making had been slow and tender with her reaching her zenith 3 times before he came. And after he held her in his arms as they talked about new plants she wanted to put out in the yard.

 He kissed and nipped at her neck holding her playing with her breasts and nipples until he was hard again and this time with her laying on her side he slipped into her from behind. It wasn’t a pounding hard fuck but unlike the first time he was in her hard making her moan with each stroke. His arm went over her hip his fingers finding her clitoris making little circles around it, “OH fuck babe” She whispered as her back arched “OH FUCK!” She came again pushing back into him as his finger really went wild on her button. “Cums inn mes Mista! God pease!” She was cumming again “Cum Mista!”

His hand left her pussy going to her hip and he moaned as his seed raced out of the tip of his cock and for the second time that night was splashing deep into her belly! “MISTA! I feels it OH MISTA!” She came again.

He held her in his arms until he grew soft, slipping out. It was only a few minutes later he heard her breathing change and knew she was asleep. “I love you Cindy Robin,” he whispered.”

~

Watching TV, Teri's phone buzzed. She picked it up and started laughing as she read the message. “It’s Elaine, I told you about my friend from work Elain the other day. Remember?”

“Sure she has a sybian, that we have not tried out yet by the way” He smiled “I always wonder how things come up between women. I have never once asked one of my buddies what they jack off with.” He chuckled as she looked at him like he had 3 heads.

“Are you through?” She laughed as he smiled saying, “Well the Renaissance fair is coming in 2 weeks and she wants to go. She is single and she invited us to go so she doesn’t have to go alone.” Teri looked at him smiling as she held up her phone and read “And tell your Mike I’ll wear my tail if you wear yours.”

Now Mike laughed out loud “See never once in a conservation has, you know I have a butt plug with a tail on it do you? It has never come up. But in answer to your question, sure we can go, if you wear your tail.”

Teri talked as she typed “My Mike said he would love to go. We can talk… Come to dinner tomorrow night. Then we can talk more.”

Elaine: “Ok what time.” Teri read aloud then asked “Honey do you want to BBQ?”

He made a face. “Sure.”

“Come as early as you want Mikes going to BBQ some stakes for us.”

Elain “K. I’ll call first.”

Mike gave her a sideways look “Have I met this woman?”

“2 years ago at the company picnic, and you being a man you could not take your eyes off her.”

He instantly knew who she was talking about but played dumb “huh, I don’t remember that.” he put his hand on her thigh “But if you're wanting to wear that tail all day, we need to work on getting your bottom accustomed to having something in it.”

Should we do it tonight?”

“No, it's going to take some time and you're going to need to wear it around for a while. We can do it first thing in the morning.”

~

When Teri woke up Mike was puttering around the room, naked and very hard. There was hot coffee by the bed, he had a couple of old towels and other things to get her ready. “Hi.” She whispered.

“Hi.” he grinned “Go pee and have your coffee then we will get going.”

She kissed him on the way to pee then came back sitting on the side of the bed as she took a sip of coffee. “I’s a soakin mista!” He could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Do you want to finish your coffee?” 

“Nos sr.”

“Come around here and get up on the edge of the bed on your knees. I’m going to give you an enema to clean you out. It can get packed in and that takes a lot of the fun out of it later.” He put the single use pre-lubed enema bottles nozzle at her opening “Ok Cindy just relax.” Teri smiled that he had called her Cindy and did as she was told. “Ok, here we go.”

She was surprised at how easily it went in. “You're going to feel full but just hold it in until I tell you to let go.” She felt the warm water going in until she thought she would explode. “We won’t have to do this after the first couple of times, once your body gets used to what we are going to do to it.”

“Ohhhh.” She moaned as her tummy filled, finding she was really wet and not from the enema.

He pulled the nozzle out “Ok stay there with your head down for as long as you can and then hurry to the potty.”

Three or four minutes later “Oh god!” And she rushed to the bathroom. When she came out she was kind of blinking with a what the fuck was that look.

“Are you ok to go on?”

“Ys I is.”

“Cindy What's your safe word?”

“ets Pank.”

“Ok then get back up on your knees.” Over the next hour Mike did things to her she didn’t know could be done. He fingered her back hole with his fingers slowly working them in and out and at the same time using his other hand he played with her pussy fingering it, rolling her clit in his fingers while pulling on it. One finger then two and she came. Her back hunched up as she gasped for air “Aaaa!” 

He stopped “Relax.” Now it was one finger again, then it was two. He worked slowly whispering to her what he was doing as he gently opened her bottom. She came again only this time it was just a little harder “OHHAaaa!”

Again he stopped. “Relax babe.” and after a moment he started all over again until he felt she could take it. “Ok there is going to be more pressure as I put the plug in you. Ready?”

“Y’s.”

He had held the plug in his hand for sometime so it was warm and well lubed as was her ass hole, being warm made it seem less of an invasion. He placed it at her opening and as he began to push he began to finger her pussy letting the heel of his hand work over her button. In and out going deeper with each in. With the next push it was going to pop in so he pulled on her clit “AAaaaa!” She came again as the plug slipped past her tight back ring sliding into place. OHH OHHH GOD!” She whimpered “OH!”

Mike stepped back “Cindy are you ok?”

There was laugh form down in her chest “Ys I is but me tinks me es rooned.”

“Just relax, it will be better.”

~

Mike had wiped all of the excess lube off her bottom, cleaning her and everything else up. “Whenever you're ready you can get up but know its going to move around in your bottom some and it will feel kinda funny at first.” He put his camera to the side hoping the 50 or so snaps he had taken came out.

It was a few minutes before Teri moved to back off the bed. He watched her face as she became accustomed to the weight and movement of the plug in her bottom. “How long can I wear it?”

“You know until you get used to it, we can take it out whenever, but after you have worn it a few times you could leave it in all day if you wanted to.”

She gave him a stern look “How is it you know so much about this? Another woman in another time.” 

She started to say something more and he held up his hand stopping her. “Teri, you're right, that was another life and a very different Mike. You be damn sure you really want to know about that guy before you open up that box.”

~

Teri walked around the bedroom and found she quite liked the plug in her bottom. “Did you know I would cum as you did this?”

“I hoped so.” He shrugged, “The both of you are very sexual women.” again she smiled that he thought of Cindy. “That was the whole point of the toys to bring out more in you.”

She had bought some 3”wedge mules to run around the house in and slipped them on. “I’m hungry.” Smiling at him she left the bedroom going out into the house. He was still naked and still stone hard and she liked teasing him like this. They both know he could have had her when she was on her knees but that isn’t what this was all about. There was a change coming over her and they both knew it.

It was Cindy Robin that smiled at him.

[artisticaromantic]

Finally back again! This took... once again, longer than I expected, but my tablet doesn’t work all the time, and it’s been hard to work around. But I managed to get it done even with  the obstacles, and... hopefully I’ll be posting this closer to when I finished it than I did the last one (image IDs are not easy to write though lol)

Now that I’m finished with this reference sheet for Evie I’ll be starting on Iris soon- I have most if not all my references down, just waiting for my tablet to decide to work again. Anyways, onto the image ID!

[Image ID: Image is a reference sheet for Evie Castle, a white trans girl vampire with very pale skin, freckles, orange eyes and red-brown hair. Her hair is short in the back with a longer swoop on the right side of her head in the front, also with a very small braid on that side. She always wears a black choker and two piercings on her right ear, she is usually wearing a skull-shaped necklace, and her nails are painted black. Overall there are four full-body poses of Evie on the left side of the canvas, and on the right side there are six busts of her

The first full-body pose of her has her standing leaning slightly to the left, she is smiling and one of her fangs is just barely poking out, and she is holding her sword over her shoulder with her right arm. Her sword is flame-bladed, and it has a blue gem on the bottom of its pommel. She is wearing a short/cropped brown jacket over a cream colored shirt, blue jeans and brown boots.

The second full-body pose is of her standing leaning very slightly to the right, her arms are crossed and she is smiling. She is wearing the same brown jacket as before over a dark red shirt with darker blue jeans and the same brown boots. She is still wearing her skull necklace but she is also wearing a black bandana.

The third full-body pose has her leaning to the right, her left arm is straight with her hand curled into a fist while her right hand is placed on her hip. She is wearing a black leather jacket over a dark blue shirt with a skull on it, dark grey ripped jeans over fishnets, and black platform boots. She is still wearing her skull necklace, and she has black lipstick and eyeshadow as well.

The fourth full-body pose has her leaning very slightly to the right, but only barely, and both her hands are on her hips. She is smiling with a fang sticking out slightly. She is wearing a white dress, it’s cold-shoulder with a frill at the top. She is wearing black flats. She is not wearing her skull necklace

The top left bust is of Evie looking excited, smiling widely showing off her fangs, and her hands up and balled into fists over her chest in excitement. She is wearing her white dress. She is not wearing her skull-necklace.

The top right bust is of Evie looking scared and upset, and she is crying. Her right arm is raised defensively in front of her. She is wearing her brown jacket over her cream shirt.

The middle left bust is of Evie looking confident and determined, leaning forward and to the left, once again grinning widely and showing off her fangs. She is wearing her black leather jacket over her dark blue shirt with a skull. She is wearing her skull-necklace, black lipstick and eye-shadow, and black aviator sunglasses are propped up on top of her head.

The middle right bust is of Evie looking annoyed or frustrated, and she is wearing her brown jacket over her dark red shirt with her black bandana and skull necklace.

The bottom left bust is of Evie in bear form, she only has her piercings and her skull necklace visible, her black choker is hidden by her fur. You can also see the gem and a bit of the pommel of her sword sticking out behind her, as if it is strapped to her back. Her bear form also still has the front of her hair but without the braid, and her fur is a slightly more dulled color than her hair.

The bottom right bust is of Evie in bat form, once again she is only wearing her piercings, choker and skull necklace, and she still has the front of her hair.

Neither the bear nor the bat are to scale, the bear is shown as much smaller than it would actually be and the bat is shown as much bigger than it would actually be (in reality, the bear should be at least a third bigger, and then the bat would be only slightly bigger than the bear’s nose as she is a bumblebee bat)

Behind the set of full body poses and the set of busts is each a square of pastel purple; above the orange rectangle of the full body poses is “Evie Castle” in orange lettering. In the bottom left corner is handwritten “TinyTieflingDM”, in the middle of the date “06/21/2022″ typed out, and under the bottom right corner of the orange rectangle of the full body poses is handwritten “@ArtisticAromantic”

There are two more images, but they are just the first one separated into just full body in the first and just busts in the second, though the date and watermarks were copied over to be shown under the busts as well for that one.

End Image ID]

#Evie Castle #Rolls of Fate #ROF #MOTW #Evie Castle (The Monstrous) #art #digital art #my art #i have changed the order of the tags around since i've found out only the first five really matter #maybe now that i know this my art will get some notes lol #likes are appreciated. reblogs are loved. #also i hope i did the Image ID right they are very hard to do for big pieces like this you know?

[tsverniel]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Classic Vintage Gold Metal Frame Aviator Men Women Square Black Sunglasses.

[goopy1]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Magnolia Boutique Open Knit Sweater Top Size S.

[stylistfortheyoungatheart]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Quay Australia Extra Large Black Sun Glasses, $37.

[hyaffiliate]

Embrace the Sun: Your Complete Guide to Summer Must-Haves

The sun-kissed season of summer is upon us, inviting us to savor the warmth of countless adventures and moments of relaxation. Whether you're planning a beach getaway, embarking on a road trip, or simply enjoying leisurely days at home, having the right summer essentials can make all the difference. In this blog, we'll take you through a handpicked list of must-haves that will keep you comfortable, protected, and stylish throughout the sunny days. So, let's dive in and make this summer one to remember!

1. Sunscreen: Your Skin's Best Friend:

Sunscreen stands as the cornerstone of summer essentials, shielding your skin from harmful UV rays. Opt for a broad-spectrum sunscreen with at least SPF 30 and remember to reapply regularly, especially if you're swimming or sweating. Embrace healthy, glowing skin while minimizing the risk of sunburns and skin damage.

EltaMD UV Sport Body Sunscreen, SPF 50

Neutrogena Ultra Sheer Dry-Touch Water Resistant and Non-Greasy Sunscreen Lotion 

Neutrogena Invisible Daily Defense Face Sunscreen SPF 60

2. Sunglasses: Fashionable Eye Protection:

Safeguard your eyes and elevate your style with chic sunglasses. Look for shades that block 100% of UVA and UVB rays to protect your eyes from potential harm. Beyond their practicality, sunglasses instantly add charm and flair to any outfit.

WearMe Pro - Reflective Lens Round Trendy Sunglasses

Ray-Ban Rb3548n Hexagonal Flat Lens Sunglasses

Ray-Ban RB3293 Metal Aviator Sunglasses

3. Hats: Stay Cool & Chic:

Stay fashionable and sun-smart with a stylish hat that offers added protection for your face and scalp. Wide-brimmed hats provide excellent coverage, helping you beat the heat in style. Choose from floppy hats, bucket hats, or caps to match your preferences and stay cool under the scorching sun.

FURTALK Sun Visor Hats

FURTALK Womens Mens Wide Brim Straw Panama Hat 

Camptrace Bucket Hat for Women Men

4. Lightweight Clothing: Breezy & Comfortable:

Opt for breathable, loose-fitting fabrics like cotton, linen, or chambray to keep comfortable during the hot months. Maxi dresses, flowy skirts, shorts, and lightweight shirts are your go-to choices for a relaxed and trendy summer wardrobe.

SweatyRocks Women's 2 Piece Boho Butterfly Sleeve Knot Front Crop Top with Shorts Set

Qearal Womens Boho Floral Printed Dress

5. Swimwear: Dive into Fun:

Embrace water activities with confidence by choosing well-fitting swimwear. From one-pieces to bikinis and swim trunks, find the perfect style that suits you and allows you to make a splash wherever you go.

CUPSHE Women's Bikini Swimsuit Front Cross Lace Up Two Piece Bathing Suit

SPORLIKE Women Ruffle High Waist Swimsuit Two Pieces

maamgic Mens Swim Trunks Quick Dry Swim Shorts with Mesh Lining

6. Water Bottle: Hydration on the Go:

Combat dehydration by carrying a reusable water bottle wherever you wander. Staying hydrated is essential during the summer months, especially under the scorching sun. Look for insulated bottles to keep your drinks refreshingly cool throughout the day.

Simple Modern 40 oz Tumbler with Handle and Straw Lid Insulated Cup

IRON °FLASK Sports Water Bottle - 40oz, 3 Lids (Straw Lid), Leak Proof - Stainless Steel

7. Portable Fan/Misting Spray: Beat the Heat:

Stay cool on hot days with a portable fan or misting spray. These clever gadgets offer instant relief, enhancing your outdoor adventures and ensuring you stay comfortable in the heat.

Portable Neck Fan, Hands Free Bladeless Fan

TriPole Mini Handheld Fan Battery Operated

HandFan Portable Handheld Misting Fan, Rechargeable Personal Mister Fan

8. Insect Repellent: Enjoy Bug-Free Days:

Prevent pesky bugs from interrupting your summer fun by packing an effective insect repellent. Look for natural options with essential oils like citronella and lemongrass or opt for DEET based products for maximum protection.

Cliganic 10 Pack Mosquito Repellent Bracelets

Yaya Organics Tick Ban | Extra Strength Tick Repellent 

Repel 100 Insect Repellent

GOOTOP Bug Zapper Outdoor Electric, Mosquito Zapper

9. Beach Bag: Style Meets Functionality:

Invest in a spacious and fashionable beach bag to carry all your summer essentials. From towels and sunscreen to books and snacks, a durable beach bag keeps everything organized and easily accessible.

YOOLIFE Initial Jute Tote Bag with Zipper Pockets

54 Cans Patent Pending Backpack Cooler

GOTDYA Extra Large Beach Bag, XL Mesh Tote

10. Portable Bluetooth Speaker: Groove On-the-Go:

Set the perfect ambiance for your summer gatherings with a portable Bluetooth speaker. Whether you're having a beach party or a backyard barbecue, enjoy your favorite tunes wherever you go.

JBL FLIP 5, Waterproof Portable Bluetooth Speaker

W-KING Bluetooth Speaker, 50W IPX6 Waterproof Loud Speakers Bluetooth Wireless

MusicBaby Portable Bluetooth Speaker

With these summer essentials in your arsenal, you're ready to make the most of this radiant season. Embrace the warmth, embark on exciting adventures, and create lasting memories with your loved ones. Remember, the key to a fabulous summer lies not just in having the right items but cherishing every moment of this joyful season. So, apply your sunscreen, slip into your swimsuit, and let the sunshine on your incredible summer escapades!

#summer #summertime #essentials #summeressentials #beach #beachvibes #here comes the sun #amazon #amazonaffiliatemarketing #amazon affiliate program

[rabbitcruiser]

National Sunglasses Day

Everyone loves a good set of shades… so why not grab your best sunglasses and make some waves at the pool, beach, or just walking down the street with your sweet shades. Make sure you’re wearing some sunglasses and join in the fun of National Sunglasses Day on June 27!

National Sunglasses Day timeline

12th century Ahead of the Times

The Chinese wear sunglasses with lenses made from flat panes of smoky quartz.

1752 Experiments

James Ayscough starts experimenting with tinted lenses in spectacles.

1900s Sunglasses Become Popular

Sunglasses become widely used, especially among Hollywood celebrities.

1937 Classic Aviators

Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses become the hottest accessory with celebrities and the rest of society.

National Sunglasses Day Activities

Treat yourself to a new pair!

Wear your favorite pair and coordinate your outfit

Buy a pair to give to a friend

Get yourself that pair you've had your eye on, or one you didn't before today. Browse online, in a convenience store or even a corner store and find your next favorite pair of glasses. Whether you've been meaning to buy those super pricy Maui Jim's or you just pick up a pair of $5 shades from the corner store you're doing yourself a favor and are guaranteed to look cool. According to one of the top San Diego PR Firms, only 40% of Americans wear sunglasses for their eye-saving properties.

Pick out your favorite pair and wear an outfit that matches your sunglasses! Can you create a whole outfit based on the shades you pick? Are your frames purple, do you have a matching purple shirt that you can pair with it? What about matching your purple socks? You know you want to.

There are few fun $5 gifts that could be as useful or as fun as a pair of sunglasses for your best friend. Go ahead and get some bestie matching sunglasses. They are sure to love it and you can match for at least on day! Post your sunglass bestie selfie to social media!

Why We Love National Sunglasses Day

They make you look attractive (and fun!)

They protect your vision

They keep you from getting wrinkles

No joke, science has shown that sunglasses make us look more attractive. There are a few reasons for this 1) The cover up and offer a structure of symmetry onto your face. No face is perfectly symmetrical but sunglasses hide that! 2) They add an air of mystery: when you cannot see someones eye movements, they appear more mysterious and 3) the historical link between glamor and movie stars, who adopted sunglasses in the 1950s to avoid paparazzi.

You don't need to buy the most expensive glasses to get the most effective UVA and UVB protection; even the cheap ones from the grocery store spinning racks are doing you a huge favor! Even if the sun doesn't hurt your eyes UV rays that can cause photokeratitis, pingueculae and permanent retinal damage, if you are exposed to them frequently. Look for sunglasses that protect you from 99 to 100 percent of both UVA and UVB light. This includes those labeled as "UV 400," which blocks all light rays with wavelengths up to 400 nanometers. Don't worry they aren't hard to find.

Sunglasses help prevent wrinkles in two ways 1) they keep your eyes relaxed and prevent squinting, which helps prevent crows-feet wrinkles at the corners of the eyes, and 2) the block harmful skin damaging and cancer causing UV rays from reaching the sensitive skin around our eyes. Wear sunglasses for health and to look awesome. Double win!

Source

#National Sunglasses Day #NationalSunglassesDay #27 June #summer 2022 #original photography #vacation #travel #tourist attraction #landmark #cityscape #landscape #Sonoma #California #Colorado #Nevada #Utah #St. Helena #Morro Bay #Pacific Ocean #Louis M. Martini #USA

[goggleman1]

Browse Our Premium Quality Prescription Polarised Sunglasses

Are you looking for superior sunglasses that provide the best protection against the sun? Goggleman offers a variety of prescription sunglasses, including glasses with the finest lenses. We have a selection of sunglasses and prescription glasses that are perfect for all weather and lighting conditions. We are committed to providing the best quality, style, fit, comfort and protection. Our sunglasses come in types, including aviator, flat top and round. We also offer prescription glasses with polarized lenses to help protect your eyes from the sun’s harmful rays. Contact us for more details about prescription polarised sunglasses. We will be delighted to help you find excellent sunglasses for your requirements.

#jet skiing glasses australia #prescription goggle inserts #prescription oakley glasses #buy prescription swimming goggles online #prescription sunglasses online australia #prescription safety goggles #diving mask prescription lenses #prescription polarised sunglasses #prescription swimming goggles

[occhialiopticals]

Men's Eyewear Trends to Watch

Wearing glasses is either a choice or a necessity. You may wear glasses to protect your eyes or need them to improve your eyesight. It all depends on the circumstances. However, if you wear glasses, you must choose frames that suit your personality and those that are fashionable. Finding men's glasses styles that suit your personality and way of life has never been easier. Technical advancements have brought new levels of comfort and durability, and the sky is the limit when it comes to eyeglass designs for men.  

Anyone who wears glasses regards them as a finishing touch and a necessary accessory. After all, when people glance at your eyes, they first notice your spectacles.

Here are some trends in men's spectacles from the best optician in Chandigarh, Occhiali, that can complete your style and get you noticed: 

The most fashionable men's eyeglasses in 2023:

Frames that are crystal clear:

Clear frames are a subtle way to acquire form and style without the distraction of colour, and they put a new take on traditional shapes.

Oakley combines transparent frames with black arms for a subtle attention grabber appropriate for evening and weekend use.

Ray-iconic Ban's Clubmaster in white translucent offers you the prominent 1950s brow-line frame and then erases it.

Darker variants of this frame create a bold line across your browbone, splitting your face, while clear boundaries offer a more subtle impact, making this design suitable for round, square, and oval faces.

1970s vintage:

Big, bold shapes evocative of the 1970s have made a spectacular comeback, providing wearers of all ages with a joyful outlet to show their uniqueness. You name it: square, round, aviator! These thick frames are available in various designs and hues to ensure you stand out from the crowd.

Because these frames are on the bigger side, use lightweight materials for the most comfortable fit, especially if you intend to wear your glasses all day.

Frames in bold black:

Bold Black frames will remain a classic and elegant choice, which is why so many Hollywood celebrities and performers have opted for the sleek pair to enhance their looks.

Because the dark tint of these specs will draw attention to your facial characteristics, it's critical to pick the proper shape and size for your face shape. Opt for a basic rectangular design with softly rounded sides if you want to be safe. It's a tried and true shape that flatters everyone!

Aviators with wireframes:

If you can't decide between modern and vintage-inspired styles, aviators in current metals will offer you the best of both worlds. These lightweight frames evoke the typical 1970s appearance without being too vintage, and they can be dressed up or down depending on the occasion.

Classic teardrop-shaped aviators look best on angular features, while flat-top rectangular types define round faces.

Round Lenses:

Since the dawn of time, round lenses have had a solid fan base and are the finest choice for individuals looking for something low-key yet polished. The basic design gives a touch of elegance to a plain t-shirt and jeans and works well for corporate and black-tie occasions.

These understated frames look best on diamond and heart-shaped faces and enhance the symmetrical characteristics of an oval-shaped face.

The geometric pattern:

Not a fan of classic aesthetics? Then this year's unconventional geometric styles may be exactly up your alley. A geometric frame will offer you a distinctive style that will turn many heads your way, from all-out angles to a blend of two shapes.

These frames will draw attention to your excellent facial features and enhance your style and personality. A mix of soft curves and sharp angles will give your usual round or square frames a stylish twist, while one-of-a-kind polygon shapes will push your style game to new heights.

Retro Sunglasses:

Men's retro sunglasses Isn't it nice to speak the talk while walking the walk? The industrial revolution's steam-powered devices inspired it. Who doesn't desire a Steampunk frame with metallic strokes, a futuristic take on a traditional circular frame?

Tortoiseshell:

Tortoiseshell is a delicate and beautiful print that will endure the test of time, and it is ideal for people looking for a traditional frame with a little extra personality. Choose faint brown flecks for a more subdued style, or make a big statement with a high-contrast pattern.

Occhiali’s is equipped with all these trends at their store. We provide you with excellent-quality frames and glasses from well-known brands. A frame that suits your personality and compliments your face shape. Visit our store to get yourself the perfect, stylish, trendy pair of eyewear from the best optician in Chandigarh, Occhiali.

#occhiali opticals

[defendingtheduchesses]

April 16,2022

Outfit details 👗✨💖

Bag 💼: Céline Triomphe chain shoulder bag in black

Bracelet:Cartier Love bracelet in yellow gold

Earrings: Serena Williams Starburst stud earrings

Flats 🥿: Chanel Lambskin ballerinas in beige & black

Jacket 🧥: Céline Chasseur jacket in black bouclé tweed

Jeans 👖:Moussy Vintage Edmond crop skinny jeans

Rings 💍:Shiffon 1972 tennis pinky rings

Sunglasses 🕶️:Linda Farrow Newman aviator sunglasses in yellow gold

Top 👚:🛸

#picture #meghan #invictus games 2020 #my edit #outfits details #favorite outfits 2022 #meghan’s fashion