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troublesomesnitch · 11 months ago

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Phonesex with Aemond

Modern!Aemond x Reader

Modern AU - Aemond calls you after the dinner fight, and you cheer him up in the best way you can.

Contents: some quick smut. New relationship, mentions of oral sex, p in v sex and brief anal exploration (f receiving).

Warnings: brief mention of terminal illness.

Words: 3300

Thank you @arcielee for test-reading, tidying and generally helping out with this little experimental fic!

It has been six days since Aemond kissed you goodbye and shoved his skis and his snow gear and his aluminium suitcase into the back of a taxi. Six days, and you haven't heard from him since, not a single message, and no indication that he's read yours either. Six days, and the farewell kiss was just a sterile peck on the side of your mouth, because the driver was watching, and Aemond was in a foul mood already.

You suppose the thought of two weeks with one's extended family can do that to a person. And especially when one's family is as messy as Aemond's.

They're in the tabloids sometimes, Aegon with a model on his arm, Rhaenyra spotted topless in Ibiza, Viserys leaving the hospital looking more dead than alive. Old money, and every bit the stereotype too, with their luncheons and country estates and public feuds over inheritance. And the incident, of course. But Aemond never talks about that.

The family trip is solely his father's idea. Or, his father's command, really. His final wish; that they should all spend one last Christmas together at the chalet, eating venison and going cross-country skiing and whatever else rich people do on their alpine retreats. It is all very Town & Country, so far removed from anything you know. They have a coat of arms, for fucks sake, and Aemond wears it engraved on the back of his watch; on the cufflinks that sit in a velvet box atop his dresser. For special occasions, and you'd be lying if you said the thought had never crossed your mind: Aemond in coat and tie and cufflinks, yourself decked out in white and his mother's antique veil. Champagne fountain and monogrammed napkins and an article in Vogue Weddings. Double spread.

But you're getting way ahead of yourself. You have only been seeing each other for about three months, and it is still very new and foreign. Terrifying as well, and your heart leaps to your throat when your phone starts ringing and Aemond's name lights up on the screen.

Six days, and it's a quarter to midnight now, so that almost makes it seven.

"Hey," he says softly. "Did I wake you?"

"No!“ you exclaim, a little too excitedly despite your efforts to sound casual. “I was just watching something. How's St. Moritz?"

"Fine," he says, but it doesn't sound at all convincing, and there's a faint sound in the background. Like a scraping noise, and you imagine that he's picking at his cuticles; at the little chips in his nails.

"Aemond," you call, somewhat alarmed by the silence. "Is everything okay?"

The scraping gets louder before it finally stops and Aemond says sort of.

There was a fight at supper, apparently. An actual fight, with punching and shoving and everything. Straight out of Real Housewives, only even more insane, and Aemond started it, because of course he did. And all because of a stupid joke his nephew made.

"Isn't he like, fourteen?" you ask, and Aemond sighs on the other end of the line.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Something like that".

Jesus.

You are tempted to ask him why he would do such a thing, but you kind of already know. Because of his father, because of his sister, because of the incident. Because Viserys would rather dote on his grandsons than his own children, and because Aemond has chronic pains, and the prosthetic gets itchy, and he dented his car when he couldn't see how close that concrete pillar actually was.

And probably also because he doesn't hold his liquor very well.

"Aemond, you're a grown man," you begin, and your voice is kind and gentle, but you can almost hear how he's pinching the bridge of his nose. "I mean, I understand why you'd be upse - angry, but like. He's a child."

"I know," he sighs, shuffling around with something. "I shouldn't have done it.”

There's the click of a lighter and then a deep exhale as he blows out smoke, and it reminds you of when you first met. You used to watch Aemond all the time before you worked up the courage to talk to him. He would lean so leisurely against the wall, cigarette in hand and that haughty smirk on his lips; leather jacket, black jeans, hair artfully tousled and tied back. Tall and handsome and just so fucking cool.

"Thought you quit," you tease, and it sounds a little chiding, but it isn't meant like that.

"I did," Aemond says. "I got this one from my uncle - it would have been rude to decline.”

He is quiet then, but it's a sort of contemplative silence. Like somehow you can feel there is more.

"It pisses me off," he finally says. "This whole charade - it's exhausting.”

Yes, you think. It must be. All of his family trapped under the same roof, forced to confront so many painful memories, yet act as though none of it ever happened. Smile and laugh and play house, and all so Viserys Targaryen can pretend he was a better man. Go to his grave with the comfortable illusion that he did not create the rift that tore his family apart.

If Aemond was with you right now, you would wrap your arms around him and kiss his face and his lovely hands, but all you can do at this moment is give a weak yeah, I understand.

"It has been the most miserable week," he moans. "Although - Aegon did fall off a lift today. He's fine, it was just a T-bar. But that was fun."

You giggle. "Oh, poor Aegon.”

"It was his own fault," Aemond snorts. "He had Jägerbombs for lunch. Anyway - " he clears his throat, back to the brooding mood and somber voice. "I'm sorry I called you so late. And for not being in touch. And for... everything else.”

"It's fine," you shrug. "I don't mind. But, Aemond - " you pause, thinking of how best to word the next part, "I think you should at least consider apologising to -"

"No." he cuts in. "Absolutely not.”

There's an awkward silence then, and you worry you might have overstepped your boundaries. He is so difficult to read sometimes, so elusive. You never quite know what he needs from you, sympathy, or flattery, or reassurance, or nothing at all.

You can, however, think of a way to distract him from his brooding. And maybe sex isn't the healthiest way to cope with one's issues, but still. It is miles better than beating up family members.

You twirl a lock of hair around your finger, even though he can’t see it. "What are you doing right now? Are you alone?"

“Yes,“ he says, curious. “Why?”

"What are you wearing?"

"Same thing I always wear," he responds, but then his voice turns coy and teasing, and he asks "what are you wearing?"

You look down at your fuzzy socks, your faded shorts, the worn-out knickers underneath.

"Honestly? Not anything nice."

Aemond laughs, a real laugh this time, and then he tells you just make something up.

The first thing that comes to your mind is that dress you saw the other day. Aemond would like it. He is not into extravagant lingerie and things like that, always likes it best when you are just you. Dry patches on your lips, bruises on your legs and all. Natural.

But he is still a man though. So, not too natural.

"I'm wearing - I'm wearing a little slip. Silk, and it's the prettiest colour. It is soft to the touch," - you run a finger up your thigh, imagining it - "and it is very short. My legs are out and everything. And my tits look so good in it.”

"They always do," Aemond says, and he sounds a little husky when he asks what is underneath?

"Those panties you liked last time. With the little bows on them?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "I remember.”

"Good. Just the panties, and nothing else. And the dress is so thin - it feels like nothing when you touch it."

You lay back on top of your bed, your hand working its way down the waistband of your sleeping shorts, phone pressed to your ear.

"I want to touch you," Aemond sighs, voice all soft and gentle. "I want to feel your body against mine.”

You blush. He is quite the romantic sometimes. Jesus, Aemond is so out of your league. You can hardly believe he'd even look in your direction, let alone kiss you and hold you and let you sleep with your head on his chest.

"Aemond" you whisper, slowly stroking your between your legs. "I'm getting all wet. All wet for you".

His breath hitches, and there's a faint oh, followed by the rustling of fabric as he palms himself over his pants. Lowering his voice and breathing touch yourself.

"I already am" you purr. "I wish it was you, though. Wish you could feel how much I want you."

Aemond says fuck, he wishes that too. You're getting him so hard. So hard just thinking about your pretty cunt.

"I'd like to suck your cock" you sigh longingly, and he immediately responds with a sharp breath that makes warmth spread in your stomach.

"Wait -" he mutters. "Hang on".

You hear the metallic clink of his belt, the sound of his zipper, and you bite your lip thinking about what he's doing. Taking his stiff cock in hand, brushing slender fingers along the shaft, running a thumb over the tip to collect the little drops that have already leaked from it. He has the prettiest cock, long and thick and veiny. Uncut, and blushing red at the tip when you slide his foreskin back.

How you wish you could feel it in your mouth.

"Tell me how you'd do it" Aemond pleads, and there's a slight strain in his voice that suits it so well.

"I'll start out slow," you whisper, "with just my tongue and my hand. Get your cock big and hard before I take you in my mouth. And then I'll wrap my lips around the head, and I'll press my tongue against the little slit there. And - and I’ll lick the tip of your cock until you’re begging me for more.”

He sighs, and you can hear how his hand settles into a steady rhythm, up and down over his hard cock. Filthy.

You close your eyes and continue.

"I'd take you so deep, all the way to the back of my throat. And I would tease you - I'd be real fucking mean. I want you leaking in my mouth, all needy and desperate for me. Like, so you can barely hold it back anymore. You'd be ready to explode.”

"Don't stop - " he pants, still keeping up the stroking, pausing just briefly to spit into his hand.

"I'll edge you before I let you come. So many times, you'll be desperate for release. I want your balls so tight and heavy - all tender from how much you need to come - ”

Aemond moans, and he's stroking himself faster, tugging and tugging and filling his bedroom with damp, lewd noises. You know how he likes it; firm grip when he moves up, slack going back down, slight twist at the tip.

"And then?"

"I'd let you come in my mouth."

"No," he breathes. "I want to come inside of you.”

You give a little giggle; he always wants that. Occasionally he’ll finish all over your breasts, or in your mouth, but mostly he likes it the old fashioned way. Your bodies molded together and his cock pulsing deep inside of you. Pressing his forehead to yours or moaning into the back of neck.

You like that too - but there are other things you might like to try as well.

"You should come on my panties," you say coyly. "Like, inside them. And then I'd wear them all day, and just walk around with your cum between my legs.”

Aemond groans again, loudly, hoarse and strained and so fucking hot.

"You'd like that?" you tease. "I would feel it there all day. All wet and warm in my little panties. Right against my cunt."

"Fuck," he moans. "Fuck - I'd like that so much."

The sounds of his tugging get louder and faster, and you picture him laid out on his bed, cock throbbing in his hand, hips thrusting up and up into his own grip. Lone eye closed and mouth falling open.

He lets out a soft moan, and a whine - and then the stroking abruptly stops. Close call, that one. Aemond curses, and you can hear him taking deep breaths, calming his body, halting the mounting need to ejaculate. Too soon.

“Can't wait to have you,” he mutters, and you give a quiet hum in response.

“Please tell me how.”

He takes a slow, steadying breath.

"I want to be on top of you" he whispers, low, so no one will hear. "Don't care if you're on your back or what, as long as you're underneath me".

"I'd be on my stomach. You can fuck me from behind".

“Yes,” he sighs. “I want to put my cock so deep inside you. I want you to feel how hard you make me. And I'll pin you down - I'll hold you in place when I take you" - his voice goes all ragged as he starts to slowly stroke his cock again - "fuck you're so beautiful when you're under me."

You mewl, and Aemond’s breath hitches.

“Yeah, and I'll fuck you slow, but hard. I want you squirming on my cock…” he trails off, and for a moment there is only the sound of heavy breathing, his and yours.

You had paused your own ministrations before, too focused on finding the right words, but now you begin your gentle stroking again. Underneath your knickers, fingers massaging right over your clit, so good that you let out a little whimper.

“I love feeling you inside of me” you breathe, “I love it when you lie on top of me - ”

“Yeah?” He gasps, and you bite your lip.

“Yeah. And I love it when you touch my - ass. Oh It feels so good when you touch me like that…”

Just saying it makes you a little flustered. You would not consider yourself very prudish, but there are some things that make you feel bashful, and this is one of them, the things he does to your backside when you’re together. And Aemond knows, and maybe that makes it even more arousing for him, the filthiness of it, the taboo.

“How” he moans, his tone urgent and so incredibly intimate. “How do you want me to touch you -”

You have to take a very deep breath before you continue - you feel so sheepish, talking about that, but you are a woman in love, so for Aemond you’ll do your best.

“I want you to slide your hand down my back and in between my cheeks,” you whisper, blushing all over. “It makes me so wet… feels so good when you caress me there - when you brush your fingers right over my tight little hole while you’re fucking me - maybe next time I’ll let you slip one inside…“

Aemond gives a strangled groan at that, quickening his strokes and hissing oh fuck. He is so close now, you can hear it.

“Say my name” he begs, breathing so fast and tugging frantically on his cock. All hard and swollen now, his hips thrusting up, his balls pulling tight; oh you can imagine it so easily.

“Aemond” you whisper. “Aemond, my love” - he moans louder, strokes harder - Aemond, I want you to fuck me, I want to feel your big, hard cock -

Aemond chokes out a sob, and you say his name one last time as he reaches his peak.

He holds back when he comes, muffling the helpless groans and grunts that you always love so much. But you can hear his strained sighs, his ragged breaths, and the sound is only slightly distorted through the speaker. If you close your eyes it's like he's there with you, gasping right in your ear.

Oh you can’t wait to see him again, to get to touch him, cuddle up to him at night and run your finger down the perfect angle of his nose.

"You didn't come," Aemond says, accusingly, and you hold back a chuckle because he doesn't like it when you laugh at him. But it is as amusing as it is sweet, this need of his to do everything to perfection. Like if every time he is intimate with you isn't the BEST sex of your life, then he has failed as a lover; as a man.

“I did it on purpose” you reassure. “I'm saving it for you. All for you. Only for you.”

Aemond gives a somewhat dissatisfied hum, but he is occupied with something else now, moving around and fiddling with things. Cleaning himself up, you suppose. If only you were there to do it for him, you'd lick his cum right off his skin.

There is a loud noise in the background all of a sudden, someone knocking on Aemond’s door, and he scrambles to make himself presentable and tells you to hang on. The sounds are muffled - you assume he is covering the microphone - but you can hear another man's voice, and Aemond saying yes, I'll be right down, and then just fuck off, will you when the intruder won't take a hint.

"Sorry about that," he says awkwardly. "Aegon wants to go out. I should go with him".

You giggle at the thought - it is difficult to imagine Aemond at one of those tacky aprés-ski bars, glow stick and vodka-cranberry in hand. “Sounds fun!”

"Yeah, well, my mother would want me to,” he says sullenly. "You know, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.”

"What's the age of consent in Switzerland?" you jest, but Aemond just gives an exasperated sigh and mutters too bloody low.

You pause, unsure of what to say next, and again there's that loaded silence until he clears his throat.

"I will tell them about you. My family - I'll tell them soon. I promise.”

You can feel heat rising in your cheeks.

Aemond purposely keeps you far away from his family, and he’ll go to great lengths to avoid running into them when you’re together. In fact he prefers not to go out at all, and you have never questioned it or complained. He’s got you hook, line and sinker - could tell you right to your face that he was embarrassed to be seen with you, and you would still be at his beck and call.

You shrug. “It's fine. Don't worry about it. You don't have to tell them. It's fine.”

“No it isn't,” he says gravely. “You're important to me. So I should treat you as such.”

He says something else after that too, but you aren't listening, still stuck on the words you just heard. You're important to me. You're important.

It makes your heart leap with joy, and you are only pulled back to reality when Aemond calls out your name, and then sweetheart?

He doesn't call you that very often. It is always so nice when he does.

“Sorry” you blush. “I zoned out. But - I've missed you. I miss you. It's nice to hear your voice again.”

There's no way to tell, but somehow you feel like Aemond is smiling.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yours too.”

You tell him to have fun with Aegon and whatever horrid establishment they end up at, and Aemond tells you goodnight and says he'll call you as soon as he's back home. He doesn't say he misses you too, but that's okay. You know he does.

Because you're important.

#modern aemond x reader #modern aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x you

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discotitsposts · 7 months ago

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i do

spencer reid x fem reader

spencer asks you to marry him and you get married in a quick ceremony (set in like season 11 in my mind)

a little short but silly and fun and i love happy spencer he deserves it

his ass looks so juicy here

—————

Spencer had been nervously shaking all morning. You were really worried about him. Why is he acting so strangely? You wondered while drinking your own coffee.

“Spence, anything the matter love?” You ask softly as you set his mug of coffee down on the table in front of him.

He just lifts his head and reaches into his pocket nervously. He slowly gets down on one knee in front of you. You realize where this is going and gasp. He pulls out a small black velvet box in the shape of a heart.

When he opens it carefully, there sits your dream ring. It’s absolutely beautiful.

“Will you marry me?” Spencer asked tears flowing from his eyes.

“Yes! Of course I will Spencer!” You jump excitedly.

“I know a pastor that can marry us in an hour if you’d like.”

“But I don’t wanna marry a pastor, I wanna marry you!” You pout.

“What? No that’s not what-,” Spencer starts confused.

“I’m kidding! Of course I want to marry you now!! Let’s go!!” You race to grab your phone and call the closest thing Spencer’s got to a real family. The BAU team.

The team was going to meet you down at the church. You had just snagged a wedding dress quickly from a bridal shop. It was beautiful and exactly what you wanted. You were now in an antique shop.

“Ok so your necklace is the something old, your dress is the something new. All that’s left is something blue and a penny in your shoe.”

You lift your heel so he can slip the penny in your shoe.

“What can we find that’s blue?” You keep looking and find nice cufflinks for Spencer to wear. He was currently looking at vintage suits.

“What do you think?” He holds up a dark blue suit.

“Honey I don’t think you can be my something blue.”

“I just happen like the color though.” He pouts.

“Then it looks very nice. Hey what about this?” You hold up a beautiful antique tiara littered with blue jewels.

“Beautiful. Let’s get it.” You both race to the church and change. The girls help you with your hair and makeup.

Spencer goes ahead to meet the pastor at the altar while you wait at the end of the aisle. The BAU team and a few of your friends are waiting there cheering you both on. The organist plays the wedding march and Rossi takes your arm and walks you down the aisle.

JJ’s son follows as the ring bearer.

You’re crying, Spencer’s crying, Rossi’s crying, everyone’s crying. Even Morgan.

You thank Rossi and step up. Emily, JJ, Tara, and some of your friends are bridesmaids and Penelope, being your maid of honor, lifts your dress’s train and adjusts it. Spencer’s best man is Morgan. Hotch and Will are up there with him.

Spencer takes your hand and you speak your quickly written vows. Then the pastor.

“Do you Dr. Spencer Reid, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” Tears are streaming down his face.

“(y/n) do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.” You’re smiling at him and squeezing his hands.

“You may now kiss the bride.” The pastor smiles proudly.

Spencer kisses you passionately. Then you throw your bouquet to the bridesmaids, Penelope catches it excitedly. Emily doesn’t even try to catch it.

Hotch throws some rice at you guys while laughing. JJ and Will are also throwing some.

Morgan shouts after you guys as you try to escape, “They’re excited to get started on the honeymoon!!”

After you guys leave he turns to Penelope, “Can’t believe the kid finally got hitched!”

That’s just what you guys did, hopped on a flight to anywhere you’ve always dreamed of going, got the biggest honeymoon suite the hotels offered, and enjoyed yourselves.

They lived happily ever after!

The End💘

————

i hope this was even a little bit fun to read, please let me know if you enjoyed.

______

tags-

@whoisspence

@lemonadeinfuser

@fictionalobssed

@exoticisles

@in-another-april

@gallifreyan-idiocracy

#criminal minds #spencer reid #mgg #matthewgraygubler #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid

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shewhoworshipscarlin · 2 years ago

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Cuff links, 1920s.

#cufflinks #1920s #antique #roaring twenties #accessories

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reve-de-sang · 2 months ago

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for @vamptember -- Sept. 6: library / genderswap / shrine

Present-day AU, loustat. Going by the hints in the “Long Face” lyrics, Lestat is ready for commitment. Louis really, really isn’t. But they meet in the middle with a situationship. “We’re just having fun, yeah?”

This is the opposite of fun for Lestat.

The secret compulsion was scathingly embarrassing, but Lestat was pretty sure he’d left a chunk of self-respect back in the 1950s.

He heard the hotel room door click closed, and turned over in the tangled bedsheets. The condom wrapper was still under the pillow where he’d pushed it. He smoothed it out as best he could.

Alone again, he reached for his Hermès backpack by the nightstand and pulled out a weathered cigar box wrapped in a vintage--antique--sweater. He unraveled it. The box carried the branding of the cigars Louis used to smoke in the 30’s. Lestat had found it on eBay. It looked exactly like it should, and it made Lestat’s heart squeeze a little whenever he looked at it.

He flipped back the lid and mused on the contents.

An unfiltered cigarette butt swaddled in a small plastic bag (he’d learned these tended to disintegrate easily without care). Fifteen plastic hotel room key cards from hotels spanning the globe. A pilfered earbud. A stolen cufflink. A flyer from that club in Chicago. Various branded condom wrappers (Louis wanted condoms now. He said found it more efficient, and he no longer seemed interested in Lestat eating his spend out of Louis. Each condom wrapper collected here made Lestat’s heart squeeze in the bad way.) Louis’s business card. One of the twenty dollar bills Louis had intended to leave for housekeeping in Atlanta (that Lestat had replaced with one of his own). A button. The wrapper from the hotel room soap Louis had used in Madrid. And his most prized possession, the strip of their photo booth photos Louis had gone along with, blitzed after a particularly intoxicated victim in Vegas. Louis hadn’t wanted any of the pictures when Lestat had offered to split them.

Everything was digital now—they had no letters, notes, tickets, receipts—but he could still find ties to the physical. None of these things smelled like Louis (the earbud and cufflink had disappointed him), and that quality was currently the brass ring.

As a treat—Louis was only meeting up for one night this time, it was going to be rough in the following days—Lestat slowly arranged the memorabilia like a small shrine on the bedside table. He propped the photo strip up against the lamp, and everything glowed under its light.

Lestat froze as he heard the hotel room door open, and Louis re-entered the suite.

Louis strode through the bedroom door. “Forgot my jacket,” he said, grabbing it from the back of the chair by the desk. He paused on his way back out the bedroom door and noticed the collection on the nightstand. He raised an eyebrow as he fished for his pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. “See you around, Lestat.”

He left.

Lestat’s face burned hot as he swept the collection off the glass tabletop and into the bedside trashcan.

#vamptember #it's okay. he just started over.#this won't take him down for long #iwtv #this is angst. but i stg the next prompt is the finest powdery glittery crack.#interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #my fic

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sflow-er · 2 months ago

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Sunday snippet

I haven't done these in a while, so to kick myself back into gear, I'm sharing with you the start of an aged-up Henry oneshot that grew out of my QP Walty writing practice...

It's a long one, so I'm putting it under a cut.

[Title TBR]

If there was one thing about today that Henry did not expect to struggle with, it was his necktie.

After all, he’s got enough experience to tie it on muscle memory alone. Three whole decades’ worth. From the tedious lessons with his father since before he started primary school, to the uniformed school celebrations and secret Society meetings at Hillerska, to the summer balls of Riddarskapet och Adelns Ungdomsklubb and an assortment of high society events that have dappled his life since early adulthood. A tie was not necessarily required on all those occasions, but he always found it harder to meet the standards without one.

That’s not even to mention the last few years and the campaign he started after his father’s untimely death. Sometimes, it feels as if he’s been armoured in a silk tie and a Windsor knot every other day since the funeral, to meet with some old baron or former Society brother. Rationally, he knows that’s not true; there was plenty of tieless time in between, and the last six months have been almost entirely tie-free. It’s just hard to see that when the tie days get on top of his mind.

Which makes today’s fumbling all the more frustrating.

Even with Henry drawing on his vast experience – and standing in front of the massive bathroom mirror that should remove all margin for error – the knot keeps coming out untidy. Whether it’s one or both shoulders peeking out, or the blade being too short and the tail too long, or the end result being too tight or loose by look or feel.

It doesn’t take much effort to imagine what the late Carl Emil Silfverfeldt would make of this travesty his sole heir has just inched up to his collar. Henry can see it when he holds his own gaze in the mirror; the blue of their eyes is exactly the same, as is the critical look. The longer he stays like that, the easier it is to feel a hand on his shoulder and the words ‘we agreed that you would give it your best, and we are men of our word, aren’t we?’ in his gut.

This, he thinks grimly, is most definitely not his best. He would not settle for it even on an average day, let alone an occasion. Regardless of everything else, today is an occasion, and he cannot – will not – turn up in this mess when he’s perfectly capable of making it look right –

He breaks eye contact with a sigh and catches his head with his fingertips. Careful not to mess up his hair, he kneads his forehead from brow to temples, trying to disperse the thought that’s been popping up all morning.

Maybe a break is in order. He isn’t sure if he can still afford one when he’s already wasted so much time, but it’s not like the party can start without him.

He slinks back to the bedroom, removing the tie along the way. He should probably hang it with his jacket and waistcoat, but he can’t be bothered to circle around the king-size bed to get to them. On top of the dresser will do.

Both his phone and his smartwatch keep blinking at him as he adds the tie to the items already laid out next to the charging station – signet ring, cufflinks, antique pocket watch, little square box. No doubt he’s missed a ton of messages. Figuring he might as well catch up now, he grabs the phone and takes a seat at the foot end of the bed.

He could have guessed that the first batch would be from his mother, Mikaela. She’s been freaking out about Säpo at the manor house all morning, as if there was any risk of the agents suddenly ruling the venue unsafe and calling the whole thing off.

Then again, that would be a pretty smooth way out of this tie slump. Is it too late to call August or Wilhelm and ask them to fix a last-minute security threat? Surely at least one of them must have done it before.

The thought coaxes a laugh out of him, but alas. Mikaela’s texts about the Security Police hassle end with someone having reassured her that the event can proceed with both former crown princes in attendance.

She has moved on to requesting his input on something else, apparently explained in a long voice message. There’s also a random picture of stylised yellow roses.

‘Darling, I know you’re busy getting ready, but if it’s not too much trouble,’ Mikaela starts in a tone that strongly implies it will be. ‘I’m getting a lot of questions about what is and isn’t appropriate. Five separate people – for example, Cecilia showed me her card this morning, and there were roses on it. I said you said no flowers, but she insisted, so I promised to send you a picture. Let me know what you think, okay?’

Henry sighs and enlarges the photo. He doesn’t know much about flowers or what they’re supposed to represent, but his aunt probably does. He doesn’t hate the card – but that’s about as far as he gets in forming an opinion before his mother overwhelms him with the rest of her query.

.-.-.

Cutting it off here for now (and also reserving the right to edit further). I'm fairly excited for this one so hopefully I can continue working on it to finish it soon-ish!

#young royals #young royals fanfic #young royals fic #henry young royals #queerplatonic walty #ace henry #aroace henry #sunday snippet #yes the parents' names are the same as in my main series but they aren't the same people #also stella is his childhood friend in the fic but doesn't appear in this snippet #qp walty one-shot

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