Brigitte and Emmanuel Macron Fanfiction

This blog houses links to fanfiction about the Macrons.

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Author: ATesCotes

Summary: In this AU, Brigitte and Emmanuel are neighbors.

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Author: Anon 2

Summary: Once upon a time, a handsome young prince fell in love with a brilliant maiden. And they lived happily ever after.

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I saw the fanfic request. I hope you enjoy this grandkid fluff!

He had been bragging about it to his coworkers all week: the grandkids were coming this weekend. And he wasn’t sure who was more excited: him or his wife.

One of his favorite things was bedtime. He loved that soft, quiet moment after all the little ones were asleep, clutching their little stuffed animals, and he and his wife could stand in the doorway, wrapped up in each other and gaze at their little loving, peaceful family.

He also loved what bedtime meant for them too.

Brigitte had just settled on top of him, leaning forward, pressing her silk covered chest into his as she leaned in to kiss him when they heard a quiet knock on their bedroom door, followed by a weak, terrified "Mamie? Daddy?"

With a sigh, Brigitte quickly rolled off her husband and gathered her robe from the chair on her vanity as she walked towards the door to unlock it, shooting a quick, quiet, "do you need to run to the bathroom?" over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t caught in an uncomfortable situation.

Seeing his quick head shake "no," she slipped the lock and pulled open the door to see little Emma shaking like a leaf, tear tracks coloring her face, and her little teddy squeezed tight to her chest.

"What’s wrong, Sweetie?" She asked as she squatted down to be on her level, opening her arms as she went, a slightly surprised "oof!" following the force that hit her as the little girl threw herself into her Grandmother’s arms.

"I had a nightmare," she answered, muffled by where she had buried her head in Brigitte’s skin.

"Oh, Sweetie. It was only a dream," she tried to soothe, gently rubbing her back like she used to do when her mother was her age and suffered from the same demons.

"It felt so real!" She protested through her sniffles. "And every time I close my eyes I see it again."

With another sigh, she turned to look back at her husband over her shoulder, sending him an unspoken: "what do you want to do?"

"Emma, do you want to sleep with us tonight?" He asked, from his spot in their bed.

Rapidly, she pulled back to nod enthusiastically.

"Alight then," Brigitte agreed, standing to her full height, and grabbing the little girl, resting her on her hip to carry her towards their bed. "Here we go," she soothed as she gently deposited her in her vacated spot, allowing Emma to scoot into the middle before she joined back in her spot.

She couldn’t help but smiling over at her husband as she felt the little girl loop her arms through each of theirs, grabbing on tight to the comfort they provided, a sight that he spent the following week endlessly recounting to his coworkers.

🫠 Grandchildren fics melt my heart and this one was beautifully written. Thank you so much for sharing. (I’m sure this has happened in real life too).

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Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. ‘TIS THE SEASON! Hope you all enjoy this little holiday themed piece.

He wasn’t sure why his wife thought their staff could use a bonding exercise, but he was never going to trust her judgment. He knew that she saw things, heard things he didn’t, and after all these years, he knew to listen to her when she was that forceful about something. But, now that he had learned of the gift exchange - he was delighted by her idea (especially after he had rigged it to draw his wife’s name).

Of course, the excitement over their assigned name was not shared by everyone, especially a certain chief of staff who would had rather picked a gift for the dog who had everything.

"Madame?" Tristan asked during a lull in one of her afternoons.

"Yes, Tristan. Do you need something?"

"It’s about the gift exchange. I have no idea what to get."

"Well, I’m happy to try and help you, but honestly, your guess would be as good as mine. Lord knows, I’m not sure Soazig needs another beanie, but -"

"I drew your husband’s name, so respectfully, I think your guess would actually be better than mine."

"Oh! Well, that is different. Let me think on this." She paused to think.

"Surely you have a gift already I could just put my name on instead?" He begged.

"You can’t steal one of my gifts." She rejected him gently.

"I’ll pay you back!" He offered.

"It’s not the money," she corrected, blushing slightly.

"What is it then, because I can -"

"It’s what I’ve bought him," she interrupted.

"Oh. OH GOD!" He exclaimed when he realized what she meant. “I just wanted a book,” he tried to explain.

“I haven’t purchased those yet, but I have some titles I can suggest!” She offered, grateful to pivot to safer ground.

“Yes, please,” he begged, trying to clear the very unwanted image of his bosses from his mind.

————

“Alrighty! Gift time!” Emmanuel exclaimed happily as he entered the room where everyone had assembled, carrying a beautiful gift bag in his hands.

“You seem to have something up your sleeve,” Brigitte teased as her husband slid next to her.

“I may have a surprise or two in here,” he winked before turning to the group, “who wants to go first?”

“Would you like to go first, Sir?” Someone suggested.

“I would love to!” He beamed as he turned towards his wife, presenting her with his gift bag.

“Of course you drew me,” she laughed, giddy as she started to remove the paper. “Ooh!!” She exclaimed blushing as she saw the gift inside, seeing the tiny scraps of holiday themed fabric. “Thank you, chéri.”

“Can we see?” An innocent third party asked, curious as to what drew such a reaction from the First Lady.

“I think I’m going to politely decline that request,” she tried to dismiss, bright pink now. “Should I go next?” She tried to distract, happy when she could hand Soazig the gift bag she had entered with.

“He bought you lingerie, didn’t he?” Her friend whispered as the gift exchanged hands.

“Was it that obvious?” She asked quietly.

She shrugged, and with a wink explained, “I figured you were the reason he didn’t want me to record proof of him holding a La Perla bag.”

Hello Anon 2, this story was adorable!! Sneaky Emmanuel with the lingerie. 🤭

And Brigitte not saying what she bought for Emmanuel 😂

Thank you for sharing!

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Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. That new quote really inspired the plot bunnies. Hope you all enjoy!!

“Knock, knock,” he joked as he popped his head through her door. “You have a minute?”

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” she beamed as she saw him push off of the doorframe, walking towards the corner of her desk, practically swooning as he leant down to give her a gentle kiss.

“I had five minutes between meetings and I missed you,” he shrugged as he pulled back, hopping on to the corner of her desk with a cheerful grin, feeling already lighter for the few seconds he had been in her presence.

“I missed you too,” she replied, her heart in her eyes as she looked up towards him, oh how she missed him, oh how she loves him.

“Really?”

“You know I do!” She laughed, shaking her head at his silliness, butterflies settling in her stomach as she felt his hand gently cup her cheek to stop her, pulling her face back up towards his, his thumb brushing her cheekbone with such tenderness she could feel her heart ready to burst open.

“I still like to hear it,” he replied, his own boundless love for her swimming in his eyes as they continued to sit there, words unnecessary as their souls danced.

Hi Anon #2, this was wonderful! Thank you so much for sharing! 💕 It’s so adorable.

P.S. I’ve been loving this new information from the interview today.

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Happy Weekend. I wrote a fic I'd like to share.

Disclaimer: This story is not meant to upset brunettes. I, myself, am a brunette woman.

He quickly apologized when he entered the sitting room and discovered a brunette woman looking out the window. He hated bothering his staffers when he didn’t need them. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the brunette proclaimed when Emmanuel had turned his back on the room. He had been on a mission to find his wife before his meeting, desperately needing a kiss. He wasn’t going to waste precious time chatting with another woman. 

However, he knew that voice very well. “Brigitte?!” He stood stunned, not finding satisfactory words to express himself. One of the many, many, things he loved about his wife was her signature blonde hair. Suddenly, it was dark brown and pin-straight.

When the hell did she find the time to do this? She had blonde hair this morning! 

“Do you like my new hairstyle?” After all these years of knowing him, Brigitte found herself unable to read his facial expression or body language. Emmanuel appeared upset, but she assumed he was just in a state of shock. She asked again, “What do you think of my new look?” 

He crossed his arms over his chest, “Is it permanent?” 

She smirked, “it is if you want it to be.” 

“I’m not playing games with you, Brigitte. Did you seriously dye your beautiful hair to this …. this…. weird brown colour!?” Emmanuel didn’t care if his question was insulting, he hated change - especially when it had something to do with his wife. 

The tabloids had been unnecessarily cruel about her appearance lately and Brigitte was sick of the harsh criticism. A change was exactly what she needed. She tapped her black-painted fingernails against the table. “Judging by your reaction, you don’t like my hair?” Brigitte asked, tugging on the ends. 

He wanted to be honest, that was always their agreement, but he strongly disliked it. Emmanuel had only known her (and loved her) as a blonde. This drastic change was unsettling. The colour was too dark with her light complexion and bright blue eyes, she looked pale and sickly. Not to mention, the cut had no style and lacked volume. 

Still, this was his wife and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her feelings. 

Why didn’t she run this by me first? Which hairstylist did this to her?! 

“I …. I’ll learn to like it,” he whispered, looking down at the floor rather than her face. 

She lightly touched his cheek and winked, “Think of it this way - it’ll feel like you’re sleeping with another woman.” 

“Don’t joke about shit like that,” Emmanuel rolled his eyes, not in the mood for her playful behaviour. “I’ll need a few days to get used to it.” 

It was only when he stared at her, looking at the dark roots more closely, that he realized something. “This isn’t your real hair!” Gently tugging on a piece, the hair moved forward and he shrieked. “It’s a wig!! You tricked me!” 

Laughing, she pulled off the itchy garment and tossed it at his stomach. Smiling brightly he pulled her into his arms, “Thank God! I know you can do whatever you want but I almost cried when I saw my beautiful blonde wife as a brunette! Where did you even find this hideous-looking thing? Is it from a Halloween costume?”  

“It was a fun wig Emma forgot at our house from her school play. I wanted to prank you with it.” Brigitte kissed his forehead, “I believe we still have 20 minutes before your meeting. How about I prove to you that blondes do have more fun?” 

“Chérie, you’re been proving that to me for the last 25 years.”

Hahaha, as a brunette, no offense taken! This was such a fun read. <3 Thank you for submitting it!

- blogger:🍩

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Hi! It’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. One of you lovely bloggers mentioned on a Nemo post he should write a Nemo children’s book, and of course, I had to write a fic about that. Hope everyone enjoys!

If you had told her that his first job after he had left the Presidency was to write a book, she would have absolutely believed you. But if you had told her it was a children’s book? She would have asked what you were smoking.

But, in all honesty, it wasn’t that much much of a deviation from all those improvised stories he used to tell their little grandchildren, those moments that she still cherishes so tightly, afraid that the memories might slip through the cracks if she didn’t squeeze tightly enough to them.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of his horrible impression of her.

"That’s not how I sound, chéri!" She laughed, unable to hold herself back.

"Then why don’t you come show me how it’s done?" He challenged, a smirk in his eyes.

"Alright then," she accepted with a game smile, laughing as his arm wrapped around her hip, anchoring her to him so she couldn’t escape.

“Have you seen Nemo?” She read aloud, unable to resist a smirking, “see?”

Laughing, shaking his head a little embarrassed, he forced his attention back to the book. “He wandered off a minute ago. I figured he went looking for you.”

The two kept bantering back and forth through the pages of the book as they looked far and wide for their naughty Nemo, ultimately finding him hiding in a random fireplace. (She remembers the question from a disbelieving journalist asking if that really did happen, and it took every bone in her body not to laugh as her husband just stared back, barely answering, “do you really think I could have made that up? You’ve seen his particular affection for them before.”)

At the end of the reading, he opened the floor up for questions, smiling as he saw several eager hands shoot up.

"Yes, you the blonde in the back with the pink watch band," he called, some feeling in him drawing him to the mystery girl.

"Why didn’t you bring Nemo?" She asked as she stood up, revealing the surprise.

"Emma!" He called out delighted, turning to Brigitte with a shocked look on his face. "Did you know she was coming, chérie?"

"She told me she wouldn’t miss this for the world," she smiled back, before answering her granddaughter’s impertinent question with a teasing, "who says he’s not here?"

"Mamie!!" She whined, causing her Daddy to laugh - no matter how old all their grandchildren got, some things never changed.

"Alright, anyone have a serious question?" He asked, turning back to the crowd, as he felt his wife’s hand slip into his at his side, always so proud of their family.

Hello! This was so adorable! And a very clever idea! I have no idea how you came up with it! Thank you for sharing 💕💕 more Nemo stories please haha

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Hello! I was in a festive mood and came up with this short story.

“Absolutely not! Every year you spend Christmas with your family, which will not change just because you have a girlfriend!” Emmanuel’s mom yelled into the phone, her voice cracking from all the unnecessary strain she was putting on her vocal cords.  

Brigitte had invited Emmanuel to spend the holiday with her and her three children. Unfortunately, it was a question she suddenly regretted, not realizing it would turn into a full-on war.  

While listening to the conversation, her heart broke for this brilliant young man who was being scolded by his mother just because he wanted to start a new tradition.  

“I am an adult! I can spend Christmas with whoever I choose!” Emmanuel retorted as he rubbed Brigitte’s bare knee for support. The level of comfort he received from such a simple interaction allowed him a few seconds to calm down. 

His mother knew she would lose this battle, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. As far as she was concerned, Brigitte was merely a girlfriend, a distraction, a short-term relationship. In her eyes, his unbridled loyalty should be with his biological family. 

“You’ll be sorry when this woman is just a memory, one of your many horrible decisions, and you wasted a Christmas with her,” she threatened. “You have ruined this holiday for us.” 

Emmanuel took a much-needed deep breath before he spoke, ignoring her harsh criticism, “Brigitte will never be just a part of my past. She’s my entire future. I am spending Christmas with her and her children and that’s FINAL.” He emphasized the word “final” so she’d know he was dead serious. 

When he slammed the phone down, Brigitte was immediately by his side offering a soothing hug and kiss. “If I knew it would be this big of an issue, I never would have asked you to come. Please, go to your parents’ house instead. We can see each other the next day for lunch.” 

He leaned back so he could look directly in the eyes. “You’re my family. I will spend every single Christmas with you. If my parents have a problem with that then it’s on them.” Emmanuel grabbed her hand and squeezed it, “I’m not going anywhere. Trust me.” 

“I’m not either,” she reassured him with a deep kiss before taking his hand and dragging him to the bedroom. 

Thank you for this submission, Anon! This was such a wonderful read. "You are my family."

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Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. So I saw they went to the Madonna concert in Sunday (yay!), which inspired this piece. Now, I don’t think either of them are prudish - they are French after all - I did hear that these concerts are a lot, and he was conspicuously looking anywhere but at the stage in the photo I saw. This is a little spicier than I normally write, but I hope everyone enjoys!

(PS, @ballsonfiree, sending huge hugs and prayers your way.)

"What did you think of the concert, chéri?" She asked, shrugging off her coat at the doorway to their apartment, holding her hand out for his coat, to hang on the his and her hooks just inside the entryway.

"It was fine," he answered simply.

"Fine?" She asked confused, taking his hand as they moved towards the bedroom.

"I don’t know. It was a lot," he blushed as he thought back to some of the more risqué bits. He wasn’t quite sure what exactly he had watched, or more accurately caught in his preifereal vision as he actively avoided staring straight at certain moves.

"It was a lot," she agreed, shuddering at the memory of one of the more graphic mimed movements.

"You’re the only woman I really want to see strip anyway," he shrugged, causing a lightbulb to go off in her mind.

"Is that so?" She knowingly smirked at him.

"You know it is," he replied, brow knit in confusion as to the sudden change in her demeanor. "What’s going on?"

"Come on, don’t you trust me?" she teased mysteriously as she gently shoved him onto the edge of their bed, stepping back slowly when she was satisfied he was seated and not going anywhere.

"More than anything," he swore sincerely, still a little nervous about what she had up that clever sleeve.

"Then, just sit back and enjoy," she instructed, slowly slipping out of one of the sleeves of her blazer, before shrugging out of the other one, letting it fall to the ground.

"What are you doing?" He questioned again, knowing how much that borrowed blazer costs.

"You said I was the only one you wanted to see strip," she explained as she hooked her thumbs in the hem of her t-shirt, quickly pulling it over her head, joining its partner on the floor. "So, I’m fulfilling that particular request," she added as she toed off her shoes, before carefully bending to remove her pants, allowing him an eyeful of her cleavage.

Straightening back up to her full height, she grinned victoriously as she saw his eyes darkened, ready to go in for the kill. "Now, does that also extend to seeing me naked?"

Hi Anon 2! This was such a sexy story! You should continue with the spicy stories because you sure know how to write them! Thank you for sharing this piece. 💕

P.S I also loved that they went to a Madonna concert and the pictures of E looking uncomfortable made me chuckle lol.

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Hello! I was inspired by the Paris Match interview when Brigitte said she thought he’d meet someone his own age in Paris.

“You don’t have to call me every night, Emmanuel,” Brigitte spoke into the phone as she lay in bed, wishing her boyfriend was with her and not in Paris. But, as of recently, she was having doubts about their relationship.

“I’m sure you have a lot of better things to do than talk to me.”

He remained silent for several seconds, processing what she was telling him. She was usually a straight-shooter, not one to beat around the bush, and he loved that about her. He always knew where he stood and there were never any mind games. That's why he was so confused right now. Where was this suddenly coming from? Did she have dinner plans with another man and didn’t want to tell him? Was she not enjoying their late-night conversations?

“I love talking to you, Chérie,” he confessed. “There’s nothing else I’d rather do. I look forward to our calls every night.”

She nervously played with the phone’s cord, realizing her idea wasn’t well-received. “Don’t you have friends who invite you out? I was thinking you could go to a bar or do something fun this weekend.”

“And not see you?” He was horrified at the thought of not being with her. “Being with you is the highlight of my entire week!” Something was definitely wrong. If she was seeing someone else, he’d prefer her to be honest. “What’s going on, Chérie?”

“Nothing, I just want you to have a life outside of me,” Brigitte whispered. “I’m sure you have friends who would love to see you outside of the classroom.”

“You’re my life!!” Emmanuel yelled into the phone.

“Listen, I have to go, I love you. Goodnight Emmanuel. And please don’t call me tomorrow. You have an evening off from me. Enjoy it.” With that, she hung up the phone.

She hated doing this. She loved him so very much, but Brigitte knew she was holding him back from having a proper social life, and eventually a life with a woman who could give him all the things she couldn’t. He was a college student who needed to be amongst his peers, partying should be essential for a young man. He’ll find someone his own age.

The next evening she sat at home, happy he had listened to her, hoping he was hitting up the bars and clubs instead. If he continued to go out and socialize, rather than spend his evenings on the phone with her, she hoped Emmanuel would find a woman his own age. All it took was one conversation with a brilliant woman to turn the course of his life around.

Brigitte was settled in bed with a book when the phone rang. Reaching over to grab it, she answered it with hesitation, wondering who could be calling her at this hour. “Hello?”

“It’s me!! I know you told me not to call but I had to! I’ve been staring at the phone wondering if you went out or what you were doing. Why did you tell me not to call when you’re obviously at home? I look forward to our evening conversations and nothing or no one can take that feeling away from me.” Emmanuel spoke truthfully.

She thought about what he was saying and spoke once he stopped (upset he never went out like she had hoped), “I want you to have fun. If you go out, you’re more likely to find a woman your own age and …”

He rudely cut her off. “What? My age? I love you! I’m not looking for someone else. My heart wants you, love is more powerful than we could ever understand. I could be in a bar with 100 girls my own age and I’d still want you. Is this why you told me not to call you? You WANT me to find someone else? Well, that will never happen! You will be my wife one day.”

She took note of him referring to these people as “girls” and not “women.”

“So, you’re that crazy about me?” Brigitte joked when he had finally calmed down.

“Crazier than any man has ever been over a woman. Now, tell me about your day. We have a few hours to make up for.” He settled back in his bed, finally able to relax against his pillows as he listened to his favourite woman describe the events of her day.

Hi anon writer,

Thanks for sharing this! It's such a sweet piece. 🩷 That part of the interview struck me, too. I loved this! - 🍩

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Here's a little NC-17 fic... :)

The first time he slips his fingers inside of her, she groans. He confesses to her that he's never… and his voice trails off as he looks down, seemingly embarrassed about his inexperience. She reassures him that she'll guide him, that she isn't really all that experienced either.

He isn't sure he believes her, but he appreciates it - even if she's only saying it for his benefit.

He sighs and refocuses. He thinks that she feels like warm velvet around his finger. It feels so much more intimate than what they've done previously, and he can't seem to figure out why that is.

He still isn't entirely sure that he's doing this correctly, but her nails digging into his shoulder ever so slightly indicates to him that she must be enjoying it.

“More,” she says, and he obliges, slowly adding another finger. He continues to thrust into her, watching her face for clues.

“Twist them,” she says, and he looks confused. She lets out a light chuckle and clarifies, “make a small circle, it feels amazing.”

He nods and follows her instructions, pleased with himself when her back arches.

“Good?” He inquires.

She smiles and draws her bottom lip in between her teeth, “Very good.”

She's surprised when the bed shifts and she feels his hand run over her thigh, the same one that's been resting on her calf this entire time. It doesn't take long for it to make contact with her, and she whimpers.

At first he's hesitant, unsure if he should have asked first, but the way she tightens around him when he makes contact with her clit leaves him desperate to do it again and again.

He'd had his fair share of fantasies about her. How she'd sound, how she'd feel. He never could have conjured up how intoxicating the real thing would be.

The way her eyes darken. The way her body arches against him when she craves more. The way her fingers twist in his hair when she's so close to letting go. The way she utterly and completely gives every bit of herself to him.

She is the epitome of beauty. In her most vulnerable state, she exudes nothing but elegance and grace. He wonders how it's possible for someone to be this perfect, but he doesn't dare say it aloud. She has far too much humility to accept that he considers her to be flawless.

“God, Emmanuel,” she breathes and he can feel her losing control. A moment later, she's tumbling over the edge, blowing out a soft string of curse words towards the ceiling.

When her body finally stops moving involuntarily, he removes his fingers and sits back on his heels. He takes a minute to drink in the sight before him, satisfied with the display of her sprawled out on his bed, her hair covering most of her face, and her breasts rising and falling.

“Come here,” she commands and he can hear the smile in her voice. She rests her hand around his chin, her thumb landing just below his bottom lip and pulls him in for a kiss.

They finally pull away and she looks up at him with such love that it's almost too intense for him, he nearly has to tear his eyes away from hers. He's so smitten, but he doesn't care. He'd give her the world if she asked without hesitation, and he's pretty certain that she knows it, too.

“That was incredible,” she praises. “Now, it's my turn,” she pushes him backwards, and crawls overtop of him, settling down into his boxer-clad lap.

As he looks up at her, her hands delicately caressing his chest, he wishes that he could paint. The sight of her hovering above him, surely about to take him to another dimension, is something he is desperate to capture.

He really is the luckiest man on earth.

This was amazing!! So sexy!! Do you have a name Anonymous person?

Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece! 💕

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Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. I saw a fic request! This is based on the Paris Match interview from this week. If you haven’t read it/seen this part, she said he never was in a bad mood in the mornings. This is my guess as to part of the reason why. Enjoy!

He is awoken by the smell of bacon frying up on the stove wafting from the other side of his small apartment. The studio style layout ensured that as he slowly sat up in bed, the sheet falling to barely cover his naked lap, he was able to get a full view of her as she worked: messy blonde hair, bare feet, swallowed by the tee shirt he discarded last night as she flipped the crackling meat in the pan. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

“Good morning,” he said gently, trying not to startle her.

“Good morning, chéri! Sleep well?” She asked, flashing a knowing smile over her shoulder.

She knew the answer - of course he did. It was their first time together, and he had big plans for a second round this morning, which is why he was a little upset she was already up and out of bed, preparing a different kind of treat.

“You know I did,” he smiled back before she turned her attention to the greasy pan, careful not to let it burn. “But why are you out of bed?”

“Because I wanted to take care of you!”

“I can think of other ways you could do that,” he smirked, his tone suggestive.

“Not like that!” She laughed. “Well, exactly like that, just, later.”

“Why though?”

“Why? Because, chéri, I love you. And because I love you, I want to take care of you. That’s what love is. At least to me.”

———

He is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her put the kettle on the stove for their morning tea, humming to herself a little as she moved back and forth at the counter top, her feet still bare, her morning hair still messy, only this time she was wearing his discarded button downs from the night before, from when he had thrown it down when he finally made it home, needing the love, the comfort, the reassurance only she could provide. And it was still one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Can you pass me the lemons on the way over, chéri?” She asks, feeling his eyes at her back, her hand extending upwards from her side, waiting for his deposit.

Naughty idea forming, he grabs the lemons, depositing them in her hand as he looped his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly into his chest.

“Why are you out of bed?” He asks, playfully channeling that conversation from so many years ago.

“Because I want to take care of you,” she replies, her part always the same.

“I can think of other ways you could do that.”

“Later,” she replies with a conciliatory kiss. “Go sit in the dining room. Breakfast is almost ready.”

He kisses her one more time before he lets go, making his way towards the doorframe once more before he turns around and takes in once more the scene that had played in their home practically every day for the last 16 years, and he feels his smile widen.

It was hard to be anywhere but on cloud nine when she was the start of every day.

This was lovely, Anon 2! I am such a sucker for domestic fluff, and this feels so very *them*. I could see it all unfolding before me as I read this. Thank you so much for submitting! -🍩

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Hello! I would like to submit a fic. Mature Rating.

This morning was different for Emmanuel, it was unlike any morning he’d ever experienced before. Finally, after years of asking (and begging), he was going to wake up next to his girlfriend. 

“You’re awake,” She smiled when he opened his eyes, staring back at the most beautiful sight in front of him. 

“Good morning,” he cleared his throat, “have you been looking at me for a while?” 

“Maybe…” She giggled at his morning hair, a brown mess of curls sticking out in every direction. 

“What’s so funny?” He felt self-conscious, never having woken up next to a woman before. Had he done something wrong? Was he snoring? Talking in his sleep? 

When she heard the concern in his voice, matched with the worried expression on his face, she stroked his cheek. “I was laughing at your hair.” 

He seemed to ease up, tickling her under the blanket until she begged him to stop, threatening to knee him in the groin if he didn’t let up the playful torture. Having mercy on her, he kissed her lips and apologized. “Not all of us can look like supermodels in the morning, Chérie.” 

Burying her face against his chest, she blushed at his compliment. Gently, he lifted her chin and stared deep into her blue eyes. “Look at me, I meant what I said, please don’t hide.” 

“No man has ever said that to me - and especially not in the morning without makeup on,” Brigitte admitted with a hint of sadness. Even her husband had never complimented her the way Emmanuel did. 

He felt a pang of jealousy, remembering she had woken up next to a man before. This was a big deal to him (their first sleepover) but to her, it was probably nothing out of the ordinary, having shared a bed with a man for over two decades. A man whose name she had taken, whose children she bore, and ultimately promised to love until death parted them. 

“Hey, what are you thinking about right now?” She asked, snuggling closer so she could hear his heartbeat. 

Emmanuel took a deep breath as he ran his hands through her beautiful blonde hair. “Waking up next to you means a lot to me, but it’s not a new experience for you.” 

She awkwardly twisted her neck so she could look him straight in the eye. “It means a lot to me too. Emmanuel, what we share is something very special. I’ve never felt this way before.” She ran her fingers across his chest and continued speaking, “Not even with my husband.” 

He swallowed hard when her fingers lightly traced a path down his toned stomach, stopping only when they reached his erection. “Another good thing about waking up next to you is morning sex. I love how hard you get from just my soft touch.” She began to lovingly stroke him under the sheet, never breaking eye contact as she came close to finishing him right on the spot, knowing just the moment to ease up. 

“Brigitte … I ….” He began to speak but gave up when he felt her lips lightly brush his tip. When he reacted to the sensation, she gave him only a few seconds before she took him as deep as she could. Knowing exactly what he loved, she continued to pleasure him with her mouth and hand. “Fuck, Brigitte…I ….” She looked up with pride as his entire body erupted, filling her mouth with his warm liquid. 

He groaned, lifting the sheet to watch her swallow every last drop, her enthusiasm making the act so intoxicating. 

Brigitte pushed her bangs away from her face and smiled up at him. “Now, you were saying something?”

Hi Anon,

Welcome back! 🩷 This was such a cute (and spicy!) fic. 🔥 I imagine many of their mornings have begun like this.

- Blogger 🍩

[bandefic]

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. I saw a request for fic…

She tried not to draw attention to herself, knowing he was busy reading through the file in his lap so that he could pay attention to something else on the plane ride back, knowing his day was not over when the wheels touched down again in Paris, was not over because they would be in Switzerland for the next two days, yet another brief in another folder. She didn’t want him to worry about her, she was a big girl, she could warm herself, even if her coat was soaked through and she was cold to the bone.

"Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you going to keep suffering in silence?" He asked, finally fed up of watching her shiver out of the corner of his eyes. He loves his wife, but sometimes she was a stubborn as a mule.

"What are you talking about?" She tried to ask, feeling like he could hear her teeth chattering.

"Chérie," he sighed, moving the folder to the side and giving her a look that after all these years she knows means he is not going to let it go.

"I’m cold," she admitted quietly.

"You’re cold?"

"My coat is soaked through, and I’m cold. There. You happy?"

"Am I happy that you’re cold? God no, Brigitte. What’s going on? What am I missing?"

"You’re focused on me, not on that file."

"Chérie-"

"No! There are a million and one crises and I’m distracting you!"

"You are not distracting me. You are my priority."

"But -"

"No! You are always my priority. Your safety, your wellbeing, your happiness. You. You are my wife, and the most precious thing in the universe to me.

"And I will be having a strongly worded conversation with whomever didn’t hold up the umbrella properly, but for now, get over here."

"The car is -" she started to protest only for him to cut her off by reaching across to unbuckle her seatbelt, pulling her into the middle seat, and against his chest as he awkwardly turned towards her, wrapping her tightly in his arms before refastening her seatbelt.

"You are cold," he mumbled as he felt the chill seep into his bones now, pressing his nose into the wet hair on the top of her head, gently, firmly kissing her. "I love you, Brigitte. I love you so very much. And I need you to tell me when you need me, because I will always be right there with you."

"I’m supposed to be helping, this isn’t helping!" She protested weakly.

"Chérie, having you with me, no matter where we are or what we are doing helps me. I am only at peace when I’m with you. All I ever need is you."

Hello Anon #2!! This story was so beautiful! I love caring Emmanuel and you captured them beautifully! Thank you for sharing!!

[bandefic]

Hi, it’s me Fanfic Anon #2. This is a little on the spicier side for me, but I hope everyone enjoys!

"Do you have a second?" She asked with a soft knock, popping that beautiful head through the doorframe.

"For you, always," he smiled warmly back, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening as she walked towards him, sneaking a quick kiss before hopping onto the edge of his desk, crossing those long, long legs, allowing the briefest glimpse of the soft skin as the hemline of her skirt rode up.

"I want to read something to you, if that’s okay. I think you should hear this," she explained, pulling her glasses, and a sheet of paper seemingly out of nowhere.

He sighed as he watched her slip the black frames on to her face, a familiar feeling settling like a heavy stone in his stomach at the sight of her blue eyes slightly magnified in those stylish black frames. "God, she looks sexy in her glasses," he thought to himself, his eyes lingering on her face, and his attention decidedly elsewhere as her words faded into a nondescript melody in the background.

"Hello! Earth to Emmanuel!" Her laugh eventually broke through. "You didn’t hear a single word I just said, did you?"

"Ummm-" he stammered.

"I’ll take that as a no, then. Where did you go just now?"

"Ummm," he blushed.

She slipped off her glasses, intending to focus more clearly on his face, only to be interrupted by his sudden: "No! Don’t take them off!"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing, feeling a familiar warmth spread through her.

"Yes, ‘oh,’" he replied meaningfully. "Have I ever told you how sexy you look in those glasses?"

She laughed before replying, "so you find the four-eyes look attractive?"

"First of all, don’t say that. Second, are you kidding me? Have you looked in the mirror?"

"You’re very sweet," she dismissed demurely, shanking her blonde bob gently and hiding behind the flowing strands.

"I’m very serious," he replied lifting her off the desk and pulling her into his lap so she could feel the impact she had on him.

"Oh," she said again, this time quieter as she got the message.

"How about you go lock the doors and I clear my desk - and my schedule?" He asked hoarsely.

"Sure," she agreed with a smirk. "After all, something very pressing has ‘come up.’"

This was a FANTASTIC submission! Thank you, Anon 2! I think we all swoon over Brigitte and her glasses. 🔥

[bandefic]

Hello! I’d like to submit a fic.

This particular Sunday afternoon was absolutely beautiful, not only was the temperature outside perfect, but the sun was shining and there wasn’t a single cloud in the blue sky. There was also another reason why this Sunday was special. Their beloved grandchildren, whom they adored, would be spending the afternoon at their house. 

“Mamie! Come run through the sprinkler with us!” Emma, the couple’s oldest grandchild commanded. 

Emmanuel gave his wife an encouraging nod, indicating that he was quite content feeding the youngest one his bottle under the patio umbrella. He looked up every time he heard something out of the ordinary, making sure his wife wasn’t overexerting herself in an attempt to keep up with the energetic children. 

With each jump, he admired the way her ass looked in those white denim shorts, remembering exactly which panties (the black lace ones) she was wearing under those when they got dressed together this morning. 

Focusing once again on the baby in his arms, he glanced up only when he heard one of the kids yell, “Mamie! You’re soaked!” 

Was he seeing things? When had she forgone her bra? He could have sworn she wearing a bra under that thin white t-shirt this morning. Surely, he would have noticed if she removed it? 

He remembered the black panties … But why couldn’t he recall the bra? It didn’t matter. She clearly wasn’t wearing one now.  

He continued to stare and drool over his wife as her nipples strained against the soaked cotton fabric. Wanting to do nothing more than drag her inside and swipe his mouth and tongue across her tits, he had to refrain from dragging her across the lawn in front of curious eyes.  

Shaking his head, he tried once again to feed the baby, grateful the bottle was almost empty. 

“Emma!” He called out to his oldest grandchild, waving her over to the patio chair where he sat. 

“Yes, daddy?” She asked, eager to help in any way she could. 

“Could you take your little cousin, please? I need to talk to Mamie in private. Would it be alright if we left you in charge of everyone for a few minutes?” 

Emma nodded confidently, happy that her grandfather trusted her with such a grown-up task. When she securely had the little one in her arms, she took a seat on the deck overlooking her siblings and cousins, wanting to prove she was the right person for this very important job. After kissing Emma's forehead, he set off to get his wife.

Without warning, Brigitte felt Emmanuel’s strong hand grip her arm before pulling her inside the house. After locking the patio door behind them, he charged at her.

“What has gotten into you?” She was cut off by his mouth on hers as his hands grabbed the hem of her see-thru shirt. In one swift motion, he lifted it to expose her bare chest. 

She threw her head back and moaned loudly when his mouth moved from her lips to her hardened nipples. 

“Lift up your arms,” he demanded, anxious to get rid of the wet obstruction, desperately needing full access to her body. 

When she protested, knowing their grandkids were just a few feet away, he moved on to the zipper of her denim shorts. She gasped when his fingers pushed her panties to the side before swiping through her wetness to tease her opening. 

“You are driving me wild with your shirt,” he whispered, his middle finger entering her slowly, grinning proudly when she reacted with a whimper. 

“We…. Can’t …. Do…” Her speech was broken as he pumped in and out, moving her hips with the rhythm of his finger. 

“DADDY!!!!! COME QUICK! THERE'S A FROG ON THE GRASS!!” 

“Coming honey!” Emmanuel yelled as he smacked Brigitte’s ass. In a whispered tone, he made a promise to his wife, “I’ll be back in a minute to finish the job, Chérie. But first, I must see this frog. You stay away from it though because you've already met your prince.” 

And with that, he left her flushed, horny and wet in the middle of the kitchen. 

Thank you for this sexy story! I hope there’s a part 2 in the works! 💕

[bandefic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

WIP Update

Summary:

A multi-chapter fic where different emotions are revealed.

Potentially Triggering Tags: pregnancy

[bandefic]

WIP Update!

Chapter 6 has been posted!

Check out the previous chapter if you haven't already!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works