#but feel like petite gets forgotten about so much
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Love being humbly reminded why I hate clothes shopping and it’s bc I can never find anything I like and also nothing fits me correctly anyway
#I have all these ideas in my head and then I find something similar and it’s like nah#don’t suit you babes#also so much stuff catered to plus size now which amazing!!!!!#but feel like petite gets forgotten about so much#and it’s so frustrating
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Voices of Roses and Ruin
Warnings: Psychological torture, manipulation, Coriolanus being himself
Summary: Coriolanus is forced to watch the gamemaker use his voice against you in the arena.
Words: around 2k
Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader
A/N: I watched TBOSAS yesterday and yeah don't judge me but young Snow is hot and I shipped him and Lucy Gray a lot (until it all went downhill cough cough). Obviously he's horrible and does many unspeakable things later (!!!). But I think the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute has so much potential and when I saw the birds in the film I thought of this idea.
This is written from Coriolanus perspective (I haven't read the book yet. I just bought it and I'm so excited to read it!). I obviously wanted this to be about real feelings, but I tried to stay true to his character so there are some 'questionable' and alarming thoughts and motifs in here.
Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here
Part II | Masterlist
Coriolanus had thought watching you in the arena, alone and scared, hiding from a pack of murders that were hunting for your life was among the worst things he had ever gone through, but nothing could have prepared him for the Gamemaker’s new horrendous plan.
He was tired, just as you were, but refused to go home like most students had done. Instead his head was resting in his hand as he kept watching your sleeping form, as if he could protect you if he just kept his eyes on the screen and on the lookout for a potential threat.
He wouldn’t be able to do anything for you, if the pack of murders found you. He couldn’t warn you or give you advice.
All he could do was sit here and watch and he found himself thinking if this was not the worst torture of them all; being trapped here while you were out there and all he could do was watch.
You were trembling in your sleep, if from the cold or fear he didn’t know, but he kept his expression carefully guarded as he felt his own heart breaking bits by bits.
Even there covered in dirt, with your hair a wild mess and your clothes strained with mud you looked breathtaking to him.
You were pretty, there was no denying that. Everyone else saw it too. He saw it in the way heads turned for you, men‘s eyes raking over your body like you were theirs to take.
He hated it, every part of it.
They all deserved to die.
But it wasn’t your looks that had drawn his attention to you. What had fascinated him. He liked to think he wasn‘t shallow like most people and blinded by pretty things.
No, what has drawn him to you was the way you carried yourself. The confidence you wore like an amour. Yet you were breakable at the same time.
You seemed to be made up of duality; strong but so weak, fierce but uncertain, opinionated but withdrawn, stubborn but helpless.
You were a dangerous little thing and a petite fragile flower at once. Drawing all eyes on you but forgotten due to your ordinariness by most after a moment.
Not by him though. To him you could never be ordinary.
It was frustrating and captivating and alluring.
Naturally, his constant worry for you since you had entered the arena stemmed from his will to get the scholarship. It was what he deserved and he would claim it.
Tht was why he was so engaged in saving you, not because of the deep unease he felt when he saw you in that arena, your eyes drifting around frantically until they passed a camera and he could have sworn they had locked on his for a moment.
It had nothing to do with the way his whole body seemed to light up when you smiled or the invisible pull he felt towards you when you were in the same room as him.
He definitely didn’t want to kiss you and he didn’t dream about you since the reaping, when his eyes had fallen on you for the first time and he had only thought one thing: You’re mine now.
Mine to claim, to showcase, to protect.
He had gone into the mentorship thinking he would use you to serve him and his purpose of getting what he deserved, but as he watched you now, still rooted in his chair although a deep exhaustion weighted down his body, he knew he was serving you.
Being here with you every second of the way. Vowing to protect you. Whatever it took.
You awoke from your restless sleep right before the screaming started. In an instant you were up, your eyes widened in panic as you gazed around, trying to locate the source. With the rest of the students that had stayed Coriolanus flinched in his seat, leaning forward to try and help you figure this out.
As quickly as it had started the screaming stopped and for a moment you were one, both breathing and blinking heavily as your mind tried to make sense of what happened.
And then he heard a voice. His voice. “Follow me.”
He forgot to breathe for a moment as he stared at what was happening in pure shock. You seemed just as confused, turning around in circles as you tried to find him there.
„Coriolanus?”, you whispered and took a step forward, towards the voice. “Follow me”, it whispered again and he watched you do.
No, no, no.
Around him he heard chuckles from the other students, but he drowned them out. All he could focus on was you, following his voice through the darkness. “Where are you?”, you hissed, your eyes darting around. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here for you.”
He sank lower in his seat, wishing himself somewhere else. It wasn’t him saying the words, obviously, but it was his voice and everyone could hear it, see you follow it.
He hoped people would laugh about you. About your nativity and the brilliant idea of the gamemaker to use your mentors voice against you. Hell, he didn’t even care, if they thought you might have a silly little crush on him and the gamemaker used it against you.
Because if people knew the whole truth, he couldn’t imagine the catastrophe that would follow.
The truth that there was something between the two of you, the mentor and the tribute. That it was something he couldn’t explain, but had let him do dangerous things. Break rules. Forget himself.
The truth that this might not be him speaking those words now, but that he had spoken them to you once. Had they been listening all this time?
His stomach twist in terror as he tried to remember all you had shared with each other, all he had said to you. Promised you.
It would ruin him.
“I can’t see you”, you whispered now, being led further into darkness.
Damn it, think! He wanted to yell at you. It’s not me. I’m not there.
There was no reason for him to be there.
Except…there was.
“I’m here to see you. I won’t let anything happen to you!”
“How cute”, one girl hissed in his ear, but he remained stoic. “She’s as dumb as they come”, another said and he wanted to punch her. Enjoy the feeling of triumph when she looked at him in horror and didn’t dare open her mouth again.
“Looks like you’re guiding her straight to her own death. How ironic.”
And it was ironic.
Maybe in his attempt to protect you, save you, all he had done was ruined your one chance.
All he had said to you to make you trust him and then because he hadn’t been able to stop himself were used against you now and all he could do was watch. Keeping his face carefully blank he shut out their voices. They didn’t matter.
Finally he saw you hesitate. Maybe you had remembered his exact words or maybe you realized that you weren’t getting anywhere. That if it truly was him he would have just stepped out of the shadows and shown his face. “Is this real?”
Oh how funny it was to the people around him. He hated them all. Every single one.
Your words hit a mark. They pierced right through his heart, because he had said them to you. Whispered them. Before your farewell, when he had visited you one last time.
Your faces had only been separated by a few inches and he had fought the urge to kiss you right there and then. But he couldn’t.
Because of everything, but also because it felt too much like goodbye. It was stupid, but if he didn’t give into the temptation then, a part of him hoped it meant you would come back to him.
That your chapter wasn’t over, your story just starting. He would kiss you when you won. When there was a chance for a future with you.
Still those words had escaped his mouth, like he needed the reassurance that you felt the same way. That this meant something, so much that it was worth the risk.
Coriolanus leaned forward in his seat, hope blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know why whatever game they were playing with you hadn’t affected the other tributes yet, but he was sure their time would come.
And right now it seemed you wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Because there could come no answer to your question, as he had been the one asking it.
But he had underestimated the gamemakers.
Instead of a reply there came a scream and then a groan. “Coriolanus?” “Help me!”, he heard himself yelp. What?! He had never sounded like that.
But then flashes came back to him. The bombs. How the arena had collapsed, almost burying him alive. He would have died there, if it hadn’t been for you.
You had saved him.
But how in the hell did they get his voice now?!
“Coriolanus!”
Gone was the glimpse of hesitance and suspicion and you began sprinting into the direction the voice was coming from.
No!
He watched with dread as you ran directly towards the sound. It’s not real, he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but desperately hoping somehow his words would reach you.
When you stumbled upon a clearing you jerked to a stop, twisting and turning, your gaze furiously searching for something.
“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!” But he could only hear his own painful screams, in between pleading for your help. Sounds he was certain he had never made.
What was this?
With a stab of pain he saw your face was tearstained. You were crying. For him. For someone from the capitol.
Was this what the gamemaker wanted?
Whatever you did or said would never matter again.
All everyone would see when they looked at you now was the broken girl in a dark forest, all alone and desperate and crying for a man she never stood a chance with.
A man who knew hunger just as you did, who in a way fought for survival every day too. But they would never see that, because unlike you he wouldn’t let them. Where you had no choice, he still had one. And he was watching that one chance crumble in front of him.
Flashes of a better life filled his mind.
A house. Plates of food. Tigris smiling. His uniform, a real one made from the finest materials hanging draped neatly over a chair. Laughter echoing through the corridors and then a flash of your face as you stepped into the room, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned over the desk to peek a look at what he was working on.
It was the life they deserved, he deserved, if he got the scholarship. But you were there too. Alive and well, just as breathtaking. And you were his.
There had never been the choice between the scholarship and you, because they were one. Your life was connected to it and so his was to yours.
But now he could loose both and he felt the agony of that thought travel through his whole body.
The screaming seemed to be everywhere and he watched helplessly as you bent forward, covering your ears. All he wanted was to get the screaming to stop, wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was okay.
Instead he forced a neutral expression on his face, as if seeing you break didn’t break him the same way and pray for this hell to end.
Part II
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PHONE | w. maximoff
summary: You call your wife and decided to show her just how much you miss her
warnings: 18+ MDNI phone sex, guided masterbation, fingering, only thing on my wishlist this year is nasty phone sex with wanda
word count: 3k
It had been about five days since your wife left for her business trip, and to say you missed her was an understatement.
The house held a heavy silence as you settled into bed for the night, pulling the comforters up to your waist, feeling a subtle emptiness creep up when you looked at the empty bed space next to you. Prompting restless tossing and turning until you ended up facing your nightstand, the soft glow of your digital clock highlighted a jumble of trinkets: a small bowl cradling Wanda's extensive collection of rings, and a few pairs of earrings, a forgotten mug of now-cold tea, a petite bottle of hand cream, and a book precariously hanging off the edge
Your eyes continued to run along the smooth wood until they landed on a framed photo of you and Wanda, Captured during last year's anniversary celebration, Wanda had taken you into the city your faces slightly pushed together, painted with toothy grins as you both bundled up in thick winter coats leaning into each other for warmth.
Your heart swelled as you looked at the photo. Wanda's bright grin and sparkling eyes, filled with so much love, only made the ache you felt for her at that moment worse. She truly was the best partner you could ever ask for, always so attentive and devoted to you, making you feel like the most important person in the world, and in her eyes you were.
She was so sweet to you, calling and texting you whenever she got the chance, in between meetings or as she was leaving the hotel. Always eager and enthusiastic just to hear your voice on the rare occasions your timings synced up. Given the distance, Wanda was behind by two hours, leaving your calls awkward to match up, always missing each other by a few minutes. When Wanda was just waking up you were stepping into the office, and when she was leaving work you were already asleep.
You supposed she was eating dinner right now, probably with her co-workers or indulging in takeout from the Italian place she had previously mentioned. You felt silly, missing her this much when she had only been gone for a few days.
As you continued to look at the photograph you felt something blossom inside you, shifting slightly, your foot began to run up and down the side of your leg as your thumb swiped over her face in the picture. It felt like it had been an eternity since she last touched you, which you knew wasn't true as she had made sure to give you an extra memorable morning before she left for her flight, fucking you into oblivion before giving your limp body a sweet kiss goodbye.
You returned the photograph to the nightstand and rolled over in the bed until you were pressed against Wanda's pillow, you shamelessly dug your nose into the fabric, the scent of her shampoo and perfume invaded your senses and made you feel like she was right there with you. Your body temperature increased and your clothes started to feel a little too tight around your body.
Before you could rile yourself up anymore, your phone lit up the room with a loud ring. You smiled when you saw Wanda's contact name appear on the screen,
“Hi honey” your tone comes out huskier than you expected, you hear the sound of a door shutting from the other side of the call,
“Hi sweetheart, I didn't wake you did I?” Wanda attentively asks, feeling an immediate warmth as your voice reaches across the distance.
“No, not at all” You answer, readjusting yourself so your back is propped up against your headboard “Did you just get back?”
“Yeah, we got out early today,” She tucks the phone between her neck and shoulders, and you can hear the sounds of ruffling clothes, as both her hands are occupied with unbuttoning her suit jacket.
You bite your lip, imagining Wanda coming home in her work clothes. her hair messy from the walk home, the collar of her white shirt undone, looking so sexily disheveled. You sat up straighter in your bed, not wanting to get too carried away.
As the minutes passed you fell into your usual routine, exchanging the details of your day, from the mundane to the extraordinary, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Wanda listened attentively, her genuine interest was evident in the thoughtful questions she posed and the occasional chuckle at your natural charm. In turn, you hung on every word as she recounted her workday. The familiar cadence of her voice brought comfort, making it feel as if she were right there in bed with you.
Eventually, she tossed her jacket over the back of her chair, flopping down onto the bed in exhaustion, letting out a breathy sigh that you didn't miss.
“You sound tired, are you sleeping okay?” you questioned, whilst massaging the divit of your palm against the top of your thighs, trying to dry the sweat that had formed.
“No,” she huffed out, rolling onto her back, and placing one hand over her stomach. “The bed is terrible, the sheets are so scratchy and the mattress is too hard, I'd much rather be back in our bed, with you.”
Her unfiltered honesty made you giggle and you smiled, knowing that Wanda had a tendency to not receive a good night's sleep if it wasn't spent wrapped up against your side.
“I wish you were here too, I miss you.”
"I miss you too," she replied honestly, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, picturing you doing the same. Your back is flat against the mattress, hair sprawled out along the pillows, your shirt slightly riding up your torso, exposing your skin. Her thoughts began to slip, and it was becoming harder to focus on the conversation. The sultry tone of your voice played in her mind, and she couldn't help but imagine the sensation of her fingertips tracing patterns on your skin.
“Yeah?” you purred, your voice smoothe against Wanda's ears. She didn't fail to recognize the familiar switch in your tone, and she felt a rush of excitement start to fill her.
“Yes baby, so much, I hate being away from you.” She rasped out, closing her eyes when she heard your breathing start to pick up. The atmosphere between you two shifted, becoming heavier and more intimate.
“What do you miss about me?” You pressed, wanting her to fall into the same lusted haze you were trapped in.
“Everything” She immediately responded, as if she had been waiting all week to answer this question. Wanda's fingers absentmindedly traced circles on the edge of the bedsheet as she continued, “I miss touching you, and feeling you against me, I can't stop thinking about it”
A quiet sigh escaped her lips, her imagination running wild with the vivid memories of you together.
“Tell me more” you bit your lip, pressing and rubbing your thighs together in anticipation. Your head felt fuzzy, and your arousal swelled, a throbbing pulse resonating from your core, working yourself up so much you felt as if you were going to explode, You weren't sure if it was because you haven't seen your wife in almost a week, the distance amplifying your neediness for her. Regardless, every word exchanged over the phone was igniting a spark in you that needed to be taken care of.
Wanda's voice dipped even lower, as she happily obliged to your request “I keep thinking about that morning before I left, how loud you were and how pretty you sounded”
“My strap couldn't even stay inside you, it kept slipping out because your pussy was so wet” she teased you, already knowing your cheeks were flushing a vibrant red in embarrassment. She ran a hand down her stomach, her skin felt ablaze, a heat coursing through her that made every inch of her body tingle. She slowly unbuttoned her dress shirt, the cloth splitting apart and falling down the opposite sides of her torso, until only a black bra remained covering her upper half. Her hand fell down her breasts, lightly squeezing them and letting out a moan right into your ear.
You sighed, listening to her husky voice, the vibrations from the phone tickling your jaw. You felt a familiar wetness start to pool and you sunk lower into the bed until you were flat against the sheets. Wanda hears you rustling around the bed and presses the phone harder into her ear.
“Fuck baby, I miss you so much” You let a moan escape your lips, your hands slipping under the blankets to begin stroking yourself over your underwear. “I've made myself cum twice since you left, just thinking about you”
A throaty moan escaped her lips involuntarily, immediately painting a vivid picture of you in her head. You, alone in your bed, your hand buried between your legs, moaning her name. The sound echoed in her ears, remembering nights when she made you sound just like that. Your voice, now a seductive whisper, only fueled her daydream, making her cheeks flush as she felt a wave of desire wash over her.
“God, you're really turning me on right now” You heard the metal clicks of Wanda fumbling with her belt, with an alarming speed, she shed the rest of her clothes throwing them across the room so they were out of her way. She pushes herself farther up the bed and slides under the covers, her hand immediately finding her wetness, where she starts rubbing gentle circles to her clit.
Your hand slides under your panties, running a finger through your pussy and spreading it all over your folds and clit. The whine that reverberates inside your bedroom encourages wanda to do the same. “What are you wearing right now?”
You don't even open your eyes, which were squeezed shut, already knowing exactly what you had on “Just my underwear. the red ones”
Her grip on the phone tightened and she let out a string of curses, she knew exactly what you were talking about. The pressure she has on her bud gets harder imagining you in her favorite pair of panties, how pretty and fuckable she knew you looked right now, and how she couldn't do anything about it.
You slowly push a finger into your slippery walls, and an immediate sense of disappointment washes over you. A frustrated whine escapes your lips as you miss the expertise of your wife's fingers, vivid memories playing in your mind of how Wanda's touch could make you scream and cum within minutes.
"I need you so bad, Wanda," you confess, the desperation evident in your voice. Tightening your hold on the phone, as if it were your only lifeline to her. "It doesn't feel as good when I do it.".
Wanda's heart beats faster, hearing your desperate little whines, trying to find any hint of pleasure to relieve the ache she wasn't there to take care of. Wanda promised her self as soon as she arrived home she would fuck you so good, long and hard, taking you in every position possible, just what you deserved for being her good, patient wife.
"I know, baby," she purrs, her words weaving a tapestry of lust. "Just close your eyes and imagine my touch, my fingers doing all the work." Wanda's explicit instructions and encouragement make you throb, and you start to squirm against the bed eagerly awaiting her next command.
"Go slow, baby," Wanda instructs, her voice a sultry whisper through the phone. "Add another finger and curl it, just like how I do it." You let out a low moan, attempting to replicate her movements. Though it's not quite the same, it's undeniably better than before. Sliding in another finger, you leave it there for a moment, feeling your walls squeeze and flutter around it.
Gently curling your fingers, flashes of Wanda flood your thoughts. Pushing them deeper, you can almost feel her presence, as if she's right there with you, guiding your every move. In your mind, Wanda is on top of you, deep inside your pussy, praising you as a good girl. The image is so clear you start to feel twirls of pleasure forming in your stomach.
“That's right, honey, just like that” Wanda's voice is shaky, listening to you wholeheartedly follow her commands.You were so obedient, her precious girl. “Now, arch your back”
You do exactly as she says, the tip of your head falls back against your pillow and your ass digs itself into the mattress. Your pleasure immediately deepens and you start to move your fingers faster,
Wanda mirrors her instructions, pumping two fingers in and out of herself, letting out deep groans right into the phone. As she listens to you on the other end, pleasure-laden sounds and breathy moans fill the air. She can hear your pussy making the dirtiest sounds, loudly squelching everytime you jut your fingers in. She wishes she were there to witness it in person. Frustration builds as she hears the most beautiful sounds escaping your lips, and the fact that she can't do a single thing about it heightens the tension.
"I can hear you, how wet you are," she moans out, beginning to lose herself in the pleasure. "Is that all for me?
“Yes, all for you,” you breathlessly respond, your hips bucking up to match the rhythm of your fingers, desperately chasing your high. “you're making me feel so good”
The once-pristinely ironed sheets are now a tangled, wrinkled mess as Wanda's whole body squirms and writhes against the bed. She uses her thumb to rub at her clit, her mouth falling open at the sensation. Her eyes lock shut, entirely focused on creating vivid mental images of you that bring her closer and closer to the edge.
She felt her pussy tighten around her fingers, thinking about all the times she had made you cum, your adorable face scrunching up into an expression exclusively reserved for her played vividly in her mind. The memory of your eyebrows sewing together, your thighs wrapping around her, and your desperate attempts to cling to any part of her body for comfort lingered in her thoughts. On those particularly heated nights, she would work you up to a point where deep red lines would be etched into the skin of her back. stinging and aching so deliciously the next day.
When she tells you to go faster, you feel your orgasm rapidly build and the room starts to feel hazy. Thick with heat and the sounds of your and wanda's moans. You pump your fingers faster, and you can see them glistening with your juices everytime they pull out, just to be greedily plunged back in.
"Fuck, say my name,” she commanded, her final plea as she felt her self getting so close, needing to hear you scream her name while you both came on your fingers
You meet her request immediately, "Louder," she insists, and you obediently start repeating her name over and over again, getting whiner everytime. Your head was emptied of all thoughts other than Wanda as your fingers repeatedly hit that spot inside you.
“Wanda, oh god wanda”
Your voice started getting higher and louder. Wanda could tell you were about to cum, she started fucking herself harder wanting to be right there with you when you fell apart. She felt the phone start to fall out of her grip and just before she was about to fall over the edge she switched on the speaker button and let the phone fall out of her hand and next to the side of her head.
“Is my messy girl gonna cum? just from my voice.”
You parted your lips to respond but your mouth fell open wider when your orgasm suddenly ripped through you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as her name spilled off your lips in sharp moans and gasps. Your hips bucked up and down trying to prolong the sensation for as long as possible
Hearing all of this, Wanda fell into her orgasm with a matching intensity. Her thighs shook around her hand and she tossed her head to the side. One hand gripped the pillow to her face, muffling the loud moan of your name. Trying her best to keep quiet since the hotel walls were known for being thin.
Your breathing slowed, feeling your orgasm begin to subside, your back fell limp against the bed listening to wanda do the same.
“Well, that was certainly different” Wandas voice returned, although much deeper and huskier as she struggled to catch her breath, You could practically hear her smile as she relaxed into her post orgasmic bliss
“In a good or bad way” you questioned, sitting up on one elbow and throwing your frazzled hair over your shoulder.
“A good way, a very good way,” she assured, letting out a satisfied sigh. Her eyes grew heavy, and you could hear the rustling of the bed as she began pulling the comforters up past her shoulders, tucking herself in. She let out murmurs, whispering about how much she loved you and that she would be home soon.
You smiled knowing how tired she gets after sex, part of you dimming with the realization that you weren't there to hold her to sleep. Yet, you reassured yourself—she would be back home with you by the end of the week, just as she promised
Opting to stay on the call tonight, you recharged your phone and placed it on top of your pillow, close enough to hear Wanda's tired breathing, a comforting sound that soothed you to sleep. Just before you fell asleep, her voice broke the silence.
“Let's Facetime instead tomorrow”
#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#fanfic#wanda maximoff x y/n#wanda maximoff smut#wanda x reader#elizabeth olsen
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Meet the Family 3
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)
Characters: Lloyd Hansen
Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes.
"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..."
"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches.
"Mom," he groans.
"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples."
"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work."
"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues.
"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone."
Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine.
"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?"
You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head.
"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.
"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.
"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks.
"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges.
"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.
"Ben, please," William rebukes.
"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says.
You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter.
"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife."
"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out.
The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--"
"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--"
"Lilly," William warns and she laughs.
"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see."
"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts.
"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter."
"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny."
"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child."
"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls.
"Enough," William barks. "Both of you."
Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them.
"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you."
Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--"
"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--"
"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it."
Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy.
"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well."
You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays."
You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel.
You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all.
"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night."
You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd.
"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out."
"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet.
"Um..."
"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--"
"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve."
"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--"
"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--"
"But I don't want to," he whines.
"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind."
"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up."
"Me?" You exclaim.
He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?"
"You can't be serious." You say.
"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--"
"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?"
"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel."
You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room.
"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously.
"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds.
You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things."
"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow."
"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine."
You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger.
You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through.
You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one.
He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t.
You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door.
“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs.
“Why?”
“Um, why not? My family is the worst--”
“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles.
“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies.
“Mr. Hansen,” you growl.
“Right, I had no other choice.”
“No other choice?” You repeat.
“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains.
“Play along?”
“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--”
“I’m smart...”
“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--”
��Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.”
“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat.
“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.”
“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.”
You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust.
“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.”
“Sir,” you utter.
“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.”
“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--”
“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says.
You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it.
The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side.
“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.”
He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac.
You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk.
“It’s on me,” he insists.
You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment.
“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says.
You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.”
“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--”
“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.”
The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase.
You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge.
You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders.
“They got wine, tequila, beer--”
“I’m going to sleep,” you insist.
“The alcohol will help.”
“No, it will make waking up even harder.”
“After tonight, I think you need a shot.”
“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head.
“Fine, more for me.” He snickers.
You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does.
#lloyd hansen#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#series#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#meet the family#the gray man
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think about price who constantly refers to his lover as 'the wife' with lovesick eyes to 141
now imagine 141 loosing their SHIT on the inside when they first meet 'the wife' and she isn't some petite pretty little housewife like they imagined but instead a large ass man built like a fucking TANK and easily towers over Simon who is the tallest of the group. price still refers to him as 'the wife' with the dorkiest grin ever and 141 doesnt let him live it down, threatening him with telling 'the wife' whenever he doesnt let them do something stupid
(feral anon)
(i want to be 'the wife' so bad but sadly i am a short transmasc that doesn't look like a man at all)
(your posts cure my gender disphoria)
A/N: I loved this idea and I’ve been wanting to write a fluff piece for my old man so here u go, something very light hearted ! Excuse any mistakes I wrote it within an hour or so!
It’s no secret that Price likes to keep his private life and work life separated, not many people know he’s married and he likes to keep it that way.
However he has no qualms about 141 finding out about the person he loves so much, matter of fact Laswell was the first to know, all unplanned of course.
It all happened when the two of them snuck away from the rowdy group of men to smoke. Sitting inside would’ve been a better option. It was warm inside, they had decent lighting and were within hand’s distant to their drinks but that would also mean they were at risk of losing their hearing or getting elbowed in the stomach or face by the drunken men, so outside it is.
Price offers her his cigar, which she takes gracefully muttering something along the lines of “my wife doesn’t like it when I smoke” while taking a drag from the tobacco leaf.
“Neither does mine” he says with crows feet appearing around his eyes and lips curling up into a smile.
“You’re married?” Laswell says, only with a hint of surprise on her face as she hands the cigar back to him.
“Happily” he says smile still present as ever on his face before he takes a drag from the cigar as well “been that way for four years now”
She just nods in response before she takes the cigar back, and that’s pretty much how Laswell finds out about Price’s spouse.
The next person to find out about it is Gaz.
141 had been out on a mission that day, and Gaz had taken the impulsive decision to head straight into the fire in hopes of getting important intel. He’s managed to get it but not without getting scolded for his reckless behavior by Price. Hours later and the guilt is still eating at him so he decides to make his way over to Price’s office in an attempt to make amends with the older man.
Gaz takes a deep breath before he knocks on Price’s office door.
“Come on in” he hears the older man’s voice.
Gaz walks in only to be met with the sight of Price seated in his office chair, paper work scattered about on his desk and a cigar resting between his index and middle finger.
“Sir” Gaz says, awkwardly shuffling in place. “I’d like to apologize for earlier today”
“Already forgotten”
The surprise must’ve been clear on his face because the older man can’t help but chuckle.
“Sit down” Price says pointing at the chair opposite to him before taking another drag from the tobacco leaf.
Gaz swiftly takes a seat, hands resting on his knees, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.
There’s a moment of silence as Price rearranges the paper in a neat pile on his desk, pen carefully placed next to it before he speaks again.
“You got someone special waiting for you back home?”
Once again Gaz is surprised but this time the older man just looks at him and smiles.
“I do, sir”
“So do I” Price says smile getting bigger as he folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “Oh don’t look at me like that I’m not that old am I?”
“No - no sir” Gaz says, hands awkwardly flailing about and feeling his ears burn as he blurts out the words.
Price’s smile grows even bigger before he begins to explain “point is I’m sure that special someone wants you back home alive, if anything were to happen to me I’m sure the wife would find a way to haunt me in the after life”
Price’s gaze falls to his hands, fingers fidgeting with his wedding band.
Oh.
The wife.
The ring.
The captain is married.
“Sometimes we have to do things we rather not do to make sure we come back home to them, keep that in mind Garrick”
“Yes sir” Gaz says, mind still processing this new found information.
“Good, now if you excuse me I have someone to call,”
Gaz without thinking says “the wife?”
Price only chuckles but nods his head in confirmation “the wife”
Soap is the third person to find out and it happens while 141 are relaxing on base, playing cards and drinking beer.
Price walks in with black slacks and a white button, rolled all the way up to his elbows. On top of that there’s an invisible trail of cologne that seems to follow his form.
“Captain! Come join us” soap says not even looking up at the man but instead keeping laser focus on the cards in his hand.
“No can do boys I’m heading out with the wife”
Soap almost drops the cards in his hand, head turning so fast Price is surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “You’re married?”
“I am” Price says trying to suppress his chuckle when he sees Gaz peaking at Soap’s cards. “You weren’t planning on proposing were you soldier?” Price jokes which sends the rest of the group into a fit of laughter.
Soap physically recoils at that, head turning back to his cards and muttering a “to you captain? No thanks”
“Alright then, I’m heading out” Price says, choosing to ignore soaps comments, as he pulls on his jacket“don’t wait up!”
As Price makes his way over to the front door, he hears the group continuing to tease soap, can even hear the Scotsman accuse Gaz of looking at his cards, but he quickly forgets about everything as he sees you parked outside and waiting for him.
Ghost was very well aware of Price’s spouse, had even been the first person to know that Price was planning to propose.
The two of them had been in an entirely different squad, and less familiar with each other when they got sent out on a mission. A lot of things went wrong that day so much so Ghost and Price weren’t sure if the both of them would get back home alive. So Price had taken the opportunity to tell him about this special someone, how he was planning to propose to this person when they were scheduled to go back home, had even forced a wedding band in the palm of Ghost’s hand and told him to give it to the person if Price doesn’t make it out alive.
Luckily the both of them had managed to get out alive and Ghost had gotten the opportunity to watch Price put the ring on this person’s hand.
With that being said Ghost should be able to recognize this person if they were to appear in front of him but it’s been years so when he hears someone asking where Price is he doesn’t think twice about telling them, chalking it up to some poor lost recruit looking for the captain, while keeping his eyes on the weapon he’s cleaning.
However he doesn’t get to do much more before he hears another voice.
“Who’s the guy?” says soap, confusion clear in his tone.
Ghost turns to the other man and the annoyance must’ve been clear in his eyes because Soap raises his hands in an apologetic manner. “Oh sorry did i interrupt something important “ he says with a smile on his face.
“Anyway a tall really tall dude maybe taller than the ghost?” He pauses as if contemplating before he continues to explain “was looking for Price, really buff too…” he trails off while glancing down at his arms “hey you think I should work out more?”
Ghost just sighs before he returns to cleaning his weapon but he’s once again interrupted when Gaz walks in.
“Captain wants to see us in his office”
And that’s when he fully gives up on the task as he follows the two other men over to Price’s office, grumbling over why the captain was calling them over while putting up with the chatter from the Scotsman telling Gaz all about the giant that just passed him.
It doesn’t take much before they find themselves in front of Price’s office.
Through the door they can hear Price’s voice along with a much deeper voice, holding a conversation.
Soap is the first to knock on the door, while sharing confused glances with the two other men.
“Come in”
The three men enter the room only to be met with the sight of Price standing behind his office chair where a man is sitting in it, both of them sporting equally bright smiles on their faces.
“Boys” Price says, face ever so proud as he looks down at the man “meet the wife”
The man stands up, tall just like Soap had described him and when he reaches a hand out they see a wedding band that matches the one on Price’s hand.
“I’m the wife” you say with a big smile on your face.
#anonie me and u can still be /the wife/ fawk what everyone says 🤝#alec answers#john price#john price x reader#john price x male reader#call of duty#captain john price#captain john price x male reader#captain john price x reader#scribbles#feral anon
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Yandere Oscar character of your choice with a petite SO. They don't have to be younger, just small. Tiny little babygirl. Like a Kristin Chenoweth or Annasophia Robb type. Just a little thing with a not so big but very scary yandere.
Not so big, you say? A bit tricky with this one.
But scary? YES!
I think Miguel O'Hara fits this one perfect.
Yandere Miguel O'Hara with petite s/o
It's so cute how you are a peanut compared to him.
That's the main reason why he became so obsessed with you. Your adorable size.
Miguel loves watching you struggling to reach something on the higher shelfs. It's so cute to him, how you stand on your toes but you still can't even reach high enough to brush your fingertips on the edge.
He loves it when you have to ask him for help.
It's so cute to him when he just stands behind you and seeing you flinch when you turn around and having to tilt your head up in order for you to look at him.
Daydreams about having you to himself.
Miguel likes flashing fang-revealing grins towards you, loving the nervous expression you have.
He also collects small personal things you may have forgotten, keeping them in a small box under his bed. If you're missing them, he just blames the janitor for it.
Miguel makes sure he is always the last one you see before going home. No promises for the rest of the night though...
But your size makes him feel overprotective for you, you're just so delicate in his eyes while he is this big man. Doesn't that fit?
But overprotectiveness isn't the only thing he's feeling... he has major size kink...
Miguel isn't a creep, but around you he can't help but be a little scary. He thinks if you're scared you would want to be around him more often.
Miguel also has this habit of stalking you. Making sure you're safe of course. But he can't resist the urge of wanting to see you even more.
He wonders if you catched his red glowing eyes watching you through the window? Maybe you literally felt his stare in your sleep? The purple-ish spots around your throat were easily disappearing, don't you think? How did you get those? Will you wear a scarf to hide them?
How much would you really weight if he decides to just pick you up? Can you even defend yourself (against him)?
Miguel is pretty sure he could web you against a wall in one single shot.
If it comes to it, could you even run from him? He has to smile to himself everytime the thought comes up in his you-clouded head.
How would your pretty delicate neck look like with his bite marks? Miguel would make sure to renew them constantly.
Miguel has high jealousy and possessiveness around you. He just wants to web every guy onto the ceiling who even dares to talk to you.
Sometimes Miguel has to mentally slap himself to stop him from just snatching and kissing you.
How he would love kissing your precious lips.
It would be easy for him to snatch you away, he has already marked you up in his mind.
There is no mistake that you will belong to him in the foreseeable future. His petite little darling.
------------------------
Tags:
@nekoyin @iolaussharpe-24 @steven-grants-world @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @buckyssugarchick
@krakenkitty @alexxavicry @mochiitoby @tokkiwrites @sugarplumz100
@ghoulzsstuff @basicalyrandom
Wanna get tagged?
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Flufftober Day 10: Bet, Game, Contest
A/N: hello, ya boy is back with another comic book character. Not Nightwing, but Gambit! welcome back, swamp rat (affectionate)- mod ghost
p.s. sorry to rogue enjoyers, she is not here. also i have not finished x-men 97 so no spoilers please! I just really like the art style
Ship: Remy LeBeau x GN!Reader
Summary: State fair with le diable blanc
You and Gambit were at a local state fair, since he’d entered his beignets in the recipe competition. You had some time to kill before they announced the winner, though, so the two of you were wandering amongst the festivities to see what there was on offer.
“Hey, chère, I have a…comment dit-on…proposition for you, if you please.” He spoke up suddenly, tugging on your hand to get your attention since it was already held by his.
“Oh? What is it?” You asked as you glanced over at him, watching his dark eyes as they darted around the fairgrounds.
“What if we play a lil game, hm?” He hummed, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “How ‘bout whoever wins more of da games here,” he gestured around the two of you, “gets a kiss from da loser?”
You smirked as he spoke, “You sure you don’t want to bet on the contest your beignets are in? That’s much more guaranteed odds for you.” Your gaze traveled from him to one of the fair games he seemed to have his eye on. “Unless you have some kind of plan in mind?”
“Does dis mean you want to find out, petite?” He waggled his eyebrows playfully,
“Well,” You consider your options for a moment, “either way you get a kiss, right?”
“Dat’s correct,” Remy nodded eagerly,
“Alright then, fine, but only because I’m better at these games than you.” You chuckled as you agreed, seeing him light up in excitement.
“Wooo, you ‘boutta put yo money where yo mouth is, chère.” He sauntered over to one of the games as you followed him, confidence radiating from him in waves.
You played practically every game in the state fair with Remy, and he’d won practically every one. By the time you were walking over to where the contest winner would be announced, you had a giant stuffed animal he’d won for you about an hour ago that he was helpfully carrying for you while he spoke up, “Hey, chère~”
“Yeees?” You answer back in a similar lilting tone to his, slipping your hand into one of his carefully so that he wouldn’t drop the prized animal.
“I tink you owe me somethin’, don’t you?” Gambit moved the stuffed animal to sit on a nearby bench for a moment, gazing at you with a flutter of his eyelashes.
“Do I? I don’t remember borrowing any money from you, Remy,” you teased, grinning as he groaned lowly,
“Chère” He sighed, as if he somehow believed that you’d forgotten the bet so quickly. You cut off any further protests with a quick, sweet kiss. Just like you’d promised. You pulled away from him a moment or two later, watching another smirk spread itself across his face.
You roll your eyes at him and lean into his side, “Feel better?”
“Much better, thank you,” Gambit laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you waited for the announcement of the winner, which, unsurprisingly, turned out to be him.
#fanfiction#mod ghost#x men gambit#gambit fanfiction#remy lebeau#remy lebeau x reader#remy lebeau x you#remy lebeau fanfiction#flufftober2024#x men fanfiction#x men
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Idk if youre taking requests, if not ignore me, however what about jace with alicents daughter!reader where they get together behind their mothers backs, and theire sneaking around ,failing at it, and alicent anfd rhaenyra catch them
sweetest thing on this side of heaven
jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader
warnings: none
a/n: sorry for the slow req<3 also I had a feeling you wanted something angsty but my heart overtook my brain so this is all fluff.
°°°
You hadn't plan to fall for him at first. But it wasn't that hard to notice his own longing stares and embarrassing efforts to win you over.
You had assumed he would despise you for what your brothers have started, but you are not your brothers, and he knew that. You've always been kind to him since young, but never too close, not even with your own siblings.
Peace was found in solitude, and that was how most of your time was spent. Some may call you heartless, but your found more feelings and purity in stories than in reality.
For the world was crueller than the books made it seem like, and soon the library was your safe place.
You were quite annoyed when he started showing up there too frequently, always asking about what you're reading.
But when you saw his sincerity in actually wanting to know of your interests was real, having someone to talk to became less of a chore.
It even started to feel fun.
And so he became your first friend, first kiss and first lover. He intends to be your only.
Everytime he leaves to Dragonstone, letters will be sent every moon, and he will receive his own from Kingslanding. He was always careful to keep them to himself, gods know since Aemond lost his eye, the strain between his grandmother and his mother became stronger.
And he would always put his mother first as her heir, but you are his fresh cherry from a rotten tree, the ultimate test to his loyalty.
When news spread of the princess Rhaenyra's return to Kingslanding for her son's petition for the inheritance of Driftmark, You had to hold yourself back from showing just now excited you are to meet Jace again.
You also had to fight back the urge to bodyslam your brother to the ground everytime he opens his mouth to mock his nephews.
Aemond had remained bitter of the incident, and you couldn't blame him. You brother had lost a whole eye, he had the right to remain upset. But you still couldn't help the selfishness in you that draws you back to Jacaerys' side.
You hear the commotion servants made when they arrived, waiting for it to pass before approaching him, not wanting to seem too eager.
You lean againts the open door of his chambers, watching him put down his set if clothes by the table side.
"Hello there." You greeted with a knowing smile on your lips.
He freezes in his movements before turning towards you. You had no time to think when he immediately pulled you inside and slammed his doors shut.
Any words you've planned to say to him died on your throat when he has you againts the door, his lips immediately finding yours.
The kiss was hot and passionate, all of his yearning and longing pushed into it. Your hands roam his build, feeling up his tunic, searching for his skin, his warmth againts yours. His own hands stop yours, holding it by your side as he pulls away first for air.
He leans his forehead againts yours, and you can't help smiling as you meet his eyes.
"Missed me much?" He snorts, grinning himself.
"Don't act like you don't." He retorted. You only kept smiling, shaking your head. "Never said that did I? Hm." You fingers move up to trance his temples, caressing his face as if trying to remember all the details of his features you've feared to have forgotten.
He seems to understand the notion, with his own palms cupping your cheeks. "I'm here. I promise." He vows before engulfing your mouth with his again.
°°°
The only thing that went well that day was your reunion with Jace and his brother. Sir Vaemond was executed quite publicly by your uncle Daemon, unsurprisingly, and dinner was almost decent, until your brother decided he just had to open his mouth.
You were hurried to your chambers by your mother, and there was where you went and was met with your lover lounging in your room already, anxiously waiting for you to arrive.
"He knows what he was doing." Jace gritted out, pacing around.
"Of course he does, it's Aemond." He was obviously still infuriated with the events that occured, but your mind was drifting to what bits you heard from your mother and stepsister's conversation as you left.
Jacaerys and Lucerys was to leave to Dragonstone tonight.
Your abruptly stood up and cut off the rambling prince. "I should leave."
He halts and turn to you, wide eyed.
"Oh-Just a few more minutes? I'll stop talking to myself I promise." He pleaded, waving off his rambles.
You shook you head and pulled his hands to intertwine with yours. "No tis' not that, your mother will be here any minute, she wishes for you and Luc to be at Dragonstone by tonight, I heard her myself." You explain, gaze low as you fiddle with his rings.
You hear him inhale a sharp breath before swearing.
"I've just had you back." He sighs out, refusing to meet your eyes. It felt like the first time in ages you two met again, face to face, gazes never met.
"I know, I know. There always seem to be something between us, heh?" You try to lighten the mood, his face only souring more.
He winced at your words, tightening his grip on your hands before opening his eyes again. "You know, if she can't find me, she can't make me go." He says suggestively.
You gave him an amused look, frowning with a tight-lipped smile accompanied.
"What are you gonna do? Hide in the kitchen?" You tease, invoking a fond memory from childhood. He snorts as he checks outside his door for anyone before turning back to you. "Not hide, raid the kitchen."
"Ah sure." You grinned
He takes you by your hand and silently pulls you through the corridors before reaching the closed kitchen. The lock making the both of you scoff.
You had managed to pull it open by the age of 12.
"A little help?" He motioned. You took off a pin from your hair, making it come undone while the other pins fall apart on the floor.
"Fuck." You cursed, while Jacaerys works the lock with your pin. "We'll pick it up later." He simply affirms.
When a click was loudly made, he shoves the kitchen door open and sends you a smirk, earning an eye roll.
Entering the kitchen was entering an odd dazed memory. You can't remember exactly how long it has been since you've been with Jace, but it still feels like yesterday you two were sneaking out strawberry fudge cake and lemon tarts from the kitchen in the middle of the night, laughing quietly at the explosions of anger from the head kitchen lady that next morning.
His hand never leaves yours as you both head in. You sigh loudly as you pull open the cupboards to find leftover blueberry tarts. "My favourite." Savoring the tart, you finish it quickly, not caring for falling crumbs.
Jacaerys nudges your shoulder and takes no time to shove a piece of cheese toast in your mouth when you look his way.
You swatted his arm after almost choking on it. "Bastard." You scolded in a muffled voice.
As soon as the words leaves your mouth you regret them, seeing a flash of offense on his face. "Oh Jace-" An apology almost slipped until you saw the hint of a smile dancing on his lips.
Immediately your face turns irritated again as you smack him harder. "Bastard."
You two spent a few minutes forgetting your responsibilities and your parents as you indulge in chocolate cakes and reminiscing the past.
It wasn't hard to find the two of you in such position like old days. You two had a connection that made it seem as if you've never parted in the first place.
"You know." He says before chucking a tart in his mouth. "When I'm king? I'm gonna make a law that forces you to stay with me." His muffled words makes you choke on a giggle.
Jacaerys often has to present himself extra harder than her brothers, for all the rumours of his illegitimacy. But at times like this, you can truly see the sweet boy in him, who'd rather live off tarts and flying by day than busy himself with ruling and paperworks.
"I'm also going to make a law to ban anything other than these tarts to be served because holy shit." You agreed. "Mhm, the cook definitely did something with these."
Before either of you could counter eachother's words, a foreign voice interrupts.
"How about you make a law to ban tart robbers from nightly kitchen raids." Rhaenyra's voice booms through the room.
Both you and Jace freeze in your actions, mouth full of food, eyes wide, horrified at the circumstances you were found.
To make matters worse, she wasn't the only one there. You silently curse when you see your mother's figure leaning againts the door opposite of Rhaenyra. Both of them holding an unreadable expression.
A long silence lingered until you decided to speak up and ask first; "Are you going to kill us."
You might be hallucinating but you swore you saw your mother fight off a grin before she and Rhaenyra sighs tiredly.
"Just give me one of those damned cakes." She relented.
#house of the dragon#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon#hotd x reader#jace velaryon x reader#game of thrones#house of the dragon x reader#jace targaryen x reader#hotd#jacaerys targaryen#jace velaryon#jace targaryen#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys x reader
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YANDERE SIRIUS BLACK X READER
Sirius during his school days at Hogwarts was actually kinda cocky. He was confident, with his looks and his charming personality, no one would be able to resist him. He never really had that much time to fall in love with people, true, he did like messing with people every now and then but he never expected to fall in love
You were in Sirius' year and he didn't really notice you till a certain amount of time passed. He was surprised, how come he didn't notice someone so cute looking like you? He observed you for some time: Your characteristics and your personality. He saw how kind you were and how sweet and shy you were, always kept yourself to yourself. He wondered how you even managed to end up in Gryffindor when you could've done well in Hufflepuff but whatever, he wasn't complaining. He had you closer to him and he was thrilled
His first goal was to become your friend and then ask you out to the Three Broomsticks where he'll confess his love to you and the both of you would be a happy lovely couple. It was the perfect plan for him, till you decided to form another path for yourself
You couldn't deny that Sirius was handsome and charming. But you weren't really looking forward to be in a relationship with anyone at the moment. So, when Sirius called you to the Three Broomsticks, he handed you a rose and ordered butterbeers and some desserts for you guys to eat. He didn't give you the idea that he was confessing his love for you since he wanted it to be a surprise, a surprise which of course his friends James, Lupin and Peter helped him in. They helped him in the decorations and keeping his bratty little brother Regulus away out of sight so he couldn't steal you from their friend
After you were done talking and chilling with your drinks and desserts, Sirius held your petite soft hands in his rough and large ones and went "Y/N, uhh... I don't know how to say this but I really love you and I'd love it if you went out with me'' he said blushing. Your heart dropped, you most certainly weren't expecting this. You just thought he invited you to have a chat for old times' sake and to relax as friends, you had no idea he was going to pour out his feelings for you
You gulped nervously and a heavy feeling settled in your chest. You didn't want to let him down, you REALLY didn't want to, but you had to follow your heart. And right now your heart was telling you to live life on your own terms and not to be in a relationship with anyone. Besides, you just befriended Sirius only for a few months, you had to get to know someone properly for like, YEARS before you wanted to date someone. You tried to let him down gently "Sirius, you're a great guy. I'm sure you have lots of people fawning over you and people who'd die to be with you, but.... how do I say this....'' you trailed off and rubbed the back of your neck looking awkward and a bit sad. "Tell me what?" asked Sirius anxiously peering at your face. He didn't want to hear your answer anymore, it would break his heart and he wouldn't be able to handle it
"I'm really not looking to be in a relationship with anyone right now... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry....'' you whispered and stared down at the table, not wanting to meet his eyes. Sirius felt numb, he felt like his heart was shattering into a million pieces and he couldn't move. You told him a quick 'bye' and ran off, his friends ran to comfort him
Meanwhile after a few days, you tried forgetting about him. But the hurt look on his face kept haunting you at the night. You were in the courtyard reading a book. The weather was nice and windy, quite the opposite of what you felt. You felt down in the dumps for rejecting Sirius, but you had a feeling he'd most probably forgotten about the whole thing anyway and besides, he could always find someone else. You had no idea how wrong you were: Sirius was not able to forget about you, he confronted his brother Regulus and asked him if he had anything to do with you rejecting him. Of course he ended up jinxing Regulus in anger since he felt that he was lying. Next he bullied Snape for a while thinking he manipulated you or bullied you to reject him till you intervened and asked him to leave him alone
Sirius was infuriated and it was like rubbing salt in a wound. Why TF were you standing up to SNIVELLUS SNAPE? Maybe he was right... maybe Snape HAD something and his worst fears were now confirmed. You could be dating Snape. His friends found out that you weren't dating anyone and that made him relax a little. He stalked you in his Animagus form for a while and you of course didn't know it was Sirius in Animagus form. You thought it was just a random cute dog and you spent time with it. Every single second you spend with him, holding it and cuddling with it, you were fueling his dark twisted desires for you. And these days you could see that Sirius was looking happier for some reason so... you assumed it was all good for him
It was... since he was planning to kidnap you the next time he turned into his Animagus form. Not exactly 'kidnap' you per se, he'd just keep you in the Shrieking Shack, but don't worry, Sirius won't leave you alone. Your kindness and sweet nature was too addicting for him and he was far too selfish to share you with anyone else....
#yandere harry potter characters#yandere harry potter characters x reader#yandere harry potter scenarios#yandere harry potter imagines#yandere sirius black#yandere sirius black x reader#yandere sirius black headcanons#yandere sirius black imagines#yandere sirius black oneshots#yandere sirius black scenarios#dark sirius black#dark harry potter characters#dark harry potter characters x reader#dark sirius black x reader
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Hellloooo,
May I request viral hit characters reacting to their s/o wearing something naughty? If not naughty, just wearing their clothes instead?
-Thank you <3 ‼️
Hi anon! Wew I'm so sorry. We are nearing the 3 month mark. How's your V Hit interest? Fading? 😅 Thanks for requesting and the thank you and heart is SO cute. Hmm. Let's go for wearing their clothes...All generally quite innocent.
HTF Boys reacting to you wearing their clothes: Munseong, Wangguk, Yeonwoo, Seongjun, Taehoon
G/N but assumes you're more petite than they are.
Kim Munseong
You have a habit of taking his tracksuit jacket.
At first he never used to think much of it. He had a two track mind: one on Bomi, the other on MMA.
And then Bomi became spoken for, and the track became singular.
You still continued to take his jackets. Talking, laughing along with him, as natural as anything. Because it was. He's grown used to it.
So much so, that whenever he sees you without his clothes on, he feels a pang. There's something missing that he can't quite put his finger on.
He watches you. Wondering why you look... off.
Then it hits him. You're not wearing his jacket.
In addition, his jackets just smell like him. Of deodorant and aftershave. Without your scent and his mingled together.
And here comes a double KO. His feelings, the second realisation, hits him full force too.
Han Wangguk
He handed over his hoodie when you said you were cold.
Maybe that wasn't the best idea (or perhaps it was) because the sight of you in his clothes. Chin tucked in at the collar, sleeves hanging over your hands, length reaching down to the top of your bare thighs.
This is really something else.
Wangguk blushes furiously. Thinks about you in his hoodie and nothing else. Chastises himself for his lewd thoughts but shit, he can't help it.
It's just so fucking sexy.
Oops - you've broken him.
Or... that's what he thought. It's actually much worse when he gets the hoodie back from you.
Your scent, your perfume. He can't get enough.
And if he sleeps with it, so he can be reminded of you? Well that's only between him and his hoodie.
Ji Yeonwoo
You put on Yeonwoo's karate gi as a joke.
And maybe it was a little disrespectful the way you just casually wrapped it around you. You thought maybe Yeonwoo was pissed when he noticed. His mouth was hanging in shock and body frozen.
"Sorry," you grimace, sheepishly taking it off.
"No! Don't!" Yeonwoo clears his throat, cheeks dusting with pink, "...No it's fine. You can wear it."
Seeing you in his gi is combining his two absolute favourite things. It's a crossover he wasn't expecting.
His thoughts are innocent enough, it's more the idea of being able to have everything he wanted. Kyokushin karate and also you.
Yeonwoo stammers and blushes, not able to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day. Not on his studies, not even on his training.
Because the idea of you by his side, joining him, is everything.
Baek Seongjun
You like to wear his haori casually around the apartment (when it's clean, of course).
It's something easy to grab and slip on. A cover up for when you're feeling like you need a light extra layer.
Especially for the morning after you've spent a night entangled in bed together.
The first time Seongjun sees you in his haori and little else, stepping into the kitchen for breakfast he has prepared-
His heart stops and stutters. Pauses mid movement to fully take in the sight of you in his haori, the traditional japanese attire, and little else.
Breakfast is forgotten about as he strides towards you, hands wandering over your body and lips on your skin in an instant.
Maybe he can convince you to wear a kimono next.
Seong Taehoon
You stole his jacket.
Taehoon should stop spoiling you so much. He only has himself to blame. He's very attached to his green bomber. It's his trademark.
"Hands off! Get your own-"
His eyes adjust and he fully takes in the sight. Oh.
Taehoon hates hates people touching what is his (only child syndrome huh) but you in his jacket - ok maybe that he could learn to share.
The way it drapes over you, large and oversized. Your hand tucked into the sleeves... It's fucking cute, ok. His stomach does little somersaults at the view. Shit. He doesn't even care how cringe he sounds, he loves it.
Like a megaphone telling everyone to back off, you're spoken for.
Still. Taehoon is Taehoon and he's a little shit to the end. He'll make you plead and beg a little for his jacket. Whine a bit about how cold you are or how comfortable it is.
He'll throw it at your head every time but preens when you slip it on.
And... bonus: Wedding bands
Taehoon never gave it much of a thought, never gave marriage much of a thought. If you wanted to, sure that's cool with him. No? That's fine too.
Once married though, there's something about wedding bands that he absolutely loves. The matching set, two halves of a whole.
He finds himself playing with yours a lot. Taking your hand in his. Spinning, touching it on your finger.
And when he can't play with it, he looks at it. Yours or his. It seems to always catch the light just right and he can't look away.
Quite simply, it makes him happy.
#damn cant find a pic of yeonwoo in his gi#viral hit manhwa#viral hit x reader#viral hit webtoon#viral hit headcanons#how to fight manhwa#how to fight webtoon#how to fight headcanons#seong taehoon x reader#seong taehoon#seong taehun#taehoon x reader#seong taehun x reader#seongjun baek x reader#baek seongjun x reader#baek seongjun#ji yeonwoo x reader#ji yeonwoo#kim munseong x reader#kim munseong#han wangguk#han wangguk x reader#wannaeatramyeon
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Pyrite - Chapter 2: Gold shrouds
Pt 1 here!
Chapter summary: Daemon gets a letter and Aemma drinks her tea. Both events are not as unrelated as they should be.
Warnings: Swearing. Abortion. Death (Of an irrelevant character, just to complicate things)
A/N: Yes, I know what I’m implying between Daemon and Viserys. Sue me. Also, Aemma just knows things. Royal wombs anyone?
If there was one thing Daemon despised, it was answering letters. It was not that he hated to write, or that he disliked corresponding with others. As a child, he had often hoped a more effective means of communication was invented for the realm. He hated waiting for news. Ravens took ages to cross the country and were often unreliable. They could be tampered with, and there was no reliable way of actually knowing who was sending the message. It was an insecure means of communication.
Growing up, he had realized his feelings were paranoia and impatience. But as he was faced with an ever-growing pile of letters, Daemon once again remembered his longing for a more effective way of doing things. Many of the requests he was answering were delayed, and whatever he could do about it would probably be an even more delayed response.
It would be even worse when he was Hand. Even more letters and petitions to oversee, and that was not considering the ones directed to the King that he would answer in his stead. Already, he had noticed Viserys slipping a few of his letters in Daemon’s pile. It was bound to be good practice.
Daemon skimmed the news from his informants. His grandmother seemed to be doing better, which gladdened him. The death of his aunt and uncle had hit her hard. It was good to hear she was regaining her strength, although Daemon would much prefer it if she was not dining with Corlys Velaryon or the Hightower cunt.
His father did not look at the meetings with good eyes. Nor did the King. The three of them had started corresponding a while back, trying to protect Viserys’ interests. As always, the man himself remained oblivious.
It was how it was meant to be, Daemon mused. Viserys could be the crown, but Daemon would always be the sword. His sword. To aim at his enemies, known or not.
His grandfather couldn't be too obvious and show his favor directly, after all, he was to call a council to settle the matter of the succession. But his actions showed who he favored.
Viserys remained oblivious. Or so he liked to pretend. Most of the time, he was too busy being in love with Aemma.
This particular season was proving to be intolerable. Finally, after years of trying, Aemma was pregnant again. Both of them were overjoyed at the thought of getting to be parents, yet they were cautious of announcing it.
Aemma had trouble making her womb quicken, and when it had before, she had lost the babes before they could come to term. She had stated it was not time to celebrate yet, not knowing if this would be the time the babe survived. Viserys, though, was behaving as if the child were already born.
He stares at the pile of correspondence left, and stops right in his tracks. In the middle of it, there is an unmarked envelope. It's not sealed right. The wax looks like the one from a cheap candle, like the ones used to light up lanterns. Not at all like the ones used to sealing letters. Has anyone been tampering with his correspondence?
Daemon reaches for the envelope. It feels rough in his hands, made of the cheapest paper. No noble would be caught dead sending their letters like that, not even if they were trying to be not conspicuous by not putting their seal on it.
He starts breaking the seal apart, when there is a sudden scream of his name. Aemma. Are they being attacked? Is this a product of Corlys Velaryon scheming?
The unmarked letter falls to the floor in his haste to leave the room, forgotten. Daemon curses Viserys for having picked today out of all days to go pick a dragon's egg for the babe. He has left them undefended. There is only Daemon and a couple of guards preventing Dragonstone from being taken.
“Daemon!” Aemma repeated. She was not one to call for him, much less so panicked. Whatever was happening, it was bad. Maybe they had her already, and were threatening her at sword point. “Cousin, please!”
Daemon unsheathed his sword. He worried if the babe would survive. The Maester had told them Aemma was not to suffer through any heightened emotions, and should remain calm and abed. Being held hostage was not exactly in his instructions.
“Hold on, Aemma!” He screamed. He was a whole floor away from her. Daemon had to move faster, but the crowd of floundering servants were in his way. Aemma would despair if the babe was lost. Viserys had told him once that he doubted she would survive another loss. She wanted to be a mother so badly.
Daemon had to hurry there, and try his best to get her out, even if he did not get the feeling himself. Children were such irritating creatures. They ruined everything. They were sticky, they bawled, they ruined women's bodies. He didn't see the appeal. But Aemma and Viserys were desperate to have one.
Viserys didn’t have Aemma's yearning for parenthood. Instead, he had another motivation in mind. He, too, was thinking of what would happen were he to take the throne.
What a hypocrite, truly. He pretended not to care about getting the Iron Throne, but he thought about it often enough to pressure Aemma about heirs. And now, Daemon could tell Viserys was scared shitless of being passed over in favor of Rhaenys, despite claiming to never wanting the throne.
That was why he was so desperate to get a son. If Aemma carried one, it meant that he was preferable to Rhaenys. There would be no unpleasant floundering about what to do with a Queen if one had an indisputable line of Kings that was assured even for the next generation.
The babe had to live. Not only for Aemma, but for Viserys’ throne as well.
“Daemon!” Aemma screamed again. Now that he was closer to her quarters, he noticed that the guards remained on their posts. Only her maids stood near, worriedly hoovering around her door.
“I am coming!” It was all so very odd. He grabbed one of the maids and shook her. “What in the Seven Hells is going on?”
The woman started blabbering something, but she was too terrified of him to be of any use. Aemma's desperate howls could be heard from inside the room, making every one of Daemon's hairs stand up on end.
Daemon went for a guard next. He pressed his sword to the man's chin, forcing him to look Daemon in the eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing here, you piece of shit? Your Princess is being attacked.”
“The Princess is not being attacked.” Someone cut in. Daemon turned, enraged. In the middle of the corridor stood the Maester. He did not look winded in the very least. If he had hurried here, it did not show. “The serving girls says she is in pain.”
In pain. In pain, as if losing the babe. Was everyone in this castle a cunt? Daemon fought the urge to scream and grabbed the Maester by the lapels of his robe. He was so enraged that the man was dangling from his grip.
The Maester's eyes widened in fear. He started muttering something. Daemon did not care.
“You are going in. Now. Or you will lose your hands. We will see how much you like being a Maester after that.”
“No!” Aemma screamed, from inside her rooms. “No Maesters! Daemon, please. Something is very wrong.”
“She doesn't want anyone but you or Prince Viserys, my Prince.” One of the more braver maids spoke. “We tried.”
“Alright. Alright.” Daemon muttered, but he was unsure of who he was trying to reassure. The maid or himself? He was not good with crying women. The last time he had seen one was when he had taken the maidenhead of a serving girl, after his first time in a whorehouse. Apparently, you weren't supposed to treat virgins as roughly as you treated whores. Well, how was he supposed to know?
Daemon stamped down his leftover guilt at the memory of feeling even more aroused at seeing the serving girl crying out in pain, and tried to focus. He had no medical knowledge, either. How was he supposed to help Aemma?
“Daemon, by the Gods, hurry the fuck up!” She screamed again. Daemon had never moved faster in his life. A cross Aemma was a fearsome Aemma.
He opened the door and found Aemma gripping one of the posts of her bed. She was standing, only in her nightgown, and shaking from the pain. Daemon approached her gently, and grabbed her hand. Her skin was cold and clammy.
There was a teapot on her bedside table. Daemon poured her another teacup and held it to her lips, but she refused.
“I am losing my babe.” Aemma whispered, eyes filling with tears. “I can feel it.”
“You are not.” Daemon tried his best to sound and look confident. “There is no blood. There is a Maester right outside, maybe we can…”
“I feel the cramps, Daemon.” She deadpanned, before screaming again. Daemon flinched, but kept gripping her hands. “Blood will come. I have been through this.”
It was a heartbreaking thing to hear. Not only for Aemma, but for their chances of getting the Iron Throne. Aemma bawled. Daemon could feel his own eyes filling with tears. What was wrong with him? He had lost plenty of nephews before.
But he had never watched Aemma go through it before, had he? The treacherous voice in his head said. He had never seen her go through this pain, and neither had Viserys.
“What do you need?” Daemon asked, softly. “What can I do?”
“I just…” Aemma's knees buckled. He took on more of her weight. “I didn't want to be alone.”
“You won't be.” Daemon promised, quietly. Where was Viserys when they needed him? Now, the selection of the dragon's egg seemed pointless. There was going to be no babe.
No babe. Poor Aemma. She clung to him, and wept. It seemed like hours until Viserys arrived and took her from his arms. His expression was struck, but not with sorrow. Disappointment. Viserys had lost too many babes already to be saddened by that. The disappointment in his eyes was from something different. There was a certain anger in his expression when he looked towards Aemma that clued Daemon in.
She had failed him. If Aemma had managed to keep the babe a few months longer, if she had birthed him a son….
Daemon left the room before he said anything stupid to his brother. While Daemon was not the most compassionate person ever, Viserys claimed to love Aemma. He should be worried after her health, or feeling her pain at having her dream of becoming a mother shattered. Not worried about the Iron Throne.
If she was the woman Daemon loved, he would never blame her. Especially not during such a sensible time as this. They were Targaryens. Family came before the Iron Throne.
Besides, did no babe really mean no Iron Throne? Rhaenys had been passed over once. The reasoning still stood. And if that was not enough, Viserys was their father's heir. That had to count for something. It meant he would inherit the throne regardless if their father managed to sit on it for only a second before keeling over.
Daemon thought worrying was unnecessary. They had their grandfather's support. The Council had decided on their favor once already. Nothing had changed. Aemma had not had a babe then either.
But taking precautions was never wrong. Daemon had already started gathering a small force of loyal men. If it needed to be done, he would do it for the happy couple. Viserys, the fool, could never. Aemma was too good of a woman to even think of it. She would make a good Queen. But she would not be Viserys's Tyanna. Daemon would be.
He went back to his chambers. The pile of correspondence remained as it was when he rushed out, except for the unmarked letter. Someone picked it up and placed it back on the pile.
Daemon opens the letter. The handwriting is big and round, clearly feminine. It's also terrible. Whoever wrote it never had the lessons on penmanship most nobles had.
“To whom it may concern,
Do not let Princess Aemma alone. Someone is planning to hurt her babe. Please believe me.”
The note says nothing more. Daemon curses.
“A name could have been useful.” He says, to the envelope. It seems too convenient that someone is trying to help them. But somehow, he knows it's an authentic warning. No one had known of Aemma's pregnancy outside Dragonstone. It had been too soon to announce it.
And the timing of this loss had been rather convenient, hadn't it? Just on the day when his father is at the capital, on the precise morning Viserys was out of the castle, taking most guards with him. The Maester had reacted rather slowly, same as the serving girls. Could it be? Not a genuine loss, but a provoked one?
It was easy to poison someone. Even easier to switch a pregnant woman's tea with moontea. There had been a tea set in the room. He remembered that.
Daemon clutched the note and ran towards Aemma's rooms. He burst inside, ignoring the warnings from the guards.
“Daemon! Have some respect, Aemma is….” Viserys screamed at him, leaping to his feet. He was still dressed in his riding clothes.
The room was an even bigger mess than when he had left it. There were trails of blood in the plush myrish rug his father had gifted Aemma after the wedding. The woman herself was laying on the bed, undressed and in absolute despair. A serving girl was valiantly attempting to clean her up, and receiving quite a few slaps in return.
There was another serving girl, taking the remains of Aemma's breakfast. She kept her eyes lowered, never once glancing in Daemon's way, and yet…
Her hands were trembling. She scooped up the teapot.
“Daemon! Are you even listening? You can't be here, my wife is…” Viserys grabbed him by the shoulders, face twisted into an expression of pure rage. Daemon could tell that he was close to punching him.
He ignored Viserys, eyes fixated on the girl. She was no older than four and ten years of age, but Daemon doubted that her nervousness had anything to do with that.
“Girl! Wait!” He commanded, but the serving girl was slipping past the open door and right by him. Daemon tried to grab her shoulder or her wrist, but she was already running away.
“Guards! Hold her!” He screamed, and tried to run after her. Viserys got in his path. He had no time for explaining anything, no time at all. Daemon shoved the note in his face. “Viserys, let me go!”
“Not until you tell me what is going on!” His brother's hands closed around his shoulders, effectively restricting his movement. Daemon looked at Viserys’ eyes. He was sure his expression mimicked his, frantic and terrified.
“Someone informed me of a threat to Aemma's babe.”
“And you think… That woman….”
A sudden scream and a thud were heard. The woman? Daemon went to look outside the chamber, but Viserys was blocking the exit. He sighed. No point in sugarcoating it now, even if he wanted to avoid upsetting Aemma even further.
“Poison.” Daemon confirmed. Viserys took a step back. The another. He took the letter from Daemon, his knees buckling.
“How?” Viserys looked lost. Daemon felt no better. He didn't have an answer, beyond the serving girl and the note he had received. Before he could state such, one of the guards he had sent in pursuit of the woman stepped inside.
“My Prince.” There was a grim look on his face, as if getting ready to be punished. Daemon knew immediately it wasn't good news. “The girl, she…”
“She fell down the stairs while she ran. She broke her neck.” Another guard said, plainly. “We searched her clothes. Here.” The guard handed him a small glass vial, and a letter, hastily written. It was addressed to the Red Keep.
Ser:
It's done.
There was no signature, no titles being invoked, nothing that could signal who had given the order to poison Aemma.
“What do you make of this?” He asked Viserys. His brother scowled.
“Nothing. Nothing.”
“Give me that.” Aemma croaked, from her place in the bed. Daemon had not realized she had been listening in.
Viserys and Daemon exchanged a glance. Was it truly prudent? Aemma was grieving. But she was also insightful, more than both of them. Daemon had a head for military strategy, not for conspiracy.
Viserys nodded. Daemon handed her the two letters.
“We need to find this woman.” She said, after a while.
“My love, she is dead.” Viserys answered her, looking concerned. Had she missed the guards informing them? Was she delirious?
“Not her. The one who warned us.” Aemma's tone suggested exactly what she thought about their intelligence. That… Did make way more sense. Daemon felt his face heating up. She was right, they were fools.
“How do you know it is a woman?” Viserys frowned in confusion.
“The handwriting. Feminine. She must be a servant, or a very uneducated noble, but then… Well. How many of them are in the Red Keep? Servant is more likely.”
“What do we do, then?” Daemon asked, if only to hear the confirmation.
“We go there. And find her.”
#daemon targaryen x reader#prince daemon x reader#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen x you#daemon x you#prince daemon x you#daemon x y/n#prince daemon x y/n#daemon x fem!reader#daemon targaryen x fem oc#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x female reader#daemon targaryen fic#hotd daemon#hotd x reader#hotd x you#cristi's bingo#pyrite series#asoiaf fanfic#asoif fanfic#asoif/got#hotd fanfic
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Koala Bear
a/n we are shy from 2k bubbles and since I am dying in bed I thought hey... let's return to our silver fox. Don't be tricked this is purely for self indulgence.
summary: pre-outbreak Joel trying to figure out why his girlfriend has been acting weird, yet the sight he's greeted with is far from what he had imagined, leading to hospital trips, panicked phone calls and a man so in love he's ready to do anything for the woman he loves.
warnings: a new not so much established relationship, period pain/blood, puking, hospitals, fainting, iv's, mention of past sexual interactions.
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Joel was desperate to get back home. The traffic in front of him only increased his frustration. This morning felt odd, and the fact that he had to leave you without having a chance to have a proper conversation with you left him uneasy. Joel doubted that he had done anything wrong. At least, he hoped he hadn't. You didn't go to bed upset. You two had cuddled all night. He sure hadn't forgotten any important dates. He had them all marked in the calendar down by the fridge, and the closest one was Tommy's birthday, so it was not something to have you frowning about.
Joel did try to nudge Sarah about it before dropping her off at school, but she just shrugged her shoulders. Murmuring something about how she thought the two of you had just had a fight or something. "But you haven't?", she asked, looking over at her dad. Ever since Joel introduced you to her, she had fallen in love just as hard. You had only moved in the past month. Taking your relationship slow, not wanting to overwhelm Sarah. Yet to some extent, she was even more excited than Joel and you, or even both of you put together. "No, love, we didn't fight", he's quick to reassure her. Making the girl nodded her head.
Joel knew that now that Sarah had grown fond of you and let you into her life, she was scared to lose you. Any bickering, even the lighthearted one, had her squirming. The first time it happened, she nearly had a panic attack. Eyes filling up with tears, she muttered, "Now you will leave", when you found her sitting on the stairs. "Why would I, love bug?", "Well, dad said that stupid stuff about how you can't cook for life", she sniffed, wiping her runny nose with the back of her sleeve. You draped your hand over her shoulders, bringing her closer. "We were only messing around. I'm not leaving you or your dad, even if he's one annoying shit sometimes", you said, wiping her tears away. Making her giggle slightly, as she leaned into you, pressing her body closer to yours.
Joel parked the car in the driveway. Quickly jumping out before opening the back door to take the flowers he had bought for you. He saw them on his way back to his car at work. They reminded him of you. His spring in the midst of the coldest winter. His dainty tulip. In a way, Joel had forgotten what it was like to date. It had been fourteen years, and he wasn't a spring chicken anymore. If he was being honest, he had given up on finding anyone, and the empty side of the bed had long stopped feeling lonely. Well, that was until he met you.
It was a miserable day in Texas. It seemed like the sky had opened. Heavy rain hadn't stopped since early morning. No sign of easing any time soon. Joel was waiting for Tommy. Annoyed that he had to go out in the weather like this. Let alone sit in the car waiting because the younger Miller was late.
Joel was mindlessly listening to the tunes playing on the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, when he saw a figure running across the street. It was hard to make it out fully, but he could tell that it was most definitely a female. The frame seemed way too petite for it to be male. No umbrella. A handful of what seemed like papers above your head had to be soaked through by now. Then there was a light shriek, and Joel saw you slipping onto the pavement with a thud. He sat still until his brain had caught up to what his eyes had just seen, and Joel was jumping out of the car in no time.
Your hand was gripping your ankle as he approached you. Hands in front to not frighten you as you looked up at him. The pain was written all over your face. "That was quite a tumble you took there", Joel said while kneeling next to you. "Oh, tell me you didn't see it…", you whined before trying to sit more comfortably but failing miserably. "Would it make you feel better?", he asked, reaching for your ankle after meeting your eyes and getting an approving nod from you. You let out a sharp cry when Joel's tender fingers touched your skin. The throbbing pain only got stronger. He frowned slightly.
"Might be broken this one. We'll have to get you to the hospital", Joel gently released your already swollen ankle before looking around and trying to catch a glimpse of Tommy by any chance. "We?", you asked, even if it was a silly question. "Well, do you have someone else who could take you? The parking lot seems pretty empty to me", he teased back, moving to support your back as he got into a more comfortable position to pick you up.
"I would so slap you if I didn't need your help, you peacock", you grumbled, but Joel only laughed. Laughed and got struck by the realization that he was indeed laughing with another woman. "Right, well, you can sit here and look pretty than", "Don't you dare to walk away", your fingers gripped his shirt as you pulled yourself closer to his chest. Even through the layers of your wet clothes, you could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, making you shiver. Only now realizing just how cool you truly were. "Okay, koala bear", he muttered, tightening his arms around your body as he carried you to his truck.
The house was awfully quiet. Joel looked around the entrance room. Your shoes and coat were untouched. He had kicked one of your heels by accident this morning while he was rushing to get Sarah to school on time. It was laid out just as he had left it. Meaning you had stayed at home. The older Miller scowled. Fridays weren't your days off. And your boss wasn't the one to hand out free days, so something was wrong. Had to be wrong.
Joel left the flowers on the kitchen counter and slipped into the living room. Scanning the room. A blanket lay messily shrugged onto the floor. A shred of evidence that you had indeed been here at some point. "Y/N", he calls out your name softly, not too loudly, just in case you were asleep upstairs. No response. He crept around the first floor, ready to go upstairs until an open door to the downstairs bathroom caught his attention. You always keep that door closed. It annoyed you because if it got left open, the defuser scent slipped into the house. Joel walked closer, and his heart jumped into his throat at the sight.
Your head was resting on the toilet seat. Skin pale as paper. Your breathing seemed labored. Yanking the door fully open, Joel practically fell into the tight space. "Darling", his fingers instantly pressed onto your forehead. It was clammy but not warm enough for a fever. "I'm fine…", you crocked out, trying to open your eyes but failing miserably. "Looks a lot more like the opposite of fine to me, lovie", he says, quick to flush the water in the toilet that you didn't have the strength to do yourself before sitting down by your side, pulling your body into him. You let out a sharp cry. Head lulling back, hitting Joel's chest. The worry inside him only grew. You looked so weak and worn out as if you had been sick for weeks.
"What's hurting, koala bear? Tell me what's wrong?", Joel pushed away the strands of hair that were sticking to your damp forehead carefully. He was starting to get desperate, but you only shook your head and said, "All good, just need a moment", You brassed yourself onto Joel's chest. The dizziness clouded your mind once more, making you lean your forehead onto your boyfriend for support. You could feel the room spinning. Joel said nothing. A part of him wanted to demand an answer, but you were way too cool for it. Then you jerked back, scraping for the toilet once more as you dipped your head, gagging. Joel reached for your hair, pulling it away from your face as he moved to rub your back slightly.
"Go", you said, trying to shove him away with the hand that was closest to him. But you were too tired, and Joel was too strong and stubborn. There was no way he was leaving you in a state like this. "Breathe through it", Joel said to you instead, choosing to ignore your plea. You shook your head, your hand moving down to your stomach as you hunched over. Yet another cry of pain slipped past your lips. Had you eaten something funny? But you all had dinner and breakfast together. Neither he nor Sarah was feeling anything, so surely it couldn't have been food.
"I'm taking you to the hospital", "No", you sat down on the cold tiles, pushing Joel away from you as best as you could. Welcoming the cool sensation of the floor, which eased nausea ever so slightly. But the cold, hot shiver still ran all over your body. Making your hands and legs tingle. "I wasn't suggesting it", Joel said firmly, reaching for you. He was about to lift you, nudging your legs so you would wrap them around his torso when his eyes drifted to a red patch on the gray tiles from where he had pulled you closer to him.
Your eyes followed his gaze, and you gasped, turning to press your hands onto the red patch. "No, no, no", you muttered anxiously. Your eyes picked up tears as you shied away from Joel now. Yes, you two had been together for a bit, and yes, he had a teenage daughter at that house and was probably the only man who wasn't phased by the thought and sight of period blood, but your insides shrink in size at the sight of it.
"Hey, no…", Joel reached for your palms in an attempt to move them from the stick surface, but you shrugged him off. "It's all okay; don't worry about it", he's quick to reassure you. Now it all makes sense to him. You must have been starting to feel off this morning or you must have gotten your period. That explained why you were so restless in the morning. A whole day by yourself like this. You should have called him. Should have let him know. Joel shrugged the towel off the hanger, dampening it in the sink, before he once again got closer to you.
"No, Joel,", you pleaded once more, but the male-only gave you a look. "Lovie, I've cleaned my cum off your legs…", "That's not the same", you cut in quickly, trying to figure out a way to push Joel out of the bathroom. But he just wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling it up to whip it against the damp towel, repeating the motion for your other hand as well, before he threw it onto the floor and scrubbed at the remaining blood.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss on your shoulder. Your breathing was still uneven. Hands were now digging into your lower stomach. He wondered what his next move should be. Sarah had started her period about a year ago. Joel had learned to juggle her emotions pretty quickly. Learned to read between the lines. To provide comfort in all the different ways if she chose to shut her dad out for a day or two. But they talked; they always talked. Joel was used to Sarah coming up to tell him when the sharks entered the ocean. Your limits were still somewhat new to him.
Your body felt heavy. So heavy and weak. Another wave of warm coldness ran through you, and your vision was filled with tiny black dots. "Joel…", you called out lightly, and his eyes were instantly on you. Your eyes only rolled to the back of your head, hands slipping from beneath you as your body bucked forward. Joel was quick to catch you. Lowering you to the floor as he tapped lightly on your cheek.
He doesn't remember the last time he was in the hospital. Well, besides the time he brought you here with a broken ankle. But that was some time ago. Some years of friendship and falling in love slowly ago. You were slipping in and out of consciousness. That was where he had drawn a line. Scooping you into his arms and heading straight for the hospital. A phone in his pocket buzzed. Joel ignored it at first, but then pulled it out, pressing it to his ear. "Miller", he said bluntly, "Dad…".
Joel cursed under his breath. In the chaos of it all, he had forgotten about Sarah. He left the bathroom a mess. There was both vomit and blood in some places. "Hey, baby girl,", he tried to keep his voice calm, "Is uncle Tommy with you, baby?" But Joel's almost convinced that Sarah is now standing by the bathroom door, looking inside. "What happened? Where are you? Where's Y/N?", her voice was trembling slightly. "Go up to your room, baby. We had to go to the hospital for a bit".
The line goes silent, and he knows that she hasn't moved an inch. "Is Y/N dead? She…", "Of course, she is not silly; scrap those thoughts out of your mind. She's got a bit unwell, that's all". He knew that the bathroom looked worse than it was, but then again, he wasn't there to guide Sarah away from it. "Can I talk to her?", she asked almost shyly. Joel let out a sigh. "Doctor is with her, love bug. I'll call you as soon as I can put her on the phone, okay?", Joel assumed that Sarah must be nodding. The sound of Tommy in the background eased his worries. She wasn't alone. Sarah wasn't alone, so that meant that for now, Joel would focus on you.
When the nurse lets him into your room, you're hooked up to the drip. The other arm bandaged where they must have drawn blood. The color has returned to your skin. You're munching on a sandwich that a nurse must have brought for you, smiling at the woman who double-checks the IV before picking up the tray with little needles and things . "Your boyfriend here walked holes in the hospital floor", the elderly lady smiles, patting you on your shoulder. You meet Joel's eyes. Eyes that were still filled with so much worry. Merry said that you looked rough when you just got there. Delusional and all. Had vomited all over yourself during the ride here. The lack of fluids and minimal intake, mixed with a really heavy flow of your period, had made your body shut off for a moment.
"But she's all good; two more drips, and she should be good to go", Turning to Joel, she gave him a warm smile as well before excusing herself. You placed your sandwich back on the tray. Reaching your hand toward your boyfriend. Joel let out a sigh as he stepped closer, taking hold of your hand before pulling it closer to his lips.
"I've gained at least half ahead of new gray hair", he said quietly, leaning against your forehead. You let out a quiet giggle. "Ah, I was wondering what was making you so much more handsome all of a sudden", your words made Joel smile, but the worry lacing his features didn't fade. "You frightened me, koala bear. I thought I was going to…", but Joel just shook his head. Not allowing himself to say those words. Trying to scrape away the image of your unconscious body in his arms.
You moved to run your fingers over his forehead and down his cheek. "Wasn't my intention", you said softly, and Joel nodded. "No, I know just… Should have told me you had started your period. Would have been there for you. Would have helped". Your eyes searched his before you leaned in to pack his lips softly. "I'm not letting you miss your shift because I'm bleeding", "Well, I would. Because you come first. Always have, always will". You shake your head in disbelief at how lucky you are to have a man like Joel in your life. "Eat up; you need to get your strength back", Joel takes the sandwich in his hands, moving it closer to your lips. Smiling to himself as you take a nice big bite. Okay. You were going to be just okay, and you wwere never going to go through any of this on your own. Never let it get to a point like this again.
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TLOU taglist: @theslytherinwriter @daddysfavoritesexkitten @randomstory56 @woofgocows @ohthemisssery
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller#the last of us imagine#the last of us imagines#the last of us x reader#the last of us x you#the last of us#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal x reader
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𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗 — 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏
💀 KINKTOBER EVENT
🎧 𝐅𝐔𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
𝐜𝐰 — sub!reader. soft dom!fujin. ftm!reader. body worship. slight use of powers. teasing. praise kink. some oral. general vanilla. perversion(?)
a/n: god i want fujin SO BAD (๑>◡<๑) i dont see much content of him here, but after some inspo on ao3, i HAD to write for him. sorry if this one isn’t as explicit as the other entries, im still getting to know his charecter and seeing what suits him best. otherwise, enjoy fujin likers! 🤍
He swore he’d never fall for a mortal, but the heart will always get what it wants, even in a god.
Warmth and affection were foreign to Fujin, the only companion he really had was Raiden, but even the lighting god was cold to his brother. Being Earthrealm’s protectors costs too much, including the chances of love.
Hence his confusion, when a meer human who’s curiosity got the better of him caught Fujin’s eye. He had no clue if he was amused at the man’s stupidity, or from how drop dead gorgeous he was.
It didn’t matter how many times he stressed it to himself that you were to be forgotten, to get out of his head. He had a whole realm to protect for crying out loud, yet he still found himself getting embarrassingly hard at the lewd images his mind created against his own will. He wanted to curse your name for being so naive, for lacking judgement when it came to crossing the God of Wind. But in the same breath, he found himself fawning over you.
After all, it was an accident. It was him that crossed into your quite, mist covered village within the depths of Earthrealm. He stepped onto your path when you were just returning after an early morning walk to pick from your fresh harvest, your skin dewy and flushed from the cold, wet air. Fujin immediately felt his heart pound, out of both shock and anxiety. However, it was your reaction that solidified the demi-god’s crush.
“I-I’m so sorry..! Am I disturbing you?”
Your gentle tone and worried gaze with eyes that laid on Fujin’s blade and crossbow, with a basket of white peached that still had droplets of water on them. However, Fujin’s mind couldn’t help itself from pointing out the very thing he was thinking about. It was your figure.
You were petite, so much smaller compared to the demi-god. Even through the loose yukata, the back of your neck was exposed thanks to your hair being tied up. Fujin touched his lips, wanting to lean closer and ravage your soft skin. Your smaller body looked delicate, enough for his head to fill with fantasies of you. If he could, he would’ve picked you up and fucked you silly against a tree. Watching the yukata fall off, exposing what hid underneath.
He could only stare, afraid that he startled you from his weapons that were blatantly visible to the naked eye. The silence was deafening, before he spoke up in a quite voice.
“Apologies, please, you first.” As he awkwardly stood to the side of the path, allowing you to pass him by without problems. He seemed to have gotten his feelings under control, but the wind suddenly betrayed him. Rather, revealed what he truly felt within. A sudden whoosh fell upon your ears, as a ribbon of wind wrapped itself against your flushed cheek. Almost like a hand touching it, it snuck under your ear till you felt it kiss your neck.
You turned around, giving the snow haired god one final look and an awkward wave before turning back to the village. Meanwhile, Fujin was practically flustered beyond belief. He knew you knew, and you did as well as him. However, he knew the rules too well. A relationship with a mortal would end in tragedy, constant berating from Raiden and the day you’d leave this world would forever leave an unsealable hole in his heart.
But it always, always, gets what it wants.
The demi-god’s hands roamed your chest, staring down at you while you couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. You were pressed between his larger body and the cold, wooden wall behind you. Fujin’s thick fingers crept up to your neck, gently persuading you to look at him. His eyes go wide and he had to hold back from ripping your hayori off right then and there. Your eyes were bright in the dim sunlight, every single imperfection on your face washed in the pink hue that spilled into your room.
He couldn’t hold himself back any longer, as he carried you off into bed and set you down on the edge. He tugged at your hayori till it fell off your shoulders, revealing your bare figure to him. Immediately, Fujin latched his mouth onto your neck, gently biting down on the soft flesh. Instinctively, you spread your legs and allowing him to sink between your thighs, his bulge couldn't be more obvious but he didn't care at that point. He trailed his lips down to your chest, reaching your taut nipples and went for one of them while his hand tweaked the other. The sharp contrast of his warm tongue against your nipple forced a mewl out of you, holding the back of his head with your fingers tangled into his loose hair.
"F-Fujin..ah..slow down.."
He looked up, half lidded white eyes filled with a carnal lust that hasn't been fulfilled in decades stare daggers into you. He crawled back up to press a soft and passionate kiss against your lips, all while he murmurs nothing but praise as he traced every curve and bone in your body.
"How did I have the strength to resist you, the nerve to turn away from an angel. My dear, you have driven me beyond insane..”
He whispered in his husky, low voice in your ear. All while his hands touched dangerously close to your throbbing cunt. Yet his movements were slow, almost treating you like a glass statue. It wasn’t driven by a need for a quick fuck, but a insatiable adoration of you. One that could never be extinguished by just one night of sex.
Fujin slipped his fingers through your lips, teasing your clit with his thumb while you gripped his wrist. His lips still remained glued against yours, drinking up your whines and muffled pleas for more. It no longer mattered to him that he was doing something so taboo, so inconvenient for him as a god. He was beyond infatuated with you, and he will prove it through the pleasure he invokes in you, treating you as if you were created by the Elder Gods themselves.
“Beautiful, beautiful my darling..just allow me to do all the work. Take good care of you like you deserved..”
🎧 this work belongs to @porcalinecunt. reblogs and feedback are appreciated. <3
#𓆩♱𓆪 — porcelaincunt !#kinktober#kinktober 2023#mk x reader#mk fujin#mortal kombat x you#mortal kombat x reader#mortal kombat 11#mk11#mk11 x reader#fujin mk11#mk smut#mortal kombat smut#fujin x reader#fujin#fujin mortal kombat#fujin mk#mk11 fujin#ftm reader#trans reader#x male reader#male reader
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Meet the Family 8
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)
Characters: Lloyd Hansen
Note: I'm going to be starting my advent drabbles for December today so enjoy.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
You moan at the firm swirl of fingertips against your temples. Lloyd’s hands are so big and warm that they soothe the virulent pulsing, just enough. Your toes curl and you push your skull into his grasp as you sink into the bed.
“See, Pixie, not too bad, huh?” He purrs. You groan. He needs to just shut up. “I’ve been told I have very skilled hands, you know?”
“Lloyd, please,” you mutter.
“Please what? You want more?” He taunts and rocks his hips so his crotch rubs against your stomach.
You try to shake your head but can’t in his grip. You swat his knee and grumble, “not that.”
“Ah, come on, pixie, I can be quick but efficient,” grazes his nails over your scalp and you shudder at the cool sensation it sends through your hot skull. “You got goosebumps. I’m getting you there.”
“No...” you murmur.
“Mmm, yes. You don’t gotta do nothing. I’ll lick you like popsicle and you’ll melt--’
You flick your eyes open as a twinge pinches in your core. That’s not because of him. It’s just your biology responding to the physical stimulation. A dollar store massage pad could do the same thing. You grab his wrists and narrow your eyes.
“Stop. I’m too tired and miserable--” you whimper at the effort it takes to speak, “to keep arguing with you.”
“So don’t. Just let daddy Lloyd take over, baby cakes.”
“Daddy Lloyd?” You hiss and wince at the rattle in your skull. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re just like jelly in my hands. How about this, pixie dust, you just try to stop me. I think that will be fun.” He slackens his hold on your head and caresses your cheeks. Another shiver rolls over you.
Your hands brush over his as he glides past easily. He tickles your neck and you squirm as he moves back slightly. He walks his fingers along your shoulders then grips them tightly, pushing his thumbs into your muscles. You nearly choke as you feel the tension dislodge as he kneads.
You put your hand on his stomach and let out a wispy noise. Oh. No. It’s not that good. Oh but it is.
“See, baby, just a toy for good boy Lloyd,” he slithers.
You take and breath and curl your fingertips in the muscles of his torso. You’re no virgin, not some untouched nun, but it’s been as while and the feel of warm flesh plucks something deep in you. That tugging is just as much an adversary as the man who has you pinned to the bed.
Lloyd’s fingertips continue to rub, and roll, and raze your skin. He shifts his hands along your chest and drags them over the rise of your tits. He gropes you through your bra. You bare your teeth and latch onto his middle fingers as you try to peel him away.
“No, Lloyd--”
“Shhhh,” he hushes you.
He raises himself slightly on his knees and slips his hands away from your doughy flesh. He puts his elbows on either side of you, using them to support his weight as he spreads himself over you. Panic swells as you’re trapped under his tall figure. He slips his hands free and frames your sides instead, dipping his head down to bury between your cleavage.
“Nope!” Your adrenaline spikes, and the yelp reverberates in your head like the clang of a bell. “Lloyd, no! You’re not—Ayeeeee.”
He bites into the meat of your tit and you hit the top his head. He doesn’t react, only sinking his teeth deeper with a growl. You grab the longer strands of his hair and yank meanly. He grunts and recoils, leaving a throbbing imprint on you.
“Ow! Don’t fuck with my hair, Pix--”
“I’m telling you to stop--” You push yourself up on one elbow.
“You’re moaning like a neglected housewife while you’re doing it. It’s a bit confusing--”
“Is the word no that unclear to—you,” you put your hand to your forehead at the tick above your eye. You grit your teeth and snarl.
“I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see that?” He shoves you back down. “I’m not going to put it in, promise. I just want a taste of the pixie pie--”
He moves back to kneel between your legs. As he grips your hips and holds you down, your anger overwhelms that worrying tingle in your thighs. He bends as his fingertips curl under your panties and you bring your knee up into his ribcage.
He coughs and pushes himself away. He touches his side and hisses, “Goddamnit.”
“My head’s about to split and you’re trying to--” you gulp back the words as your cloudy dismay clears to horror. What was he going to do? How far was he going to go?
“Babe, my balls are about to split open,” he whines. “I was only going to be nice. Get you a little O before the big flight.”
You stare at him. Who the hell is this man? This isn’t Mr. Hansen and his curt emails and short commands. This isn’t the man who wanted his coffee with a single cream and his daily calendar colour coded. This is an animal.
Ugh, you knew better than to blur the line of personal and professional. Too bad, he doesn’t. Two million dollars. That little chant is not as encouraging the further you get into this, especially as you realise, this is only the beginning.
“Come on, baby, we can do it all over the clothes--”
“Get away from me,” you sit up with a huff, your whole body rebelling at the effort. “I have enough to worry about without you all over me.”
“Aw, please,” his eyes fall to your chest and flicker. You look down and sigh, one of your nipples peeking out above the bra cup. You fix it and shove him again. “Even the girls are tryna get out--”
“Sleep on the floor,” you sneer as you turn your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand and go to your bag, unzipping it as you nearly topple over. Your head is a maelstrom. You take out a loose tee and leggings and quickly dress.
As you turn back, Lloyd watches you with a pout. It’s disarming how he can go from pathetic to putrid and predatory. You near the bed and go around the other side. You take a pillow and throw it at his back. He sighs and stands up. He ignores the pillow and pulls back the blanket.
“No--”
“Hey, promise, I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he snaps. “I’m not sleeping on the damn floor. I’m still your boss, Pixie, remember that.”
You don’t say anything. That’s the Mr. Hansen you know. Demanding. Stubborn. You turn your back to him and stretch out on your side. You cling to the corner of the pillow and close your eyes.
His weight jostles behind you. He groans and the bed shifts as he leans over. The light shuts off and you nearly sigh at the relief.
He lays back but doesn’t relax. He fidgets. Tossing and turning, one way then the other. Adjusting the pillows, tugging on the blanket, bouncing the springs. You chew on the urge to bark at him to stop.
Finally, he stops. You exhale and try to ease your muscles. The tension only feeds the migraine. You focus on your breathing as you try to coax yourself back to sleep. You feel yourself slipping, further and further. A soft drone rises in your ears, rhythmic but harried.
“Mmm,” the hum breaks through your bubble and frustration sparks in your chest. You were almost asleep. “Mm, yeah, that’s....” Lloyd raspy voice drawls into the darkness between shallow grunts, “fuck--”
The shaking of the bed spikes your heartbeat. You open your eyes and frown. What is he doing? Is he--”
“Lloyd!” You spin onto your back and sit up, “Lloyd, stop that--”
“Fuck yeah, say my name,” he strokes himself furiously. You can vaguely see how the blanket jumps around his frantic motion. “Come on, I’m almost there.”
“You’re--”
“Told you,” he groans and pushes his feet into his bed, his knees bend under the blanket, “keeping my hands--- to myself.”
“Oh, god!” You turn and leap out of bed, stumbling. “Lloyd, you’re disgusting. Nasty--”
“Keep it coming, pix, it’s helping--”
“Ew!” You grab the pillow and twist away, stomping out, “absolutely gross!”
“Ah, yeah, fuck, baby! Thank you....” he voice peters out as you slam the bathroom door, flicking the lock into place.
You wince at the impact against the frame and sway in the dark. You throw the pillow into the tub and grab the robe hung on the back of the door. Fuck it. You give up. You don’t even want to sleep anymore, you just want to be left alone.
❄️
Your alarm wakes you through the wall. You’re stiff and sore, but your migraine has relented. The few hours were enough to push it back to a tenuous shadow. One wrong move and it’ll be back.
You climb out of the tub and turn on the shower. You wash quickly, minding the time, and get ready in the mirror, wearing the same robe you slept under. You emerge to the rocky snoring. You turn on all the lights but Lloyd remains unbothered.
You grab clothes, a black turtleneck and the same shade of cigarette pants. You dress in the bathroom then zip up your toiletry pouch. You come out to shove it into your suitcase and scour the room for anything forgotten.
As a final touch, you return to the bathroom and take one of the paper cups and fill it. You go quietly to the bed and tip it over Lloyd’s naked back, exposed above above the messy blankets. He squeals and bounces to life, flipping over as the rest of him is revealed to the room. You avert your eyes at his nakedness.
“What the fuck?” He snarls sleepily, “what are you doing?”
“Time to get up, Lloydy poo,” you clap at him. “We got a plane to catch.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
“What? I'm helping you wake up. Like a good wife, right?”
He goes to argue then hesitates. He moves the blankets and coughs. He blinks and rubs his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Well, it’s time enough. You have thirty minutes to get it together, babykins.”
He winces at your tone. He stares at you as you grin. He moves cautiously toward the edge of the bed.
“What’s... you did something?”
“No,” you answer flatly.
“But...” he eyes you suspiciously.
“I’m just playing my part,” you say. “Like we agreed. Not everyone is morally debunked like you, my beloved.”
“Stop it,” he says.
“Stop what, my manly man. The twinkle in my eye. My other half.”
“All of that. I don’t like how you’re saying it,” he stands and hides his crotch with his hands.
“Stop? Oh, teddy bear, we don’t know that word, do we? Stop? What could that possibly mean?”
“Alright, I get it. You’re mad about last night--”
“I’m not mad, sweetie, I’m concerned because if you don’t get yourself together, we’re going to miss another flight and if I miss this flight, well, I think I might just lose my mind,” you smile, “you don’t want that now, do you, snookums.”
“You...” he turns back to you, “you’re a bit deranged sometimes.”
“Speak for yourself, sugar,” you march up to him, your anger fuming like smog in your nostrils, and you pinch his naked ass. “Get into gear,” your voice deepens, “now.”
He yelps and pulls away. He looks at you like he’s been splashed with cold water a second time and he swallows tightly. His brows arch as he gapes at you. He keeps one hand over his pelvis and reaches back to rub his ass.
“Damn, Pixie,” he finally backs off, “you’re something else.”
“I’m exhausted and I’m annoyed, so don’t push me.” You warn him.
“Yeah, well, better get this all out now. I’m sure the family doesn’t need you spoiling the holiday cheer.”
“Me?” You hiss.
He blanches, “I meant... er...”
“Go,” you snap your fingers and put your back to him. “I gotta get all this in the car.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says and you listen to him retreat into the bathroom.
You get your bags to the door then grab your boots and jacket. Your agitation buzzes just under your skin. You have the flight to rein it in. It won’t be easy like Lloyd’s family. They don’t know you, so you can pretend with them. But your family, well, you are related to them. You share quite a few traits.
And Lloyd. You can’t have him running round like some goblin wreaking havoc. This whole thing is his idea and yet he doesn’t seem to know the script. He’s unpredictable and uncontrollable. He’s not the type your family would expect. That’s because he isn’t your type. Never in a million years would you choose him.
You take your bags down to the car and return to the hotel room. Lloyd is half-dressed. A pair of lamb grey pants on as he pulls on a white turtleneck with a silver emblem on the left side of his chest. The clothes won’t help the theatrics.
You gather up his clothes from the day before. You shove them into his large suitcase. “Is that everything?”
“I think, I just have my essentials,” he says. “Gotta style the love stache.”
“Go,” you wave him away.
“Thank you, honey boo, I know. I do look handsome in this, don’t I?” He taunts. You look at him with all the lack of sleep and rage festering in you from the last two days. He recoils and puts his palms up, “right, I’ll doll myself up.”
You wait for him to disappear back into the bathroom before you drag his bags to the door. You’ll leave them there so he can pack away whatever else he has out. You go to the bed and sit, running your hands over your face.
This isn’t just about getting through today. After the bullshit he promised his family, this is going to be months of torment. You don’t know if you have the willpower to put up with him for that long.
#lloyd hansen#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#the gray man#fic#meet the family#dark fic#dark!fic#series
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And Where He Goes, I’ll Follow. (Jimmy Darling x Reader)
Summary: You meet Jimmy in a diner as a teenager in 1949, and it’s love at first sight... for you. You follow him until you can tell him how you feel.
warnings: 8.3k words! self insert. female reader, age gap / older men preference, obsession, unrequited love, fluff, angst and eventual smut.
Ao3 link here — full fic under the cut! | Fic playlist here! {Shuffle Off!}!
Tags: @zabelcolin @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag
You almost called out to him right then, wanting nothing more in the whole, wide world than for him to look over his shoulder at you. You remembered every curve of his face, his bright smile, his tanned skin that smelled like sun — in two years you hadn’t forgotten a single thing about Jimmy Darling.You watched him hold the door for Evie like the charming gentleman that he was and heaved a distrait sigh. He waited for her before following her inside.
Your mind was buzzing with emotions. You wondered if Eve remembered you, you wondered if Jimmy, if he remembered when he’d turned the swivel stool in that diner, and told you…
1949
"Tell the ticket lady Jimmy sent ya’,” he said, finishing it with a wink. Cheeks red, your gaze fell to your lap. You were wholly unsure of how to respond to such flirtations, and your heart hammered against your ribs. When you looked back up, he and the rest of his eccentric troupe had left, much to the relief of the other patrons.
The syrup on your pancakes didn’t compare to the sweetness in his smile. You’d screwed your face up in disappointment when you brought a forkful to your mouth, the taste too dull in comparison. Devious thoughts of warm, thick nectar filled your head; you were a lost cause for the rest of the afternoon. He’d turned your little brain to mush with seven words, so much that you couldn’t even hear the chastising your mother would’ve given you for being so lustful. By that evening, Aunt Tessa had agreed to let you go just to ease the ache in her ears.
And you did. In the prettiest dress you’d had in your suitcase, hair freshly curled and the tiniest hint of rouge on your lips and cheeks, you went to that Freak Show. The skip in your step wasn’t at the thought of marvelling and gawking at the individuals that the town called “God’s mistakes,” but to see Jimmy.
You wrung your hands as you stood in line, waiting patiently behind each paying guest. Not that you planned on getting in for free — Aunt Tessa had given you a few dollars for food and tickets.
Finally, empty space was the only thing between you and the lady standing at the foldaway table. She wasn’t sitting down, and as you approached, you saw why.
“What can I do for you?”
You bent your neck all the way back to accommodate the woman’s height. She was broad, elegant, and looked stronger than any man you’d ever seen. A soft breeze blew from behind her, fluttering the silk fabric of her shirt. She smelled like flowers.
“Um… Jimmy sent me.” It came out a weak, shaky jumble of words instead of the confident statement you’d practiced on the way over. You closed your eyes tightly, cursing your jitters.
She glanced behind you. You were the last person in line, and certainly were without accompaniment. Realising that you were a nervous wreck with no parents in sight, the woman brought herself forward, resting the weight of her upper body on her knees. She turned her head, angling her ear towards you.
“One more time, sweetheart.” You took a deep breath through your nose and tried again.
“I was at the diner in town and… and Jimmy — Jimmy sent me.” You shoved the dollar upwards awkwardly, holding it as steady as your nerves would allow.
She straightened up, her thin red lips stretched wide in a bemused smile. “Jimmy Darling sent you? Well.” She leaned forward, gently wrapping her large hand around your petite wrist. She lowered your hand back to your side, wordlessly denying payment, then moved to drop the lid of the cashbox.
“Follow me.”
She led you through the main tent, and you followed proudly, feeling like a VIP guest. A few people leaned out of their seats to see the who, where, and why. Eve lined you up with a perfect spot in the front row and made sure you were settled before darting off behind the stage’s. The calliope music started somewhere from behind a curtain, and your heart took off, like it had in the diner.
A litany of ooh’s and aah’s punctuated each act, but your memory was worth a damn. As you watched the show, you truly hadn’t remembered much of anything. Anticipation had your attention span on a short leash, and each time the Bearded Lady came out to announce a new act, you inched forward on the wooden seat.
He had gloves on in the diner, but as soon as you’d arrived on the grounds, you’d sorted out what ‘freak’ of the show Jimmy was. Lobster Boy! The AMAZING Jimmy Darling! Live! In Person! Banners, Posters — they all showcased each of the freaks rendered in art. Jimmy’s hands were the focus of his posters; four fingers fused in two, formed into thick, fleshy segments. Finally, the stout woman announced the next act in her funny accent, and you scooted forward, hands clasped in your lap.
He was wearing a blue shirt with a brown vest and trousers, and his hair came forward from the crown of his head into a perfect single coif. The show lights followed him as he strolled across the stage, deformed hands at his sides.
“That’s right, folks! For as long as I can remember, I’ve been known as Lobster Boy. Son of Neptune, God of the Sea!” His voice was loud and strong. “But my pincers don’t hold me back!”
Women gawked, making disparaging comments as he opened and closed his claws, showing them off to the audience. ‘Such a shame! He’s good-looking!’ ‘What a waste that is! He’s not half-bad without those things!’
“Watch me juggle!”
And you did. You couldn't take your eyes off him, not for a moment. Your heart felt like a scoop of melted strawberry ice cream. You could’ve watched him juggle for hours, but too quickly, his act ended. One of the balls missed his pocket when he tucked them in.It rolled off the stage and landed with a heavy thud a few inches from where you sat. Unlike you, he didn’t seem to notice. Keeping your eyes ahead, you kicked one foot out and landed it inconspicuously atop the ball, manoeuvring back towards you with the heel of your shoe.
Fate had intervened with that one, you believed that. After the show, you strolled through the rows of empty wooden chairs, twisting your body joyfully back and forth. The tent was empty now, save for Jimmy, who was scouring the stage. He had bent over, lifting the heavy velvet curtain.
“Hell,” he muttered, letting the curtain drop. He spun around to the left, to the right, his back still facing you.
“‘Scuse me,” you started. “Mr. D-Darling?”
His head turned first, body following.
“Hey — I remember you. You’re the kid at the diner.” God, he was every bit as warm as he was in the dinner. Maybe even more. From where you stood, you could smell his body heat, mixed with the dustiness of the field, and the butter of popcorn. Holding the scent of him for a moment longer before speaking, you nodded coyly. With the ball still behind your back, you ground the toe of your saddle-shoe into the dirt floor.
“Well, did ya’ like the show?”
You straightened up, widening your eyes. “Oh! I thought you were just spectacu—- the show was real great. I’m only here for another week but I’m going to convince my Aunt Tessa to come see it too.”
Your slip-up wasn’t lost on him; he’d heard it, and caught it with a smile. “Say, you haven’t seen a —
“A ball?” You held it upwards to him, stretching your arm out. “It rolled off after your act… I didn’t want anyone trying to steal it.”
He seemed delighted by your loyalty as he reached for it. His — well, you weren’t quite sure what to call them in your mind’s eye, but his clawed fingers felt so heavy against your palm, and they covered it completely. Anyone would’ve been repulsed by his deformity, but you weren’t, even up close.
Your breath hitched in your throat. The blazing heat that started in the core of your abdomen and bubbled up to your cheeks confirmed that repulsion was the last thing on your mind. You didn’t register that you were staring until he jerked his hand away, taking the ball along with it. It seemed like he couldn’t set it atop the piano fast enough, before shoving both hands into brown cotton slits, returning himself to normalcy. He had sorely mistaken your fascination for disgust.
“Thanks, kid.”
Panicked and slightly offended that he had called you ‘kid’ twice, you stuttered into your next sentence.
“My name is Y/N.” You reached your hand up again, biting down into the cushion of your lip.
Jimmy hesitated.
He finally took it, and shook it delicately. You exhaled a little too breathily, on purpose.
“Jimmy,” he replied, a small smile blooming.
Between tittering laughs, you nodded. “Oh, I know that.”
The second time, three days later, you were just as nervous, just as focused, but your Aunt Tessa sat next to you, fanning herself with a poster card. This time, your attention was a little less taut, and you were able to enjoy the rest of the acts. In particular, you were dazzled by Amazon Eve, marvelling as she lifted nearly everything on the stage with ease, then stepped down to lift the front row bench on which your Aunt, you and two others sat. She recognised you, giving you a friendly nod before carefully setting you back down. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, feeling so very special.
If you had to ignore Jimmy — the show was still a delight. Every performer had a shocking talent to share, and you ate each of them up. You stuffed a handful of popcorn into your mouth, eyes softening at the little doll that stepped from the birdcage. Ma Petite was one of the most darling things you’d ever laid eyes on, even though you were well out of your doll days.
You saw the show one final time with your mother, on the day she came to pick you up. She was much less enchanted by the grotesque acts than you were, shielding her eyes as every moment passed. Jimmy juggled again, throwing the balls higher and higher with each rotation. Much to your dismay, he didn’t drop a single one, garnering applause from the astounded audience. He flashed a smile in your direction before palming all three of the spheres.
You didn’t dream of waiting for the entire tent to clear out, not with your mother crossing her arms as you rushed towards the stage. Jimmy had already disappeared, but the tattooed man was kind enough to stop dragging a crate to answer you when you asked where they were headed next.
Once in the car, you had asked your mother, “How’s Grandpa doing?” You rose the octaves of your voice in a slippery way to feign concern. “He’s not far from here, is he? In Tennessee?”
“He is… you know sugar plum, I bet he’d enjoy a visit from us both. Recovery can be awful lonely.”
You sunk into the seat, a devilish grin on your face. “A few days won’t hurt.”
Any guilt you felt from using your grandfather as an excuse fizzled out the moment you stepped into the warmly lit tent in Tennessee. You tucked your dress underneath the curve of your rear, and plopped down on the wooden bench.
1950
You had to wait until the summer of the following year, when school was out, to see your dreamboat again. It just so happened that your best friend’s cousin’s dad was a land owner in Alabama, and had just rented out one of his fields to a travelling freak show. You had almost memorised the show by the fourth time you saw it, except for the fact that Fraulein Elsa, the leader with a wispy German accent, added a knife-throwing act. She asked for volunteers.
Anne’s brother, brimming with misplaced confidence and testosterone immediately shot up. He’d been strapped to the wheel while his college buddies hollered, saying their goodbyes. A few moments later, without so much as a scratch, he jogged off the stage, a newfound confidence in his ability to cheat death. Elsa watched the young men, a disapproving sourness in her dark eyes.
The fifth time you saw the show, by yourself, he’d juggled like usual, but this time, he followed with a song. You were in the front row, and when he dipped the microphone down, almost to the floor, you gripped the bench so hard, your nails sunk into the wood as though it were made of butter.
“Oooooh, you come on like a dream, peaches n’ cream, lips like strawberry wine. You’re sixteen…” He looked right at you, and damn it all — he winked again. “You’re beautiful, and you’re mine.”
You gasped.
“We fell in love the night we met! You touched my hand, my heart went pop, and ooooh, when we kissed…” Jimmy swayed across the stage, a true performer, but you were practically vibrating with delight.
You clutched your hands to your chest, feeling as light as a cloud. Surely, this song was no coincidence. Could that have been the sign you needed? You two would meet after the show, and you’d phone your mother from another state, telling her you were married and had run away to the circus. You’d give his trailer a woman’s touch, painting the wooden cabinets yellow, and buying satin pillows for the modestly sized bed.
Oh sure, you thought. The quickest way to get Jimmy Darling arrested. That’s just terrible.
It wasn’t until you got back home from Alabama three days later that you’d heard the song announced on the radio as holding its place in “the top of Billboard for four weeks now!” The delusional high came crashing down around you, and you cried for hours into your pillow. Your mother tried to console you with a new dress, but it was the same pale blue colour of the shirt Jimmy wore once, so you cried more.
Alabama was too far to visit twice, so you stopped seeing him — in person, anyway. The poster you’d ripped from one of the telephone posts lived underneath your pillow. You fell asleep to it every night, folding and unfolding it with the tenderest of touches. It was a side profile of Jimmy, and his shadow cast was a warped exaggeration.
Eventually, the paper became so fragile that you had to tuck it away in your diary and leave it, along with the dreams of being Mrs. Y/N Darling, a name which was scribbled fanatically through dozens of pages, amongst detailed fantasies of the same subject.
Oh, I love him so much. Will I love him always? I will. Until the day I die, I think. But father says that all of my careless travelling has addled my brain — he doesn’t know that it’s not the travelling, but a boy!! — and I need to focus on my studies. Maybe one day, Jimmy Darling will love me. For now, I must let him go.
You tucked the journal in your bedside table, ushering away your silly teenage dreams. Sticky, humid summers faded into rainy, windy winter seasons. Eventually, the rose-coloured dreams of Jimmy Darling faded away, and your every day was filled with the frivolities of a small-town teenage girl on the cusp of adulthood.
There were hard days, naturally. Days where you dug your nails into your own heart, plaguing it with cruel thoughts of if he’d found a girlfriend, or if he ever thought about you. The last time you cried over him was in the bathtub, in January of 1951. Your father had made lobster for your aunt’s birthday dinner. You’d nearly lost it, staring too intently at the claws, hanging limp on the plate.
Though you didn’t think it would happen, eventually, the searing pain of a lost love turned into a dull ache, to a faint bruise. One that you didn’t know was there until you touched the spot unknowingly.
After that, you had a boyfriend for a few months. You’d kissed for the first time on Valentine’s Day, and then split by August. You got a job at a diner, working half days until you graduated.
June 1952 Jupiter, Florida.
It had started getting hot last month, and the world was alive with the tantalising promise of summer. The diner was usually busy from sun up to sun down, and really, you revelled in the work. There was a certain merrymaking in being a waitress. Folks from town, folks from across the country seemed to find a familiarity in diners — no matter where they were, they knew what to expect.
As you did every weekday, you’d showed up for your shift, uniform pressed and starched, with your apron draped across your arm. You checked your reflection in the glass of the jukebox, and tied the white cotton around your waist.
Tucking an order pad into your apron, you froze. Sitting on the speckled, glossy counter in front of you was a stack of flyers. Bobby, one of the chefs, was stretching up to hang one on the fridge. Your body seemed to quiver from the inside out, running cold and hot all at once as you read the brightly coloured words.
Fraulein Elsa’s Freak Show - Jupiter, Florida! See the marvels, the mystery from all corners of the earth!
“Y/N? .....Y/N!”
Your chest felt like someone had taken a mallet to it, and swung as hard as they could, hoping to ring the carnival bell atop. You blinked and turned to him.
“You ill or somethin’?” Bobby asked, pushing the knuckle of his pointer finger up into the soft underside of your jaw to close it. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Swatting away his hand, you snatched the stack of flyers and brought them up in front of his face. “I’m fine. Who brought these?”
“Hm? Oh. Those. Guy and a girl. Real tall girl. Just a few minutes ago, actually. Why? Are we not supposed to post th —”
“A few minutes ago,” you repeated, trembling. “Was…. Was one of them wearing gloves?”
Taken aback by the interruption, Bobby seemed confused and hesitated in answering.
“Was he!?” You asked again, a little too loudly.
He considers it, and remembers that it struck him odd, wearing leather gloves in the first hums of summer. “Yeah. Why?”
You practically threw yourself into the door, flinching at how hard the bell clanked against the glass. You looked right. A little girl held onto her mother’s hand with one, and gripped the sticky cone of an ice cream in the other. You flipped your head to the left — and on the sidewalk, a few blocks down, The Lobster Boy walked alongside Amazon Eve, who held the rest of the flyers in the crook of her arm.
Insecurity held you back. What would you do? What would you say? Hi, I was obsessed with you when I was a little girl, and I’m still obsessed with you now. You heaved a heavy sigh and returned to the diner to carry out your shift.
As soon the clock hit seven, you met up with your two friends, Susie and Margaret, just outside of where the show was. You’d called them from the diner phone, twisting your index finger in and out of the cord. It didn’t take much to convince them to go. You were all eighteen now, and school nights weren’t a main worry.
“Well, well, well. I was wondering when you’d show up.” You bowed your head sideways, unable to place why you suddenly felt shy. Eve reached to cup your shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. “Look at you… all grown up.”
At that, it took everything in you not to dip around the table and hug her, pressing your cheek against her chest. She’d also given you a blossoming idea that in two years, you had changed enough to look grown-up. You’d take that newfound confidence right to the door of Jimmy’s trailer one night soon.
“I’m just so happy that you all came to Jupiter, it’s been so — ” you started, before your words were cut short. Susie and Margaret flanked your sides and gasped. “My god, what I wouldn’t give to have your hair! You know, I can never get it to stay up in a scarf — my mother says it’s because I’ve got angel hair.” Margaret combed her fingers through her blonde tresses, and rolled her eyes. “Nothing heavenly about this.”
Eve’s laugh resonated through your chest as she gathered your change, divulging the importance of pin placement. Margaret seemed fascinated by the information, and you were just glad that out of all the stuffy, bigoted people in Jupiter, you had managed to find some of the only girls who would be more enchanted with Amazon Eve’s hair than her nearly seven foot tall stature.
The air was warm and heavy, seeming to hold the sweet smell of popcorn pungently. You ducked into the tent, and almost immediately, you saw him. He was in the corner, leaning against one of the support posts. Two years had been kind to him; although he had maintained all of his boyish charm, there was a new brawn that had settled in.
He was talking quietly to the Bearded Lady, who seemed very concerned with what he was saying. You wondered what it was they were discussing, but as the band of performers flooded the stage, they both scurried off to take their places. It may have laid dormant for years, sleeping like a hibernating bear, but it took just over an hour for your obsession to return full-force.
On Wednesday night, you convinced Bobby and Julie to go. Julie was only waiting two days a week, but you were taking advantage of all workplace camaraderies, big or small.
On Thursday, Bobby wanted to go again. He was just tickled by the Siamese Twins, and needed a second viewing. Somehow, he masterfully convinced the callous, burly cook, Sam, who never did anything besides fill up his truck, go the market, and clock in for work to go, too.
Friday night rolled around, Margaret brought her boyfriend, and Susie brought her younger sister. The ‘freaks’ scared her, so they sat in the back row, while you took your familiar seat in the front row. And for once, you couldn’t wait for the show to end.
You’d parked out in the far part of the field. As soon as the tent emptied, you retreated to the car to keep up appearances. However, instead of getting in leaving the freak show in a cloud of dust, you’d waited. Twenty or so minutes after that, you thought you saw Jimmy strolling out of the big top.
With your friends long gone and the rest of the field mostly cleared out, you finally pushed yourself off the trunk of the car and headed towards the mint-green trailer in the distance. There was a warm yellow glow emanating from the windows. He was definitely inside, and there was no turning back now. You stepped carefully over tall grasses and some discarded cans.
You were finally going to tell him.
You sucked in air through your nose until the breath hurt your lungs and the bust-line of your dress tightened. You gave the door three delicate taps.
“Yea—hang on!” You heard some commotion inside, and the door swung open.
“I’ll be — oh. Uh, hi.”
“Hi,” you cooed. “Can I come in?”
Coughing out a breath, he looked you up and down. Jimmy then hooked his hand on the doorway, and leaned out to survey the area. Everyone was likely in the rec tent, readying themselves for supper. For a moment, he worried that his arrangement with the Tupperware gals had travelled, despite explicit instructions to keep it under wraps.
“Well?” You urged.
Jimmy was never one to deny beauties access to his trailer, so he stepped aside and allowed you in.
As you waited for him to shut the door, you focused on the thumping of your pulse, your heart pumping faster and faster. Back then, you were a little girl with a crush. A silly, jejune, frilly lace-and-bows crush. As you stood in the middle of his trailer, watching him, that childish adoration was stamped out by your big girl passion and unbridled lust. He was in nothing but a white undershirt and his trousers, with an unbuckled belt. You hadn’t seen him in such a… personal setting, and the visual had your stomach tightening into knots that only his fused fingers to could untangle.
“I’m not used to such pretty girls knockin’ on my door… what can I do for ya?”
His attention was on you and you swallowed. You took a few steps closer, closing in the distance. Hushing all the whispers in your mind, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands and pulled him right into a kiss. Before you closed your own eyes, you caught his his big, brown eyes widening before the lids drifted shut.
His lips were as soft as they seemed, exactly as plush and warm as you imagined they would be. For a moment, you felt him instinctually melt into you, sending a violent shiver down your spine. When you parted lips, he gripped both shoulders, gently urging you off. “Hang on a minute…” He swallowed.
“Wh-what’s goin’ on here?”
“Jimmy Darling,” Trying not to feel defeated by his rejection, you squared your shoulders. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you at Robbie’s Diner in Dahlonega, Georgia. September, nineteen-forty-nine. You told me to come see the show, and told me to tell them that Jimmy sent me. So I did. I was freshly sixteen that summer so I didn’t even try it, but I knew I loved you. I was still in school, but I’ve seen at least one show of yours in every state you’ve been in since then. Tennessee. I even hitched a ride with my best friend’s brother to see two shows in Alabama. ”
His eyebrows were laced together; confused, shocked, or maybe both. You righted yourself and started again, keeping your fingers laced behind your back to mask the trembling. “And then you came here, to my hometown; Jupiter, Florida. And I’ve seen every single show of yours for the past week. I’ve been front row. Every night.”
A strong knock thudded on the door. “Jimmy! You decent in there?”
“Yeah!” He shouted at the door, keeping his gaze locked on you. Immediately, the door opened, and Amazon Eve leaned in, poised to ask whatever it was that she’d come to ask, but as soon as she saw you, she stopped.
“Hi, Eve.” Without missing a beat, you turned back to Jimmy, and held your hand out. “Even Eve knows — she’s seen me.”
Eve looked as confused as Jimmy was, but feeling like she was now apart of the conversation, she ducked into his trailer and leaned back against the doorframe. She crossed her arms, the cherry print fabric pulled taught across her biceps.
“Sure have. Ever since Georgia. Y/N came what, twice? Three times — in one week.”
His head swept back and forth between you two, and his lips parted. You wanted so badly to press your own lips back against his, and slip your tongue into the empty space.
“Jimmy,” Eve started, in a low, patronising voice. She wasn’t about to watch this sweet, young girl’s heart crumble into pieces. “Don’t tell me you never noticed.”
You waited, and it wasn’t until he huffed out a laugh that you realised you hadn’t been breathing. Hand lifted to the nape of his neck, he rubbed it anxiously.
“I notice lots of women in the crowd, Evie.”
Eve’s jaw dropped slightly, and yours clenched, teeth creaking against each other. He knew immediately how that landed, and took a step forward, interjecting something about understanding. Your nose felt hot, and the humiliated tears bit at your eyes. He took another step forward, reaching for you. Mortified, you wrenched your arms away, pressing them tightly against your chest. Your breaths were severed by the oncoming sobs.
“No, no, I understand just fine. I spent-spent all of my su-summers—” Another breath. “—knowing you and I couldn’t — p—possibly expect you to know me.”
The tears spilled over, and as you wiped at them with the back of your hand, you laughed at how foolish it all was. Three years of unrequited love wasn’t so easily soothed. As quickly as you dried them, more tears tumbled over, leaving shimmering stripes over your cheeks.
“I was such a fool to think you’d love me, too.”
With the taste of his lips still lingering on yours, you swung around and shoved past Eve. You’d never felt so humiliated, so stupid in your entire life. You trudged through the field, unsure of which direction you were even heading, you weren’t sure where your car was until you heard Eve’s powerful voice behind you.
“Sweetheart! Wait a minute, c’mere!”
The tears had blurred everything, making it hard to navigate, and even though you wouldn’t admit it then, Eve’s stern grip was welcomed.
“Just come talk with me.”
Though you wanted to go home, you were in no state to drive. So, begrudgingly, you allowed you to steer her in the direction of her trailer.
Inside the trailer, you flayed open every layer of your heart as you retold the story, filling in all the untold chapters that only you knew. Eve wrapped both strong arms around you, pulling you to her chest. Enveloped in flowers and the smell of cotton, you wept into her shirt, clinging to fabric just above her breast. She shushed you, resting her chin against the crown of your head. The tears soaked through to her skin, but she didn’t seem to mind. After a moment of her stroking your soft tresses, you felt safer than you had all night. The blubbering subsided, replaced by uncertain whimpers. You pulled away to look up at her.
“Is it because I’m too young?” You asked between broken sobs and sniffles. “He sees me as that shy girl from Georgia, doesn’t he? I’ll be nineteen in October, I…”
“No.” She shook her head, genuinely. “He’s just.. I’d guess he’s confused.” She paused, bringing a white cotton handkerchief from her back pocket.
“That boy can’t see past the title this show has given him. None of us can, really. Men are terrified of me, I haven’t been on a date since nineteen-thirty nine because of who I am.” She dabbed at your cheeks and your top lip, removing all traces of sadness from your face.
“Jimmy thinks every woman takes one look at his hands and doesn’t stop running until they reach the next town.”
“Well, Jimmy is a fool, then! You’re all fools!” You sniffed authoritatively. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen! If I was, well if I…” You hesitated, not sure of how to continue, but Eve seemed to know what you were trying to say, and took your face in one of her hands, the tips of her fingers meeting the start of your hairline. “I appreciate that, honey.”
“OH! What a kick in the teeth that was. I embarrassed myself. I’m a nobody, just a face in the crowd to him and, and —”
Your words trailed off as you forced your heart to callus over. You sat upright on her bed, tracing the stitch lines on the comforter. You’d done this before, you could do it again. “Thank you for being so sweet to me. Tell Jimmy I’m sorry.”
Eve wanted to stop you, she really did. She knew that even with all of her mighty strength, she couldn’t have.
Jupiter, Florida. A few weeks later.
The bench looked empty. It wasn’t, but for some reason, it looked that way to Jimmy. He fumbled, and almost dropped two of the juggling balls. Anxiety crept through his mind as his focus drifted away. He cleared his throat, collecting the balls into one hand, and held out the other.
“And now, folks, from the exotic coast of Siam — our very own Siamese beauties; Bette and Dot!”
The crowd cheered, becoming livelier with whistles and hollers. They were the headliners anyway, he wasn’t going to be missed. The Twins hurried past him, but not before tossing a pair of concerned glances his way, knowing that Jimmy Darling never cut his act short.
He spun around to sneak out of the tent, and collided into Eve’s shoulder. “Hey, woah. Jimmy. What’s gotten into you?”
His chest rose and fell in frustrated breaths. She lifted her arms, opening the tent’s flap. She gestured with her head. He should’ve known better. Maybe it was the fact that she was tall enough to see over all the bullshit, or maybe strength wasn’t her only talent. She was damn near clairvoyant with how well she knew when something was up.
“That girl,” he began. “She wasn’t in the audience.”
Eve sturdied her face, and nodded once. “No, she hasn’t been for a couple weeks now.”
Jimmy reached up to wipe a ribbon of sweat from his brow bone. “I hope she’s alright.”
“She is.”
He looked up at Eve, taken aback by her response. “I checked on her, she’s fine. Healing her heart that you split in half with those hands.”
He groaned, covering his face. “I just thought I was makin’ stuff up, Eve! Women don’t follow me from the tent, let alone across state lines!”
“Well, Jimmy.” Eve inhaled a deep, full breath. “This one did.”
She ducked back into the tent to finish the show. Jimmy spent the rest of the night in his trailer, despondently nursing a bottle of whiskey. Somewhere, a few gulps before the bottom of the bottle, he realised that even though he didn’t know you, he had noticed you without being aware of it. You weren’t just another face in the crowd, but a constant presence in that audience. Once you’d left, he’d realised just how empty that big tent felt.
He didn’t hear the first knock, or the second. It wasn’t English, but he yelled something drowsily at the window on third. Outside, Ethel Darling narrowed her eyes and threw open the door and winced at the potent smell of alcohol that hit her in the face. Jimmy was sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Jimmy, ma’ boy.” Ethel tightened her lips in disappointment, hating that her motherly instinct had been in correct. “What’s this now?”
“Ahh, Ma… I messed it up. There’s a girl that loved me… and I” Jimmy stumbled to his feet, and fell into hugging his mother. Confused, she wrapped her arms around him, petting the back of his head. “I’m gonna’ make it right, Ma. I’m gonna’ fix it tomorrow.”
~
“Can I get a shake?”
It was nearly time to leave, and your energy was diminishing. Without looking up, you whipped your pad out, flipped to a new page. Your tongue jabbed into the wad of bubble gum in your mouth, forming a pocket. POP! You scribbled shake followed by a dash.
“What kind? We’ve got vanilla, strawberry and chocolate. Five cents extra for a mix.”
The customer was talking low, in almost a whisper. You paid him no mind. It had been a slow day, and you were grateful for the distraction. The last two weeks had been a depressing, colourless, tasteless blur. The busier days were easier. It was the slow days where you heard caramel voices crooning about love over the radio that reminded you of the raw edges in your your heart.
“What’s your favourite?”
“Vanilla and strawberry.”
He slid a wrinkled dollar across the counter top, the green just barely visible underneath the worn leather of a black mitt. “Two of those, please.”
You had only glanced at it a moment before looking away, but as soon as the visual registered, your eyes swept back to the counter and then straight up until you were looking right into a set of eyes so dark, it was like looking into two cups of black coffee.
You slapped the ticket on the kitchen’s counter, and practically ran back to Jimmy, guiding him to one of the empty booths. You sat him down, told him to wait and you’d be right back. Part of you wanted to use the moment to see if you were hallucinating; if he was still sitting at the table, wringing his black gloves nervously when you brought the two shakes… god, I hope I’m not dreaming.
“Order up!”
Nosy, Bobby popped his head up, searching the tables. When he located the new addition to the diner, he opened his mouth as quickly as he narrowed his eyes. His whispered your name harshly, needing confirmation.
“Isn’t that the guy from the freak show!? The one with the —“
So, you weren’t dreaming. You shushed him before scurrying off. Even if Jimmy wasn’t waiting, you had zero intentions of explaining yourself. You shuddered at the thought of trying.
You set the shapely glasses on the table, jolting Jimmy out of whatever dreamland he’d wandered off to. You’d could hardly contain the silly grin on your face; you never imagined you’d be sitting across from him at a diner, but here you were. You playfully plucked the cherry off the top of your shake, dangling it over the frosty rim.
“Did Eve send you?”
A smile cracked across his face, lighting it up. He bowed his head and peeked up at you under his brow, watching the cherry sway back and forth. “Yeah. I mean. Sort of. But I wanted to come see you. I missed you.”
You drew your brows together as you took a sip, thrown off. “Missed me?”
“Yeah. You haven’t been at the show.”
Your stomach tightened. “I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I didn’t think I did, either.”
Skirting around the glass, he reached forward, and layered his gloved hand on top of your own. The leather was warm, and soft.
“But, I did. And I had to come and see you.”
“You don’t have to wear these, you know. I’m not afraid of your hands.” You could sense his hesitation, and recalling Eve’s words, you were prepared to reassure him until you were blue in the face. “Really. I’m not. I bet they can hold a woman just fine.”
He coughed abruptly, choking on the vanilla strawberry, or maybe his own breath. You almost regretted being so forward, but when his hungry eyes swept up to you, pulling you in, all that concern melted away. You reached up, wiping the tiniest, sticky droplet of shake from the corner of his mouth.
“I mean that though, Jimmy. I’m not afraid of them, and I’m not afraid of you. In fact, I’d prefer you over any man that could walk in this diner.”
He searched your face, trying to find a mask, or some part of you that was lying. You had nothing to be gained by lying to him.
“Can we get outta’ here?” He asked.
You spun around in the seat, looking at the clock. You were off in half an hour, and Julie would be here to start the night shift.
“Wait here.” You moved so quickly, you wondered if you were levitating.
“Sam!”
Like a big, old bear, he grumbled and groaned as he turned to face you. Grease stains spotted his apron. His ruddy, puffy face made him appear grumpier than he actually was. He was a bear, but more of a teddy bear than anything else.
“Do you mind if I leave early today? I’ve…” You heaved a sigh. “I don’t mind telling you, the boy I’ve loved for almost four years straight wants to take me on a ride on his motorcycle, and I’m afraid if I don’t get on, I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
Sam looked at you plainly, and grunted as he turned, the physical exertion warranting it. He set the spatula down, and pulled the edge of his soiled apron up, dabbing at the sweat at his brow.
“Mmm-hm. You go, Miss Y/L/N. You tell that boy though, if he hurts you, I’ll make him scrape the grease from these here vents with his bare hands for the rest of his life.”
You immediately wrapped your arms around Sam’s thick neck, singing gratitude over and over again. Maladroitly, he patted your head like a child.
“Go on, get outta’ here.”
Your arms were wound around Jimmy Darling’s torso minutes later as you headed down the dirt round out of town. Each bump and dip, you gripped him tighter as the wind whistled past your ears, lifting your hair up and throwing it around wildly.
Once you’d reached the field where the tents stood, Jimmy pulled around back and parked his motorcycle behind his camper. You were nervous, but that wasn’t his fault. Secretly, you wondered if someone saw the two of you, if you’d be an unwelcome visitor. Surely, Eve would vouch for you and pacify the situation, but the last thing you wanted was to cause any trouble. He opened the door, and beckoned you in with a nod of his head.
Inside, you surveyed your surroundings. The last time you were in his trailer, you’d left in tears. Jimmy seemed uneasy, like he knew this, and wasn’t sure if he should offer you a drink or some water. You turned your attention to him and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“We don’t have to talk about things now, if it’s eating at you. We could do anything you’d like.”
“Anything?” He asked, before his lips met yours. He lingered just long enough to ignite a fire in your core. His buttery, warm skin against your cool, powdered face was a titillating contrast, and it made you all the hungrier for him. As quickly as he had kissed you, he pulled away, drawing a distraught whimper from your lips.
“Even that?” He asked, hoarsely.
“Especially that.”
The urgency in which he collided with you again left you no time to react, or to control your reactions, for that matter. Jimmy dug deeper, circling his tongue with yours. You moaned desperately into his mouth, taking fistfuls of his shirt to pull yourself somehow closer. He inhaled a deep breath, taking in your scent.
“I’ve never met a girl who tastes as good as she smells.”
You laughed, almost incredulously and nuzzled yourself into the curve of muscle between his neck and shoulder. If only those horrible women could see this. For whatever supposed setbacks his deformity had given him, he made up for it tenfold in charm. You hated even thinking of his hands as abnormalities or imperfections — they were just as special and manful as he was.
They passed over the small of your back, around your hips, where he curled his fingers around them, clenching around the marshmallow soft mounds. All at once, he hoisted you up into his arms and set you on top of the nearby counter. Feverishly, he crushed his lips against yours again. He withdrew and dove back in over and over again, obsessed with the way you craned your neck forward to follow him every time.
His hands slid up your thighs, gathering your dress up to your waist. Jimmy closed the distance, pressing himself between your legs and grunted, grinding his hips against yours. Your breath hitched in your throat. Through the wool of his pants, there was an undeniable definition pressing against the already saturated silk of your underwear.
You rocked your hips back and forth, pressing back into him. He broke away from the kiss to look down at your bodies, his breaths heavy and laboured. A thin sheen of sweat had crossed his forehead, only enhancing the blissed out expression — but you’d play coy. Breathlessly, you asked if he was okay, and reached up to touch his face. He swiftly brought both of your hands around his neck and scooped underneath your ass once more. You were in the air again, but only briefly before your back hit the wall of his trailer.
Now pinned against the wall, your heart was thudding against your ribcage. Jimmy ground up into you, thrusting his hips in a steady motion. You whimpered. With an open mouth, he moaned against your collarbone. You splayed your fingers out over the back of his neck.
“I want you so much,” you somehow managed to get out, despite the jostling of his thrusting. “So much.”
You heard him blindly feeling for the button of his trousers, fumbling to undo them. You should’ve been nervous, but something about the way you felt he craved you made all that melt away. Without warning, four metallic bangs filled the trailer, startling both of you. You felt Jimmy’s arms tighten around you, pressing you closer to the wall. Like two delinquent teens, neither of you said a word, hardly breathing as you waited, hoping you wouldn’t be found out.
“Jimmy! Showtime!”
It was a deep, male voice riddled with as much impatience as it was authority. Jimmy seemed to have a more tetchy reaction with the way he glared at the door. For having such a dark gaze, there was no shortage of blazing fire when he wanted there to be.
“Let’s go! Don’t make me come in there!” The voice shouted again, followed by another stern set of knocks. You reached for his face, guiding it so that he was looking back at you. His gaze softened into something almost sorrowful.
“Don’t worry,” you whispered in reassurance. You’d waited years to be in his arms, another few hours wouldn’t kill you. Jimmy set you down carefully, stealing one more kiss before straightening himself out, and throwing on a pressed shirt that hung on the edge of a small cupboard. He reached into the waistband of his briefs, and adjusted, hiding the evidence of what he’d been doing. He kissed your cheek, and darted out the door.
The tenth time you saw the show, Jimmy Darling couldn’t take his eyes off you, and you, in turn, were transfixed, and deeply elated to hold his gaze every time he cast it to you. It was the first time that you weren’t sitting in the front row. You had snuck in once the show had started, and leaned up against a wooden pole that stretched all the way to the top of the tent. As soon as he came out, he searched the audience for you — and found you. He flirted with you guilefully, stealing wordless exchanges with you whenever he could. The most wondrous and shocking talent of his entire act was that he kept his cool. He was slick, but not slick enough for Eve — who looked like she was on the verge of laughing for most of the show. When you both disappeared shortly after the curtain fell, she didn’t bat an eyelash, knowing exactly where you two had gone.
“Where is Jimmy, Miss Evie?” Her little voice squeaked. He was the only one not at the table, though everyone besides Ma Petite seemed much too starved to inquire. Her delicate tone and cadence was so pure, Eve almost felt bad having to answer her question when the answer was so impure. Eve set her carefully down on the table, and reached for the radio knob, turning it up. “He’ll be late for dinner, sugar. He has something to take care of.”
“What’s that bit in your act, about your hands?”
Adorably, Jimmy paused, looking off, past his trailer as he searched. He must’ve said that speech every night for years, but he still had to recite it all under his breath, head bobbing back and forth as he reached the line…
“But my pincers don’t hold me back.” You nodded as you ran your fingers over the joined segments. “You wanna’ show me how they don’t hold you back?”
They were longer than a normal man’s digits, and certainly thicker. You inhaled sharply, sheepish. How vulgar you’d become. It wasn’t right for you to think it, and you certainly weren’t going to say it out loud, in fear of scaring him off. Still, the hunger in your gaze was unmistakable and that… you couldn’t hide from him.
Exhaling a breath, he laughed. Like a halogen lamp buzzing to life, his demeanour had changed. He was covetous and hungry and his gaze was leaden as it fell to your waist, and then between your legs. You felt him burning holes through the light blue fabric of your dress, leaving trails of heat everywhere he looked.
“Yeah… yeah, I do.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat.
Gently, he eased your legs open, holding onto your knees to situate himself between them. Ghosting the soft insides of your thighs, he leaned down, peppering your neck with hungry, wet kisses. You returned some of them, nipping at the warm, salty skin.
There’s an age-old phrase that everyone uses for encouragement. “Third time’s the charm,” It implies that after trying something twice and failing miserably, the third attempt is sure to result in luck. That may be true for some people, but ten was more your number, especially when it came to getting lucky.
#waaaaah okay it's done!!!! aldhsdkefjhsd#Jimmy Darling#Jimmy Darling x reader#AHS Freakshow#American Horror Story#Freakshow#Evan Peters x Reader#American Horror Story Freak Show#AHS4#Jimmy Darling smut#ahs smut#evan peters smut#myfics
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Of Changing Seasons And New Beginnings
Part 1
Raul wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he made his way to the market. The warm summer days were over now and it was rapidly getting colder. The freezing north winds, sweeping across the land, certainly weren't helping, even he was starting to feel the cold deep inside his bones. Or maybe he was just getting old.
He checked his list again to make sure he didn't forget anything, when suddenly a particularly strong gust of wind blew the piece of paper out of his hand. Raul watched his list swirl in the air, making a few loops, before it slowly floated to the ground. As he bent down to pick it up, the wind carried away some fallen leaves, revealing what was hidden underneath them.
There on the ground laid a little humanoid figure.
Face down.
Unmoving.
Raul hastily kneeled down to get a closer look. That's when he saw the dried blood. The back of the shirt the figure was wearing was practically drenched in it.
A fairy then.
A wingless fairy.
Poor thing.
His hands hovered over the unconscious fairy, scared of making things worse, a cruel voice inside his head whispered that it might be already too late to make things worse, but the urge to help was stronger. Hesitantly, he reached out and nudged his fingers under the petite body. The fairy was completely limp in his hands and ice-cold to the touch, their clothes being torn and nowhere near being suitable for the colder seasons, Raul only noticed then that they weren't even shivering anymore.
With a sinking heart he had to bear in mind that there was a high chance he was holding a corpse right now.
Carefully, he shifted his hold on the lifeless figure, making sure not to touch the wound on their back, so he could get a better look at their face. His heart sunk a little deeper as he took in the fairy's slack face.
The fairy wasn't just tiny.
This was a child.
A young boy, so young that he could possibly still have some baby fat left on his cheeks, if he wasn't so malnourished. Raul placed a finger under the child's nose, anxiously waiting for a sign of life, relief washed over him as a tiny puff of warm air hit his finger.
So it wasn't too late yet.
But there was no time for joy. Who knew how much time the fairy had left. It was a miracle the little one was still alive.
He needed to act quickly, or else this far too young life was going to slip right through his fingers.
As fast as he dared to move with something so fragile, he stood up, tucked the child under his cloak, and rushed back home, his shopping list laying forgotten on the forest ground.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Raul finally reached his cabin, he debated his next move.
The little fairy was still unconscious. The frail life he was holding felt indescribably heavy in his hand, not heavy in the sense of the fairy's actual body weight, but more like in the “carrying a heavy burden on your shoulders” kind of way.
For the very first time he felt self-conscious about his size. Being an ogre came with a naturally larger build, something that never bothered him before, and had more perks than downs. But now he wished he was a little more delicate, or at least his hands. Handling something so small felt wrong on its own, and right now the little fairy was at his most vulnerable. Someone like him shouldn't be in charge of such a fragile soul.
And yet, even though he was probably the last one who should be trusted with this, he was also the child's only chance of survival right now. Ultimately, his help was probably better than no help at all.
The only thing he could do is treat the wound and hope for the best.
So he took the folded blanket on his sofa and placed it on the table, then carefully laid the fairy on top of it, and began to gather a few things. He took the largest bowl he had and filled it with lukewarm water, lastly he added a variety of herbs that were used in disinfecting ointments and had a calming effect.
Now came the hard part.
Raul needed better access to the wound, if he wanted to treat it properly, which meant getting rid of the shirt. He hated that he needed to destroy it, mostly because he had no idea where to get a new one, but he didn't even dare to try taking it off the proper way, too afraid of accidentally hurting the child. So cutting it open was his only other option.
He grabbed a pair of scissors and slowly cut the shirt open, making sure not to gaze the sensitive skin underneath. The boy let out a soft cry as Raul peeled the fabric off, the dried blood making the fabric stick to the skin.
Finally Raul got a good look at the damage and to say the wound looked bad was an understatement. The fairy's wings had been ripped out, leaving two deep, gaping slits behind, at least deep for someone at this size. As he had assumed already, based on the dried blood, the wound wasn't fresh. To make things worse, it was already infected. The skin around the injured area was irritated and bright red. Raul was sure that as soon the child was warmed up he would have a fever to deal with as well.
But first things first.
Taking a deep breath, Raul picked up his small patient once more. Now draped over his hand, stomach down and arms dangling over the edge of his palm, the man lowered the little one in the waiting water. First, he gently washed off all the grime, rubbing soft circles on the sensitive skin, noticing that the tense muscles relaxed slightly. The process continued for a few minutes, even after all the dirt was washed off, now more for the sake of providing some much needed comfort.
Just when he scooped up some water to wash the hair, the child started to stir. Raul waited with bated breath, if the fairy was actually going to wake up. The little one's face scrunched up and a moment later dark purple eyes fluttered open. His arms and legs began to move weakly, as if trying to get up, though the sluggish movement stopped rather quickly. The fairy was obviously too weak and disoriented to get a good grip on the wet surface he was half-laying on. Defeated, the fairy slumped down, making a frustrated whimper.
Raul softly shushed him, "It's okay, little one. Just close your eyes again. It's alright."
The fairy, who only seemed to notice him now, turned his head in his direction, that small movement probably requiring all his strength, and looked up at him. Or not really. His eyes were bleary and unfocused. Not truly looking at him. Most likely not even understanding what was going on.
Utterly helpless.
He would never understand how some people could look at someone so innocent, and then proceed to strip them of their most valuable possessions. Not only taking their wings, but their freedom as well. Fairy wings were sold for immensely high prices, whoever managed to get their hands on even one single wing could make a small fortune. They didn't care that most fairies succumbed to their severe injuries. And those few who were to make a full recovery, forever lost their ability to fly and were robbed from a part of their freedom for the rest of their lives.
And, as cruel as this was, there was nothing he could do about it. As long as someone was willing to pay, fairies were going to be hunted down for their precious wings.
But maybe this one right here might have a second chance at life, if fate decided to be kind. And Raul would be damned, if he didn't give his best to help.
Even though the fairy probably didn't comprehend what he was saying, he still closed his eyes and let his head fall down again. Completely exhausted from straining his body for just a short span of time.
“That's it. I promise you're in good hands now,” Raul whispered quietly.
He then proceeded to pour water over the boy's head, wetting his hair. He was extra careful while washing the hair, even taking the extra time to gently massage his scalp. Several rinses later the brownish color faded away and a pearly off-white color came to light.
When Raul deemed the child clean enough, he put the boy back on the blanket and lightly dabbed him dry. Then he took a bowl with fresh water and a clean piece of cloth, and started to clean the wound. The fairy let out pained whimpers every so often and his hands balled into tiny fists. The scene broke Raul's heart.
"I know, little one, it's almost over."
After that was taken care of, he covered the wound with a special ointment, that should dull the pain a little bit, and bandaged it. Satisfied with his work, he stepped back.
Finally, the worst part was over. Now there was only one thing left to do.
He stepped out of the room, a moment later coming back with what he had been looking for. He placed the blanket with the fairy on top inside an old basket, folding over one of the corners and using it to cover the sleeping child, tenderly tucking the blanket around his shoulder. Just tight enough to keep the little one warm, but not too tight to avoid putting too much pressure on the newly dressed wound. At last he placed the basket nearby his fireplace and lit the flame.
Now all he could do was wait.
#giant/tiny#g/t#g/t community#g/t writing#parental g/t#my-writing-jar#OC: Raul#OC: Elliot#that name might change
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