#face mask market size | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

faesdreaming · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere Fae - Temptation

he just wants to know your name, that’s all. he promises.

tw: yandere themes, possessive behaviour, reader is lowkey okay with it, implied murder, unhealthy relationships, stockholm syndrome (?)

“Come now, darling,” he croons, so very sweetly, “it’s just a name. I promise I won’t tell.”

He leans his cheek against your arm, gazing up pleadingly. You sigh as you feel your resolve waver. He— the fae— Lucian, he says his name is but you don’t know if he’s telling the truth.

Fae can’t lie, you’d been told as a child. The people of your town nary spoke of the faekind, save in warning tales. They’d told of weaknesses, of iron and salt. Lies. Falsehoods born from ignorance. Fae could lie, could weave truths of honeyed poison sweeter than any ambrosia. One thing you did know was not to tell one your name. Your grandmother had told you. She was the same woman who warned you of the dangers, who thwarted the ignorant claims of the fellow villagers

“Please.” Lucian all but whines. You can’t help but giggle in amusement. For such a powerful creature, he’s acting as though he were a puppy. “It’s just a name.”

But it’s not just a name. Name’s are powerful. They hold history, stories, one’s very being. So, you’ll refuse him once more. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Lucian tilts his head. The slightest hint of venom tinges his tone. His slit pupils are dilated double their size, like a predator catching sight of its prey. “Tell me your name.”

Lucian’s been persistent in his efforts. Ever since you moved into a cottage deep within the forest. Unable to bear the repetitive, noisy life of your village, you left. He’s been following you ever since you moved in. He’s bound, tethered to the place. To the land. Through magical means you don’t understand. Lucian adores pestering you with questions, and inane conversation, that you’ve grown to enjoy. But above all else, he seems determined to get your name. Not that you plan to give it to him.

He makes a frustrated noise, a pout forming on his lips. “You’re so stubborn.” Lucian complains. “Just tell me. I won’t tell anyone else, I swear.”

Liar, you think fondly, It’s cute, really, the effort he puts in.

Biting your lip, you briefly contemplate your sanity. Should others find themselves in this situation they wouldn’t be as calm. They’d panic. You should panic. You should probably run for the hills. For it’s not his status as a fae that forebodes danger. He’s— Lucian is complex.

The good-natured mask he wears is just that. A mask. One he wears for you. Your relationship with Lucian is multilayered. Surface level, it is a give and take. What he gives and what you take remains unclear. Surface level, you’re companions. But that implies trust. You don’t trust him. You’re smart enough not too.

“I’m heading out to town.” You tell him. “To the market.”

Lucian huffs. He storms off like a petulant child, intelligibly whining and a pout on his face. You roll your eyes. Gathering a basket and pulling on a cloak, you step out of the cottage. The way to town isn’t marked by a path. You memorize trees and large stones. Landmarks. You trek through the woodlands, thoughts of Lucian occupying your mind.

You hold a certain fondness for him. For the little game you two indulge in. It’s an odd affection, a tired, old one. He makes you cook for him, bemoaning your atrocious mortal cuisine as he eats all of it. He follows you around the cottage with seemingly no concept of personal space. He lingers around you, as if he were a ghost and you his haunt. He entertains you. With tall-tales spun from silk. He offers you gifts in the form of odd trinkets, flowers, nuts, sometimes gems.

Lucian perplexes you. Because despite the casualness of your relationship, you’d be a fool to not be aware of the power imbalance in between the two of you. There’s something dark, dangerous. An ancient, primal magic tethering him to the cottage. To you.

You shake off your wonderings as you reach a clearing. Down, to the left is a quaint little town. It’s sparsely populated, everyone knows everyone, at least everyone who inhabits the area. Locals are wary of travellers, yet they are not so foolish to deny potential patrons business. Their market, tavern, and inn are what’s to be expected of a place such as this. It’s sufficient for your needs, though. Far be it for you to complain.

You stop by the market, examining items being sold by the vendors. As you take an apple in hand, trying to determine whether the produce is worth it’s price, a hand reaches by you. Curiously, you sneak a glance to the person it belongs to.

You’re met with the appearance of a rugged, rogue. Weary from his travels, if you’d have to guess. He gives you half-grin half-smirk that makes your insides flutter. Normally, you’d offer him a flirtatious smile. Perhaps he’d ask to take you out for the night, to the tavern. You’d drink sweet mead and suggest stopping at an inn for the night. Spend it together. Alas, the sanctity of your normal ended upon your meeting with Lucian.

“‘Scuse me, love,” he says, voice a rough timbre. It’s so different than Lucian’s smooth, honeyed lilt. You like it. “You ain’t from ‘round here, eh?”

You nimbly step aside, appreciating the view. You should leave, you know the consequences if you stay. “No.” You tell him. “I live a little ways away.”

He smiles at that. A small little grin that’s almost a smirk. What a dangerous thing, he is. He starts chatting you up. You know what he wants from you and you’re quite certain he knows what he wants from you. You should be beyond such inhibitions— but it’s been so very long since you’d indulged in a bit of fun. So you let him take you back to his inn, slip something in his beer so when he’s done and your sated, he’ll slip right off. The moment he does, you slink away, trekking through the woods back home. Most people wouldn’t, scared of the dangers lurking. But the forest knows that the true danger resides within your home, guaranteeing your safety.

The moment you make it back, Lucian appears, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Entertaining night?”

His tone is frigid and cold, almost the same as his usual indifference. But you know him better than that. “Very.” You hum. “And yet, I’m here with you.”

“Yet you’re here with me.” He parrots. The shift in his demeanour is almost imperceptible, a change so subtle it appears meaningless. You watch as he slinks away, the satisfaction of his tone lingering throughout your mind. The affirmation, to both him and you, that you were here. That you came crawling back to him. That the pull, the tether he held on your being remained tight as ever.

That you were—

Not his. You were still your own being. You let out a shaky sigh and head up to bed. You’ve had too much to drink, you tell yourself. The next morn, when you awaken, groggily blinking, something immediately feels off. After living like this— after living with him— for so long, you’ve come to understand to trust your intuition while ignoring the warning bells ringing in your head.

You head down the stairs. Your body is heavy from your hang over. It dulls your senses. You know you need to be on guard, lest Lucian have his way. Speak of the devil, you muse, as he leans on the kitchen island smugly. “Rough night?”

“Don’t.” You warn, grabbing a pot and filling it with water to boil. Lician laughs. His laughter sharp and smooth. “Forgive me, lovely.” He croons. “I do not intend to rouse that temper of yours.”

You eye him suspiciously. Of course, you’re always suspicious in regards to him, but this behaviour is odd. Odder than usual. He usually demands you cook for him, asks for your name, then huffs when you rebuff him. It’s routine and Lucian isn’t one for breaking routine. You rake over his handsome, pointed features. He sports an usual grin. Self-satisfied and almost victorious. Then, you spot a crimson splatter along the underside of his throat.

“Is there something wrong, lovely?” He inquires, tilting his head almost as if to show you the blood stained on his neck.

Don’t give in. Don’t pay attention to it. You learned early on giving in only worsens his behaviour. “No.” You answer firmly. You avoid his question, evasive and ignorant. Your ignorance serves as a shield. “I ought to make something, barely ate yesterday.”

Lucian’s eyes flicker with both annoyance and pleasure. “Make me some too.” He orders, before sauntering off.

It sends a shiver down your spine, your compliance. Barely able to deny him, yet unable to give into him. It irks him. It also pleases him. It’s a game between the two of you. One neither of you can quit. You tow the line each time, out of selfishness. The desire to be free. To be as it was. It ends in his possessive fits, with blood shed, staining your hands crimson. Yet you continue. His attention is intoxicating. As addicting as mead. It drives you mad, tantalizes you, taunts you. But you don’t give in fully. Can’t. At least, not yet.

“Come now, lovely. I know you wish to fall into temptation with me.”

#yandere romance #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere oneshots #yandere drabble #yandere oneshot #yandere fae #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere imagine

7K notes · View notes

tradgedyinwaves · 7 months ago

Text

Touch - Ch. 2

Poly!141 x chunky!reader tw: little creepy at the end, stalking vibes

By the time the other three members of Task Force 141 made the drive to Ghost’s hometown, he had already determined where you were living by following you from the market and was back in his own flat, swirling a glass of whiskey. The team sat down to make a game plan, almost treating you as if you were one of their missions while sitting around Ghost’s beat up old dining table. You’d be theirs, one way or another.

A Week Later, Saturday.

Bleary weather had plagued Manchester for the last few days, gray clouds hovering overhead while you attempted to find your motivation for your job. It wasn’t helpful that you’d received news from your mom that your cousin and Kit would be getting married soon. A brick settled in your stomach at the news, ending the call with your mom quickly as you forced down the tears you refused to keep crying over him.

In an effort to cheer yourself up, you headed out of your flat and down the street to the sweet little flower shop you’d found your first week in Manchester. The owner, Magda, was a kind, gentle old lady who essentially took you under her wing when you had trouble finding your footing in the new country. She’d been a boon to you, telling you the best shops for everything from groceries to clothes. You’d helped her find her cat when the mangy thing had slipped out the back door to fight the stray living behind a neighboring shop.

The bell chimed above your head, banging against the worn wood. You were immediately greeted by the scent of the most beautiful flowers and Magda’s voice talking a man through the best choices for an apology bouquet. You caught her eye over his shoulder and waved, a soft smile on your face as your eyes drifted to the back of the man’s head.

He easily stood a foot and a half taller than the elderly owner, cropped mohawk adding to the already egregious height difference. His shoulders were broad, though not quite as broad as your masked man back in New York. Why were you thinking about him all of sudden? You shook your head, clearing your mind like an etch-a-sketch and headed straight to the hyacinths and lilacs, wanting the sweet scent of your favorite flowers to brighten up your flat and completely missing him turning to take you in.

“Pretty flowers. Almost as pretty as you.” A low voice startled you out of your reverie, spinning on your heel to face the man Magda had been helping previously. Now, you could see that his eyes were a shocking blue and the lopsided smile he provided you made your heart stutter against your ribcage. But the size of him was what intrigued you.

You’d accepted that this was the way you were now. Despite doing months of working out and eating well, your body hadn’t changed much from when you’d left the States. The cleaner food of England helped you feel better though, breathing a little life back into you after everything you’d dealt with. But that also meant that men weren’t as courageous in approaching you, their bravado faltering in the face of society's expectations. So when an attractive man approached you, blatantly flirting, your first response was to think it was a joke, snort and walk away, effectively blowing him off.

A gentle hand on your shoulder a few minutes later had you whipping around to ask what the guy's problem was, but was greeted by Magda instead. Immediately, you looked around for the mohawk guy, but he was nowhere to be found and you could have sworn the bell hadn’t dinged against the door. Weird. Bringing your gaze back to the elderly woman, you raised a brow at the scrap of paper in her hands. “That sweet young man paid for your flowers and left this as well,” Magda handed you the piece of paper with a number and a messy name scrawled at the bottom.

Johnny.

You’d gone home with your overly expensive bouquet and the scrap of paper after, staring down at it as if it would burst into flames at any moment. You took a deep breath, telling yourself “Why the hell not?” as you punched the number into a new message chain. 🪻: Uh, hi. Is this Johnny?

🧼: Ay, it is, Petal.

🪻: Petal?

🧼: Well, I don’t know your name, do I?

He made a good point, making you sigh as you released your own name to him in spite of your reservations. But maybe, just maybe, you could manage to make a few friends if he ended up not being interested in you.

The next few days were spent lounging around your flat, going to work, and texting Johnny. What you didn’t know, though, was that he was reporting everything back to his boys. It had only taken Simon’s word and the one picture to have each of them wagging their tongues and readying their arms to protect what they now saw as theirs.

By the time you were winding down on Wednesday night and brewing tea that Johnny had insisted you know how to make, you were smiling at your phone that lit up every few minutes with his messages. The two of you had discussed everything from your favorite color and food to what had brought you to England. When he’d heard the details of that night, sans your interaction with Ghost, and paired it with Simon’s recollection, he’d been furious. His fingers tightened around the phone to the point that Price had taken it from him in an effort to not have to buy another replacement.

Simon had been in the same boat as Johnny, opting for stomping out of the flat to walk off his rage and guilt, feeling it gnaw at him for not stepping up before and then abandoning you after. His feet carried him to your building, watching from the ground as you paced around your space. When your pacing brought you in front of the window, you paused and looked through the glass, heart hammering as you saw a dark shape of a man standing on the sidewalk. But the light of the lamp posts made one thing stand out very clearly,

the white skull painted on his mask.

I didn't want to offend any Scots with trying to type out Johnny's accent. I have a feeling this is going to turn into some long winded fic, so buckle in if you're ready for that.

Thank you so much for your support!

#call of duty x reader #captain john price #simon riley x reader #poly!141 #task force 141 x reader #cod fanfic smut #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #touchau #tradgedyinwaves

335 notes · View notes

jenroses · 1 year ago

Note

Hey! Please feel free to ignore but you did say to ask you about masks :P the ones I've found that are multiple layers for max protection are really stiff, which squishes my face and leads to gaps. Do you have recommendations? Thanks!

I know that there's a lot of noise about elastomeric masks but for me they're a nonstarter because of the stiffness you talk about. I think it's important to understand that most of the 94-95 standard masks that actually meet that standard are going to be plenty good enough where most people are concerned. Is it possible to catch Covid with a mask on? Yes. I've done it.

Is it likely? No. I'm immune compromised. This isn't data, but our experience has been that a combination of masks, reasonable common sense and good filtration are enough that despite having a school-aged child, a husband who travels for conventions, and me, immune suppressed, with a college student living in our house, I have only had covid twice, the first time was an unfortunate collision of me going to a store at the wrong time where a clerk had both covid and the flu and gave them to me, and the other one involved a family member not using a mask at a public event while eating. Even then, when I caught covid and the flu at the same time and isolated immediately with filtration and everyone coming into my space being masked... not one other person in our house caught it, and when someone else caught it a year later, the only people who caught it were sharing sleeping spaces. Our roommates did not catch it, and everyone was masking from the moment of the first positive test. When my kid got half-assed about masking at school, he immediately got flu and strep at the same time. I pointed out that his lack of care about it could mean a lot of missed school for him and serious health impacts for both of us, and he started wearing a mask again, and did not get sick for the rest of the school year. He HATES the masks that go behind the head and wears Armbrust kn95 masks exclusively (dark blue, lol) And it's pretty clear that without the masks he was getting sick a lot and with he just...doesn't. He is wearing them all day except for lunch through full school days, so that says something. Armbrust will send little behind the head doohickies to keep them off the ears but he never uses them. At $2ish per mask they're not the cheapest but he uses one mask for multiple days so it's not too bad overall cost wise. They have kid sizing, but he's in the regular adult size now at 11. Now, I'll talk about Armbrust for a minute because I really like the company. On pretty much every mask they sell you'll see a video of one of their people reviewing the mask and going over testing data... but they ALSO have reviews of almost every other mask on the market, bad, good and in between, and if you find a mask on Amazon or something and want to know more about it, search the mask name and "armbrust" and the youtube video and product data page will pop up. I've found several special masks for very particular needs by looking through their database for combinations of breathability and shape that weren't even masks they sold. So if you are struggling, take a look at the database, eliminate "failed" masks, look for the ones that meet your needs and then watch the video to see what he says about them first. There are some VERY inexpensive masks out there that work very well, and some masks that are incredibly breathable or incredibly high filtration and a few unicorns that are both.

Now Hubby is okay with the same KN95 masks that our son likes but he exercises and his lungs get a little touchy sometimes so he needs maximum ease in breathing, so using that database I found Dr. Puri masks. Here's the Armbrust review. Here's the listing I found them on. Hubby LOVES them. He also prefers behind the ear. About $1.50 each.

I *hate* behind the ear with a hot hate, they bug me. But I can't just use one type of mask all the time because I have EDS and neck issues so pressure there can be awkward, plus I get short of breath sometimes anyway (history of pulmonary embolism that long predates covid) and I have sensory skin issues.

Bar none the most breathable mask I've ever tried, which also does not fog my glasses, is the Drager mask. These are soft, extraordinarily easy to breathe through, and have a unique strap that makes on/off very easy, and lets you pull the top strap and let it hang around your neck if needed. Unfortunately it has a VERY snug fit across the nose and leaves marks on my cheeks, or it would be perfect, but it's a good option, and possibly someone with a smaller face would have an easier time. These are possibly the best filtering and most breathable masks on the market, so for high risk situations this is the mask I would use. They filter 99.7% in testing. They're a little more expensive at about $1.25 per when I checked today. For a good intersection of fit and comfort, but a little less breathable, are the ACI N95 surgical respirator duckbills. These do not leave marks, don't fog much, good seal around the face, and the single most comfortable head strap I've ever seen. The fabric is very smooth, it is sensory good, but the breathability is not as high. It's not hard to breathe through, it's just not as easy as Drager or Dr. Puri. But... They could probably pass an N99 standard by Armbrust's testing, as they filter >99.4% of particulate, where the standard is 95%. These are also incredibly cheap. If you get their subscribe and save discount (you can do every 6 months) you can get 50 for $25, so 50 cents apiece.

All of these masks are pretty soft, easy to wear, and very good at what they do.

The TL:DR though.... The important thing is to find a mask that you will wear consistently and correctly every time you need it. A mask that hangs on your face and slips is not a good mask for you. A mask you hate so much you make excuses not to wear it is not a good mask for you. A mask that breaks easily or makes it hard to breathe so you end up taking it off is not a good mask. If what you have isn't working, there are LOTS of things that might.

Last Armbrust plug: THEY HAVE A SAMPLER PACK. You can buy a pack of a zillion different types and styles of mask and try a bunch! And order the one you like best! If you aren't sick, one sampler pack can be tried by the people in your household so everyone can figure out what works for them!

Also, I used to get sick very very often and now I just...don't. Not from contagious viruses, anyway. I don't understand why people are so cavalier about it. I've been sick less since 2020 than in any given six month period in my entire life. Despite being on immune suppressants.

#masks #face masks #n95 masks #covid isn't over

1K notes · View notes

cloudyynebulas · 2 months ago

Note

HIHI I HAVE A REQUEST!!!

Ok so may I please request a first meeting fic with crunchy chip x shy reader who is shorter than him?? Since crunchy chip is already very short it would be surprising for him to meet someone even smaller

bonus if this is a first meeting fic!!

double bonus if reader had never had friends before, so they are a little suprised and scared

triple bonus if it’s like the trope where they both like each other but nobody actually confesses

❝ 𝗦𝗘𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗, 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗘! ❞

crunchy chip cookie x reader.

reader is gender neutral.

this takes place during the events of cookie odyssey.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

LIFE IN THE LOWER-HALF OF THE REPUBLIC was not a paradise. Far from it, really. Cookies who lived in the lower half often struggled to get by, with shady crooks and criminals around every corner.

You grew up in this life, raised with a family who did everything in their power to support you. Despite the harsh conditions, you all continuously managed to scrape by - even making a few shady trades and deals every now and then.

Secrets whispered and danced around each and every alleyway, amidst the musty air of suspicion and dampness.

Cookies from the higher levels of the Republic often dreaded taking one foot in this place, muttering distasteful insults and incomprehensible nonsense that you could only guess were hateful remarks stabbing at you and the rest of the lower half.

Could you be bothered to care much anymore? Not.. really. You spent your entire life living in such conditions, and with time came endurance. You kept up your botherless facade, hiding behind a mask of your true self - someone who was afraid of the world.

Years of constant teasing, insults and other things thrown your way made you build up a decent tolerance, but no matter how many years of this treatment went in and out of your head, it didn't change the fact that you - deep down, were insecure. Insecure and afraid.

But the only way to survive here was to act tough. Don't show weakness - don't show fear.

Your hand rested on your cheek, propping your face upward as your face was plastered with a bored expression, standing behind a wooden stand that offered various goodies and toys for passersby to stop and take a look at.

With your family away on some sort of trip, you were essentially left alone to run the stand, to keep money flowing in. You recalled that your mother was hesitant of the idea, but after reassurance from both you and your father, she ultimately agreed to let you be on your own.

You were an adult. You could handle yourself, anyway.

..Probably.

Behind the stand, you stood on a medium sized wooden crate, holding you up to extend your height so that you'd be tall enough to properly grab any items and greet customers properly. Your height was laughable - a size that you were constantly picked on by many as you'd roam the damp streets.

You weren't exactly tall - no, scratch that, you were far from tall. You were just barely taller than the average teenager - but that wasn't saying much.

You assumed your dough was just .. smaller. A smaller batch. That was all it was.

But the constant teasing or the occasional side-eye that was thrown your way was one of the worst things about it.

Your hands tightly clenched together into fists. Your brain just thinking about it all made anger bubble into your dough - your thoughts wandering.

However, your thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of voices - voices you certainly hadn't recognized or heard before. The Lower Half of the Republic typically had the same Cookies day after day, with the rare occasion of a Cookie from the Upper Levels stopping by for who knows what.

A trio, from what you could guess - was walking down the streets of the Market. A small gingerbread Cookie with a candy cane in his hand, a tall, gruff armored cookie with a metal gauntlet, and a smaller cookie with an attire of blacks and whites, woolly clothes and sharp claws attached to his hands - alongside a cream white wolf following beside him.

You raised a brow.

You'd.. certainly never seen these Cookies before.

"Wow.." you heard the Gingerbread cookie let out a gasp of awe, eyes looking all around the Market street. "So this is where one of the big Markets are?"

The armored one nodded. "It would appear so. Although this place seems rather... sketchy."

"This place gives me a vibe that I don't like!" The woolly cookie spoke - though his voice was almost loud enough to be considered shouting. "Cream Wolf! Check to see if you can smell any of those White Mask Cookies."

The Cream Wolf barked in response, it's nose vibrating up and down as it was quick to sniff the area, trying to discern any suspicious scents.

You sweatdropped. What in the world was going on here?

Various Cookies of the Market side-eyed the trio that clearly stood out like sore thumbs. Cookies that weren't from here - outsiders, most likely.

Most backed away from the furry animal that would get up in their personal spaces, growling and sniffing for scents of the supposed "white masked cookies" you heard the small Cookie mention moments prior.

You felt yourself slightly freeze up in surprise when the animal's eyes turned towards you - its next target. You instinctively took a step back, which only inclined the Cream Wolf to approach faster.

You paled. You really didn't want to get caught up in any of this nonsense -

bark!

You squeezed your eyes shut, hands slightly trembling, but after seconds of nothing actually happening, you slowly cracked one of them open.

The wolf was sitting in front of your stand, eyes clearly fixated on one of the squeaky toys you had sitting out for sale. Your eyes glanced between the toy and the wolf - the dots connecting silently in your mind.

Oh.

OH!

Slowly, you reached for the toy, your movements being watched intently by the wolf - whos tail began to wag, expecting you to throw the toy for him to catch and bring right back to you.

"HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING??" an alarming voice is suddenly yelled in your direction, and both you and the wolf turn to the right, where the trio stood, heading right your way.

You felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of your face. You hadn't meant to attract attention -- !!

"Cream Wolf! Don't fall for these sly tricks!" the small Cookie grumbled, said wolf being beckoned back towards him, though its eyes were constantly looking back at the small squeaky toy still in your hands.

"Err.. Crunchy Chip Cookie? I don't think they were trying to do anything.." the small gingerbread Cookie nervously chuckled, trying to calm his companion down.

..Huh.. so now you knew one of their names. You took mental note of that.

"I have to agree with Gingerbrave here. Besides - we don't want to be attracting unwanted attention, especially not here." the armored cookie frowned, sending you a glance. "Apologies if we startled you."

You felt yourself being thrown on the spot, not really knowing what to say.

Crunchy Chip Cookie, however, was immediately up close in front of your stand, gaze looking you up and down.

"Just what exactly were you planning with that weapon of yours, huh?" he interrogated, eyebrows furrowing. "Don't think you can fool me! I just know there's some kind of secret evil bomb inside!"

You tried to speak, hoping to defend yourself. "I-"

"Crunchy Chip Cookie, seriously." The armored cookie huffed. "You're clearly startling them."

"We can't just be accusing random Cookies - !!" the gingerbread - or, Gingerbrave, as you heard the armored Cookie mention, agreed. "I think.. it's just a toy."

The Cream Wolf let out a small bark, eyes excitedly staring between the squeaky toy and Crunchy Chip Cookie, as if trying to send a message to him.

Crunchy Chip Cookie hummed in response. "..Hm. Well.. if it was a weapon, I'm sure my Cream Wolf would've smelled it by now."

You glanced to the side for a moment, internally cringing at the sight of passerby Cookies observing the scene - eyes constantly staring at you.

"You don't seem like much of a threat, anyways!" Crunchy Chip Cookie chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.

You deadpanned.

Okay, now you felt a little insulted.

"Hey now - I can be a threat!" you blurted out, your thoughts escaping into words. "Just 'cause I'm small doesn't mean I can't beat you up."

The trio stared at you.

You were quick to regret running your mouth, letting confidence get the better of you.

Gingerbrave frowned. "..You don't look small! You stand .. rather tall behind your counter."

"They are standing on a crate," the armored Cookie quickly informed. As the tallest of the trio, it only made sense that he'd managed to see the small crate you'd been standing on just behind your counter.

"Wait, really?" Gingerbrave hummed, slowly glancing behind your counter. "Oh - Wildberry Cookie, you're right!"

"Can you not?!" you glared, making Gingerbrave quickly step back, sending a nervous, apologetic smile your way.

"Why are you faking your height?" Crunchy Chip Cookie questioned. "Look at me! I may be shorter, but that doesn't stop me from being a warrior!"

You frowned. "If I didn't stand on this crate, I wouldn't be able to reach most of the items."

Crunchy Chip Cookie scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous! You might be short, but not that short!"

"Are you doubting.. my height???" you deadpanned. "Fine then - I'll demonstrate, just for you."

You hopped off of the crate, landing on the damp concrete beneath you. The upper half of your body was still visible over the counter, but everything else was far too short and covered by the counter.

The trio stared with slight surprise - though, Crunchy Chip Cookie's gaze was rather startled.

"NO WAY!" he yelled, immediately waltzing right up to you. "You're - shorter than me?!"

Wildberry Cookie hummed. "This is... new."

"Quickly! Wildberry Cookie, Gingerbrave, compare our heights, now!"

How did you even get into this situation?

Within seconds, you found yourself standing back to back with Crunchy Chip Cookie, whilst Gingerbrave and Wildberry Cookie were observing, comparing your heights together - whilst his Cream Wolf sniffed at your arm.

"Crunchy Chip Cookie.. you're no longer the shortest!" Gingerbrave laughed, holding his candy cane staff in the air.

"HA! Now you guys can't pick on me!!" Crunchy Chip Cookie raised his fist in the air with pride. "Take that, Wildberry Cookie!"

"..I haven't even said anything," Wildberry raised a brow, but the corners of his mouth curled up into a small smile.

"I feel like I'm being picked on.." you frowned.

"What? Nonsense!" Crunchy Chip Cookie turned to you. "There ain't nothing wrong with being short!"

"We did not intend for it to come off that way. Apologies." Wildberry Cookie apologized, crossing his arms.

Gingerbrave nodded - but was quick to shift the topics.

"..Say, what's your name, stranger? We've never gotten it!"

You stared - surprised. Why were these strangers being so kind to you, a mere Lower Level Republic Cookie? Asking for your name of all things.. were they trying to befriend you? Why?

Slowly, your name escaped your lips. "..Y/N Cookie. My name is Y/N Cookie."

"Y/N Cookie! That's such an awesome name!" Gingerbrave beamed. "You may've already heard it, but the name's Gingerbrave!"

Wildberry Cookie nodded. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Wildberry Cookie."

"Crunchy Chip Cookie!" Crunchy Chip Cookie announced, placing a hand over his chest. "I am a sworn warrior of the Dark Cacao Kingdom!"

He turned his head to the Cream Wolf.

"And this is my best friend - my Cream Wolf!"

The Cream Wolf lets out a small bark in response.

You find it hard to hold back a smile. Gaze softening at the sight of the trio, finding yourself no longer regretting the encounter between you four.

"We must keep moving, however." Wildberry Cookie spoke, ending the introductions. "We're.. on a mission of sorts. I believe Espresso Cookie is expecting us, soon."

"Already? But it feels like we just got here!" Crunchy Chip Cookie frowned. "We haven't yet fully explored these areas!"

"I'm sure we'll get more time to do so later!" Gingerbrave reassured.

You let out a light chuckle, stepping back onto the wooden crate behind your stand.

"If you three have places to be - don't let me stop you."

Your hands moved towards the squeaky toy left on the wooden counter, slowly picking it up, before turning to Crunchy Chip Cookie.

"Though, before you go, take this."

Before the Cookie had anytime to refuse the gift, you'd already tossed it his way, the toy fumbling in his hands momentarily before landing carefully in his palms.

"Something for the road - on the house!" You smiled, a small wink escaping your expression. "It seemed like your Cream Wolf there really wanted to play with it."

"Cream Wolves don't play such foolish games!" Crunchy Chip Cookie refuted, but between the three of you, you all knew he was lying.

"..thank you, though." Crunchy Chip Cookie softly muttered, pushing his woolly scarf closer to his face as he spoke, looking away from you.

You chuckled, waving the trio goodbye as they began to make their way back out the streets of the Lower Market and back towards the Central Republic.

You had a feeling you'd be seeing them again soon.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

When the trio had finally reached the Fountain, Crunchy Chip Cookie suddenly spoke up.

"After we meet with Espresso Cookie, we better go back."

"You seem in a rush to get back there, Crunchy Chip Cookie!" Gingerbrave pointed out. "Any particular reasons?"

"To - to keep exploring, duh!" Crunchy Chip Cookie huffed, looking to the side.

Wildberry Cookie softly chuckled.

"Whatever you say."

#cookie run x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #crunchy chip cookie x reader #crk x you

93 notes · View notes

velvetures · 2 years ago

Text

Vulnerable pt.1?

A/N: A not-so-little thing I've had for a few weeks, and wanted to see if a part two was something anyone would be interested in reading. If so, please let me know. Summary: You try and get Ghost to relax after a harsh mission and find a bit of a quiet moment. T/W: not proofread :)

Bad intel led to you and your Lieutenant being nearly hunted down and killed by a not-so-small group of arms dealers who caught on quickly to the pair of foreigners lingering just a little bit too close to their sheltered storage garage right in the middle of a market district in the South East. The task force assumed sending in an entire squad would be overkill just for some simple recon information and decided that you and Ghost would be the perfect pair for the job. ‘In and Out…’ Price had said quite offhandedly, sliding the prepared information in two files across the table to you. Only Price’s sources hadn’t double-checked if the area was secure enough for them to enter without full backup on standby. Not necessarily a lethal kind of mistake when bringing you and the Lieutenant into the equation, but there were too many close calls and stray bullets that were clearly heard for either of you to feel super confident in getting away unscathed.

Your only savior was a small farmhouse that had been recently abandoned due to the illegal and dangerous activity that had been surrounding the small city. Modest in size with two bedrooms and running water. Perfect for a makeshift safe house to keep the trackers off your asses until an extraction could be arranged and put into motion. Contrary to belief, the 141 didn’t have the bottomless pit of resources everyone believed they had at their disposal. Which included access to evac and trained air-support teams. This wasn’t a big mission that had a lot of working parts and multiple organizations involved that had enough liquidated funds to through out for a helo and heavy gunners to rescue two operators from the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where.

That means with busted equipment, inoperable comms, hardly enough ammunition to fight out of a wet paper bag, and zero way of knowing when and if you’d be rescued, there was nothing left to do but try and relax in one of the most difficult predicaments. It left you searching through cabinets for maybe some kind of food to keep the both of you while Ghost did one of his favorite things. Pacing the house from window to window looking for the slightest bit of movement. The trouble being, there wasn’t anything for at least two miles in any direction. The people who owned this place were farmers of some sort, and had placed their home right in the middle of crop fields that gave a very advantageous sightline. While that information gave you quite a bit of comfort, it was not effecting Ghost positively in the slightest.

Your relationship with the Lieutenant was complex, to say the least. When you were first introduced it was for a succession of short co-op missions that were nothing if not brief and very impersonal leaving you with more questions than answers about the man who stayed hidden under the mask. Through some talks that you hadn’t been privy to being in the room for, John Price decided that your skills would be more useful to Task Force 141 than for the U.S. Division of Clandestine Service and offered you a position that you couldn’t possibly decline.

By day-in and day-out contact with Ghost, you got a lot more comfortable with him and learned much of his little idiosyncratic behaviors. Maybe a little too well…. He didn’t particularly act much differently towards you in the grand scheme of things, but something in you felt like trust had been developed to where he could depend on you when the situation called for it.

“Go hit the rack, I’ll take first watch.” He called gruffly from the living room where he had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit facing the front door head on with his MP5 resting lazily on his chest.

You couldn’t help but notice just how damn tired he looked under all that gear and through the black smeared around his eyes. He couldn’t be carrying less than one hundred pounds on him right now; even sitting in that chair with it wasn’t a good enough solution. Let you take a moment or two for yourself, stripping out of your tac vest and heavily weighted gear to drop it on top of the kitchen counter with a little grunt. Two days ago you both got the luxury of sleeping, and since then it’s been nothing but being on the run.

This would be the safest place for you that wasn’t in the belly of an evac bird, and the thought of Ghost not taking the time to sleep sat in your mind like a lead sinker. Leaning against the doorway and watching him for a long moment, you start having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Ones that normally wouldn’t surface if you’d been able to separate working with Ghost from the more personal aspect of literally sharing almost every part of your life with him. Thoughts about how you could make him feel better… even if just for the night. That no one was around for miles and whatever happened could safely stay between the pair of you.

By utter carelessness of your position with the team or lack of fear about how the Lieutenant might respond, you walk into the living room and kneel down right in front of him with your fingers reaching out to unlace his dusty boots. Off instinct alone, you expected and watched as his foot flinched away from you. His whole body jumps and stiffens at the contact and sight of you kneeling on the floor. He quickly pauses and collects himself, taking several moments before his gravelly voice breaks the silence.

“What’re you doin’ Sergeant?” His eyes grew heavy and showed more expression than the rest of his massive body as they flashed with confusion and a little swell of anger. That aloofness didn’t hide that slight guardedness of something that made him uncomfortable in one way or another.

“I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of my fuckin’ self.” He adds with zero discernible sign of either offense or gratitude. You can’t help but smile tiredly, feeling like you’re attempting to soothe a feral wolf into letting you pull it’s paw out of trap.

“I never said you couldn’t L.T.,” You reply gently, reaching back to start unhooking the laces from their claws on his left foot. “Just thought you couldn’t use some affection.” Smirking to yourself, you can’t help but think something this small being considered ‘affection’ didn’t fit anyone save for Ghost. He was just too hard to approach. Walls so thick and tall that it would take someone with patience beyond that of a human to break through and see what rested behind all of that brash posturing and icy disposition.

“You know affection is something I’m averse to,” he utters, watching yet making no effort to stop you. “What you’re doin’ is unnecessary.” A small sound close to a growl escapes from behind the mask when my hand reaches to the back of his leg to help aid my effort of pulling his boot off.

Chuckling softly and sitting the boot down at your side you respond, “I know you don’t like affection,” You’re already working on the other one, purposefully moving slowly as not to overwhelm or spook him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, L.T..” You can’t help but look up at him almost exhaustedly yet still trying to be reassuring.

“M’fine without it.” He spits out quickly, looking away from your face back down to your progress on the laces, his masked face otherwise unreadable. “Didn’t ask you for this shit, Sergeant.” Tinged with an undercurrent of irritation his deep voice sounds near the bridge of turning to anger.

“Mothering me isn’t in your best interest.” He growls low and threateningly in your face as he bends down to grab the boot sitting next to you and giving it a quick look of observation before sitting it back down closer to him. You just finish taking off his other boot and sit it down next to the other without much more of a verbal fight and put a hand on his thigh to steady your sore legs as you get back up to your feet.

“I’m younger than you Ghost, I can’t mother you.” You reply, holding out your hand for him.

He doesn’t make note or stop you from using him to help yourself up, however, Ghost follows your movements carefully… closely. He’s doing everything in his power to hide his emotions, but there’s still a faint twitch of his lips when he looks down at his boots sitting at his side. You’d done something very unusual, and he knew berating you was what he should’ve done. Yet a flinch of a smile was what really moved Ghost’s mouth. It’s gone before it even surfaces, pushed down by the sight. of you holding out your little hand in front of him. The sounds of his deep breathing fill the quiet house as you both sit there unflinching of each other. The Lieutenant shifts in his chair, readjusting his rifle on his chest.

“Go to bed. It’s late.” His repeated command felt softer now. Wavering a bit with you hand still held out and your fingers wiggling a little.

“Come on,” You hold steady and patient.

Reward comes in the form of feeling Ghost’s heavy and large hand falling into yours and gripping just hard enough to allow you the phantom sensation that you’re actually helping him up from the chair, hearing a short grunt as his back straightens up. Without explanation, you lead the Lieutenant through the small house back towards the only bedroom in the house with an actual bed left behind by the owners, pulling him to the center of the room and turning around to face him.

“Put your arms up for me.”

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s frown can be heard from behind the mask. Despite his apparent bewilderment, he hesitantly obeys, extending his arms above his head with an exhale of a tense breath, looking down at you with dark and questioning eyes. “What are you doing now?”

You just smile and hum to yourself softly, reaching out to begin unclipping and unzipping the sections of his tac vest holding it on his upper body and the multiple ammo belts. Carefully draping them over you shoulder as you release his body from them one by one. Seeing the way Ghost’s body sinks into itself with the weight being pulled off after days without rest. You feel his eyes scan over you, over your hands finding ways to take off his gear for the first time in your life, feeling your way through sunch an unusual yet careful act.

“Bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous…” He growls, covering up the feelings of not being so concealed by barking at you a little.

“Shhh.” Your hush does enough to stop his quiet and brooding complaints.

Long enough for you to kneel back down at his feet and work at the thigh straps over his pants and even remove the ankle holster you’d left alone while taking off his boots. He doesn’t resist this part, just watching you undress him bit by bit with half a mind questioning just what had happened for you to start acting so strangely. You’d always been sweet. Much nicer than your job allowed for. Yet even this was quite off the edge of the character Ghost had built for you over the years. This felt downright intimate for just two operators to be doing.

Then again your shared situation wasn’t exactly one of professionalism at this point. You’d been improvising for nearly a full day just trying to stay alive. Once back on your feet, you take hold of his hand again, this time with a little less caution since you’d already touched him there, and begin pulling at the fingertips to slide his sand and dirt-cakes gloves off. Even seeing his bare skin under his gloves be seen in the dim lamplight of the house, Ghost doesn’t do more than flex his fingers once you’ve rid him of the stiff material.

Purposefully avoiding his mask, you get Ghost down to nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, even with his help at certain parts without him growling more or acting like you were irritating him. While he still gave off a feeling of all-around grumpiness and more than a little confused as hell, you paid it no mind as you led him towards the edge of the bed and pointed to it with a short yet polite command for him to ’sit’. Right away you noticed his hesitation and the way that his shoulders and arms tensed, his attention solely on you, flashing between your eyes and mouth like he was trying to reassure himself that he’d heard you correctly. But with one small tug on his hand, he turns around and sits on the bed with his feet resting on the floor and his arms braced on both sides of him a little stiffly.

“Now what?” His voice held a bit of rasp to it as he tracked your movement from his side, seeing you climb up into the bed and position yourself on your knees behind him. The close proximity didn’t go unnoticed by the Lieutenant as he cleared his throat, once again interrupting the calm silence in the house. His tension filled the small space between you, heating the gap of air, almost electrifying it.

“Just relax Ghost.” Easily touching his shoulders, you begin working your palms flat against the slopes of his muscled neck.

Purposefully but gently rubbing at the stiff cords of muscle and introducing the sensation to him as easily as possible in the case that it was a bit too overwhelming for him all at once. You knew you’d pushed the boundaries with him much further past anything you’d expected to achieve in one night. But now that he was sitting here in front of you, it was hard not to smile brightly that he was trusting you so much. Allowing your hands to be on him. Accepting that you had positioned the both of you in a very vulnerable position that could lead to a lot more violent options than affectionate ones. Torture and nightmares had given more than a fair share to Ghost, yet he was patiently staving off his own clear hesitation so that you could play out whatever this was turning out to be.

Your command went unacknowledged just like all of Ghost’s from earlier had; His breathing steadily slowing down into a deep and rich, relaxed sort of rhythm. Power of your hands and calming attitude worked faster than you anticipated, leaving the massive man sitting between your thighs begin to release. Tension falling out of his body not only under your hands but by sight of his jaw loosening. You’re even lucky enough to spot him trying to take glances at you from the corner of his eye, only to look back ahead since you were in quite the blindspot. Taking your thumbs in a sweeping motion from the edges of his shoulders inward, you apply pressure on the back of his neck and experimentally reach higher up under the hem of his mask. A dangerous game to play. Rumbling sounds of appreciation filling your ears are better than any sort of medal you could earn or bet you’d ever cash in. His head rolls back slightly with each small circle of your thumbs and fingers, pushing against you. Silently asking for more pressure.

“Feel good?” You ask at just a whisper, not wanting to disturb the warm sort of feeling the room has right now by speaking too loud.

Under the safety of his mask, Ghost’s mouth curves into a smile hearing you. He rolls his head back again, arching slightly to accommodate your small hands struggling to find good purchase to keep working at the intensity he’d been hinting at. A much less controllable sound escapes his mouth when you begin working at a very sore spot he didn’t even know was present right at the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” His sleepy-sounding mutter makes your chest ache.

Grinning at the feeling of his harsh accent and sudden domestication you work away diligently down his back carefully and methodically so as to not miss a single thing. And while it’s not necessarily going to help him much, you go ahead and use your fingernails to gently scratch up and down. It’s then a groan interrupts your focus and you see Ghost shift on the edge of the bed. Believing you’d found the end of your time, you leaned back on your heels and expected him to get up and leave you in the bedroom alone. Watching him tug at his t-shirt and pull it over his head to toss it somewhere across the room was how you were told that Ghost did indeed want more. Only his shirt was getting in the way of something he wasn’t getting.

Hearing him give a deep sigh when your fingertips returned to his now bared skin gave you a rush of adrenaline and nearly caused you to wiggle happily that you’d been able to share this with Ghost. He leans back into you a little more, letting your hands and arms take more of the weight as he groans out;

“You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but not for a long time.” You answer, eyes smoothing over the muscles rippling as your hands work at them.

“You’re good,” He grunts, closing his eyes and zeroing in on how to focus his attention between your small hands working so efficiently and the conversation he’d begun. “How’d you get so good at it?” His head turns a little, trying to get at least one good look at you. He keeps shifting now, allowing him to keep you just in the edge of his periphery.

“Had a good teacher for a few years,” You answer, working in tight circles over a large ball of muscle fibers all collected just at the edge of his shoulder blade, earning another growling sound from the Lieutenant.

“Teacher? When?” He asks, giving a slow release of a deep breath giving a short indication that the muscle you’d been working to release was getting a bit uncomfortable. Pulling back for a moment just to give him and your hands a break, you hear him make a noise then lean back a little further, pressing his back against you almost like a dog wanting to be pet more.

“Don’t stop.” He requests in a husky tone. You chuckle aloud, returning your hands and taking a less aggressive approach by smoothing your palms over him in less-than-planned patterns, just enjoying feeling his tattooed and scarred skin under your hands as you think about how to answer him.

“A woman in London taught me,” you start, using your nails again on his skin softly. “In the year or so between my U.S. military discharge and acceptance into the task force with you.” You see the effect of your touch on Ghost as it takes him longer to respond and the way he keeps leaning more and more weight back into you, unable to keep himself from subconsciously trying to get closer. Wanting more whether he’d ever admit it or not. There’s no mistaking it between either of you, he’s enjoying this.

“I assume she was special to you.”

It was your neighbor just across the hallway from you. An older woman named Sarah. Eccentric in modern times, you’d always believed she must’ve been a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t hindered by an aging body and an even more ailing mind. A massage therapist by trade, and a pianist by heart there wasn’t much that Sarah could accomplish without someone helping her once she became limited in movement living on the eighth floor of the apartment building you shared. Back then you didn’t have much in the way of contacts after leaving the country, and it led to a friendship with the old woman living across from you. Sharing stories, eating dinner together, grocery shopping together when she felt like going out, and trading some skills between each other. After telling Ghost this much with your fingers tracing out letters and shapes over his back, you can sense he’s listening carefully. And Ghost is feeling a slight fuzzy sensation building in the back of his brain, spreading out in a warm wave down to his fingertips and toes.

“She taught me massage since at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life.” Your head falls to the side, examining how the lamplight shines on ghost and deepens the already significant definition in his physique.

Ghost falls against you even more, and this time he lets his head fall back against you. Trying to counterbalance his weight and keep both of you from falling backwards with just him limp he’s becoming, you wrap on arm around his neck and hold his head in the bend of your arm. He gives another sigh, and settles against you heavily. He. looks at you in silence out of the corner of his eye listening to your explanation.

“Why was she your only friend?” You can’t help but chuckle at his question, resting your chin on his opposite shoulder and bringing your other arm under his to begin scratching and rubbing at his chest, feeling deep and puckered scars littering nearly every inch of him.

“I didn’t know anyone else. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not exactly extroverted.” You smile, tracing lightly up and down his well-defined arm. Ghost couldn’t be more comfortable laid against you.

“Sorry to hear that.” His voice low and husky with his mouth so close to your ear. “She must call or ask about you…”

You shake your head. “No. She died just before I joined you all. Her mind was… failing her. And there was some kind of accident in the middle of the night The police told me she was likely trying to get to the bathroom and fell. She apparently died on impact… they didn’t say what, but I think her head hit something.” You explain quietly. “And you and I both know that means lights out. So she didn’t suffer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he answers as softly as he can manage after hearing the darker part of your happy memories. “How did it become… intimate, like this?” He asks, nodding to the way you were leaned up against his back with your hand tracing over every inch of him that you could reach. The longer you’ve both let this go, the more boundaries get pushed further out of reach, making it hard for either of you to really know where it could end.

You smile with a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks, thankful you’re somewhat hidden out of sight. “This isn’t really what she taught me,” You mutter a bit quiet. “When i was massaging you… yes. That I got taught. But this, it’s… just me.”

Out of your sight Ghost’s face flushes slightly as well, his cheeks a warm rose-color. You’re touching him in a way that he’d never expected. But hearing that you’re not just doing it for… relaxation, it’s a heavy but welcome thought. And Ghost can’t help that his body reacts to it with chills raising all over his skin despite the house being perfectly warm. He lets out a deep breath focusing on your words, repeating him over just to ensure that you’re not saying it one way and him interpreting it differently due to your hands being all over him, making him feel so good. Mind racing, heart pounding, he truly realizes just how vulnerable he is under you at this moment.

“I can stop if you’d like?” You offer, preparing to move away from him.

“No,” His hoarse voice gives away his sudden dry mouth. No matter how much your touch is affecting his body, he’s not willing to stop you right now. You’ve crossed into a level of trust that he can’t think to make you abide by anymore. It’s a foreign feeling for him, but he wants to push through it. Hoping he can feel more of you if he just holds on a little longer to this.

“Don’t stop."

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated <3

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures

1K notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 1 year ago

Note

Could U PLZZZ name the Reader Isabel!! plz some smut, bucky barnes, choking kink, kinda innocent... mainly winter solider look!

PRETTY plz it would mean SO muchhhh

Okay but imagine you have an up and coming mission which requires you to take on a new identity. Isabel Rosa, the young daughter of a business man, looking to buy art in the black market. You're to attend a gala hosted by an investor so you can get some intel on the target but you're nervous because you've never done this before.

To make sure everything goes well, you're given a "bodyguard" to ensure no one messes with you or tries anything when you attend that night.

And the plan works perfectly because no one dares look at you twice when you stroll into the event dressed in your pretty pink dress with the 6ft+ winter soldier attached to your arm. There isn't a soul in the room who doesn't know who that is. Dressed head to toe in an all black suit, his dark chestnut hair framing his face, piercing blue eyes enough to make everyone look away. He wears his mask as he escorts you and you can feel all the weapons he has strapped to him when he puts his arm around your waist.

"Relax bunny" He whispers when you shiver nervously, plucking a flute of champagne for you. "it's gonna be fine. No one can touch you as long as I'm here"

You silently nod, taking a small sip while he scans the room, guiding you to the target so you can get closer. He knows his job is to focus on keeping you out of harms way and he does that with ease but he can't help get a little distracted each time you nuzzle further into his side. He loves the way you tightly cling onto him each time you introduce yourself to someone. Its hard to ignore the way you make his pants feel too tight and his composure starts to falter when you both go to an office room to grab a flash drive.

He locked the door behind him while you crack open a safe, pocketing all the contents inside. You gasped, suddenly feeling him right behind you, his tall form towering over you.

"Isabel" He purrs into your ear while you bite your lip nervously, his gravelly muffled voice making your heart race. "Such a pretty name, bunny, y'know that"

"James, we have to go" You squeak, ignoring the throb between your legs while he shakes his head, grabbing you and plopping you onto a large wooden desk.

"Shhh" The rough, hard material of his mask brushes against your shoulder as he continues to whisper, "Don't think I can't smell you bunny"

He gathers the skirt of you dress up, shamelessly shoving his hand into your panties, letting his fingers gather your slick before playing with your sensitive clit.

"Look at you Isabel" He teases, pushing a finger in without warning making you cry out. As soon as a sound slips out, his metal hand grabs your throat, softly squeezing the sides. "Quiet, before all your little investors hear what a whore you are"

You instantly shut up while he continues his slow torture, loving the way you whine and whimper for more.

"What's wrong love" He cooes at your glassy eyes, pressing his erection against your dripping cunt.

"Please soldier" You quietly beg and who is he to say no to such a perfect doll asking for his cock. He legs go of you for a second to undo his pants and pull his length out, pumping it while you gape at the size.

"Never seen a cock before, bunny?" Bucky smirks, using the head to flick at your button a few times, guiding you to look down at the way his pink tip leaks, making your clit sticky with his arousal. "Gonna fill you right up, doll, don't worry"

He hasn't forgotten the mission, his eyes still glancing at the door, ears still sharp for footsteps but he's not about to let this opportunity go. He slides in, shoving his cock in all at once, grasping your neck again before you could scream. He starts to pound relentlessly while your arms and legs cling onto his body, silently sobbing from pleasure.

He growls feeling your cunt squeeze him making his cock throb, smacking your thigh when he feels you clench. He knows you want to scream so bad, the quiver of your lip driving him insane. He takes his mask off, shoving it in your mouth.

"We're gonna be here a while Isabel, better he quiet"

453 notes · View notes

biosimulates · 6 months ago

Text

https://introspectivemarketresearch.com/reports/cloth-face-mask-market/

#Cloth Face Mask Market Size #Cloth Face Mask Market Share #Cloth Face Mask Market Growth #Cloth Face Mask Market Trends #Cloth Face Mask Market Forecast Analysis #Cloth Face Mask Market Segmentation #Cloth Face Mask Market 2024 #Cloth Face Mask Market CAGR #Cloth Face Mask Market Analyzer Industry

0 notes

thebigbadbatswife · 2 years ago

Text

Day 13 - Size Difference

Pairing - Jason Todd x F!Thief!Reader

Warnings - 18+ content, if you're under 18 leave immediately! Size difference, rough sex, enemies with benefits.

Summary - During your late night heist, you run into Red Hood and he’s not going to let you get away so easily. Not that you want to escape anyway.

Red Hood is a mountain of a man. He towers over almost everyone that he meets and is complete made of muscle. Just the sight of him can easily intimidate a person. Not you though. Never you.

Despite the fact that his doesn’t typically deal with cat burglars, his main targets being crimelords like Black Mask, you and him have done this dance before. Yet, somehow, whenever you break into somewhere, he shows up. How he knows it’s you responsible, you don’t know. But you’re always happy to see him and he’s clearly happy to see you too with how he lets you escape. He’s completely pussy whipped and that is something you will happily use it to your advantage each and every time.

Like tonight.

The museum has a rare and exquisite gem on display. According to your research on the gem, some people believe that it has magical properties. Whether it does or not doesn’t really matter to you. What does matter is that it’s going to fetch a killing on the black market. Perhaps even enough to send you into early retirement.

You only have hold of the gem for a few seconds before he shows up.

“Put it back.” His voice is commanding. If you were anyone else it might actually make you listen to him. But you’re not just anyone else and you’re certainly not going to listen.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” You look over your shoulder at him and give him a wink.

You dart off, but not with the purpose of escaping. Just making it look like you are. You know the layout of the building well, you’ve been studying the plans for weeks. You know where the exits are, as well as the dead ends. Purposely you had for the latter and before you know it he has you cornered and you couldn’t be more excited. He stalks toward you and you can feel heat spreading through you.

“Looks like you caught me.” You’re already slowly pulling down the zipper attached to the front of your suit, letting your breasts spill out. You can’t see his face, but you can see the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. His eyes not doubt running up and down your body.

“Yeah, it does.” He crosses the space between you quickly. His hands settling on your hips and pulling you against his body. You can feel his cock pressing against you through his combat trousers.

The first time you saw his cock both of you didn’t think that you could take him. Thick and long, he was certainly bigger than anyone else you had shared a bed with. But you are a stubborn and determined person. It took awhile, but you eventually worked up to fitting every last inch of him inside of you.

He strips you of your suit and undoes his pants, freeing his cock from them. You hook your leg around his hip and gasp as he finally starts to push inside of you. You’re already dripping, the thought of tonight enough to make you slick, letting him easily enter you.

You would never say it outloud to him, or anyone for that matter, but you love the feeling of him filling you up and carving you out. He always fills you to the brim, leaving you whimpering, moaning and creaming around his cock. And you open yourself up to him willingly, wanting him to bottom out inside of you before loosing all of his control and shooting his cum deep inside of your cunt. His grip on your hips is harsh and you know, if he truly wanted to, he could easily break you, but he won’t. You know he won’t. This game you both play, it’s too much fun and though he will never admit it, you know he enjoys it just as much as you do.

Especially when the two of you finally end up on the floor. You can’t see his face, his helmet stopping you. But you can feel it in the way he holds you and drills his thick cock into you. He thoroughly enjoys seeing you ride him, your breasts bouncing and your fingers playing with yourself as you lose yourself to the pleasure. The once silent halls of a museum locked up for the night filled with the sounds of moans and skin against skin.

And once you were done fucking each other, you’ll remove yourself off of him and gather your stuff. The gem included. Then you’ll disappear into the night, leaving him behind. Ready to do this dance again another night and certainly looking forward to it.

#red hood x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x fem!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd smut #red hood smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023

507 notes · View notes

out-there-tmblr · 3 months ago

Text

Young zaundads wip (22)

The second section is NSFW. Sexy times where they're both still figuring it out.

***

It's surprising how quickly word of their new market spreads. The alcohol sells – the bottles of wine that the mess hall never stocks, the clear spirits that smell like paint remover to Vander – and the gas masks sell so well that Silco's keeping a waiting list for their next two orders.

Clothing is harder. It's too hard to know what size of clothing will sell, what style or colours. The uncut fabric still takes up a lot of space and requires someone able to sew.

"And we'd need somewhere to store it," Silco complains as they look through the captain's stock. He keeps running his fingers over the fabrics, fingertips grazing over anything smooth or shiny.

"Our place?"

"Somewhere I'm happy for other people to come and see the goods," Silco replies. He firmly believes the safest approach is to make sure no one knows where they sleep.

"We should ask Babette." Silco gives him a doubtful look, so Vander explains, "Her workers are probably the only ones who are going to pay just to look good. If we asked what they want, maybe we could get a selection and take it to them?"

"The captain's docked here overnight. We'll go now, check with Babette and come back."

Babette's working on the riverside this week, in a small fisherman's cottage with the tents set up behind it. They end up sitting in the front room, surrounded by scantily dressed women, waiting for Babette to be free. Vander's trying not to stare at cleavage and high cut skirts, but Silco's actually chatting away to a couple of girls in the corner, nodding and taking down notes.

He's relieved when Babette returns and leads them to a tiny kitchen out the back, with a small but serviceable table. Babette uses a small step to climb onto the chair.

"Vander," Babette says warmly, "and who's your friend?"

"Silco," Vander says, ten futures to face Silco's unimpressed expression. "I grew up on the riverside. Babette's been here as long as the bridge has."

"Longer, dear." Babette ashes her cigarette into a glass bowl. "I came here when they were building that. I remember you running wild in the streets, ten years old and trying to pretend you were grown, pouting when Callie wouldn't let you in the front door."

Honestly, Vander didn't think anyone would remember that but him.

Leaning an elbow on the table, Silco looks at him. Silco doesn't smile but there's amusement in his voice. "You tried to sneak into a brothel at ten?"

"Only to pickpocket my clients. Really, if you're not good enough to lift a wallet on the street, you shouldn't be dabbling in petty theft." Thankfully, she doesn't go into any further details. Vander has no desire to let Silco know about the time he had to run from a potential mark and hide in a barrel of chum for twenty minutes. He stank of fish for days. "Now, how can I help you boys? You didn't seem too interested in another companion."

Now, Silco smiles. "We have a business opportunity for you."

They make a list and go back to the ship. They find what they can and pay for it, and then return with their pile to Babette's back door. There are lots of flimsy fabrics, things that shine and sparkle in the candlelight. Lots of strong, bold colours.

They spread the rolls of fabric over the table and haggle good-naturedly over the price.

***

Vander's grown used to sleeping in beds that are only just wide enough for his shoulders. He's used to turning in bed very carefully, so he doesn't roll out of it by accident. The new bed that Silco buys them is double the width of the company bunks. With a thick wooden baseboard and headboard, with curves etched into the wood. It reminds Vander of the Piltover bridge, the combination of square lines and curves, a mix of practicality and beauty.

"Are you going to keep running your hands over that or are you going to get into bed?"

Vander looks over his shoulder. Despite the sharp words, Silco doesn't look annoyed. He's been sharper than usual tonight, but Vander mostly put that down to the frustration of taking the bed apart to fit it through the fissure entrance and then getting it to fit back together.

It's good and sturdy now. Vander gives the frame a little shake and it doesn't budge. "Nothing wrong with admiring a job well done."

Silco rolls his eyes and starts unbuckling his jacket. They've made the bed with a piece of cotton as a sheet and a few blankets. One pillow each, purchased from the company store. Vander wants to jump straight into it but it's probably better to strip his clothes off first. It'll be smudged with coal dust soon enough.

"You said," Silco says calmly, hanging up his clothes for tomorrow, "you wanted to fuck me when we got a bed."

Vander jerks in surprise, and then hears his shirt seam tear.

"Damn it. Remind me to fix that in the morning," he says reflexively. "And, yeah, I remember saying that. Why?"

"We now have a bed." Silco sounds fine about it but his knuckles are white as he unbuttons his pants. He slides them down and then shakes them out, hooking them on a loose nail in the wall. "So we might as well."

Vander grins to himself. It's such a practical way to approach sex – he doesn't know what else he expected from Silco.

Vander leaves his own clothes folded messily in the corner. "Have you done this before?"

"Have you?" Silco counters.

"There were a couple of girls on riverside. More fumbling than anything else." Vander shrugs. "But I haven't done… exactly this."

Silco fetches a small glass bottle from his jacket pocket. It's orange in a tall pyramid shape. "Babette suggested oil."

"You talked to Babette about this?"

Silco folds his arms across His scrawny chest. "She seemed the most reliable source of information."

Vander wants to tease him but Silco might take it personally and call the whole thing off. "Okay. Did she suggest anything else?"

"That it might be easier to relax lying on my stomach. Remember to use the oil. That the first time was bound to be uncomfortable," Silco admits, watching the bottle in his hand rather than meeting Vander's eyes, "but it would feel good by the end."

Silco presses a perfunctory kiss to Vander's mouth and pushes the bottle into his hands. Then he walks over to the bed, pulls back the blankets and then lies face down. He pulls a pillow under his cheek, and then sides his knees apart. "Are you going to stand there watching?"

"It's a very pretty sight," Vander says earnestly and Silco snorts. Vander isn't any kind of artist, he couldn't explain it if he tried. But there is something breathtaking about The warm lantern light on Silco's white skin, the shadows caused by the curve of his spine. It's something about the vulnerable backs of his knees, the long stretch of thigh, the curve of his ass. Silco likes to sleep with his hair pulled into a messy bun, but there are dark strands escaping, curling around the nape of his neck.

"You really are beautiful," Vanser says, crawling onto the bed and kneeling between Silco's legs.

Silco glares over his shoulder. "Hurry up, Vander."

The stopper is a little tricky to get free. It takes Vander an extra moment to work it out of the bottle and he has to ignore Silco's very judgemental, "Do you need assistance?"

It doesn't smell like engine oil, like diesel and machinery. It's thin and pale, and barely has a smell at all. Out of curiosity, Vander licks his finger but it doesn't taste like much either. Silco is still watching him over his shoulder, but at least he doesn't say anything.

Vander slicks up his cock first, a stroke or two to take the edge off, and then he smoothes the oil over Silco's hole, feeling it tense and relax under his fingers. He pushes two fingers inside to spread the oil, Surprised at the resistance, and Silco hisses into the pillow.

"Okay?" Vander asks, and Silco makes a muffled uh-huh noise, face still pressed into the pillow. Vander adds some more oil, hypnotised by Silco's hole stretched around his fingers. He pushes deeper and his knuckles disappear inside Silco.

Silco gasps, shoulder blades tensing as he holds tight to the pillow. Vander pushes in deeper, and he feels Silco clench around him, how hot and smooth Silco feels around his fingers.

Vander pulls his fingers out and lines up his cock. Silco is hot and smooth around him and tight. So tight. It's like fucking into a vise. "Relax, will you?"

"I'm trying," Silco snarls back at him. "Give me a minute."

Vander tries to stay still, to stop his hips from hitching forward. He presses his palms against the mattress, to either side of Silco's waist and tries to think of anything but how hot and tight Silco is around him. How he can feel Silco clench around him and then relax. How desperately he wants to bury his cock in deep.

"Silco," and it's a whine because Vander's going out of his mind. "Can I–"

"Yes," Silco says and Vander thrusts the rest of the way in. He takes a breath, tries to give Silco a moment to adjust and then he has his hands on Silco's hips, holding him steady as Vander pulls back.

He thrusts back in, fireworks skating up his spine and Silco's moan ringing in his ears. When he pulls back, Silco whines into the pillow. It's obscenely loud, the slap of skin against skin, the grunts that Vander can't stop making, the gasping whines ripped out of Silco. It drives Vander on, makes him thrust harder and hold on tighter, fingers digging into Silco's hips.

It catches him by surprise how close he is, has Vander scrambling to reach under Silco and get a hand around his cock, to jerk him off as Vander chases ecstasy with every thrust. He's desperate and clumsy but Silco is sobbing for breath, dragging in deep, wet gasps.

Then Silco freezes, clenching beneath him and around him. He comes with one last, low groan and Vander's only a few thrusts behind him. He comes deep inside Silco and then collapses onto his elbows, breathing open mouthed against Silco's back.

He can feel Silco's shuddering breaths. Can feel Silco's shoulders hitching as he forces his breathing under control again.

Vander pulls out and rolls off him, and Silco is out of bed, straight over to the flask of water and rag they use for cleaning up. He keeps his back to Vander as he washes his face first. He wipes himself down, front and back, but the whole time he's silent and keeps his back to Vander.

Silco dislikes going to sleep dirty – for any reason – but he usually has no modesty when washing and spends the time complaining that they don't have hot water.

"You okay?" Vander asks, sitting up. He stays in bed because he knows Silco doesn't react well to being cornered.

"Fine," Silco says quietly, facing the wall. He wipes down his chest again, and then fiddles with the rag, wringing it out and then laying it over the flask. "It's fine."

Silco turns the lantern down to a low glow and then comes back to bed.

Vander frowns, worried he might have got carried away. He's usually careful around people, has always had to be, but he forget around Silco. Silco would laugh at him for holding himself back and it's easy to forget the reasons Vander should. "You'd tell me if I hurt you, right?"

"It's not that," Silco says quickly, which proves it is something.

"Did you not like it?" That doesn't feel true, not with the noises Silco was making, but he's to ask.

"It's not–" Silco gives a frustrated sigh. "It was fine. It was good, it just…"

Vander rolls to his side, curves a arm around Silco's waist. He can make out Silco's familiar profile in the almost dark. "Tell me."

"I don't like the way it made me feel. Flayed open. Overwhelmed." In the dark, Silco takes a deep breath. "I don't want to do that again."

"Okay."

"Don't placate me! This was something that you wanted and now I'm saying no. You should at least be honest with me if–"

Shutting Silco up with a kiss feels like a good solution, especially when he kisses back. "I want you. However I get to have you."

"You mean, you like me on my knees sucking you off," Silco clarifies, confident enough to tease.

"I really do."

***

#zaundads #fic: brush off all the dirt

45 notes · View notes

amr-jayprakash · 2 years ago

Text

Face mask is a type of protective mask that serves to protect against airborne diseases like COVID-19, influenza, chickenpox, mumps, and measles. It is a half face mask which protects the nose, chin, and mouth. Furthermore, the outbreak of respiratory infection based pandemic diseases like H1N1 and COVID-19 fuel the demand for face mask among frontline health workers such as first responders, nurses, and medical practitioners.

#India Face Mask Market Size #India Face Mask Market Share #India Face Mask Market Demand #India Face Mask Market Forecast #India Face Mask Market News #India Face Mask Market Analysis

0 notes

professional-spectator · 16 days ago

Text

This part of Teyvat isn't Earth-sized (fanfic).

A one-shot sequel to "Small World." If you'd like more of this, I might write more. I honestly owe this to the creator of the AU, @arn9tails .

Okay, here's the little disclaimer and a heads-up: I don't own Hoyoverse, Genshin Impact, or anything related to them.

And a big thank you to @arn9tails for letting me use their Genshin size difference AU as the basis for this fanfic. The idea that Teyvat isn't scaled to Earth but is actually much, much larger.

Also, just a quick heads-up: this story touches on some serious and sensitive subjects. It's inspired by SAGAU (Self-Aware Genshin Impact Alternative Universe), isekai themes, different isekai worlds, creation myths, and fanfiction in general.

Lightning doesn't strike twice

It's been months since I returned to Earth, carrying a secret no one suspects: my journey to Teyvat. No one knows about the day I, my closest friends, and countless others were abducted, finding ourselves auctioned off in a bizarre market catering to giants, where we were deemed "minis." Teyvat, a realm ripped straight from the Genshin Impact universe, became my prison, and a character from the game, Cyno, became my unlikely savior. It wasn't Earth-sized; it was a world built for titans.

That was six months ago. I was attempting a normal evening, watching an action-comedy with my elderly parents, when the impossible began again. A subtle ripple disturbed the water in the pitcher, a fleeting anomaly I dismissed.

But the ripples escalated into violent quakes, sending my parents into terrified screams that echoed the cries of our neighbors.

"Earthquakes..." my dad shrieked, his voice barely audible above the chaos.

Instinct took over. I hauled them both beneath the sturdy dining table, seeking a fragile sanctuary. The tremors intensified, plunging the house into darkness. Then, a flash of electro purple illuminated the world outside. The others thought it was thunder, but I knew better. That wasn't thunder; it was the sound of something... grunting.

The tremors finally subsided, but the silence that followed was quickly shattered by a chorus of shouts and cries. Our neighborhood, usually so peaceful, was now a scene of utter chaos as people poured out of their homes, a frantic wave of bewildered faces.

The internet was down, power lines were severed, and a strange sense of isolation descended. But we were a close-knit community, and instinctively, everyone sought solace in one another, emerging from their houses in search of answers and reassurance.

"What is that?" Mrs. Henderson, our elderly neighbor, asked, her voice trembling as she pointed towards the street. Massive, scorched cavities marred the asphalt, as if some colossal force had pressed down upon it.

"It looks like something melted it..." someone muttered, their voice laced with disbelief. But as I gazed at the strange depressions, a chilling thought crept into my mind. They resembled enormous footprints, and my heart began to race with a primal fear.

Suddenly, a woman screamed, clutching her infant tightly. "I saw it! A giant..." she shrieked, her eyes wide with terror. "It was immense, colossal..."

At first, her words were met with skepticism, dismissed as hysteria. But something in her voice, in the raw terror etched on her face, made me suspect otherwise. And then, someone noticed it – a trail of blood, glistening ominously on the cars and trees, lending a horrifying credence to her story.

The older men, their faces grim, began to organize. Armed with whatever they could find – rakes, shovels, even pitchforks – they formed a makeshift posse, their determination masking a palpable uncertainty. They ventured off in the direction of the blood trail, a motley crew driven by a mixture of fear and a primal need to protect their own. I watched in stunned disbelief, already witnessing the terrifying emergence of a mob mentality.

My sigh broke the evening's silence as I muttered, "Monster due on April street, huh?" The trail of blood, a scarlet serpent leading towards the highway, defied all reason. My eyes shifted to the forest's border, where a strange sight caught my attention – several trees were bent at impossible angles, as if a tremendous power had passed through.

"Huh?" Curiosity, or perhaps reckless courage, prevailed. Ignoring my intuition, I told my parents I was going to inspect the neighborhood transformers, grabbed a flashlight, and set off. A crowd of frightened neighbors hurried in the opposite direction, their faces lit by the unsteady glow of cellphones and flashlights. I plunged into the woods, the beam of my flashlight slicing through the darkness. I'm not one for nature, but I had a strong sense of direction, a skill that had proven useful many times before. The deeper I went, the more trees I discovered, bent and broken, their branches contorted into disturbing forms. At last, I arrived at a clearing, and there, illuminated by the faint moonlight, I found a large figure. I recognized him with a surge of fear. It was Cyno, lying still on the forest floor, bleeding profusely, either unconscious or, may the gods forbid, dead. Cyno wasn't like me; he was a literal giant, though a kind one. I could almost fit entirely within his huge hands.

"Cyno!" I clambered onto his chest, frantically patting his face, trying to wake him. He didn't respond, lost in the depths of unconsciousness. Just then, the distant roar of the angry mob grew louder, closer. This is just great, I thought.

A wave of relief washed over me as the mob, by some stroke of unbelievable luck, surged in the opposite direction. I couldn't believe my eyes. What were the odds that Cyno, of all people, would end up here, in my little corner of the world? The thought of bringing him home was laughable; he was literally taller than my house. Once the commotion died down, I cautiously made my way back, only to find the neighborhood transformers completely fried, spitting sparks and smelling of ozone.

Knowing I had to act fast, I grabbed the truck and sped into town, heading straight for the twenty-four-hour Walgreens. The sales clerk gave me a bewildered look as I approached the counter with three carts overflowing with antibacterial ointment, linens, and other supplies I hoped would be useful. Thankfully, there was a road near the clearing where he lay, but hauling everything up the incline and deep into the forest proved to be an exhausting ordeal. Finally, I reached him and began tending to his wounds, a difficult task given his immense size. I was quickly drenched in crimson as I cleaned him up, the metallic scent filling the air. Using the bedsheets I had brought, I fashioned makeshift bandages for his arm, hoping they would hold.

Cyno hadn't planned a trip to Earth. Nor had he foreseen tumbling through a shimmering portal, the unexpected consequence of a clash with a Fatui agent wielding a Pyro Delusion.

He landed with a thud, dust motes dancing in the air around him. His eyes struggled to reconcile the scene before him: miniature houses, like something from a child's dollhouse collection, stretched into the distance. Confusion warred with the lingering adrenaline of battle. Naturally, the Fatui agent, ever the opportunist, was already upon him, Pyro crackling menacingly.

It was then, amidst the clash of steel and fire, that Cyno heard them: tiny screams, high-pitched and filled with terror. The realization crashed over him – he was on Earth, and these were its inhabitants. Fighting with such minuscule creatures underfoot was a perilous situation. Each strike had to be measured, each parry carefully executed. Both he and the Fatui agent sustained injuries, the landscape itself becoming a hazard.

Driven by a need to protect the tiny populace, Cyno sought refuge, concealing himself from their wide, frightened eyes. He found a clearing what he thought was a forest, and exhaustion claimed him. He didn't expect to find Mao there when he awoke, her small hands, face, clothed stained with what he hoped was mud, tending to wounds far too big for her.

"Mao?" His voice was a low rumble, barely audible. He gently, cautiously, grasped the fabric of her shirt back. She whipped around, her tiny face a mask of fury.

"Stop it! I don't like being manhandled!" she exclaimed, her voice surprisingly strong for her size. A chuckle rumbled in Cyno's chest, a sound of genuine amusement amidst the strangeness of it all. Carefully, he scooped her up, placing her gently on his chest, close to the steady beat of his heart.

Mao had once been a delightful surprise. Now, however, the feeling was quite the opposite, a disquieting unease settling in his stomach. He found himself inexplicably transported, a giant in her miniature world, and a chuckle escaped him at the sheer absurdity of it all. He, Cyno, a game character, yet towering over the earthlings like some benevolent, if bewildered, god.

He began to sit up, the movement surprisingly sluggish, and Mao clung to him.

"Hey, not so fast..." she scolded, her voice a tiny, yet firm, reprimand that was almost comical given her diminutive stature. "Are you trying to make yourself dizzy? And another thing, why are you here?!" Her expression was a furious storm, brewing in a face a little bigger than his thumb.

"People are already forming an angry mob," she continued, her voice rising in pitch. "You took down the lights and the internet with whatever the heck you were doing..."

In Cyno's defense, he had tried to be discreet during the fight with the Fatui agent. He truly had. However, the task had proven far more difficult than he had anticipated, a chaotic dance of elemental power in a world not built to contain it.

My eyes widened as I took in the sight before me. It was Cyno, no doubt about it, standing right here on Earth. But there was a problem, a colossal one, quite literally. He was a giant! How on earth was I supposed to hide someone of his…stature? The thought of abandoning him here was unbearable, though.

"I wasn't trying to make a scene," Cyno began, his voice a low rumble. "I didn't even use all my strength. He's the one who dragged the fight into the neighborhood." I listened intently as he recounted the bizarre series of events that had led him here. Apparently, he had been in hot pursuit of a Fatui agent when, quite unexpectedly, he'd stumbled into a portal.

His gaze shifted to the makeshift bandage on his arm. "Where did you even find the cloth to mend my arm?" he inquired.

"Um…," I stammered, a bit embarrassed. "That's actually a few bedsheets. I, uh, tied them together..." I explained sheepishly. I could see the exhaustion etched on his face, the clear desire to just collapse.

"Rest for a bit," I urged, placing a hand on his massive arm. "I have to go home and check on my parents. I'll be back as soon as I can."

The drive home was a welcome escape, a chance to check on my parents. A long, hot shower washed away the stress of the day, and I finally succumbed to sleep's embrace.

Earlier, the morning had been a puzzle for my neighbors. A power outage had plunged the street into darkness, severing their connection to the digital world. But even then, the wheels of progress were turning, solutions already in motion. I busied myself, restoring order to my parents' home, before finally commandeering the truck.

Cyno, no doubt, was feeling the hungry. But a simple trip to IHOP or McDonald's was out of the question for a being of his immense size. Instead, I steered towards a local farm, a haven of fresh produce. With a swipe of my credit card, I acquired their entire stock of apples and veggies, loading the bounty onto the truck, a feast fit for a giant.

How did my life take such a bizarre turn? Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd be providing food and shelter for the towering General Mahamatra. My initial plan was to carry the food to the clearing myself, but time was of the essence. My trusty red Ford truck, a seasoned companion on countless adventures, navigated the forest paths with the agility of a mountain bike. It successfully delivered a feast fit for my colossal friend.

"Cyno..." I called out from the truck window. He was seated, his massive hands shuffling his TCG cards, a testament to his sharp intellect.

"I'm here..."

I stepped out of the truck, presenting the overflowing basket of vegetables. His arm was still bandaged, a stark reminder of his recent ordeal.

"Sorry... I'd offer you a burger, but it wouldn't even begin to satisfy your large appetite..." I remarked to the giant. Cyno immediately began devouring the basket of fruits and veggies. Watching him eat was a humbling experience. This was only breakfast, and I was already grappling with the daunting task of keeping him fed. Lunch and dinner loomed, and I had a sinking feeling my credit cards were about to face their greatest challenge; debt was surely on the horizon.

I felt a sudden, unexpected force lifting me skyward. It was Cyno, of course, his fingers clamped firmly on the back of my shirt, hoisting me into the air like a wayward puppet. Again.

"Hey!" I protested, glaring up at him. "I told you to warn me before you go all grabby!" A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, utterly devoid of humor. Honestly, it was starting to grate on my nerves.

"Not funny... You're like King Kong!" I exclaimed, trying to maintain a semblance of stoicism despite my undignified position.

Cyno's brow furrowed slightly. "Is King Kong a King in this world?"

I groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to facepalm. Instead, I settled for a dramatic slap to my forehead.

"No... he's a giant ape... Who climbed the Empire State Building with Fay Wray in his hand..." The words tumbled out, a testament to my childhood spent immersed in classic cinema. My father, a lover of old movies, had ensured I was well-versed in their lore.

Cyno's curiosity was piqued. "Is it based on facts? Did such an event occur in this world?"

"No, it's completely made up. And remember, magic doesn't exist in my world..this world." I reminded him, reiterating a point I'd made countless times before.

"So your people wrote the story to compensate for the lack of such things?" Cyno mused. I shrugged, a gesture lost on him since I was still dangling.

"I suppose so..." I conceded, the absurdity of the situation finally sinking in.

Cyno's massive hands gently lowered me to the ground, and I couldn't help but sigh. The situation had spiraled from strange to utterly bizarre. A giant, ripped straight from the fantastical world of Teyvat—a place I'd only known as a video game until a few months ago—now stood beside me.

"So, can I ask..." The question died in my throat. My eyes flicked back to Cyno, who hadn't moved an inch. I'd expected him to immediately give chase to the fleeing Fatui giant. Why the hesitation? Was he worried about being seen? It wouldn't surprise me, considering his colossal size. The thought of my neighbors spotting him sent a shiver down my spine. The fallout would be catastrophic—the local army base swarming the area, or worse, the government getting involved. It would be a scene straight out of Gulliver's Travels.

"Hmm?" He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping down to meet mine.

"Why haven't you gone after the Fatui?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.

"It isn't oblivious; if your people saw me, it would cause a panic..." he rumbled, his voice a low tremor in the air.

"I figured as much..." I sighed, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders. It wasn't like I could just tuck him away under a blanket. He was, quite literally, a giant.

The question hung in the air, a heavy weight: how does one conceal a giant? I'd barely managed to hide Cyno, and now, a far more colossal problem loomed – a massive, dangerous Fatui agent was loose, leaving a trail of destruction. I sighed, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders. My expertise lay in the intricate mechanics of video games and knowing the best places to grab a bite; not in hiding giants or dealing with rogue Fatui agents.

I glanced up at my towering friend, Cyno, a silent plea for assistance in my eyes, just as my phone buzzed insistently. I pulled it out, my heart sinking as I read the notification.

"Strange craters found on Highway 67..." The attached image zoomed in, the resolution sharp enough to confirm my worst suspicions. Those weren't craters; they were giant footprints.

I looked back at Cyno, a nervous smile playing on my lips. "I think I found your buddy..." I said, gesturing to the picture on my phone. "He's on the other side of town. Any slim chance you can turn invisible or something?"

Cyno's expression remained stoic, unmoved by my flippant remark. "Mao, Magic doesn't work like that," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Besides, he's using a Delusion for that..."

The weight of the situation pressed down on me once more. "What to do?" I groaned, running a hand through my hair. The task ahead seemed insurmountable, a David-and-Goliath scenario where I was woefully unprepared to play David.

"You don't happen to have a slingshot?" I asked. Cyno raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding the reference.

Lost in my own thoughts, I watched as Cyno nonchalantly picked up my truck, cradling it as if it were a child's plaything. My eyes widened.

"Woah, hey!" I blurted out, my voice laced with a protective edge. I was particular about my truck. Very particular. And to see Cyno, with his Herculean strength, handling it with such carefree abandon… it rubbed me the wrong way. Of course, I understood his fascination. Earth's modern technology was practically non-existent in Teyvat. It must have been like discovering magic for him. He twirled the truck in his hands, a childlike wonder in his eyes.

"Don't mes-" I started to say, but the words died in my throat. My face paled, and my eyes widened in horror. It happened so fast. A sickening crack echoed in the air. He had unintentionally broken the hood of my truck.

"Sorry..." he mumbled, setting the now-hoodless vehicle down with a thud. He had actually broken the metal. Snapped it like a twig.

I was speechless, shock rippling through me. My truck. All the blood, sweat, and tears I had poured into buying that ridiculous, standard red truck. Gone. Reduced to a hoodless, broken mess in the hands of an apologetic, yet incredibly giant, General Mahamatra.

"It's fine..." I managed to choke out, the words feeling like a lie even as they left my lips. It was far from fine.

The problem of how to move the giant in secret occupied my thoughts for mintunes. Finally, a plan began to coalesce in my mind, and I drove toward town, hope warring with anxiety. The recent "earthquake," as the locals called it, had conveniently masked the truth: giants from another dimension were the real culprits.

I arrived to find a meeting of my neighborhood community leaders in full swing.

"People are shaken up by the monster and giant reports. It's mass hysteria..." someone lamented. I bit back the urge to reveal the truth; I was the only one in the room who knew what was really going on.

An idea sparked in my mind. "I have an idea. What about a party at the high school...just to take their minds off things?" I proposed. The high school, safely distanced from the heart of town, seemed the perfect venue. The suggestion was met with immediate enthusiasm. Within hours, the town was buzzing with anticipation.

As I helped with the preparations, my best friend Lottie approached me, a concerned look on her face. "What happened to your truck?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

I couldn't tell her the truth—that I was currently harboring a giant in the woods, and he'd inadvertently totaled my truck. The words caught in my throat.

"I ran over a bear..." I blurted out, struggling to maintain a semblance of composure.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"I'm totally fine..." I replied, hoping she wouldn't notice the sweat beading on my forehead.

The gymnasium buzzed with the frenetic energy of a high school party in the making. After a few hours of helping with the decorations, I attempted a stealthy retreat, hoping to vanish before the forced socializing commenced. But fate, or rather, Lottie, had other plans.

"(Name), there you are! Where are you going?" she called out, her voice laced with playful suspicion.

"Um... I-I forgot something at the house..." I stammered, the lie feeling clumsy and transparent even to my own ears. Deceiving Lottie was never my forte. She's my best friend, an anchor in the increasingly bizarre landscape of my life, and her husband, Jamie, is the other.

"It can wait, can't it? You're not even dressed for the party..." Jamie chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head, plotting my imminent transformation courtesy of the school drama department's costume collection.

"I really need to go-" I began, but Lottie, ever the determined force of nature, cut me off. She looped her arm through mine, effectively shackling me to my fate, and began dragging me towards a makeshift makeup station. It was a familiar routine, a far cry from the events of six months prior.

Six months ago, Lottie, Jamie, and I had been at an anime convention, a weekend of cosplay and camaraderie. Then, everything went sideways. We were kidnapped, whisked away to the world of Teyvat – yes, the world from Genshin Impact, only this one was Earth-sized, a realm of colossal landscapes and even more colossal beings. Thanks to some magical mishap involving Nahida, earthlings who were brought to Teyvat became like animals. I have no idea why I was immune. The whole ordeal was eventually rectified, and we were all sent back home. Lottie and Jamie remember nothing of it, a blessing, I think. It was, to put it mildly, a bit traumatic.

But that's how I met Cyno. He saved me from a rather unsavory trio of scholars in a crumbling desert ruin. Now, Cyno is here, in my world, a fish out of water and, unfortunately for him, a literal giant. As if that weren't enough, there's also a giant Fatui agent lurking around somewhere. Yep, my life has become exceptionally weird.

I threw my hands up, the silk of my simple purple dress swirling around my legs. "Why are we dressed for prom?!" I exclaimed, the question echoing with perhaps a touch too much drama for a Tuesday afternoon. My exasperation was directed at Lottie, who simply beamed back at me.

"It's fun!" she chirped, waving a perfectly manicured finger in the air. "We didn't get to go to our prom, remember?" She and her husband, James, were a matching set in their dapper suits, a stark contrast to my own semi-formal attire—heels, the aforementioned dress, and my hair pulled back in a neat bun, punctuated only by dangling earrings. A pang of memory struck me. She was right. We hadn't gone to prom. A plague of some sort had swept through our little trio that weekend, leaving us huddled together, mainlining movies and misery.

I couldn't help but feel a familiar twinge of… something. It wasn't quite jealousy, but perhaps a wistful awareness of my place in our dynamic. I always felt more like River Song in our little Doctor Who-esque relationship, flitting in and out, a chaotic element, rather than the steadfast Amy or the dependable Rory.

"Thank you..." I sighed, the word laced with a mixture of affection and resignation. But the truth was, I really had to leave. Duty called—or rather, the giant in town that might destroy the peace. No pressure.

"I gotta go..." I announced. "Save me cake?"

"Sure thing!" Lottie called after me, her voice bright and unwavering. "Be back as soon as you can?" I offered a quick wave goodbye, already halfway out the door.

Cyno wrestled with a frustration he dared not voice. Here he was, on Earth, a planet dwarfed by his size. He found himself concealed behind a forest of trees, the setting sun casting long shadows as he waited for Mao. Beside him, she seemed almost doll-like in her stature.

"Hey!" A strange sound, emanating from her "truck" as she called it, announced her arrival. She stepped out, the purple dress only enhancing her doll-like appearance.

"Hey... if you're planning to confront the Fatui agent, now's the time! Most of the town is at the high school for a party..." Mao informed him, her voice tinged with urgency.

"That explains the dress. What took you so long?" Cyno questioned, before sweeping her into his arms.

"Thank you..."

"Stop picking me up without warning!" she hissed, a blush rising on her cheeks. "For what it's worth, I'll do my best to help you."

"You've done enough..." Cyno replied, his voice softening as he gently patted her head.

"Hey, stop that!" Mao exclaimed, shaking her head free of his touch. He set her down, and Cyno felt a surge of readiness, eager to conclude this mission and, more importantly, relieved that he wouldn't have to worry about harming the inhabitants of this fragile planet.

"Whoa, where are you going?!" Mao called out, hurrying to keep pace with his long strides.

I trailed closely behind Cyno, my pace proving insufficient as he once again resorted to hoisting me up by the back of my dress. A sigh escaped him, thick with exasperation.

"You'll get hurt..."

"This is my home... Let me help!" The words tumbled out, fueled by my frustration at feeling so utterly useless. A soft chuckle rumbled from him before he settled me securely on his shoulder. From this new vantage point, the town spread out before me, offering a clear view and, more importantly, a good sense of where the Fatui agent was likely concealed, thanks to the subtle commotion he was causing. My suspicions were confirmed; he lurked in the wooded area bordering Main Street. Thankfully, the streets were deserted. If there was one thing I knew about my town, it was their unwavering dedication to celebration, which is where almost everyone was at that moment.

It wasn't long before the Fatui agent revealed himself, emerging from the trees like a looming shadow. Cyno was already an imposing figure, but this man towered over even the General Mahamatra by at least two heads. I felt Cyno gently set me down on the rooftop of a nearby building. From there, I was granted a front-row seat to a battle of giants. Explosions of fire ripped through the air, punctuated by the crackling discharge of Cyno's electric power. I was, unfortunately, relegated to the role of a mere bystander as the town trembled beneath the weight of their conflict. Each heavy footstep sent vibrations through the building, bouncing me around like a ragdoll.

I watched, helpless, as the mighty Cyno battled the colossal Fatui Agent. It was a brutal fight, and regret twisted in my gut as I saw Cyno taking a severe beating. "Cyno! Get up!" I screamed, my voice cracking with desperation, but I was trapped, confined within the cold, unyielding walls of a nearby building.

Driven by a surge of adrenaline, I bolted down the fire escape, my mind racing. An idea, reckless and improbable, sparked within me. I commandeered a nearby car, my hands trembling as I hot-wired the ignition, a skill from countless action movies. Cyno lay prone on the ground, and in a moment of temporary insanity, I slammed the gas pedal, driving the car directly into the Fatui Agent's leg. The behemoth crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. Miraculously, I emerged with only minor injuries, a few bruises the price of my impulsive heroism.

"What the hell?!" The towering Fatui Agent loomed over me, his voice a thunderous roar. I knew I was in deep trouble. Abandoning the mangled car, I kicked off my heels and ran, the absurdity of my situation not lost on me. There I was, fleeing for my life in a ridiculous purple prom dress. He pursued me relentlessly, forcing me to seek refuge behind a nearby building.

"Come out, come out wherever you are!" His voice echoed, laced with menace. I was paralyzed with fear as he leaned over the building, his shadow engulfing me. But then, a sudden, powerful force yanked him backward. Cyno had awakened, or rather, he had risen, fueled by a primal rage.

"Don't touch her..." I couldn't see him, but his voice, low and guttural, vibrated with palpable anger, an anger that honestly frightened me just a little. The Fatui Agent was formidable, but Cyno was a force of nature. I knew I had to help. Spotting a firehose, I grabbed it and, with a surge of adrenaline, ran behind the giant Fatui Agent. I unleashed the full force of the water, sending him sprawling backwards. I watched, breathless, as Cyno relentlessly beat him, a whirlwind of controlled fury, before finally binding him. I gasped for breath, my dress ruined, my hair a mess, a complete and utter wreck. But I was alive.

Deep within the woods, a sanctuary far removed from the prying eyes of the town, I stood as a silent observer. Before me, the towering figure of Cyno hauled a bound and struggling Fatui agent, his captive squirming in vain.

"So, this is it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He offered a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable farewell that hung heavy in the air. Goodbyes were a constant companion in my life, but this one… this one would leave a void. I knew I would miss him, the stoic giant from another world.

"I'm returning to Teyvat…" Cyno stated, his voice as serious as ever. "We've caused enough trouble in your world. And I must take him to Sumeru for his trial."

A sudden impulse seized me, a desire to offer a piece of myself before he vanished once more. "Hey… I wanted you to know my real name. I don't mind you calling me Mao…" I confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. Mao wasn't my true name, not really. It was a placeholder, a name I'd adopted from a time when my name was lost in Teyvat.

Taking a deep breath, I revealed the truth. "My real name is (Name)."

"(Name)?" he repeated, the sound barely audible. He didn't turn, didn't break his stride as he continued his departure. But I distinctly heard him murmur, a soft whisper carried on the wind, "(Name)… That's a beautiful name."

With a heavy heart, I turned my back on the woods and made my way back to the high school party, a chaotic scene of music and laughter that felt jarringly out of sync with the events I'd just witnessed. Lottie and Jamie, ever the concerned friends, fussed over my appearance – the torn dress, the disheveled hair, the bare feet that had carried me through the forest. My elderly parents, their faces etched with worry, were frantic with concern. No one suspected the truth, the extraordinary reality that giants from another world had clashed in our quiet town, their battleground hidden just beyond the edge of normalcy. I reassured them, offering a smile and a simple, "I'm fine." To them, everyone was safe, oblivious to the tremors that continued to shake the ground, the echoes of a battle fought in a realm beyond their comprehension.

They say lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place, but in my case, it had. I had met Cyno twice, our paths crossing in this strange, unexpected way. And perhaps, just perhaps, fate would conspire to bring us together a third time, our destinies intertwined in ways I couldn't yet imagine.

The end

28 notes · View notes

wonderlanddreamer · 9 months ago

Text

Busy Being Shelbys.

[1919] Garrison Lane, Birmingham.

In the shadow of giants, six year old Lydia Shelby proves that courage comes in all sizes.

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

The cobbled streets of Small Heath were alive with the sounds of a bustling day, a cacophony that painted a vivid picture of daily life in this vibrant part of Birmingham. Market vendors bellowed their wares from behind wooden stalls, their voices competing with one another in a bid to attract customers. Freshly baked bread, ripe fruits, and an array of colourful fabrics were just some of the treasures on display. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh produce, roasted meats, and the occasional whiff of coal smoke from a distant factory.

Children darted through the maze of adults, their laughter ringing out like the sweetest music. They played games of tag and hide-and-seek, their joy unburdened by the worries of the adult world. The rhythmic clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages added a steady beat to the day's soundtrack, while the faint clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation drifted from the open door of the Garrison Pub, where patrons sought respite and camaraderie.

Among the children was Lydia Shelby, a striking figure with her bright blue eyes and unruly dark hair that framed her face in wild, untamed waves. She was a miniature replica of her older brothers, though her features still retained the softness of childhood that had long since been etched away by the harsh realities of life for her siblings.

Lydia was lost in her game of hopscotch, her delicate leather shoes tapping out a rhythmic pattern against the uneven cobblestones. Each leap and skip seemed to lift her further into a world of her own making, where the only things that mattered were the chalk-drawn squares and the simple joy of play. Her giggles rang out like tiny bells, echoing down the narrow street and adding a layer of innocence to the otherwise gritty surroundings.

The market's vibrant noise began to fade as an unspoken tension gripped the air. Conversations stilled, and the clatter of commerce dulled to a murmur. Heads turned and eyes widened as a sleek black car, polished to a mirror shine, rolled to a stop in front of the Garrison Pub. The vehicle, an imposing presence amidst the horse-drawn carts and pedestrian traffic, seemed to absorb the light, casting an eerie shadow over the cobblestones.

A hush fell over the street, the silence broken only by the creak of the car door as it opened. Billy Kimber emerged first, his sharp suit impeccably tailored, accentuating his lean, muscular frame. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept across the scene with the precision of a hawk. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew he commanded respect, his very presence a silent threat.

Behind him, his men followed, each one a mirror of their leader’s predatory demeanor. They fanned out, creating a semi-circle that seemed to cordon off the area, their eyes scanning for any sign of the Shelbys. Kimber's face was a mask of determination, his jaw set as he prepared to confront his rivals. The air seemed to thicken with each step they took, the tension rising like a gathering storm.

Lydia, oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere, continued her game. Her small figure, clad in a simple dress, darted from square to square, her laughter a stark contrast to the growing unease that enveloped the street. She was a picture of pure, untainted joy, her world still untouched by the darker elements that lurked in the shadows of Small Heath.

Kimber’s gaze landed on Lydia, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Lydia looked up from her hopscotch grid as the long, dark shadows of Kimber and his men fell over her game, casting a chill despite the warm day. Her bright blue eyes blinked up at the unfamiliar faces, her expression more curious than afraid. Her unruly hair bounced as she straightened up.

Billy Kimber, sensing the girl's defiance, allowed a slow, amused smirk to spread across his face. He crouched down slightly, bringing his sharp, predatory eyes level with Lydia's. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "A little girl all alone."

Lydia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her stance shifting as she planted her small hands firmly on her hips, a stance that was unmistakably Shelby. Despite her tender age, there was a steely resolve in her gaze, a flicker of the same fire that burned in her older brothers. She tilted her chin up defiantly. "I'm not alone," she said firmly, her voice steady and clear. "My brothers are inside."

Her unwavering gaze unsettled some of Kimber's men, their eyes darting between the girl and their leader. But Billy Kimber was not so easily intimidated, especially not by a child. He crouched down to her level, his eyes narrowing to scrutinize her more closely. "Do you know who I am, little girl?" he asked, his voice a low growl that usually elicited immediate submission.

Lydia nodded without hesitation. "You're Billy Kimber," she stated simply, her tone devoid of the fear that usually accompanied his name. "You run the races."

Kimber's smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "That's right. And do you know why I'm here?"

Lydia shrugged, a gesture so casual it bordered on insolent, her small shoulders lifting and falling as if to say that his presence was of little consequence to her. "You're probably looking for my brothers. But they're busy."

One of Kimber's men chuckled, but it was a nervous, hesitant sound, the laughter of someone unsure whether to be amused or alarmed. Kimber's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of irritation. He was accustomed to fear and respect, not this calm defiance from a mere child. "Busy with what?" he asked, his patience thinning, his tone sharper now.

Lydia’s eyes met his unflinchingly, her voice carrying an edge of pride. "Busy being Shelbys," she replied, as if that explained everything. And in a way, it did.

Kimber's eyes darkened, his amusement giving way to a simmering menace. He extended a hand, intending to ruffle Lydia's hair in a gesture meant to assert his dominance rather than convey any genuine affection. His fingers, adorned with rings that gleamed ominously in the daylight, reached towards her.

But before he could make contact, Lydia took a deliberate step back, her eyes locked onto his with a mixture of defiance and warning. The movement was subtle, yet it spoke volumes. Her small frame seemed to grow taller, her presence more commanding, as if channeling the collective strength of her family.

"You shouldn't touch me," she said softly, her voice steady and clear. The softness of her tone contrasted sharply with the steel in her words. "My brothers wouldn't like it."

Kimber's hand hung in the air for a moment, frozen by the quiet authority in her voice. He slowly retracted it, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

At that moment, the door of the Garrison swung open with a force that made the hinges groan in protest. Out stepped Thomas Shelby, flanked by Arthur and John, their presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity. The three brothers moved with a lethal grace, their expressions murderous, their postures taut with barely contained fury. The atmosphere grew dense with a palpable tension, forewarning of the storm that was about to break.

"Kimber," Tommy began, his voice slicing through the air like a blade of cold steel. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Each word was enunciated with an icy precision that sent shivers down the spine of anyone within earshot.

Billy Kimber straightened up, attempting to reclaim his swagger now that he was facing adults. His sneer was a thin veneer over the unease that gnawed at him. "Just having a chat with your little sister, Tommy," he said, his voice carrying a faux lightness that did nothing to mask the underlying threat.

Tommy's gaze turned to ice, his eyes narrowing with a deadly calm. He took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. The intensity of his stare was enough to make even the bravest of men falter. "Keep away from her, get back in your fucking cars, and leave," Tommy said, his tone a low, menacing growl that left no room for misinterpretation.

Kimber laughed, but it was a hollow sound. He knew better than to push his luck with the Shelbys. "I'll see you soon, pikey," he said, but there was no real conviction in his words. With a sharp gesture, he signaled his men to follow him back to the car.

As the car sped away, its engine roaring and tires screeching, a cloud of dust hung in the air, slowly settling back onto the cobblestone street. The square, which had been a tense battleground moments ago, began to return to its usual hustle and bustle, though an undercurrent of unease still lingered.

Lydia stood frozen for a moment, watching the black car disappear around a corner. The adrenaline that had surged through her tiny frame started to ebb, leaving her legs shaky and her heart pounding in her chest. Her earlier bravado was giving way to a wave of relief.

She turned and ran to her brothers, her small feet making soft, rapid taps against the cobblestones. Tommy, Arthur, and John watched her approach, their expressions softening in unison. Tommy crouched down just as Lydia reached him, and with a gentle but firm grip, he lifted her into his arms. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his chest.

"Good girl, Lydia," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the tension that still clung to the air. "You did us proud,"

Lydia's lips curved into a small, proud smile as she wrapped her arms around Tommy's neck, seeking the comfort and security that only her brothers could provide. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "I know," she said confidently, her voice a mix of lingering fear and newfound courage. "I was brave, just like you."

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting an amber glow over Small Heath as Tommy took one last vigilant sweep of the streets for any lingering danger. Satisfied, he turned and carried Lydia towards the Garrison, Arthur and John close behind. As they stepped inside, the familiar scent of whiskey and smoke enveloped them. Lydia, nestled in Tommy's arms, exchanged a glance with John, who walked just behind them. She smiled, a mix of relief and affection, and John responded with a warm grin, ruffling her hair gently. Inside the Garrison, with the comforting hum of conversations and clinking glasses around them, the weight of the day's tension began to lift, leaving them with a fleeting sense of tranquility.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders oc #lydia shelby #billy kimber #john shelby #arthur shelby #peaky blinders fic #shelby oc #peaky blinders fanfic

106 notes · View notes