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creativepawsworld · 2 years ago

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Silence - Chapter 12

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Summary = The police are after Thomas Shelby. Ana takes John's suit to his house, the pair having another meaningful conversation.

Warnings = Language, Gang Activity, Guns, Mentions of Sex, Anger issues

Word Count = 3268

Note = Thank you all so much for the comment's reactions and reblogs, it really makes my day that you love this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

For the first time since breaking my foot, I managed to fall and stay asleep last night and it was a good sleep, so amazingly good. I woke up feeling refreshed, ready for the day instead of the usual groggy and irritable version of myself, I had been experiencing lately.

There was no sign of James when I got up. He probably went straight to work after staying at Martha’s. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay over at her place, it was unusual that he didn’t call in to say hello though as he passed through here to get to work.

I walked down in the living room, smiling at the discarded white shirt just tossed onto the floor. A stark reminder that last night did in fact happen. Picking up the clothing and throwing it back into the clean laundry pile I made myself some breakfast before heading next door.

Being the only one in the shop meant that everything fell on my shoulders. Not only did I have to do the administration side to the shop, the inventory, general upkeep but I also had to deal with any clients that came through the door needing something altered or fix. It all rested on me for the first time.

Pushing some loose hair out of my face I looked up at the sound of the door opening. Inwardly rolling my eyes praying the people of Small Heath would just go away. I had been on my foot most of the day, my underarms were red and aching from the fiction caused by the wooden crutches. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

“Everything alright in here Ana?” James’s voice laughed looking around the store. I had things everywhere. Literally everywhere. Random swatches of material were laid over the front desk and my sewing machine, samples of the materials we had in store for people to choose from. I had papers, laying in all directions with measurements, dates and names written on them. I was working in chaos.

“Thank God you are here. Close the door, lock it and keep everyone out” I sigh throwing myself back into the god-awful wooden chair. I was absolutely exhausted. First time having full control of the tailor shop and I managed to do it on a broken foot, it would be a piece of cake in the future with two feet.

“It’s after 5pm we are closed anyway” James laughed shaking his head. He started grabbing the random swatches on fabric putting them into the swatch's basket. “Busy day?” He asked walking around tidying up after me.

“It was the worst day ever. People needing trousers and dresses mended, some needed them altered within an hour. Others wanted to request a new outfit for a family wedding in five days.”

“You know you didn’t have to alter anything right then and there, right?” James asked, putting the work baskets in the far-right corner.

I smiled thinking back to the days when James worked here. We never got anything done, it was so bad, our parents had to separate us. My father taking James under his wing, my mother, me. All too soon though my brother wanted independence. He wanted away from the shop and away from our parents. It was then he got himself mixed up in gambling and the Shelby brothers.

“I know but I just, didn’t want to let anyone down” I sighed rubbing feeling back into my fingers. I lost count how many times I had stuck myself with the needle trying to hurry things along.

“Ana, that’s fine when you are at yourself, not when you have one foot” James scolded handing me the pieces of paper with scribbles on it. “What does half of this even say? That is not how father writes out a measurement sheet” He laughed shaking his head at me.

“It’s how I write it. Easier and saves time” I chuckled snapping the sheets from him using the desk to tap the loose pages together and placing them on my desk.

“If you say so” James shrugged walking around the shop, stopping when he came to a suit. “This is a fine suit Ana, Shelby not been around to collect it yet?” He asked lifting the pant leg and inspecting it.

“Nope, God only knows why. It’s not like the Shelby’s to be late” I sigh with a smile. My mind drifting to my favourite Shelby brother, nibbling on my bottom lip.

“Well with everything going on. I’d say they have their hands full” James nodded leaving the suit alone and walking over to me. “You best hope he comes tonight; father is coming home, and you know he won’t be happy with the suit still here”

“I thought they were coming home tomorrow night?”

“No it’s definitely tonight. Martha is away to some show with a few friends from work. I remember the date clearly as I was going to the Garrison with a few mates”

“Come on” I sighed rubbing my temples with my fingers before standing to my feet, grabbing a nearby empty basket. “Help me”

“Help you what?” James asked confused at my sudden panic like state.

“Grab that dress and put it in the basket with the suit.”

“What are you going to do? Deliver it?” He asked with a laugh but seeing me nod my head, his face fell. “How exactly are you going to carry a basket and two crutches without falling flat on your face Ana, be realistic.”

“I’m not. You’re gonna carry the basket”

“Hell no. I’m not going near the Shelby house are you mad? What if Arthur is there?”

“What if he isn't?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Please James. Father entrusted me with the running of the shop, I don’t want him coming home and thinking I can’t handle it alone.”

“I’m sure he won’t…”

“James, it’s father. Come on I help you place a stupid bet you can help me deliver a suit” I brought up the incident from a few weeks back when he asked me to go to the betting shop for him. Bringing me into the life of the Shelby’s albeit unintentionally.

“I hate you”

“You love me.” I grin, balancing as best I could while putting my coat on. Taking the crutches once more and hobbling out into the street. “I can’t wait to be free of these”

“Should not of kicked a wall over a Shelby.” James growled dragging his feet behind me.

“Shut up” I tell him with a glare of my own, urging him to hurry up.

Before we even got near the shop James told me that if saw Arthur he would be gone, suit in hand or not. Rolling my eyes at my cowardly elder brother, the streetlights came on, the dark night started to take over. Hopping over the puddles in the street, I noticed a few lights were light in the main house, the betting shop door was no doubt locked now meaning Polly should be at home.

Knocking on the door, I waited for someone to answer the door, my brother was looking over his shoulder every two minutes in case a Shelby brother snuck up on us. I was about to tell him to stop fidgeting when the front door opened, the light shining on both my brother and I. Polly had a smile on her once her eyes landed on me.

“Ana dear, I was thinking just about you.” She grinned, her eyes glancing over to my brother who stood still, a glare on his face as he held the basket in one hand. The other hand casually in his pocket. “James” Polly spoke plainly at him.

“Mrs Gray” James returned, no emotion in his voice.

“Hi Polly, I have John’s suit he was supposed to collect yesterday. I wanted it out of the shop before my father returned.”

“From London, yes Tommy said you had the run of things”

“He did?” I asked with a smile. A blush appearing on my cheeks at the thought of Thomas talking to his family about me.

“Mmm” Polly nodded with a smile of her. Clearly his throat my brother made his presence known, holding the basket up. “Is that the suit then?”

“Indeed” James nodded handing the basket over to Polly. “I’ll see you at home later?” He asked me backing away from the Shelby home towards what he considered safety, even though Arthur was more than likely at the bar now that Thomas brought it for him.

“Yeah” I shouted my shoulder at him, watching him walk backwards before turning at my answer, disappearing around the corner.

“You must be freezing, come in” Polly spoke once my brother gone, like myself she was watching him leave. Carefully making my way into her home she ushered me into the kitchen, pulling out a chair for me and putting on the tea. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately; things have not been easy”

“I heard Ada had her baby. Congratulations”

“Yes, shame his father was taken from her. Haven’t seen her since the birth. Held up in a basement, not good for her or the baby” Polly groaned, shaking her head at the predicament. “Things only got worse when the boys pathetic excuse of a father turned up. Arthur and Tommy have been at one another’s throats.”

“I can come back at a different time Polly. Clearly you have a lot going on”

“No, no you are fine dear. A breath of fresh air in my world of madness.” She smiles, taking the teapot into her hands and pouring the hot liquid into my awaiting cup.

“While I was waiting on John, I finished your dress” I tell her taking a sip of the tea, ensuring I didn’t burn myself on the liquid.

“You did?” She asked, moving John’s suit of the way, hanging it on the door admiring it. “That would have been a nice suit for his wedding, shame he didn’t have it in time” She nodded admiring the work before taking the dress from the basket, holding it up to inspect it. “Ana…” She gasped

“If there is anything you don’t like I can remove it or add to it no problem” I tell her unsure if the gasp was good or bad.

“It's perfect. Oh, Ana you talented little thing” She breathed excitedly his hands running along the lace material at the hips. It was a show stopping piece, to really bring attention to one of the more prominent features of a woman. “Thank you”

“Polly, Polly the police are after our Tommy. They want to take him away” The youngest Shelby brother ran into the room breaking the moment. I felt my eyes widened at his words, what had he done now?

“What? Where is he Finn?” Polly rushed towards the younger brother, dress still in hand as she held his shoulder.

“The barmaid took him away with her. The one Arthur says makes Tommy soft” He shrugged nonchalantly, he was too young to understand what his words had meant, it hadn’t made them hurt any less though.

“Where did they go Finn?”

“I don’t know, her place I think.” The younger brother shrugged, his eyes wondering to me “Hey it’s you. I remember you. What happened your foot? Tommy wouldn’t tell me the other day.”

“Finn, go to your room.” Polly instructed, a worried looked on her face. She was standing, a hand over her mouth, her other holding the dress and ushering the boy out of the room. “Stupid boy, stupid, stupid boy”

A million thoughts ran through my head as the pieces started falling into place for Polly. The only thing I could focus on was he was with that pretty little barmaid. Just him and her, alone in her home. I swallowed back some sick, needing to get out of this house, I got up attracting Polly’s attention.

“Where are you going?”

“Home” I answered her sharply. The stupid tears I swore I’d never cry threatening to spill. How many more times was I going to allow a man like Thomas Shelby make a complete and utter fool out of me before I realised, I needed to move on, like Martha and Polly said.

“Why are you upset?” She asked once I had my back to her. Immediately she reached forward taking my wrist through the crutch to stop me moving, using it to turn me to look at her. Her hawk like eyes scanning over my face, looking down my body before back up to my face. “You slept with him?”

“No”

“But you allowed him to touch you” She pressed. Hearing the words leave her mouth had the tears falling freely from my eyes, I felt so dirty. So stupid. “Oh, my dear, Ana”

“Why is he doing this Polly?”

“He is a man; they only think with their cocks” Polly almost growled holding me against her chest. “I warned him. I told him not to lead you on, but he doesn’t listen. Stupid, stupid boy”

“I think I’m the stupid one”

“No Ana, no you’re not. He is an idiot for not seeing what he hasn’t in front of him”

“I thought he liked me. I was ready to give, you know 'it' to him last night, but he stopped me” I tell her, my voice muffled in her shoulder. “He’s such a pig”

“He is” Polly whispered in my ear before pulling back slightly. “Wait he stopped you from having sex with him?” She asked confused. I simply nodded my head at her question, Polly couldn’t help the look of surprise on her face.

Shaking whatever was going through her mind off, she held me at arm's length, hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly. “You promise me now, you are done with him. He is not good for you Ana, sweet girl like you deserves a man who would give her the world”

"I have no doubt it is him, Ana. You bring out a side of him that only existed before the war, I thought that part of him died in France”

“So, there is still a chance?”

“No” She answered sharply, conflicting her words. “There is no doubt in my mind Thomas would give you the world. But you are too pure for this world, his world.”

“I can be who Thomas wants me to be”

“You most certainly will not. You do not change yourself for a man Ana, don’t do that to yourself” She scolded holding my face in her hand gently yet firmly. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes”

“Good girl”

“Polly the guns are gone, Campbell has them, there after Tom…” A loud booming voice yelled; it was so loud I was surprised the house didn’t shake due to the volume. “Hello dear…” Arthur stopped himself, seeing me in his aunts' arms. John trailing after him.

“John, take Ana home. We have things to discuss when you get back” Polly directed to the younger of the two men. I expected the man to refuse or kick up a fuss, but he didn’t. He simply walked forward, extending a gentle hand forward. “I’ll will call around tomorrow love, before lunch”

“Okay, goodbye” I called allowing John Shelby to escort me from the home and into the cold night once again. The atmosphere was different than it was when I first left for the house, the police whistles were blowing all over, along with shouts as they marched through the streets looking for Thomas Shelby

“You alright?” John asked after a moment

“Yeah, fell for your stupid brother again like a foolish idiot” I tried to laugh off, but it was too soon. “Congratulations on your wedding” I tell him changing the subject. Ever since our chat at the bar I started to feel safe around John, he was nice. Different than his brothers.

“Thanks. My stupid brother didn’t give me much of a choice. Thankfully she isn’t ugly, I can live with that”

“That’s good?” I questioned unsure how to respond to his reply, my response caused him to laugh.

“It is, believe me I have some standards.” He nodded, nudging me softly, a smile on his face. “I was the only sane one available left to marry anyway, Arthur is out of his fucking mind and Tommy is in love so, wouldn’t have been right for him to marry”

“Wouldn’t you have preferred to marry for love?”

“I did marry for love, but she died. I just wanted to marry for convenience for the kids. I’ll grow to love her” He answered plainly. The marriage really was a business deal, one that benefitted both sides.

“I’m so sorry John" I sigh feeling terrible, the man was the same age as me and he had already lost so much. "I know you said you feel like you have a choice when it comes to your family, but it doesn’t seem like you do sometimes”

“I know it looks that why sometimes, but it's not. I am okay with marrying Esme. As for my brothers, I think they should marry for love at least once. So, I had to give me brothers a chance.” He laughed as we reached the door to my home. “Polly is right about one thing, you're pure Ana but you shouldn't stay away. Your what our Tom needs, something to ground him. She just doesn't see it yet"

“Finn says it the barmaid that has his attention, has him going soft.”

“That’s our Arthurs. He doesn’t know much about you, so course he thinks it’s the barmaid that has my brother soft. If he knew about you, he'd know it was you.”

“John, I don’t…I can’t do this. I can’t be waiting around wondering what Thomas has done and whether or not he will be coming home to me. Maybe Polly is right, maybe I should stay away.”

“Are you giving up on my brother?”

“Can’t give up on something you never had”

“Oh, you have him Ana, you just don’t see it. Idiots the both of you” John replied shaking his head walking towards the front door “Thanks for the suit by the way.”

“You’re welcome” I replied waiting for him to leave before breaking down again, my heart breaking. I limped up to my room, a surge of angry pulsating through my veins as I used my crutch to knock things off the top of my drawers. Screaming in frustration as I hit the books and broken porcelain repeatedly with the crutch.

“Ana” A voice yelled but I didn’t care to stop “ANA” the voice got louder walking up behind me catching me as I threw the crutches across the room. The person ‘sshing’ me as they wrapped around me tightly squeezing me, bringing up both to the ground.

“I hate him” I yelled my hands smacking at their hands as they held tightly onto me.

“It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay” James continued to repeat in my ear, rocking me backwards and forwards until I calmed down.

“I hate him, I hate him” I repeated, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

“I know, I hate him to”

“I really hate him” I whispered twisting myself, so I was snuggled tight into his chest, his heart beating erratically in his chest. “I hate that he made me love him. Why, why did I have to fall in love with him?”

“I don’t know Ana; I wish I knew”

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary

#tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #originalcharacter #peaky fucking blinders #peakyblinders #thomas shelby fanfic

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hansensgirl · 4 years ago

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i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.

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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years ago

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To Be So Lonely (Gaara x Reader)

A/N: my first ever attempt at a gaara one shot. Essentially, you are permanently disabled due to an accident involving evil jinchuriki gaara, but you never gave up on him. friends to lovers. dramatic confessions. gaara is just so pure and sweet, he deserves all the love and more. perfect baby boy. precious.

ps. this was a very quick write. there may be mistakes, idk. just hopefully someone enjoys.

Word count: 3600 (soo short lmao)

The pair of them walked the aisles of the bakery. He adored how her eyes grew wide when they landed on a particularly shiny loaf of bread or a decadent chocolate cake that she couldn’t help but gush over. Today, after work since it seemed he had a break, he decided he would go with her to the dessert shop she’d been begging him to go visit.

He watched as she hobbled forward on her crutches, leaning some of her weight on walls or tables when she got the chance. He felt genuinely awful. It was his fault she was in that position after all. Nearly ten years ago when she enveloped her in his sand and crushed her leg brutally. He was so lost and hopeless back then, and a mere sparring match was enough to set him off and permanently injure the woman.

He felt like the worst man alive as he watched her walk around, and he followed on soft feet behind her. They were friends. It seemed that even after all he had done, she still cared about him. She walked up to his office the day he became Kazekage, and asked to be his assistant. He couldn’t say no, not with the way she smiled so beautifully at him with those soft lips and sparkling eyes.

Admittedly, he wanted her to be at his side.

She often sat with him in his office when there wasn’t anything too urgent going on, her legs tucked under her and her crutches leant against his desk. She would tell him stories about her day or things that she found funny, and he would listen intently to each word. He adored her voice. It was perfect, the perfect pitch and tone, just enough enthusiasm to blow him away. How she could be so positive when so many things had gone wrong, he wasn’t sure.

He knew that if he asked Naruto, the boy would have the answer for sure. He was so wise with people in that way. After all, Naruto was the reason Gaara was able to change into the man he was today, the man that had Y/N laughing and giggling in the evenings before she went home.

Y/N’s smile was so bright. It practically glowed when she entered the room. He wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever, that is how much he admired her enthusiasm. He couldn’t imagine the pain she went through, and the struggle she goes through daily. He couldn’t imagine the strength she must have to work for him and maintain that attitude that he admired so deeply.

She was so beautiful. He found himself waking up multiple times in the morning with her still on his mind, her eyes and her smile and the way her hair fell around her face. He found himself so lost in the mere thought of the woman, he thought he might be going crazy.

He’d asked his siblings about the situation, on separate occasions, just gauging what two more adjusted people thought of the situation. Each time, they laughed, and told him he simply had a crush on his closest assistant. His sister told him to act on his feelings before she was swept away by some other man from the village. His brother told him she was quite a catch, and he would be lucky if she liked him back. He thought she was only kind to him because he was her boss, essentially. Needless to say, that was a bit rough for Gaara to hear.

He wasn’t sure what he would do if Y/N shared his feelings. She certainly was kind, and the woman he wanted to be with, but he just couldn’t be with her, not after everything he had done. He couldn’t imagine her ever caring for him like that after he took away a huge portion of her mobility. He stole away from her the ability to become a shinobi like she always wanted. He felt like a monster.

There was no way in good conscience, he could accept her affections and burden her with his own. She was too perfect. He wouldn’t ruin her in that way. He couldn’t.

And so he was content just following her around, buying her little goodies here and there to make her happy just one more time before he had to see her off for the night. No doubt, he would dream about her once again tonight, after spending so much time staring into her eyes and hearing her melodic laugh. Sometimes, he found himself looking forward to those nights where she would plague his mind. He could truly be himself in those dreams without any constraint, without an ounce of guilt. He could love her during those nights, and he found himself longing for more and more each day.

She spun around in front of the final glass case in the near empty bakery, and she pointed to some fruit tarts in a little box.

“You want those?”

“Yes, please.”

He pointed them out to the staff, and they bagged them up and slid them across the counter. He got a discount as the Kazekage, and he was more than willing to buy a few things for her. It was the least he could do. Even though he paid her a decent amount for her work, he still felt generous. He liked seeing the way her eyes lit up and her ears perked up with happiness each time he bought her a simple cake or tart. It was so cheap and simple, he felt like he was robbing her. He got so much enjoyment out of seeing her beauty over and over again and all she got was a little dollar dessert.

They walked out of the store, and she sighed, reaching into the bag and taking out the little box. She pulled out the cake and took a quick bite, sighing loudly at the flavor. “Wow, Gaara, this is one of the best ones yet. Try it,” she held out the other side to him.

“No, I’m okay. I’m sure it’s great.”

“Oh, come on.”

He sighed, and took the tart from her hands, taking the tiniest bite from the side opposite of hers. She was right. It was really good. He nodded, his lips curving into a tiny smile as she grinned, giving him a thumbs up. “See, I told you it was really good. I don’t go around picking out crappy sweets.”

“Here, eat the rest. You haven’t had a chance to eat today, have you?” he asked, urging her to take the tart back. She did, and nodded. “You really can’t be doing that, Y/N. It’s not healthy to skip meals like that.”

“I know. I normally don’t but during my lunch break today, I was busy talking to your brother and I lost track of time.”

“So it was Kankuro’s doing? Of course.”

“Oh, jeez. It’s not a big deal. My parents are going to the market today so they’ll no doubt be home with some food for me to eat for dinner. Plus, you got me these awesome tarts for dessert.”

He nodded, a hum leaving his lips. “Still, I’d like if maybe you started eating lunch with me, just so I can make sure you’re getting proper nutrition.”

Her eyes widened, and she began to smile once again. She felt her cheeks begin to heat up from his offer. How could he so casually say something like that? He was never one to really think through the things he said, just saying exactly what was on his mind. “Are you asking me on a lunch date?”

“What?! No-that’s not what I meant,” he blurted out, his own cheeks turning red under her stare. “I just meant it as a friend thing.”

She averted her eyes back down to her dessert, and she took another bite. After giving him a moment of time to cool down, and after she’d swallowed, she replied giddily, knowing it would stir him up once again, “Alright, well, I wouldn’t mind if it was a date thing, just saying.”

He was now nearly as red as his hair, and she burst out laughing. “What?! Y/N, don’t laugh at me!”

“Okay, Kazekage-sama.”

He huffed as he tried to calm down, following as she started off once again to her home. On days like this one, he would walk her home from wherever they had gone, and in turn, he said it was a way for him to see the village. In reality, he had seen the village more than enough time to count, he really just wanted to walk with her home, to feel like he was doing something for her by providing company on the short journey through the streets.

As they approached her home, he knew that this was going to be the end of their outing and he would have to leave her once again. He really enjoyed their time together. It was the only part of the day he looked forward to most of the time, and to see her go always filled his heart with a bit of sadness. It was unreasonable to want anymore time out of her day to himself, but he couldn’t help but want it.

She opened her front door and stepped inside, holding the door open so she could see him standing at the edge of the walkway to her family home. He shifted awkwardly under her stare, one that was absent of a smile and that familiar glimmer in her eye. Things felt serious all the sudden, and it made him nervous.

What had changed all of the sudden? He never expected her next words. They hit him in the chest like a stone, and knocked the air from his chest.

“Gaara, I think I’m in love with you,” Y/N called to the boy standing in her doorway. One outing after another, she found it harder and harder to maintain a neutral guise around him. Y/N really liked him. He was strong. He was a hero. He was a beautifully kind creature whom everyone came to adore.

He stood there in shock, his eyes wide and lips just agape. He wanted her to take back what she’d just proclaimed. He couldn’t accept it. Not when her crutches were right in his view, and her leg was missing right below the knee. He couldn’t handle that confession. Not now, not ever.

It was all his fault.

He turned his head away to the street and sighed, shutting his eyes tightly. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she asked, fiddling with the bag of groceries in her hands. It took a lot of nerve to confess to him. It takes a lot to go out and profess your love to the Kazekage and the famous Gaara of the sand. He was a celebrity, practically. He wasn’t simply a childhood friend. She was rightfully nervous.

“I’m sorry you feel that way about someone like me.”

“Gaara, stop. Please. What happened, it’s over now. You’ll never be that same person again.”

He grit his teeth, another sigh coming from behind his teeth. “I cannot accept your confession. I’m sorry, but I have to go now. Please, keep this between us, alright?”

It seemed that the end of their rope was near. He had said what he wanted to say, or what he felt needed to be said. He cared for her, he’d cared for her since he could really remember. She was always kind to him, so beautiful and sweet and generous. Y/N was forever forgiving, and he knew that. He was fully aware that she’d forgiven him for what he’d done to her when he was lost in violence all those years ago. He just couldn’t forgive himself. He was forgiving of those who had wronged him, but to give mercy to the person who brutalized the one woman who’d shown him kindness from the beginning, he just couldn’t bear it.

Gaara was a lonely man. He would always be a lonely man, surrounded by people but always just far enough to protect them. He couldn’t let someone like her become close again and risk something else happening. Even if he was non violent now, what’s to say someone else wouldn’t have a grudge against him and target her?

It was all too overwhelming.

“You can’t deny it, Gaara, you love me too,” she called back to him, quiet enough not to disturb the neighbors but loud enough that it rang out in his chest like a gong, echoing there for a minute. She continued softly, “You can’t just pretend there’s nothing between us just because something happened almost a decade ago. You can’t abandon me, not after everything we’ve been through.”

“Y/N, it’s not that easy.”

“It really is that easy. If you care about me, and I care about you, then that’s all that matters. Forget about my leg, please. I’m over it. I’ve grown used to it, so much it’s not a problem,” she explained, “In fact, you treating me like I’m some injured lamb is the real problem. I’m a strong woman. This injury is nothing when it comes to my sheer force of will.”

He felt terrible, really, he felt like every move he made was the wrong one. He felt like he’d travelled down all the wrong paths with this woman, and she still loved him. Despite everything, she loved him without fault. He was her best friend. The friend who stole her leg from her so young. He was beyond conflicted.

His eyes flickered around the street, and she could feel his paranoia. It would be quite scandalous if someone caught them out here talking about something as personal as this. He was the Kazekage after all, whether he was experiencing normal 22 year old emotions or not.

Y/N grabbed his hand and tugged him quickly into her home. Her parents were gone for the day to the shops, so they weren’t there to intervene, not that they would be too pleased to see their daughter with the red haired boy. Yes, they were proud to have him as their Kazekage, standing strong and tall for the nation. But the injuries he had inflicted on their daughter were a bit too severe to ever completely forgive him. They could never give Gaara their blessing, nor did they truly approve of their friendship. Y/N and Gaara knew this. It only caused his guilt to hang heavier in his chest.

She shut the door behind him, and sighed as she leant her shoulder against the wall, a bit of pressure taken off her sole leg and her arms propped up on the sticks.

“Gaara, how do you feel about me? Really?” she asked.

He wanted to say nothing, to just turn away and pretend he hadn’t heard the question. But he knew that wasn’t an option. He would tell her everything. “I enjoy your company, more than I care to admit. You are so beautiful and kind, I always want you around, especially when work gets rough.”

Y/n stood silent as she let him keep going, to get what he was feeling off his chest. There wasn’t really an outlet in his life to get out all these pent up emotions. He could use a shoulder to lean on sometimes, just as much as anyone else.

“You’re right,” he groaned, “I love you.”

A soft breath caught in her chest at his words. It was true that she had a feeling he felt that way for her, but it was a different thing to hear his words reach her ears. His breathy, raspy voice and the exasperation carried in his tone. The way his eyes refused to meet hers he was so afraid. She felt a shiver run up her spine, and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself down. “Then what’s the point in fighting it?”

“It’s wrong. What I did to you, you’ll never be the same again and it’s all my fault. I don’t know if I could bring myself to look at you everyday knowing that I hurt you so badly. Back then, I didn’t even have remorse. I-I…”

“It’s okay! You’ve changed, time and time again, you’ve shown me that you’re not the same man you used to be. You are so brave and caring and considerate. You care about me and all the other villagers. You changed, and I love the man you’ve become.”

“Does that mean you can forgive me for what I’ve done?”

“I would forgive you a thousand times over.”

“Y/N…”

“You’re the man of my dreams. Please, don’t deprive me of that.”

When his eyes met hers, he wanted to melt away in her arms. She really didn’t care about what he had done, she just wanted him for who he worked so hard to become, the man that Naruto pushed him to be. She raised his arms, and found himself walking right into them. Her head hit his shoulder, and he let out a long shaky breath. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too, Gaara. I truly do.”

And when she pressed her lips to his, he found himself falling deeper in love with her. She was so soft and gentle in his arms, against his skin, flush and warm like he’d always imagined. He never really expected himself to find someone, not after all he’d done and the man he made himself out to be. He never imagined the kiss of a person on his lips, or the feeling of someone’s arms wound around his body. He only imagined pain.

Yet, here she was. The most forgiving angel in the entire world.

“Y/N L/N, what the hell is this? Dammit, can’t you do this somewhere else, you foolish girl?” a voice called through the door, and when they peered between the curtains, the sight of her mother and father walking up the path to the front door, grocery bags piled in their arms. Her mother’s face was quite red, a small smile gracing her mouth, while her father was another story. Completely exhausted with everything.

Gaara pulled away quickly, his head ducking down so his eyes only met the floorboards. He was Kazekage, why was he so afraid of some old man and his paper sack full of rice? He wasn’t completely sure. All he knew was that Y/N stood there with that beautiful smile, her cheeks puffing out from embarrassment. “It’s okay. They aren’t angry. You might want to head on back home, though.”

The elderly couple opened the door, and he found himself face to face with her mother who smiled, corners of her eyes crinkling. “It’s about time, you sweet boy.”

Her father roared, feeling himself growing hotter with every second that passed. “About time for what, Rise? This man to come in here and violate our daughter-”

“Shush, dad. It was all me this time,” Y/N piped up from the back, which only fueled the fire.

“Of course! You’ve always been so promiscuous, Y/N. How could I expect any less?” he rolled his eyes. “And about you, Kazekage boy.”

“Be gentle, Tanaka.”

“Instead of hurting my daughter, I expect you to protect her as if your life depended on it, you hear me? I won’t have someone coming into my house and hurting my children,” he demanded, and Gaara could only nod. He had never been in a situation quite as terrifying as this one, he had to admit. He felt like he had been caught in the middle of some heinous act, even if it was only kissing the object of his affections. He was more than embarrassed, he thought he might crumble into a million tiny pieces.

He replied, “Of course. I’d never let anything hurt Y/N, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Now get out of here. You can see your little girlfriend some other time, she has chores.”

“Dad!”

“Enough.”

Gaara nodded to the family of three before opening the door and walking through the threshold. “Goodbye, Gaara!” As he peered back over his shoulder, he was once again stunned by her smiling face, her small hand waving to him as he shut the door behind him. He felt his heart beating faster as he walked down the street back to the Kazekage’s mansion.

Has life always felt this good? He wasn’t too sure. He felt high, like he was floating above the ground with each footstep. Maybe giving the good life, giving Y/N, a chance, was going to work out in his favor. He could feel happiness creeping up his chest and rumbling through his stomach. His cheeks turned red at the thought of his now girlfriend in her home getting scolded by her father, and he couldn’t help but imagine the next day when she would report to his office to pick up paperwork and maybe he could swipe another kiss.

When he walked into his home, he brushed by his brother whose brows perked up upon seeing his expression. “What’s got you looking so whipped, Gaara?”

“It’s nothing, Kankuro.”

“Y/N, right?”

“Maybe.”

His brother's loud laughter rung out in the empty hall. He patted his brother's back with a firm hand, practically congratulating him for getting a girlfriend. It was strange in that way, thinking about it like that. He now had a girlfriend to hug and hold, to keep tightly clasped in his heart for as long as she would allow.

Life was too good. He slept better that night than he had in a long while. All because of this one person who’d wormed their way so easily into his heart.

#gaara x reader #gaara fluff #gaara of the sand #naruto x reader #naruto imagine #gaara imagine #gaara one shot #naruto oneshot #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfic #gaara fanfic #fanfiction #x reader

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tinydooms · 3 years ago

Note

I want to hear all the details of the haunted Carnahan home in England and how Rick gets involved in all the routines involved in caring and living with the haunted corners of the mansion. Like a weird english version of Island of the Aunts.

The Thing That Lives Behind the Radiator didn't always live behind the radiator. Once, a long time ago, it lived in a seaside mansion in a place that was warm and sunny and that knew how to take care of household spirits. Once, a long time ago, it received offerings of honey cakes and wine and in return it looked after the family. There was always a lot of family, but it liked them: babies who grew into funny toddling things who became weird little kids who grew into interesting young people who eventually brought forth babies of their own to begin the cycle again.

Then, one strange day, a Foreigner came to town. The family that lived in the big house was in a bad way. They needed money to send the Old Mother to hospital for her health, and so they sold many of their books and trappings, including the little cupboard altar in which the little god lived. And so the little god was brought to a cold and dreary place, wrapped in a packing crate lined with straw, and it was desperately unhappy. Its new home was also a mansion, but it was big and cold and dark, and for a long time, the god sulked in its forgotten altar. At least there is a fireplace nearby. But it is never really warm here, and there are no children allowed in the library, and the little god is desperately lonely and sad.

There are other spirits in the house, of course; there always are. There is a White Lady upstairs, not the ghost of a murdered woman but that of a girl who loved ghost stories and spooky things and who is spending her afterlife comfortably haunting her descendants, just because she can (the lunatic). There are other ghosts who are less hospitable towards the living, but the White Lady keeps them away and none of them seem to be interested in the little god in the library. There is also a mummy in the downstairs study, whose ka came to look at its former body's whereabouts, shook its head, and reincarnated as a goat famer in Indonesia. The little god, who now guards nothing and has no one, mostly ignores them all.

One day there is a big family blowup, and that is the first time it really pays attention to the foreigners who stole it away. The eldest son, Alexander, brings home a woman with dark hair and shining eyes and brown skin, and the Family is Not Having It. Unfortunately for them, Alexander does not care and neither does his new wife. And fortunately for the little god in the library, Salwa comes from a land that is hot, and the first thing they do is install radiators all over the house. The other spirits don't like that, but they do not have the same power as the god who lives in the fireplace, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like asserting itself. The radiators are installed in good working order, and the little god moves into the space behind it, just under the window.

Alexander and Salwa aren't at the house much, but when they are, they spend time in the library and the little god grows to love them. The couple love books and each other; they are always reading and learning and laughing and talking. One day they arrive with a baby in tow, a healthy boy, and the little god creeps out from behind the radiator to look at him in his basket. It is only a little god, but it blesses the child: you will live a long and happy life. The baby blinks sleepily up at it and coos.

Five years later, another baby is brought into the library with its parents and brother: a sweet baby girl. The little god blesses her, too, and sits and listens while Salwa reads stories aloud to her children. For the first time in many years, it feels soothed.

The little girl, Evelyn, is always in the library. From a young age little Evie loves books: the look of them, the feel of them, the smell of them, the stories they contain. She comes in, first toddling, then skipping, then with purpose, and sits at the table or before the fire and reads for hours. One day, when she is quite small, she drops a pencil: it rolls under the radiator and hits the little god. Evie drops down onto her belly to look and the two come face to face.

This little girl has curly dark hair and glowing green eyes. She resembles less the foreigners who stole the little god from its home than she does the people it originally loved. For a long moment the two of them stare at each other, and then little Evie smiles and fetches out a biscuit from her pinafore pocket and slides it under the radiator. The little god slides her back the pencil. From that day on, they are friends.

Evie can't actually see the little god, of course, especially the older she gets, but she always knows it is there. And she understands the concept of offerings: whenever she comes into the library, she always leaves a cup of tea and a biscuit or something under the radiator. The little god appreciates this and looks after the books in return. It looks after Jonathan, too, though it never quite has the same relationship with him as it does his sister. Jonathan doesn't always remember to leave offerings, but he greets the little god whenever he comes into the library ("Hello, old thing!") and that's good enough.

When the War comes and Jonathan enlists, the little god creeps out from behind the radiator and blesses its boy as he spends his last night in his bed. You will survive; you will come home. And Jonathan does come home, but he is not the same: he limps about on crutches and can't sleep without screaming. Sometimes he hides in the library for hours, all the lights out, and weeps quietly. The little god does what it can, but the horror is too deep in Jonathan's soul. This is a wound that only time can heal.

And then, one terrible day, news comes that Alexander and Salwa are gone, killed in a terrible accident, and it is both Evie and Jonathan who sit sobbing in the library. The little god sobs too. It had loved the parents as much as it loves the children.

And then Evie and Jonathan go away for a long time. The little god sits behind the library radiator and mourns for its missing family, for the love and laughter that no longer fill the house. It awaits the day when they return. Please let them return.

The White Lady bangs on the pipes, bored that no one is there to appreciate her antics. The ka of the mummy in the study comes back to visit its former body again, scoffs to find it still propped against the wall, and reincarnates again, this time as an Italian opera singer. And the little god waits.

Evie and Jonathan come back one fine spring day, and they bring with them a new person. The little god peeks out from behind the radiator at Evie's new husband as its family take tea. When Evie brings a cup and a crumpet to leave under the radiator ("We're back, old thing! I hope you didn't miss us too terribly."), Rick O'Connell looks surprised, but he doesn't say anything. He is a big man and a kind one, and as the little god grows used to him, it begins to love him as much as it loves Evelyn and Jonathan. Rick has the air of a man well-traveled, one who understands that there are many unexplained things in the world and who doesn't mind the presence of a little god behind the radiator. He even leaves offerings sometimes: peppermints and bits of chocolate and occasionally even a slug of brandy or whiskey. Rick has his own spirit who follows him about: a woman with red-blond hair and a bright Irish face who looks after him in the way the spirits of Alexander and Salwa look after Evie and Jonathan. Will you look after my son? she asks the little god one day, and that night, the little god goes upstairs and blesses the sleeping man. You will live a long life and be happy.

And one day, a baby is born upstairs, as Rick and Jonathan wait in the library. The little god is not fretful the way the men are; it has blessed Evelyn and her child and knows they will be fine. Later, when Rick has met his child and kissed his wife and cried with happiness, the little god is surprised when the big man rolls a cigar under the radiator for it.

"Thanks, pal," he says. "Thanks for looking after us."

The new baby is blond and chubby and the worst handful of a child the little god has seen since his mother, and the little god just adores him. It blesses the boy--you will always be safe--but recognizes that it might have to do more for this one than simply sit behind the radiator. And one evening Alex puts on a magical bracelet, and men from a far away land come to harm the family, and the little god climbs out of its place behind the radiator and into it's boy's pocket and is carried off on an adventure, but that is a story for another day.

#The Mummy #my fanfics #Small Gods #Evelyn Carnahan #Rick O'Connell #Jonathan Carnahan #Alex O'Connell #supernatural shenangians #ghosts #asks and answers #this got a lot longer than I'd thought it would be

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cassieschaosdimension · 3 years ago

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Full Detox

Dear Tumblr,

Thank you for the almost year we've had together. It'll be a year in October, but I've realized throughout the past year a few things about myself....

The first thing is that I've lost myself sometime during the start of quarantine. Actually... it started two years ago. I had a rough time in my life. I was just getting started with social media and some of my friends at the time weren't truly my friends.

I went to camp the summer of 2019 and I came back completely changed. It was two weeks of not talking to anyone through a screen except my best friend and I only called him. We didn't talk through a screen. I need time to find myself. This detox might be for the month of September, or it could be for longer. I don't know at this point.

My second and final point is: I need time to find out who I truly am. Thank you so much for the opportunity to know people online aren't as creepy as I've heard. There are some people I must admit, but overall, this experience has been one of the best of my life.

But I'm about to go on one of the best adventures of my life and I want to fully experience it fully present and in person without a phone as a crutch.

This is going to be the hardest thing I will ever have to do in my life, but I'm ready for whatever life throws at me. I'm going to try journaling my month-long adventure as it starts in about half an hour.

It's all over the place, I'm an emotional mess as I write this. I just wanted to tell you if you need to reach me, I will be going off of Instagram and Discord as well for this month. I'm even getting rid of Pinterest and Google Hangouts. I'm completely immersing myself in the new culture I've thrown myself into.

I also just need time for myself. I'm tired of not having anyone who truly knows me in a different state than I'm in. I love my irl best friends to death, but I'm tired of just bursting into tears at random times at home. I'm just so tired of what my life has turned into right now. I'm tired of just not feeling like I can have people who don't understand me at all. I just want someone in my life who can just understand what I've gone through and it's been traumatizing for me. I need time to heal. I also need time to myself because I feel like some people on here just forget I'm a person and I really just want to be seen as a person and not just a blog. Take the time to really think about whether you've been thinking about the blogs as the people they are behind the screen or just a blog. Also, just be mindful of what you are doing when replying or reblogging a post and want to add words. People may not like what you're doing and you really need to respect that.

But you also need to remember people have feelings and tumblr is a site where we can just express ourselves. When people don't respect that, it's not a fun environment to be in anymore. This is also why I'm taking the detox. People need to learn how to respect that people have feelings that don't need to be explicitly said everywhere. This needs to be figured out on this site or I will keep on having these detoxes and maybe even stop my main blog and just have my poetry blog. I'm really tired of keeping up my "reputation" of being sweet, kind, and a freaking sweetheart who wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm really tired of keeping up my "reputation" of being the person to turn to for advice, but with no one else to turn to. I'm really tired of keeping up my "reputation" as someone who always has to be sunny, happy, and doesn't know about the dark in life. I know about the dark in life; I'm an adult now and people need to understand that online and also irl, but this is more about online.

Yes, I know I sound salty, and that's because while this almost year has been one of the best almost years of my life, it's also been the most draining because literally everyone on here calls me a sweetheart and a cinnamon roll. I just wish I felt safe enough to be myself. But right now, I can't be truly myself. I'm hoping the detox will help me figure out who the heck I am. I implore you though please think of me as the adult I am and not some teenager who doesn't know what to do with their life. I have life goals and uni is going to help me with that. Please stop treating me like a smole bean who needs to be protected at all costs. Please.

I am also just like you all. I'm not a ball of sunshine all of the time (in fact when I'm talking to people who know me best they know I'm only a sunshine 20% of the time, the other 80% I'm so done with life). I want to be able to taken seriously. I don't want to just be known as the Hufflepuff who is so nice and knows everything about life advice. That's not true. I'm just a uni girl trying to figure out how the heck I'm going to spend four years away from my family. I'm trying to be nice online, but I also want to be salty and sarcastic and myself because irl is bad enough, but online it's just why. Why do I come off as a cute, smol little kitten who wouldn't hurt a flea? Don't you guys know f you get me mad at you you'll be the one crying at the end of the day? I'm heartless when I've had enough. I need you all to treat me like the person I am and not like an object. That's kind of how I feel this has gotten. There are some who are amazing and I adore them to pieces. But then there are other people who aren't considerate I just can't. So I need a break from just all of this. I can't be on here when people don't take me seriously. Like I said it's bad enough this happens irl. I don't want it to happen online too.

I'm starting with two months, but as I do more of these in the future, it might get longer.

This might be my only two month long detox or it could be longer. If it's longer, I will let you all know! I promise, but for now, I'll miss you, I love you, keep being the you I know you can be, drink your freaking water!, remember people on here are people and have freaking feelings and emotions and lives and experiences, and I will see you all November 1st!

@procrastinationonvacation @clarys-heosphoros @reyna-herondale @ghafa-dale @captainwaffles @cory-was-hexed @nebulanike @im-someone-i-guess @writing-with-tea @simpingforwillsolace @simpingforpjo @writingsbypb @cloudygreywolf @crzyprsn42 @seven-halfbloods @nyxx-chaos @avakrahn @annlillyjose @kiriti-savyasachin @shaonharryandpannisim @chaoticchefherepleasesaveme @captainorthred @carrie-haha @justmemyselfandthefridge @daughter-of-sunshine @da-nerdy-turtle @stars-a-n-d-scars @ambidextrousarcher @ace-loves-cake @devereaux-fan @clarys-heosphoros @willsolacekinnie @valdezey @whatrambles @spoopycrowe @hyacjnthus @ileaurel @thatrandomfangirlll @purple-magic-2002 @the-young-and-forgotten

#full detox #finding myself #self care #self love #sorry not sorry for the harsh words #some of you need to learn the lessons I put up there

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plus-size-reader · 4 years ago

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All that Matters

Alice Cullen x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1197 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Alice going a little bit overboard when planning your wedding, she gets stressed that it's not going to be perfect

——————————————————————————————————

You didn’t even technically ask Alice to marry you.

The two of you had been together for so long that it just became kind of an afterthought. Not to mention that said marriage would have been rather taboo until a few decades ago.

Still, you knew that when Edward and Bella decided to get hitched with both families involved, that was going to change.

Alice had always been a sucker for romance and that wasn’t a secret. However, even you didn’t realize quite how far that reached until that day.

She had this sparkle in her eyes from the moment she started the day, bustling all night with ideas and plans. She knew when everything was arriving, where it needed to go and why. There could be no stone left unturned where she was concerned.

Everything had to be perfect.

...and it was, of course.

The woman you loved blessed everything she touched, and it didn’t shock you that in taking over control of the wedding, it was marvelous.

What did shock you though was when she turned to you at the reception and asked why the two of you hadn’t done this yet.

“Why didn’t we ever have a wedding like this?” She’d asked, her hand holding yours tightly. You were only half listening to Bella’s mother’s speech, tuning it out completely when she spoke.

It was a fair question, all things considered. After all, after decades together, a wedding would be the logical next step. You just hadn’t thought about it, if you were being completely honest.

When you had been alive, really alive, a wedding would have never been an option for you.

“We’re gay Ally” you whispered back, a teasing smile on your lips. Even in the sixties, when you still had a beating heart, you never would have been able to have a wife.

At least, not legally.

It was a joke, of course, but the brunette scoffed lightly anyway. That wasn’t stopping either of you now, and that was what mattered.

Really, you were just shocked that Alice really wanted to get married. You knew that she loved you, but taking that additional step was something else entirely.

It made your stomach do flips, even all this time later.

“I’m being serious. I want to get married, with flowers and wedding cake, and all of this” she gushed, eyeing the beautiful decor that littered the backyard.

It looked incredible and she had a point. The two of you were clearly going to be together for quite some time but there was no reason not to have a wedding.

“Are you asking me to marry you right now, Ally?” you hummed, though you knew she meant it. In truth, you wanted to marry her just as much. All you had to do now was go through with it and that wasn’t going to take much time at all. That was one of the best things about being immortal.

You had nothing better to do than spend time together and throw parties, or at least, that’s what Emmett always said.

If Alice had it her way, your wedding would be the most elaborate, memorable event to ever go down in the Cullen family history.

...And Alice always got her way.

The two of you had only just agreed to get hitched a few weeks ago, with Bella and Edward now gone on their honeymoon. However, you wouldn’t have thought so with how much Alice had gotten done.

She had been incessantly planning for days, making phone calls to caterers and bakeries all over Forks.

Really, it would have surprised you if the entire thing wasn’t ready to go by the weekend. Still, you had to wait until Mr. and Mrs. Edward Cullen got back.

You didn’t really see the need to get it done so quickly, but you knew Alice well enough to know that she was just too excited to wait.

What you didn’t anticipate was the toll all the none stop planning and stress would take on poor Alice. For someone who didn’t need sleep, or any kind of rest, she needed a break.

The poor thing had been going nonstop for too long.

She plopped down on your shared mattress dramatically, using it as a crutch for her stress as you finished up your shower. Even by the time you came out into the room, she was still sitting there, face down in the sheets.

“What’s wrong, babydoll?” you hummed, gently brushing her hair to one side of her head, giving you just enough of a view of her face.

It was clear she’d overworked herself, and that she was under a lot of stress but you didn’t understand why she was doing that to herself.

Your wedding didn’t have to be some high stress event.

“I want it to be perfect, I want everything to be just like I always wanted but there’s just so much” she sighed, the explanation itself seeming to overwhelm her.

You couldn’t blame her.

Alice had done the same thing for your wedding as she’d done for Edward and Bella. She wanted to take care of every little detail so no one else had to worry.

What she had neglected to think of was the fact that she couldn’t enjoy her wedding if she didn’t let someone help her. She didn’t have to do it all on her own.

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you just tell me it was too much at once? I would love to help you” you offered, wishing if nothing else that you’d thought to suggest that sooner.

It wasn’t like you’d done nothing to contribute but she’d definitely taken the most of it.

“All that mattered is that we’re finally gonna get married. I’m sure the wedding will be perfect” you assured, after only earning a groan from the smaller woman.

She didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.

From where she was sitting, you two were only going to be able to have 1 wedding in all your lives and she needed it to be wonderful.

All those beautiful things she’d fallen in love with while planning for Bella had to come together for your own wedding too. She had to make it happen.

...But no one said she had to make it happen alone.

You were her partner, and you loved her more than anything else in all the world. To you, that seemed like the most important thing.

“Come on, trust me. We could get married in a diner and I’d be just as happy as ever. I promise it’s going to be everything you’ve ever wanted-”

“I’ll make sure of it” you assured, finally coming face to face with her as she sat up, giving you a tired smile.

It wasn’t shocking to you that she gave so much of herself all the time, as she always did. However, it was about time she learned that she wasn’t alone in this.

As long as you were by her side, she’d never have to do anything alone. That was the deal, and had been since you met.

As long as you were together, nothing else mattered to you.

#alice cullen #twilight #alice #femslash #alice cullen x reader #alice cullen x ps reader #alice cullen x plus size reader #alice cullen imagine #twilight x reader #twilight x ps reader #twilight x plus size reader #twilight imagine

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

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happy birthday @winged-fool ! sorry it’s kinda late but HERE YOU GO

warnings: implied ptsd, mostly fluff

ao3

“Don’t wake up.”

“Then why did you talk?”

“Shhh, sleep.”

Michael’s eyebrows attempted to pull together in his irritation as his bed adjusted to the lack of Alex’s bodyweight, but his hand just rested over his face in a failed attempt at soothing him back to sleep. Michael reached up to gently pull his hand away and was immediately aware of how dark it was.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked.

Alex stared at him in the dark of the room, only lit up by the little plug-in nightlight that was there specifically to prevent them from running into things whenever they got up in the middle of the night. Tonight, though, it just made Alex look like he was a decade younger.

“Can’t sleep.”

Michael slowly propped himself up onto his elbows. “Did you take your pills? Or we could just put something on the tv, just come back to bed.”

“But,” Alex said slowly, “There’s cake in the fridge.” Michael huffed a laugh and sat up a bit more, rubbing his eyes.

“Is it just cake on your mind or is there something else?” Michael asked. Alex took long enough to answer that Michael understood that there was something else, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Which was fair enough. Michael had more than his fair share of nights where he had things keeping him awake. “Okay, let’s go get some cake.”

“No, sleep.”

“So you just want all the cake to yourself?” Michael accused playfully. A soft smile found Alex’s face and he shook his head.

“I guess I could share.”

“Alright, c’mon.”

Michael rubbed his eyes as he climbed out of bed, trying to wake himself up as he followed Alex at a leisurely pace. He hadn’t tried to put his prosthetic on, instead going for his crutches, so that was a good sign. He was planning on trying to sleep again.

Alex opened the fridge and pulled out the slice of chantilly cake that Isobel had gotten. It was quite possibly the best and most expensive cake Michael had ever put in his mouth and he never wanted to go back.

“You’re tired,” Alex said as he pulled out two forks. Michael yawned into the crook of his elbow and shrugged.

“You’ve stayed up with me when I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply. Alex shrugged and stabbed the cake carefully.

“Yeah, but‒”

“Alex,” Michael said, moving to take his own forkful of cake, “I love you, so let me be nice to you, okay?”

His smile was faint, but it was there and that was all that really mattered at the end of the day. Michael took a bite and kept his eyes on him as he took a bite.

“Why is this better in the middle of the night?” Alex asked, sighing happily as he leaned against the counter. Michael shrugged.

“Magic, probably.”

“You’re probably right.”

They ate in relative silence after that, nothing but the sound of breathing and the fork against the plate. It was soothing, almost, and Michael wondered if he and Alex should be spending time together in the middle of the night more often.

That thought was ruined, however, when he realized his head was succumbing to gravity a little more each second. Alex touched his finger to his jaw, catching his attention.

"Go to bed, I'll be there in a minute," Alex said. Michael shook his head, reaching out for the cake that was nearly gone. He held the second to last forkful out to Alex who smiled even if it was a little frustrated.

Michael watched him take the bite he was being offered, tired eyes unable to move away from him. He was gorgeous. It seemed to only get more and more obvious every day they spent together. He always found staring at the same thing for too long would make him start noticing flaws, but Alex seemed to be the exception. Which, honestly, was fair enough.

When Michael blinked, his eyes were a little bit harder to open than he remembered. Alex took advantage of his struggles, however, and smeared a bit of icing on his lips. It gave him the strength he needed to open his eyes and look at Alex who had that fond look on his face that seemed to show up more the longer they were together.

“You got something on your lips,” Alex said.

“Mm,” Michael hummed, “I can’t reach it. Do it for me?”

“Can’t reach it,” Alex chuckled, shaking his head slightly before he leaned forward and easily kissed the icing off his lips. Michael loved him so much. Almost too much if that was even a thing.

“Thanks,” Michael sighed softly as he pulled away. Alex hummed and nudged his nose against Michael’s. They stayed there for a moment before he spoke. “You wanna talk about it or no?”

Alex breathed slow, his hand reaching out to grab Michael’s bicep lightly to ground himself. Michael put his hand on his wrist in response and rubbed small circles into his skin.

“The closet door wasn’t closed all the way and when the A/C kicked on, it closed it and it made me paranoid,” Alex filled in slowly, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. Are you okay now?” Michael asked, using his other hand to rub his side, “Your pulse feels steady.”

“I’m okay now,” Alex promised. Michael nodded and tilted his head up for another kiss which Alex met easily. “I might be able to go back to sleep.”

“Okay, then let’s try.”

They put their forks and the plate in the sink to be dealt with in the morning before heading back to their bedroom. Michael yawned obnoxiously even to himself as he checked to make sure all the doors were closed completely before throwing himself into bed, his face hitting the freshly cool pillow and instantly threatening to pull him into unconsciousness.

Alex got into bed and scooted close, welcoming Michael’s arm around him. Michael shoved his face into Alex’s shoulder and it was barely seconds before his mind started to drift even as he tried to stay awake. Eventually, he gave in and let himself drift off to the comfort of Alex’s skin.

And the last thing he heard for the night was Alex’s voice.

“Thank you for waking up with me.”

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic

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mr-and-mr-diaz · 4 years ago

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*Gasp* And They Were NEIGHBORS! A Buddie Neighbor AU

This fic is dedicated to @agentmarymargaretskitz who sent me the original prompt (as well as so many others when I wasn’t feeling well, seriously can’t thank you enough and I will respond to each of your asks, I’m just savoring them) and to @justsmilestuffhappens who I have been mutualling back and forth with for a REALLY long time (Hi! Nice to meet you, I love you already!) and wanted to see this prompt happen!

***

“I SWEAR to god, Buck, if I hear even one more word out of your mouth about this guy and his kid I will throw you over this balcony!”

“But Hen--”

“He’s gorgeous, I know! And his kid is the cutest thing since puppies! We get it! Now stop talking about it and do something about it!” Hen sounded mostly exasperated, but dare Buck hope he still heard a little fondness in there as well?

He smiled. “Right. Okay.” Silence followed as he wracked his brains. “Wait, what should I do?? This guy doesn’t know me at all, I haven’t gone over yet to say hello, I’m so worried about being awkward or overkill--”

“Overkill? You??” Chimney chuckled from across the firehouse loft where he was playing the pinball arcade.

“Hey!”

“In all seriousness, Buck,” Chim turned and addressed him, his smile gone from teasing to kind. “You’re gonna be fine, just go say hi. The sooner you get it over with, the less awkward it’ll be. Also, remember you still gotta find out if he’s interested. And available too; if he’s as hot as you say, he could already be dating someone.”

“Oh shit! Wait, what if he is?” Buck put his face in his hands and groaned. “Urgh, what should I do?”

“Why not take over some of those cookies I taught you how to bake last week, Buck?” Buck raised his eyes to Bobby, who was watching him with a small, patient smile. “Nothing out of the ordinary about bringing some baked goods to a new neighbor. It’s a great way to introduce yourself and get in their good books.”

“Okay!” Buck nodded. “Can you help me bake them again, Cap?”

Bobby's nodded, already headed for the pantry. “Of course.”

***

Eddie sighed. He was so glad he moved but it didn’t stop the process from being hell. It had been a long day job hunting and he still needed to find a good school for Chris. At the moment, Chris was in the living room, watching TV.

Eddie got up and went over to the fridge, digging around for the Tupperware of dinner Abuela had sent over and transferring it to a pot to reheat. Soon the smell of delicious posole filled the house and he sat, taking a moment just to savor the scent and feel just a bit more at home.

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“No rest for the weary.” Sighing, Eddie stood and shuffled over, glancing through the peephole. A tall man stood there, his hair short and neatly slicked back. He was shuffling back and forth awkwardly, a covered plate in his hands.

Who is this? Eddie opened the door.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh hey!” The man’s eyes lit up and he looked Eddie up and down. He was a bit taller than Eddie and dressed sharply in a firefighter’s uniform. Eddie instantly became aware of the ratty sweatpants and loose Henley he’d thrown on as soon as he’d gotten back home and how mussed his hair likely was from running his fingers through it in frustration. Weirdly though, the man’s smile didn’t dim.

“Hi, My name’s Evan Buckley, I’m your neighbor! Apartment 2B.” He smiled, eyes lingering on Eddie’s for just a moment too long, before he jolted and laughed awkwardly, lifting his hands up. “Cookies! Uh, I mean, I made cookies for you.” The man lifted the cloth off the plate and a heavenly smell wafted from a pile of delicious looking cookies. “They’re chocolate chip macadamia--wait, you don’t have any allergies right? Or gluten intolerant or anything? Or, shit, are you vegan? I should’ve asked, there’s eggs in here...” Evan made to cover the plate again, but Eddie put out a hand, stopping him. He couldn’t help grinning at the guy--the way he rambled, his bright smile.

“You think I’m gonna let you walk away with those now that you’ve offered? They smell great, Evan.”

“Oh thank goodness!” The smile was back and brighter. “And, uh, feel free to call me Buck, all my friends do. And welcome to the neighborhood! It’s nice here, everyone’s polite, except Mr. Grivary in 4C, he can be a bit--but of course you don’t want to hear me rambling...” The guy blushed and Eddie felt his own smile widen. This man was adorable.

“Actually, that sounds like useful information Buck.” Eddie remembered Abuela’s dinner and held the door wider. “I’m not really a cook myself, but we have my Abuela’s posole for dinner, would you like to join us?”

“Yes!! I mean,” Buck blushed again and cleared his throat. “Yeah sure, if it isn’t any trouble...”

***

Buck felt like he’d barely fallen asleep when his doorbell rang.

“Hmm?” He mumbled at the door. Which of course could not be heard by whoever was on the other side. They rang the doorbell again.

“Ugh, fuck... Yeah, coming!” Buck dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the door, glancing through the peephole. He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face as he caught sight of golden brown curls, red glasses, and the world’s cutest smile.

“Chris!” He pulled the door open. “What’s up, buddy?”

“I’ve got news!” Chris giggled as he carefully walked into Buck’s apartment and sat himself down at the kitchen table. Buck automatically reached for his crutches and propped them against the chair. It was hardly the first time Chris had come to visit; he came over often to play games, tell Buck about his day, or help him try out a new recipe. “Our school is holding a bake sale on Friday.”

“Those are fun.” Buck sat down across from Chris, voice lowered conspiratorially. “What are you making?”

“That’s the thing.” Christopher’s tone turned sad. “The teacher said it has to be homemade and Dad’s been stressing out about it. He’s super busy with his new job and I know he wants to help, but... He burned water once. Just water.”

“Aw man.” Buck put in every effort not to laugh, but a giggle still escaped. “You want me to help you put something together, take the pressure off your dad?” Christopher nodded happily and Buck reach for his notebook where he carefully documented all of Bobby’s recipes. “How’s cupcakes sound, Superman?”

In short order, they had all the ingredients lined up on the counter, and Chris was comfortably seated right next to the mixer, ready to dump in anything Buck handed him.

“...And then, only after that you want to add the dry stuff. I don’t really know the science behind it yet, I just know that it works. If I do find out, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay. Buck?”

“Hmm?” Buck consulted Bobby’s notes carefully and measured out a cup of flour, handing it over to be added to the mix.

“Where did you learn how to bake so well? Did your mom or dad teach you?”

Buck grinned. “Nah. My captain at the fire station is the best cook I’ve ever met. Everything I baked for you guys I learned from him.”

“Oh.” Christopher reached out a hand for the second cup of carefully measured flour. “Are your parents also bad cooks like my dad?”

“Well, no. My parents are nothing like your dad.” Buck sobered. “My mom cooked a little for us, but mostly we ordered in. And she never... uh, she never had time to teach me or Maddie. I didn’t have a complete homemade meal until I started working at the 118.” He shook his head to clear the thoughts and smiled at Christopher. “But now thanks to Cap, I got an almost-dad who cooks for me every day! And now he’s teaching me so I can do it one day for my kids, if I’m ever lucky enough to have them.”

Christopher thought for a second, absently reaching for the teaspoon of baking powder and adding it to the mix before saying. “I already have a dad, and I don’t want to trade him for anything. But... Could you be my second dad?”

Buck looked up from the salt, startled.

“Like a cooking almost-dad who teaches me how to cook just like your Cap does for you? I want to be able to help Dad so he stops feeling so bad about not cooking.” Christopher was smiling at him, waiting for a response. Buck looked away quickly and took a deep breath, clearing the sudden thickness in his throat and blinking away wet eyes.

“Y-yeah, sure, Chris. I’d be happy to.”

***

Eddie arrived home from work exhausted. As he approached the door, he noted how quiet the apartment sounded. Usually that meant that Christopher was hanging out by Buck’s, but Buck’s apartment was also quiet and dark. Hurrying toward the door, Eddie fumbled with his key and jerked it open as fast as he could--

“SURPRISE!!”

For only two people, Buck and Christopher still managed to startle the shit out of him.

“Fu-fudge! Guys what the hell...!”

“Happy birthday, Dad!” Christopher called from the table.

“Happy birthday, Eddie!” Buck was bent over something, his broad back blocking whatever it was. Then he rose and stepped away to Christopher’s side. He grinned, cheeks slightly flushed. “It’s not perfect, Cap would’ve done it better, but I’d say for Chris and I’s first ever layer cake it’s pretty darn good!” He and Chris high-fived each other as Eddie stepped closer.

The cake was lopsided, and the icing oozed down the sides a bit and on top... was that the number 32?

“Chris did all the writing,” Buck added proudly. “As the mastermind behind this, it was only right that he got the honors.”

“What do you think, Dad?” Chris’ voice bubbled over with delight.

Eddie looked up. They were both watching him, eyes bright, smiles wide, waiting on his response. I think--no, I know have the best kid ever.

And the best Buck.

Eddie couldn’t contain the huge grin that broke out on his face. “It’s perfect.” He looked a them, eyes meeting Christopher's, then Buck’s. “Thank you.”

***

“So when do I get to meet her?” Abuela was layering a container with tamales, her back to Eddie.

“Who?”

“The person you’ve been sharing all my cooking with.” Abuela’s tone brooked no nonsense. “The person who makes you smile to yourself every time you think I’m not looking.”

Eddie startled. “Oh, Buck? He’s not... we’re not--”

“Nonsense, mi amor.” Abuela chuckled, clamping the lid down on the container of tamales and handing them to Eddie’s slack hands. “If he isn’t, then he should be.”

Eddie stopped where he was. Abuela is right. Chris adores him, I adore him... What am I waiting for?

He reached for his phone and sent out a text.

To: Buck

From Eddie:

Abuela made tamales. Come over tonight?

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #neighbors au #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #buddiepher

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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Headcannon: Modern!AU Baking w/Ivar

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “Hey, doll! Could I request a Modern au! Headcanon of Ivar and the reader baking?”

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Nope, none than I can think of

A/N: So, I might still be a bit in the holiday spirit, hence the christmas cookies stuff. Anyhow, hope you like this, and thank you so much for reading! Sending you my love!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss

· The first time you get Ivar to help you bake something is near the holidays. You’d be celebrating an early Christmas so the two of you can go to his mother’s house to partake in the Yule celebrations.

· So, you’d manage to pout your way into having Ivar help you make some cookies.

· He’d have one condition, if only because he still wants to keep the façade of not liking festive stuff: simple, plain cookies. No Christmas tree shapes, no stocking shapes, no nothing.

· You’d mutter something about him turning into a Grinch, but accept. Round sugar cookies it is.

· It’d turn out to be very fun, for the both of you, the making of the cookies.

· You’d point Ivar in the correct direction, murmuring the correct measurements and guiding his hand through some of the motions, especially when it comes time to make the glaze. And, surprisingly enough, he’d prove to be a model student.

· You’d admit, the most fun you’d have during the whole thing would be decorating the cookies.

· Making out over the countertop while you wait for them to finish baking comes a close second, though.

· Ivar would grow adorably frustrated at his apparent inability to handle the piping bag filled with colored glaze, and though you have to lean over your work table and kiss away the frown between his brows more than once, you’d have the time of your life witnessing all that.

· At some point, while you’d be arguing absently that he could help you next time you have to make a few batches of cookies or cupcakes for a party, Ivar would stop you with a call of your name.

· His eyes would be wide and a frown between his brows as he looks at the cookie you’re decorating, the round canvas only working to help you make a little Santa face on it, red hat and all.

· When he’d ask what that cookie is supposed to be, offering it is an old man victim to the cold, and that Ivar shouldn’t judge him for his choice of has wouldn’t particularly cut it.

· Ivar would claim because of your betrayal of the terms, that he isn’t obligated to help you anymore.

· You’d have a feeling it is because he’s awfully competitive and couldn’t stand the thought of you decorating cookies better than he can, but you wouldn’t argue.

· You’d regret not arguing, not calling him out on it, the next time you ask him to join you in making a fresh batch of cupcakes.

· He’d use your previous ‘betrayal’ as the reason why that will be the first and last time he helps you bake some sweets.

· But you are nothing if not resourceful.

· And, in the time you’ve been dating him, you’ve learned Ivar has a weakness for anything baked, especially if warm and made by you.

· So, your plan of making your stubborn boyfriend bake with you starts taking form.

· First, it’s casual. A few times he returns to the apartment to find the characteristic smell of cinnamon rolls in the air.

· He’d rush to find you -or them-, but after a quick greeting you tell him you had promised Torvi some for the kids’ school baking sale.

· A lie, but all is fair in war and love, right?

· Ivar would ask if you can make more, and it is then you’d make use of every dramatic scene you’ve watched.

· You’d sigh, long and tired, and offer that you are exhausted, but, if you were to have any help, you could make some more.

· Ivar’s eyes would narrow at you, the hint of suspicion in them, before he’d deny the offer.

· If you insisted, he’d offer to help you relax after a long day of work on those cinnamon rolls, eyes dark and mouth by your ear.

· Point for him, because you forget all about baking for quite a while.

· If the promise of positive reinforcement doesn’t work, you figure negative reinforcement will.

· So, one evening you’d extricate yourself from his arms, and cut the marathon night short, standing up from the couch with the most innocent claims about wanting to cook something you could muster.

· Ivar would be already awaiting your next attack on his stubborn insistence not to help you bake anything, so he’d just shrug and tell you to go ahead.

· But eventually curiosity would win over pride, and he’d grab his crutch and walk after you, standing in the kitchen’s doorway.

· At your words that you plan on making rosemary muffins, his whole face would scrunch up in a grimace.

· But you’d realize you had played your cards too quickly when, at your offer that you could make his favorite if he helps you, Ivar gathers his best poker face and wishes you luck with your rosemary muffins before pressing a kiss behind your ear and returning to the living room.

. Another point for him, and this time defeat isn’t as fun as last time.

· And, because you are in love with a frustratingly perceptive and intelligent man, each move you make in this silent war of yours fails to grant you victory.

· And so months would pass, and your efforts would diminish, coming more and more sporadically, if only in the hopes of catching him by surprise for once.

· Ivar would be the one to surprise you, though.

· You’d walk into the apartment after a long day (a long week, really), and find Ivar sitting on his wheelchair and moving about the kitchen with ease, the basic ingredients to some baked sweet placed all around him.

· His eyes would widen when he caught sight of you, and you’d only raise your eyebrows.

· You’d know that you have the most annoying and smug grin on your face, but you wouldn’t care in the slightest about hiding it.

· He’d mutter adorably something about wanting to do something that would make you feel better after a long week, mentioning how you seem to cheer yourself up by baking something.

· Though your first instinct would be to run up at him and kiss him until neither of you can quite breathe normally, which you do, you refuse to be carried away. Victories like these only come once in a lifetime.

· So, hands joined together and eyes innocently perverse as they gaze up at him, you’d ask him what the two of you would be making.

· It would take a lot of prodding on your part and a lot of sulking on his part, but you’d eventually get him to accept defeat, and admit he did have fun, that day and the time of your ‘early Christmas’.

· You’d have a feeling he refused to admit he enjoyed the time he had spent baking with you only out of spite and pride, refusing to give you that one victory.

· It proves to be as fun as the first time, even more so, now that Ivar is observant to your tricks and insists on looking over your shoulder ever chance he has to make sure all you are making is plain sugar cookies.

· And, in what you know he calls payback only to refuse admitting he has as much fun as you do, Ivar would insist on making every treat he missed out on in those months you were luring him into accepting defeat.

· Cinnamon rolls, red velvet cupcakes, caramel fudge, ginger muffins, all of it.

· And you’d partake every time, enjoying how Ivar grows more and more confident in his actions in the kitchen, almost a natural.

· You’d come to regret the whole thing soon enough.

· Ivar proves to be a menace when he gets a hang of what makes the base for most baked goods.

· He’d try anything. Whiskey cupcakes, cream cheddar cheese cookies, the most obscure recipes.

· He does manage to surprise you with some fantastic results in old recipes from the Viking Era and before, like Mandel-Eplekake, and Blod Kaker.

· All in all, your campaign to make him give in and accept he enjoys baking with you proves to be a successful one, you learn a few things on the way, and you even manage to impress the Lothbroks with some traditional Scandinavian baked good next time you spend Yule with them.

___

So, I hope you liked it!! Thank you so much for reading (and for requesting,y ou lovely anon!), hope you have a great day/night! Love you all!

And yes, I have the recipes for the cakes mentioned, here you go

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

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alottamoney · 3 years ago

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A Kiss from a Boy

On 17 May 2016, Yoongi and JHope ask how many viewers are watching before they introduce themselves. Namjoon says, “It was ‘Coming Of Age Day’ for Junkook yesterday.” Yoongi says that all the travel expenses were paid for Jungkook (or that Jungkook paid for everyone, I'm not sure) “We are on vacation right now.” Yoongi reveals. Yoongi asks Jungkook to say a few words since it was his Coming of age day, JHope interrupts with “We threw you a party!” “Yesterday Jimin slapped me on the back really hard,” Jugkook says, “it still hurts.” Jimin looks apologetic. Namjoon asks if the cake they got him was delicious(?) JHope says Jin went out to buy him the cake, Jungkook is trying to say something when Jin interrupts with “Jungkook you can get a kiss from one of the members. Who do you want?” He suggests they playing rock paper scissors to decide, Jungkook removes Jin’s hand off his thigh. Before Jungkook can fully express his thoughts on kissing a boy, Namjoon is yelling “ Taehyung! Taehyung! you can kiss him!”, Jungkook looks down for a quick second then says “I would like a kiss from our fans” he spreads his hand out, not very convincingly, to indicate to the fans watching. Yoongi interrupts any further cliché declarations to tell us that they’re having fun on this trip. Junkook drops his hands to his knees, still a bit fidgety. JHope starts talking about how they got to number one (on charts) when Yoongi points out how his sunglasses look like a mirror. Jungkook pretends to fix his hair while looking at JHope’s sunglasses. He is committed to the role. I assume he is trying to get rid of the nervous energy and not let the conversation go back to kissing. They thank ARMY for their support and say goodbye.

I don’t have much to say about this other than it was an interesting 3 minutes and counts as a Strange Taekook Vlive even though Tae wasn’t present. Some might say we’re reading into it, but Jungkook looking somewhat bashful when Namjoon calls for Taehyung is evident to me. I’ve also seen some say that Namjoon calls for Taehyung because he didn’t want to make it awkward for Jungkook and the others, which here is the reach because a) This is a joke. b) Jin is the one who suggested it and whatever Jungkook’s answer was Jin should be the one taking responsibility not Namjoon. c) Yoongi had shot the whole thing down already.

On 31 August 2015, BTS are on Vlive to celebrate Jungkook's birthday. Here Jimin asks to sit on Jungkook’s lap and does so. He also asks Jungkook for a kiss and offers him a kiss as a birthday present. Jungkook didn’t get defensive, nor do the other members look perturbed.

Teasing each other like this seems like a common occurrence and no, I don’t think Namjoon was implying anything about anyone’s relationship but it’s a good thing Tae wasn’t there to banish him from his imagination. Jungkook’s reaction is the only revealing part here: the way his protests died down and he reverted to their “only love/need ARMY” crutch, forgetting that kissing anyone wasn’t his idea in the first place. He looked like he was staving off embarrassment for a few moments after; the other time he was offered a kiss by a member he seemed indifferent. (Disclaimer: this is not a comparison of ships, just similar situations).

Of course, Namjoon’s casual shipping didn’t drive a wedge between Tae and Jungkook, as you can see in the first season of Bon Voyage. What are your thoughts on this? Do you prefer short (over) analysis or long ones? If there is a Taekook moment you would like me to ramble about, please do suggest.

#taekook #bts taehyung #bts jungkook #bts vlive #not taekook vs jikook it's just an example #vkook #bts kookv

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orwocolor · 4 years ago

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Six

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Charlotte’s birthday is right behind the corner, and it’s time to bake the cake with your friend Gwil. Or is it?

Author’s Note: So. Much. Angst. is coming your way. Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym.

With the help of your crutches, you skip your way to the kitchen and plop down on a pulled-out chair that Gwilym has prepared for you. Grabbing a cup of strong coffee, you let the heated porcelain warm you up.

“Thank you,” you mumble and take a sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gwil smiles and sits opposite you, placing a plate of croissants between you.

“Damn, that’s great coffee!” you cannot refrain from praising, wondering whether it has always tasted this good or whether your taste buds have changed for some mysterious reasons.

“Well, it’s from Hazel’s,” Gwil explains and grins at your face when the understanding finally hits you. “Yeah, you’d run out and I figured I might as well have gone get us something for the breakfast. We deserve something delicious, don’t we?” he offers and cocks his eyebrows.

“True,” you agree and raise your mug in a toast.

“I wish to propose something,” Gwil suddenly says and you notice the shift in his tone. You take a bite of one of the sugar-dusted croissants and answer with your mouth full.

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

“If you’ve got another nightmare, you won’t stay here in your bed, alone, but you’ll come over to my place. No, don’t argue –” he lifts his hand when you open your mouth to protest, a small cloud of sugar landing on the table. “You really scared the shit out of me last night and I hated seeing you so distraught. You’ve got my keys and my permission to come over, even in the middle of the night.” His look turns thoughtful for a moment. “Just maybe wake me up gently. But don’t sneak up on me.” He chuckles, but you spot his fiddling hands.

You swallow down a couple of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. You have no idea how you could have ever deserved this man in your life. “Thank you,” you say earnestly, and with some difficulties, place your mug to your lips only to hide your face.

“You’re getting better with the crutches.”

Turning around, you let your eyes skim the two crutches leaning against the kitchen wall, grateful for the change of topic.

“Yeah, the wrist’s getting better so I can finally use them properly. I think I’ll give a call to Peter soon to tell him I’m returning to work.”

“You’ve still got a couple of weeks of rest, though.” Gwilym’s forehead creases with uncertainty.

“I know, but my job can be hardly defined as demanding and I’m sure Peter will more than welcome accommodating my needs, like the possibility to prop up my ankle on a stool, if that means he doesn’t need to cover for me any longer and can return to his working from home.” Gwil’s expression has not changed. “Look, I know it may seem sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it for some time. And now that I can actually walk with some ease, there’s nothing stopping me. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

It takes a few moments of pondering over it but eventually, a defeated sigh leaves Gwilym’s lips and you are flooded with relief. For some reason, you have really wanted him to support you in your decision.

“I do,” he says softly, and you give him a reassuring smile which he reciprocates.

It has not yet been a month since you sat at this same table with Gwil for the first time. He came knocking on your door at a God-awful hour, drunk as a lord. You let him crash on your couch and made breakfast for him the next day. You smile fondly at the memory. Who could have known that such a sight would soon turn into a daily occurrence.

You watch Gwil over the rim of your cup. His kind eyes and lovely smile. And your heart skips a beat at the realisation that Gwil has quickly become one of your closest friends.

The companionable silence that you have fallen into, disturbed only by cups being placed on the table and lips smacking at the delicious pastries, feels like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Once you finish the breakfast, Gwil gets on his feet to rinse the plates and cups. With his back turned to you and with no intention looking into your eyes, he starts talking again.

“I’ve got another audition today,” he begins tentatively.

“Oh?” you urge him to continue, finding the nervousness creeping to the edge of your mind rather troubling. Gwilym’s voice is weak and you become painfully aware of how much he averts your questioning gaze.

“Yeah, I… well, it would be better if I were offered a job rather sooner than later. Might as well not be able to pay for the new flat in a couple of months.”

It’s as if someone poured a bucket of freezing-cold water over you. The sense of safety evaporating so quickly that no trace of the sensation remains, only the chill that makes the hair on your arms stand up and dread running down your spine. Now you understand why he has waited the whole morning to tell you and took the advantage of doing the dishes so that he didn’t have to face you.

He cannot just vanish from your life. He just can’t. Not now. Please.

Please, not now.

Everything you wish to say dies in your throat and you’re not sure whether the feelings of things unspoken that are forcing their way to the surface are something you want to deal with right now.

You stand up and gingerly limp your way to his figure standing at the sink, his hands in tight grips around the edge of the counter. Closing the distance between him and you, you press yourself against his back and snake your arms around his middle. You pour all your feelings into the embrace and release a relieved sigh when his damp hands find yours and he leans into you. Nuzzling your cheek against the dip between his shoulder blades, you’re filled with gratefulness he cannot see your face contorted in pain at the thought of him leaving.

You have no idea how long you stand like that in your tiny kitchen, the only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want him to leave.

With your return to work, you rarely get a chance to hang out with your lovely neighbour as much as you did when you were on sick leave. Even though your shifts are the same as they had always been, everything takes you at least twice as long, since your achy ankle protests every now and then, and even your daily routines such as putting your clothes on or taking a shower turn into a time-consuming task. Gwil, on the other hand, stays barely at home. He frequents more and more auditions, and you consider it a miracle if you run into each other at least in your building. Sometimes you make dinner together, but you’re both so exhausted from your days, you say goodnight early in the night and crash into your respective beds.

You cannot stop returning to the conversation you had in your kitchen and the mere thought of him not living so close makes your throat tighten. If it’s already hard to find opportunities to spend some time together, there is no way you would see each other enough if he lived elsewhere.

Your hands are shaking now, and you almost do not register a customer talking to you.

“You seem a bit distracted today, my dear,” Mr Dean’s voice reaches your ears as the customer says her goodbye and you turn to your friend. He has not taken his eyes from the book he is currently reading. “Actually, come to think of it,” he adds after a moment, “you’ve seemed distracted since the moment you got back to work.”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh eventually and quickly plant a smile on your face as an elderly couple comes to your register. You ring them up and wrap their books into very nice and delicate paper, a gift for their grandchildren. They give you a grateful smile and with a ring of the bell hanging above the door, they leave the bookshop.

Gently closing the book and putting it back on its shelf, Mr Dean shuffles to your side and takes a seat on a vacant chair on which you occasionally rest your foot.

“My dear, is everything alright?” he asks, trepidation seeping into every syllable, and he takes your hand in his.

“I’m just worried about my friend. He’s been hunting for a job for quite some time now but to no avail.” Mr Dean’s dry fingers pet the back of your hand. “And the worst thing, I’m pathetic and selfish and afraid I might lose his friendship.”

“How so?”

“There’s a possibility he might let go of his flat. He’s my neighbour, you see,” you add hastily when you notice his baffled face.

“But dear, that’s not the end of the world!” he chuckles softly. “I’m sure he would remain your friend even if he lived at the other end of London. The two of us don’t live in the same building and we’re still friends, aren’t we?” He tilts his head to catch your gaze and gives you a wide smile when you can’t help the grin pulling at the corners of your lips.

You truly missed his kind eyes and warm words he always has to offer.

“Yes. Yes, we are,” you confirm and squeeze his hands in emphasis.

“Good.” He returns the gesture and with softness in his eyes lets go of you, standing up to browse the aisles.

“I need to close a few minutes earlier today,” you tell him when the end of your shift nears. “We’re having a birthday party for my friend Charlotte tomorrow and I need to bake the cake.”

“I didn’t know you could bake,” Mr Dean replies, and you can’t miss the look of incredulity at your culinary skills in his face.

“That’s very low, Mr Dean, even from you,” you protest but immediately make a grimace. “But you’re right, I’m not gonna bake the cake myself, my neighbour has offered his assistance.”

“Good, you need supervision,” he teases.

“Oh, you didn’t! You’re going to take that back, Mr Dean, or I’m gonna tell on you.”

“Whom, your boss?”

“No, your son.” A flash of winning grin crosses your face when momentarily Mr Dean stops in his tracks. “Or that lovely lady you go with for walks in Hyde Park.”

“Penelope has got better things to do.”

“Oooh, Penelope! I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her name. And you’re already in the first-names stage, nice!”

“Oh, stop, you.” He walks over the register and brushes a kiss on your cheek. “See you on Monday?”

“Yes, Mr Dean, enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, my dear.”

Where is he?

You check the time for an umpteenth time and swear profusely under your breath. Grabbing your phone, you give him another call, but the line is silent. Has he turned off his phone or has something happened? He did warn you that the audition might take a bit longer, but it is two hours after the time he claimed he would have been back by. But there is no sight of him. (Yes, you also keep opening and closing your windows to give a quick inspection to your street illuminated by lamp posts.) And you cannot even reach him on his phone.

You start biting your nails, an old habit from a kindergarten that you hated and that your mother pointed out every time she got the chance.

When your knee starts buckling too, you jump from your seat and dial a different number.

Two rings and the voice on the other end greets you gleefully.

“Hi, Ben, how are you? Look, I wouldn’t call you this late but Gwil hasn’t returned from his audition yet and I’m a bit worried.” ‘A bit’ is an understatement but Ben is not stupid and gathers the true meaning behind your words.

“It ended some time ago. I think I saw him chatting with the pretty assistant of the casting director when I was leaving. He’d told me not to wait for him. You guys had some plans?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to bake a cake for my friend’s birthday. I…” You are not certain how to finish the sentence. “Do you have any idea where he could be right now?” you ask eventually and hate how weak your voice sounds.

“No idea, sorry. It’s so weird, Y/N, that doesn’t sound like him at all. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe they let him give it another try. He was devastated when his audition ended, so it’s possible they gave him one more shot. People underestimate assistants but they can have huge power over their bosses if they know how to play the game. And she seemed quite enchanted by our dear Welsh friend, so who knows…”

You hum in agreement but then Ben’s words finally hit you. You are about to answer but you need to swallow down the lump in your throat that has formed in there in the past few seconds.

Honestly, you can say it is an option that has not crossed your mind.

Clearing your throat, you finally respond. “Yeah, that’s possible. Well, thanks, Ben, and sorry for calling you this late again.”

“No problem, lovely,” he says with a cheerful edge to his voice, a tone that does not match your mood at all. After exchanging a couple of pleasantries, to which you pay very little attention, you hang up.

You stay motionless for a moment, the grip around your phone tightening. You feel your lip starting to tremble but before your emotions can cloud your better judgement, you set your jaw and open a laptop. A quick search and you find a recipe that seems similar to that which Gwil has had in mind for Charlotte’s birthday cake.

You keep checking the recipe just to occupy your mind some more even though you have memorised it by now as you mix the ingredients and pour the substance into the cake pan. But Ben’s words are constantly echoing in your head and no matter how hard you try, you can’t silence them.

You close the oven with too much force, and the slam of the small door makes you jump.

So what? He’s got the right to chat with anyone he wishes to. And he doesn’t owe you anything even though he promised he would be here for you. Maybe he just forgot. He can do whatever he wants, he’s an adult and anyway, you’re neither his mum nor his gi–

Groaning, you lean against the kitchen counter and your thoughts come back to the day you spent in the hospital, the day he mentioned his agent had suggested he should bow and scrape before casting directors if he wanted to get a role. And even though it was clear Gwil was against that idea, he might have changed his mind.

Fuck, why does the image of him leaning over a beautiful casting director assistant in an attempt to charm the pants off her infuriate you so much?

And what if you’re jumping to conclusions? Who knows what Ben saw, and maybe the vivid images in your mind are truly just what they are – figments of your imagination.

But that would mean something awful might have happened to him and just the mere thought makes you physically sick.

Come to think, there’s something in the air that truly causes your stomach to turn.

Fuck, the cake!

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” You frantically swing the oven door open and start coughing as the smell of burnt sponge reaches your nose.

Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks but you swallow them down, toss the ruined cake into the bin, take a deep breath, and start all over again. This time you don’t forget to set the timer and while the sponge is baking, you also cut out star-like shapes from mangoes, kiwis and pineapple to decorate the cake with early in the morning.

This wouldn’t have happened if Gwilym was here.

Your mind keeps returning to your neighbour’s face and with thoughts swirling relentlessly in your mind, you finish the baking, get a couple more ingredients ready for tomorrow, wrap gifts, and change to bed.

You’re dead tired, but sleep is avoiding you. Wishing your brain had an on/off button, you toss and turn, your ears trained to every creak and rustling that the old house constantly makes. But there is no sound of keys rattling in the lock, and eventually you drift off to restless sleep.

Oh, no.

You almost can’t recognise your face in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under the eyes, messy hair and slightly hollowed cheeks, your reflection is anything like you. Not that you’re a sight for sore eyes in the wee hours of the morning, but you’ve never looked this bad.

That’s what a few nightmares and an occasional staring at the ceiling can do to you.

You run yourself a bath to allow yourself at least a moment of relaxation before Jane picks you up, and with some make-up, you manage to cover the traces of the sleepless night. She gives you a call to tell you she’s waiting on the parking lot when you’re adding the last touches to the cake. It’s a decently looking dessert. It would not probably make the cover of Good Food magazine, but it’s the effort that counts.

You’re confident enough to leave the crutches resting against the hall wall. Swinging a purse on your shoulder and carefully lifting the box with the cake, you lock the door and start descending the stairs with slow and measured steps.

When you make a turn on the last landing before the foyer, a loud bang of the entry door catches you off guard and your head flies up to find the source of the noise.

At first, a wave of relief washes over you. Gwil is alive. He’s seemingly unhurt, only his eyes are bloodshot and when he spots you at the top of the staircase, a flash of guilt strikes his features. And then you remember that awful pang of jealousy you felt yesterday, how worried and angry you were, how much stress and pain it caused you that he hadn’t shown up as he had promised, and your expression hardens.

You make sure your grip on the box with the cake is firm and continue your way downstairs.

“Great, you’re alive,” you cannot deny yourself the dry remark that has been burning your tongue with every step you’ve taken.

“Y/N, I’m–”

“Save your apology for later, I’m kind of in the rush here,” you cut him off mid-sentence. Walking past him, you make sure your eyes are cold and distant as you give him a scornful look, hopefully meaningful enough that the slightly awkward limp does not undermine it.

“Look, I–”

“Don’t.” You turn to face him and lift your hand to silence him, the cake box precariously swaying on the other one. You hear how dangerously close your voice is to breaking. “Just don’t.”

And with that, you turn on your heel once more and exit the building, Jane’s questioning gaze follows your steps as you open her car, place the cake and gifts inside and take the front passenger’s seat without uttering a single word.

“In a bad mood, are we?” she mocks, and you’re quick to realise you’ve directed your anger at the wrong person.

“Sorry,” you say softly and take a deep breath to shake away the cloud that has settled on your shoulders. There are plenty of dark grey clouds gathering on the sky, no need to add your own. “I’m being a bitch. I just…” You’re looking for words but when you try to formulate your thoughts and feelings, it crosses your mind that you truly might be overreacting here. “I just didn’t sleep much. This,” you point to the white box on the back seat, “is cake number two. I burnt the first one last night.”

“Ah, I see,” Jane answers, although she remains reluctant to believe it’s the whole truth. But she knows when not to stir up a hornet’s nest and decides not to further comment on it as she shifts into first gear and pulls away from the curb.

“Well,” she continues after a few minutes of a silent ride, “there’s gonna be plenty of booze so you can easily drown whatever’s troubling you in a tumbler or two. Or ten.”

Chuckling, you flash her a smile. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”

Okay, so let’s sum up the facts. You really like Gwil, he’s been an amazing friend so far. Well, until he decided to stand you up. Whether for someone else or whether because of another pressing matter is irrelevant. But he doesn’t owe you anything.

And yet, he promised.

Urgh, your pondering is turning out to be unbearable. Maybe another glass of sangria will help.

The truth is, you suddenly come to the realisation, that you allowed him to get so much closer to you than you’ve allowed to anyone else. You let him spend his days and (occasionally) nights in your home and you were relishing that friendship and companionship with every fibre of your being. Every joke that you’ve shared, every moment of honesty and sincere confessions, every innocent touch or brush of his fingers. Hmmm, the skin on his hands is so soft…

You blink a couple of times.

But it should have been clear that sooner or later, he would let you down. And the problem is it’s not even his fault. At least, not entirely. When you open your heart this readily, it is doomed to get either broken, crushed or stomped at and there’s nothing left for you to do but to pick up the pieces again and let it heal in its due time.

Wait, your heart? Who’s talking about your heart? All you feel is just the disappointment of a broken promise, that’s all. That’s all, right?

Right?

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You make a quick turn, staggering, which is in all honesty due to the countless number of drinks rather than your injured but almost healed ankle, but nobody needs to know.

“You’re having fun?” Charlotte asks, a tad of concern in her eyes.

“Totally!” You flash her a wide smile and, as an emphasis, down the glass in your hand.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone. This,” she turns around to bring into your periphery a nicely dressed man, “is Daniel.”

“Hi,” you say in a weak voice, immediately sobering out.

“Hi, Y/N, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you answer politely, having only a distinct and vague memory of Charlotte mentioning a colleague of hers, whose name probably truly was Daniel.

“I’ve been wondering whether you would like to go grab a coffee or dinner with me sometimes,” he tries tentatively, and a sheepish smile is playing on his lips. Oh, right. He’s the guy she wanted to set you up with. For some inexplicable reason, Gwil’s face flashes in front of your mind’s eyes and a rush of heat reaches your cheeks.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut and will the picture of the piercing blue eyes, prominent nose, and the most beautiful smile away.

When your eyelids lift again, there is no trace of your inner turmoil and you look like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

“That sounds amazing!”

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