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chubby-bun-bun · 2 months ago

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untitled (part 3)

You reunite with your crow friend! But it seems to need your help with… a man?

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of blood and death, descriptions of a panic attack, bossman is here yay

“Congratulations! You’ve just won the loyal customer raffle at Linkon Supermarket!”

“But I shop at Bloomshore Mart.”

“Yup, congratulations!”

You furrow your brows, eyeing the paper the delivery driver is enthusiastically waving in your face. Sure enough, it announces the conclusion of the famous supermarket’s year-end raffle, and there it is: your full government name printed neatly under “winner.”

Beyond his shoulder, you notice the other worker unloading boxes from the delivery truck. He’s dressed in the same uniform, with identical dark curls and also sporting a black face mask. He catches your gaze and gives a lazy thumbs-up.

There must be something wrong with your memory, because you could swear you haven’t stepped foot in Linkon Supermarket in years—let alone registered for their raffle. That place isn’t exactly known for catering to the humbler economic classes.

And it’s still 5:30 a.m. Have supermarkets always done graveyard shift deliveries?

“Thanks…” You squint at the driver’s name tag. “…Lukas.”

“No problem!”

Once the two workers finish unloading and stacking boxes of who-knows-what in your living room, they wave cheerfully before speeding off down the street. Half-asleep, you manage only a bemused wave in return.

You think you might’ve been cursed. Or blessed. It’s hard to say. Because ever since your crow friend escaped a week ago, it feels like you’ve already blown through a lifetime’s worth of luck.

In the span of days, you’ve gotten a raise and better employee benefits (odd, considering you’re still just an assistant manager), won lifetime vouchers for three of your favorite food spots, and now, apparently, won a supermarket raffle—complete with at least three months’ worth of groceries.

Rummaging through the boxes, you find they’re stocked with all your usual brands. Snacks, non-perishables, beauty products, household items—everything. Even fresh produce.

For the first time in a while, you won’t have to worry about going hungry.

—

You’re not sure why you’ve come back to the park tonight.

It’s late, and you’ve already visited the crows earlier, spoiling them with extra bags of peanuts thanks to your recent streak of good fortune.

The crows seem to wonder the same thing. While they peck enthusiastically at the peanuts, their beady eyes occasionally flick toward you, as if to silently judge your lack of anything resembling a social life.

Admittedly, you’ve been hoping to see your crow friend again.

You think you’re starting to come to terms with its disappearance. Life goes on, right? It’s just an animal, after all. It probably doesn’t feel the same complex emotions humans do—the kind that have you so affected by its absence after only a few days of sharing a space. (Maybe it was a one-sided friendship all along...) It probably just followed its instincts, leaving to do whatever it is that lone crows do.

Still, a petulant part of you feels bitter. Sure, it left behind a hoard of treasures—trinkets, gems, and gold so polished they must be real (though you’re not ready to think about where it might have stolen them)—but it could’ve at least waited for you to come home before flying off.

In hindsight, maybe it’s a good thing you never had pets. Your apparent abandonment issues would be a nightmare to deal with if they got lost, ran away, or died.

Suddenly, a familiar series of shrill caws pierces the air. Before you can process what’s happening, something crashes into your lap, a blur of loose black feathers hitting your face.

Could it be…?

The unmistakable garnet glint in the midnight-feathered avian’s eyes confirms it. Without hesitation, you scoop the bird into your arms, pulling it tightly to your chest, and press a rough, enthusiastic kiss to its head.

“Where have you been?” you exclaim, laughing as you nuzzle the void-like creature against your cheek, smothering it in an embrace. “I’ve been so worried about you!”

Its muffled caws are drowned out by your babbling. “Oh gosh—your wing! How is it?” you say, quickly pulling back to inspect it.

Its feathers look good—healthy, even. In fact, they almost seem brand new, gleaming like a freshly unboxed gadget. Its once-injured left wing no longer looks broken—or as you’d thought before, no longer resembling a mechanical part with a loose screw.

Before you can start fussing over it again, the bird suddenly wriggles free from your grasp and lands steadily on your lap. It caws again, but something’s different. It’s louder, more piercing—frantic. It paces across your lap, continuing to practically scream at you, as if trying to tell you something.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your heart squeezing at the sight of its feathers puffing up with each stressed caw.

You try to pat its head, hoping to calm it down, but it jumps off your lap and lands on the ground, still cawing. The other crows, clearly spooked by its urgent cries, start to scatter. Bewildered, you bend down, attempting to scoop it into your arms again, but it evades you by hopping a few feet away, still cawing—loudly.

“What is it?” you say, exasperated. I can’t speak crow!

You step closer, bending down once more, but it hops away—again.

You stare up at the heavens. This has to be some cosmic joke. You can’t believe you’re playing this strange version of tag with a bird.

You don’t even realize how far you’ve walked, now a good distance from the bench you were sitting on. You’ve reached the darker area of the park, still desperate to grab the cawing bird and figure out what’s wrong. Then, without warning, your foot catches on a tree root. You stumble, and before you can recover, you hit the cold, wet ground with an unceremonious thud.

“Well, there goes my good luck streak,” you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Good thing nobody’s around to witness your embarrassing lack of coordination.

“Tell me about it.”

The sudden presence of a deep, unfamiliar voice makes you freeze. Heart pounding wildly, you scramble to sit up, eyes darting toward the source.

It wasn’t a tree root you tripped over. It was a leg—a stretched-out leg attached to a man slumped against one of the park’s statues. A huge, beautiful man, with silver hair and a pair of breathtaking garnet eyes, half-lidded and filled with amusement. He’s clutching his abdomen, the fabric there soaked in dark, ominous red.

Blood.

A field of red datura blooms. A starry night sky with the clouds beneath you. Mountains of gold against jagged walls. A burning plaza. A bloodied claymore.

You don’t register the ringing in your ears or the flash of blurry, unfamiliar images racing through your mind. Your gaze remains locked on the man’s injury. Before you know it, you’re shrugging off your puffer jacket and sweater. Now clad in just your turtleneck, you drop to your knees and press your sweater firmly against his wound.

You, waiting for your turn to walk on stage to receive your diploma. A university staff member rushing toward you. You, running out of the graduation venue. Two totaled SUVs. Three dead bodies.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you work methodically. Stop the bleeding. Stop the blood. Apply pressure. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Just keep pressing. Don’t think about how much there is. Don’t panic. You fold the sweater tighter against the wound. Okay, stop the bleeding first. That’s all you know. Just keep the pressure steady. He’s losing too much. Is this enough? Should I tie it off? No, just keep pressing. Keep him alive.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. You have to save them. You have to save him. They can’t leave you. He can’t leave you. Not again.

“Sweetheart.”

The word, softly spoken, snaps you out of your trance. Your eyes lift to meet his, and the world seems to still. You’ve never met this man in your life, but the way he looks at you—it hurts. It feels like an ancient grief has surfaced from the depths of your soul.

You finally notice the state you’re in. You’re shaking. Badly. The cold winter air bites into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. Your palms are scraped from your earlier fall, but you hardly register the sting. The man’s hands—large and warm—enclose your trembling ones, grounding you.

And it’s like you’ve never known peace until this very moment.

note: can u tell the extent of my yearning to be spoiled with groceries LMAO

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #love and deepspace #sylus fluff #sylus angst #sylus hurt/comfort #sylus comfort

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innerfare · 5 months ago

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Shanks Relationship Headcanons

Summary: A random collection of Shanks relationship headcanons

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Shanks can’t stand you at first. You get under his skin without even trying. Worse still, you don’t take his bait- you don’t bicker with him, you don’t argue, but you also don’t laugh at his jokes, and it drives him absolutely insane. He’s never met anyone he couldn’t drag down to his level and he doesn’t know what to do about that.

You also rebuff his advances initially, and he panics because nobody rebuffs his advances. He could bed Akainu if he wanted to, he’s certain of it, so why can’t he bed you? He becomes consumed by his desire to have you, not just in his bed but in his company more generally, eating at his table and sharing a drink and some gossip with him.

He never shuts up about you, constantly complaining to Beckman, who realizes what is going on almost immediately. Beckman doesn’t bother trying to illuminate Shanks as to the annoying predicament that is love, just laughs to himself.

Starts writing down and rehearsing his absolute best material before he sees you. When you don’t laugh, he becomes convinced you’re withholding your laughter just to be mean to him. He almost blows a gasket when Lucky Roux tells him, “you know, Captain, maybe your sense of humor just isn’t for everyone.”

This eventually culminates in him blowing up and kissing you one night. To his utter surprise, you kiss him back. From that point forward, the two of you are going steady, which is uncharted territory for Shanks.

When he does finally identify your sense of humor, it’s one of his proudest moments. He’s merciless from that point forward, drawing as many laughs from your lips as possible. He'll even resort to tickling you just to hear that musical sound.

To his surprise, you relationship quickly becomes his temple. You’re the person he’s actually serious with, the person with whom he shares his fears and ambitions, with whom he is raw and vulnerable. When he has nightmares, you’ll be the one to comfort him, and when he has doubts, you’ll be the one to reassure him.

There’s much more to him than meets the eye. He isn’t just a drunken layabout or a prankster, but a complex man with great ambition, and the foundation of your relationship is your ability to unravel these complexities.

That being said, if he does eventually make you a little less mature, a little more petty, a little more childish, he’ll view it as one of his greatest victories.

So dramatic. Tells you things like, “I would cease to exist if we were parted,” and, “you fill in the cracks in my soul,” and he means them 100%. Naturally you don’t realize he means them 100% until you find yourself in a life-threatening situation and he drops literally everything to rescue you, apologizing profusely for allowing a hair on your head to be harmed. It’s in that moment you realize the gravity of receiving the affection of an Emperor.

Brings you flowers, usually a bundle of cheap supermarket flowers with a lot of different colors (he can't actually identify any of the flowers but thought they were pretty). He’s the sort to throw rocks at your window and serenade you with a guitar (he’ll sing but he’s bad at it), but only after you’re in a relationship so it makes you laugh more than it makes you swoon.

Will order Beckman to reroute the crew’s course so far out of their way it’s comical because he wants you to try a restaurant on an island he visited a decade ago because they served your favorite food in a unique and delicious way; naturally when you get there the restaurant has closed. Shanks makes it up to you with a bowl of ramen, though.

Got you a massive stuffed strawberry from a carnival (he lost the game but stole the prize anyway when the carnie wasn’t looking, delinquent ass boyfriend), gets very upset if he walks into your room and it’s not on your bed. Now likes to call you strawberry. Other nicknames include red panda or just panda and even my sake cup. Also refers to you in conversation as the crown jewels.

Tipsy walks down the beach at night, your fingers intertwined, that end with him chasing you through the shallows, catching you in his arms, and spinning you around. He loves a good came of chase, or even hide and seek. Also, strip poker.

Would never admit it, but he’s often the little spoon. He’ll collapse on top of you after a night of drinking with the boys. Also, he can’t fall asleep without a fistful of something, and since the two of you became an item, that something is usually your hair or shirt (at least to keep it SFW 😉).

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks #benn beckman #red hair pirates #one piece fluff

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golden-cherry · 7 months ago

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deal - cl16 (35/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk - with Nightmare Coladas.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: love you. feedback is appreciated!

You are sitting on the sun bed when Charles rejoins you. He is holding a tray in his hands and as he places it on the floor next to you, you see that it is filled with sliced fruit. In addition to a plate of watermelon, there is a bowl of grapes, strawberries and raspberries.

“A good foundation is essential if you want to get drunk,” he grins and lies down next to you on the sun bed, a healthy distance between you.

You raise an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be better to eat something greasy then? Like fries or pizza?” you ask, helping yourself to a strawberry.

“That's just the beginning,” he defends himself and nibbles on a piece of watermelon. “There are fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets in the oven.”

You have to grin. “Sounds like lunch for a five-year-old.”

Charles shrugs and pops a raspberry in his mouth. “You'll be able to drink like a grown-up in no time.”

“Touché.”

The two of you lie next to each other in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunshine while you eat the fruit and wait for the timer on Charles' cell phone to beep. The water splashes against the sides of the boat, the smell of the sea hits your nose and if you didn't know that tomorrow is Christmas, you'd think it was a beautiful summer evening.

“What would you like to drink?” Charles asks.

You turn your head in his direction. “Do you have any sweet white wine?”

He nods. “I had Thomas bring your cheap wine,” he grins. "He didn't find it at first. Apparently you can only get it in the supermarket and not in a wine store."

You purse your lips. “Hey. The wine tastes good,” you say with mock offence, trying to suppress the thought that Charles sent Thomas out to get your favorite wine. Very thoughtful. “What are you about to drink?”

"There are quite a few drinks. Maybe I'll make myself a cocktail,” he considers, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Maybe a piña colada? Or a sex on the beach?"

The way the word 'sex' rolls off his tongue makes the blood in your veins run hot. You bite into a piece of watermelon. “When are the fries ready?”

Just as you've said it, Charles' phone rings. He gets up and leaves the sun bed. “I'll be right back.”

You turn to him. “Do you want me to help you?” You're almost on your feet when Charles waves you off.

“ It's all right.”

While he disappears into the interior of his yacht, you also leave the sun bed to grab your camera and laptop, but instead of lying back on the sun bed at the back of the boat, you move the party around the bow, where there is another sun bed. From here, you have a wonderful view of Monaco - even if it is still some distance away from you.

You start to edit a photo of Charles when he rejoins you - fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets on a tray.

“Here you are,” he smiles, setting the food down. “I thought you'd jumped in the water and swum home.”

"Are you crazy? I'm sure the sea is freezing cold,” you reply and put your laptop to one side so you can grab a nugget. “I've already started editing a picture of you, by the way.”

Your friend plops down on the sun bed next to you. "And?” he asks. “Do I look good?”

You roll your eyes. “You always do,” you reply jokingly, hoping that he can't hear the truth in your words.

“I know,” he grins and pops a chip in his mouth. "But seriously. Do you think the pictures are any good? For my Instagram profile, I mean."

Charles is a natural model. With his big eyes, deep dimples and beaming smile, he could even advertise haemorrhoid cream and look great doing it.

“Absolutely,” you smile and push your camera over to him. “See for yourself.”

While Charles looks at the many pictures on the small display, you continue to edit some pictures on your laptop. They are all good - thanks to his looks - but somehow none of them reflect Charles as you see him. They look posed, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but you had hoped to capture him with your lens in such a way that you could almost feel the closeness to him and his warmth.

But you don't tell him that, after all he has to decide for himself which pictures he would like to put on the internet.

“What do you think of this?” he asks and shows you the display. In the photo, he is standing at the wheel, his sunglasses are perched on his nose and he is smiling broadly over his shoulder, as if someone has said something funny. It's a good picture - objectively speaking.

“It's good,” you reply and bite into a mozzarella stick. The cheese almost burns the roof of your mouth, but you try not to let it show.

Charles raises his eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?” he asks, looking at the picture again. “Okay, I'll find another one then.”

You shake your head vehemently. "No, Charles. It's a good photo, really,” you assure him.

He's not buying it. “But?”

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “It - it looks so posed,” you answer honestly. "But maybe it only looks like that to me because I know it's fake, you know? Maybe I just can't see it."

He looks back from you to the display. “I know what you mean.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. "I'll take another one then. They're your photos. And I want you to feel comfortable with them too."

You smile at him. You didn't know he cared so much about your opinion. "That's nice. Thank you."

Charles pops a French fry into his mouth. "Keep eating. Your wine is cold and just waiting for you to drink it."

You continue to eat in silence - Charles continues to rummage through your camera while you edit some pictures. The silence between you is comfortable and every now and then you smile at each other to reassure each other that everything is fine.

When the last of the fries has been eaten, Charles stands up. "Very nice. Now it's time to start drinking,” he winks at you as he leaves the sun bed. “You want your wine, I guess?”

You nod. “Thomas shouldn't have made the trip to the supermarket for nothing,” you grin and cross your arms behind your head. You look at him. "But I think one glass is enough for now. Maybe I'd like to try one of your cocktails afterwards."

“Of course, Madame,” Charles replies and bows to you playfully like a servant to his queen. "Can I bring anything else? A pillow, perhaps?"

You nod, beaming. “That would be great. Then the bed here will be even more comfortable."

Without another word, he disappears, the bowls and plates in his hands, while you close the laptop and put it to the side. You consider whether you should put the camera away too, but decide against it. Perhaps there would be another opportunity to take photos of Charles later.

A few minutes later, Charles reappears. He puts your wine glass down next to you and throws you two cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll want to stay here longer."

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

With a nod of his head, he points to the shore. "When it gets dark - and I mean dark - Monaco lights up beautifully. And I don't want to deny you the sight,” he smiles. "I'm going to make myself a cocktail. Do you want me to bring you your sweater right away?"

“Yes, thank you,” you answer him. “And you really don't need any help?” you ask uncertainly. It's nice of him to go to all this trouble to make you feel comfortable, but you feel a bit like you're taking advantage of him.

But Charles disagrees. "Stay put. You're my guest on this boat. I'll take care of everything while you lie there and look pretty."

Before you can react to his words, he has disappeared again.

Look pretty? Charles thinks you're pretty?

You try to ignore his words, but they keep bubbling up. When he said he was afraid of losing you, he hit you hard. You would never let anything separate you again. You need him too much for that - and it seems he needs you too. Even if it's not the same way. But that's okay, you tell yourself. You'd rather have a piece of him than nothing at all.

When he rejoins you, you seem to have almost forgotten his compliment. Or at least pushed it aside.

“Here,” he says, handing you your sweater before setting some things down behind your head. There are several bottles, an ice bucket and a couple of shakers in the large basket. Then he carefully sits down next to you with his cocktail in hand. As he tastes it, he makes a brief grimace.

You have to grin. “Too strong?” you ask him.

“No,” he replies, but from the way he raises his eyebrows and turns his head away briefly, it's clear he's lying.

“What did you mix?”

“Piña Colada.” He furrows his eyebrows. “But it tastes more like nightmare colada than pineapple.” He stretches out his arm and holds the glass out to you. “Have a taste.”

Without hesitation, you reach for the cocktail - still careful not to let your fingers touch - and sip the drink once. You look at him in amazement. “I don't know what your problem is,” you reply and take a big sip. “It tastes fantastic!”

Charles looks at you doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely,” you confirm. “I'd offer you my wine, but you don't like sweet wine.”

“Give it to me,” he says unceremoniously and grabs the wine glass as you hold it out to him. Without hesitation, he puts the glass to his lips and drinks every last drop of the wine. "Sorry. I had to get rid of the horrible taste of that cocktail."

You look from the empty glass in his hand to his face in amazement. "Wow. So you think the piña colada is that bad. If you keep going like this, you'll be drunk in no time."

Charles reaches behind your head into the basket and pulls out a bottle of wine. “That was the plan, wasn't it?” Slowly and intently, he pours some of his dry wine into your glass, careful not to waste a single drop. “Don't tell me I did all of this for nothing.” He points to the many shakers with a nod of his head.

You curl your lips into a thin line. “Are you even allowed to drive the boat tomorrow if you still have alcohol in your blood?” you ask and take a sip of his - now your - cocktail, which, contrary to Charles' opinion, actually tastes phenomenal.

“I don't know,” he replies and sips his wine. “But if need be, you and I can stay here another night.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you remind him. "Your mom would be furious with us if we didn't show up for dinner. And then she'd kill us."

Your roommate shakes his head. "My mom loves you. She'd kill me without hesitation, but definitely not you." He leans back a little and rests his head in the pillow so that he's comfortable but still sitting upright enough to drink easily.

“I think I'd stand up for you,” you say before taking another sip.

The Monegasque looks at you, dumbfounded. “You think?”

The way he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Yeah. After all, I don't want to incur your mother's wrath. I like her far too much for that,” you say into your glass and look at him over the rim.

Charles rolls his eyes. "You're being mean. I'll take you on my boat -"

“Yacht,” you correct him.

"All right then. I take you on my yacht, where you can even spend the night, make you delicious food and offer you all the alcohol you can imagine - and you think you'd stand up for me?" Playfully hurt, he puts his hand on his chest. “Wow. I thought you'd care more about me.”

You do, you say in your mind. More than you'll ever know.

“Oh, come on.” You snuggle into your pillow too. "How many women have you taken here already, huh? Surely I'm not the only one you've spent a night with here." Realizing your choice of words, you clear your throat. “In a friendly or romantic way, I mean.” Even though you don't want to know the answer to how many women he's had here on the boat, curiosity wins out.

Your roommate shrugs. “You're the only one,” he replies quietly before taking a sip of his wine. He avoids your gaze.

Your head jerks in his direction. “Not even Annika?”

“Not even Annika,” he confirms to you. “I - I don't know - I took Annika out for a nice day at sea once, but we went home at night. This is the first time I've been on a boat with someone other than my family and stayed the night."

His answer relieves you a little. Apparently you're not the next in a line of women Charles is spending the night with on his boat. And the fact that you're the only one, according to him, makes you feel a little happy.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you start your sentence, “you're also the first person I spend the night with on a boat.” You smile at him.

“It's not that difficult if you've never been on a boat before,” he replies with a grin. “And I thought it was a yacht?”

You roll your eyes. “Don't make me regret being on a boat on the open sea.”

As the wind sweeps around you and the sun disappears behind the horizon, you pull on your sweater. You feel Charles's gaze on you. “What?”

He shakes his head. "I thought the alcohol would warm you up a bit. But apparently you need to drink more."

You look into your cocktail glass. “I've almost finished your Nightmare Colada,” you defend yourself.

"But only almost. Drink up, then I can pour you another one."

You raise your glass to your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Maybe,” he grins and pulls a shaker out of the basket. "There's a little Nightmare Colada left, if you like. Otherwise there's still your wine, or Sex on the Beach, or schnapps."

You take the last sip of your cocktail and put the glass down for him to refill. Heat shoots into your face, which is almost certainly due to the alcohol - and definitely not the way he says the word 'sex'. "Your offer sounds tempting. I think I'll stick to the nightmare colada for now. We can always have the schnapps later."

Charles shakes the shaker briefly before carefully pouring the rest of the cocktail into your glass. “I haven't had a schnapps in ages.”

"Why? Is your nutritionist against it?” you ask him with a grin.

“Yes, actually,” he replies and hands you your glass. "But I'm on vacation at the moment, so I don't really care. That's why I had the chicken nuggets."

You raise your eyebrow. “I thought the chicken nuggets were there so we wouldn't get drunk straight away?”

Your friend shakes his head. "Actually, you had chicken nuggets because, culinarily speaking, you stayed somewhere between canned soup and Big Mac. That's what Lando said anyway."

The fact that he remembered that warms your heart. A little something you didn't think he would remember.

"There's also dessert, by the way, if you're still a little hungry. Chocolate muffins,” he smiles. "But maybe we'll save them for later, when we're drunk. They'll taste even better then."

“Muffins?” you ask in surprise. When Charles nods, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is soft and warm. He briefly puts his glass to one side and pulls on his white sweater.

“Are you cold?” you joke, sipping your cocktail.

“Haha.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the bandana that is still tied around his head. “Even if the alcohol warms me on the inside, I can be cold on the outside.”

“But make me look stupid for it,” you retort playfully.

"Sure. It's just pretty easy to drive you up the wall."

“What do you mean -” you start your question, but he jumps up from the sun bed as if stung by a tarantula.

“There!” He goes to the railing in front of you and holds on tight. “I told you.”

You carefully put your glass to one side and stand up too. When you see what he means, your breath catches in your throat.

Monaco shines in front of you in the dark and the water reflects the light beautifully. Charles hasn't promised too much.

You stand next to him with your mouth open, your eyes fixed on the beautiful Monaco. “It is - breathtaking.”

“It is,” Charles replies quietly. You don't notice him looking at you. “Breathtaking.” He‘s almost ashamed at how beautiful you look to him. He has to look away.

The Monaco in front of you glistens and sparkles, captivating you so much that an idea occurs to you. With quick - and slightly swaying - steps, you walk back and grab your camera before standing on the sun bed. The cocktail has done a good job, because the cushion under your feet feels like jelly, so you need a moment to find your footing.

Charles is apparently just as fascinated by the view as you are, because he doesn't seem to notice that you've moved away from him. He continues to look ahead, towards his home, while you take a photo of him. A single photo - and when you look at it on your camera, you could cry.

“That's it,” you smile.

“Huh?” Charles turns to you questioningly. “What's what?”

You proudly hand him your camera. “This is the picture.”

He looks at it briefly before glancing at you. A smile spreads across his face. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you here.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he closes his mouth again before handing the camera back to you.

“Maybe you should hire me,” you joke, sending the picture to your phone and then sending it to him.

“Maybe I should.” His smile is warm and electrifying and luminous. He's beaming - like the Monaco behind him.

God, he's the most beautiful man in the world.

“But first -” he walks around you, staggers across the sun bed and leans forward to fish a bottle out of the basket. “But first - comes the schnapps.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc cute #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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momoswifee · 7 months ago

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Park Jihyo - Supermarket Antics

Pairing: Jihyo x fem!reader

Synopsis: Jihyo rarely feels jealousy, so she was definitely not expecting to feel it on the line of the supermarket.

Warnings: I don't think there are any, it's fluff

w/c: 800

a/n: This is my first work! I’m really excited for people to read it! I really appreciate criticism so that I can do better next time, so if you have any please let me know :) English is not my first language, so pls be kind

Also, a million thank yous to my pookie @neoplatinum and to the lovely @cry4mina for the encouragement and for reading it first <33

Jihyo usually prides herself on not having an ounce of envy and on being confident in her relationship. She was never the jealous type, she knew you loved her as much as she loved you, and there was nothing to be insecure about.

Right now, she can't help but roll her eyes and huff in irritation. She’s watching this little kid stare at her girlfriend with big puppy eyes and a dopey smile.

At first, you both don't notice the younger's antics, too preoccupied with each other. That is until you look to your left and end up locking eyes with the boy.

After noticing that he had your attention, he couldn't help but shy away from your gaze, pressing himself to his dad before shyly looking back at you, making you break into a beautiful smile (something that usually had Jihyo weak in the knees).

A giddy grin spreads across your face before raising your hand and waving your fingers at him, making him blush even more before waving back while hiding himself in his father's legs.

As you keep interacting with the little boy, she watches you silently coo and melt at the boy's cuteness, making her, melt at your behaviour.

Unfortunately for the kid, he also locks eyes with Jihyo but instead of sweet greetings and cute interactions, she can't help but pull a face and wiggle her fingers in a scary-like manner.

Fortunately for her, instead of blushingly hiding into his dad, his eyes widen, and he turns around, no longer having the desire to interact with the older girls.

In no time, the boy was on his way with his dad, and the two of you were in your car on the way home after unloading all the groceries.

"You know I saw that, right?"

Jihyo quickly glances at you, not wanting to take her eyes away from the road for too long, seeing your disapproving glare.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says innocently.

"You're mean, you know that?" you ask poking her gently.

"C'mon, it's not like I'm gonna give him nightmares! It was harmless, and I'm not even scary," she says, trying to defend herself.

"Maybe it'll help him build character? Know when not to flirt with women?"

You can't help but snort at her childish excuse before bursting into laughter.

"Are you jealous of a little boy smiling at me?"

She scoffs at that.

"And why would I be jealous of a small child?" she asks, repeating that to herself to understand why she tried to scare away the kid.

You only shrugg at that with a small smile still lingering on your face.

After arriving home and unloading everything, she finds herself on the couch with your back pressed against her and her arms surrounding you.

“You know, I only have eyes for you”, you say, turning to face her, making her groan.

“I was not jealous of a child,” she says looking up, avoiding your gaze, making you softly laugh at her antics before kissing her jaw.

After a while of just you both basking in each other’s warmth, you can’t help but quietly laugh again after remembering how she behaved earlier.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” she asks, whining, burying her face into your hair.

“Hm… eventually,” you say, slightly detaching yourself from her and cupping her face gently, leaning in before letting your lips meet hers softly.

She gently holds your neck, pulling you closer, trying to eliminate any space left between you two. You pull away from her lips for air, not far away enough so that your lips stop touching hers, not being able to completely pull away from her touch.

“It’s cute that you’re like this. It’s not every day that I get to see you glaring at someone because you’re not the only one holding my attention, even if that someone is a little boy”

She only pouts at that before stealing another kiss from you, nuzzling into your cheek right after.

“You know… You’re pretty good with kids” she says looking at you with puppy eyes, making you laugh.

“Now you like that I’m good with kids?” you ask her, teasingly pushing her back.

“Well, you know…” she says, now sporting a kind of dopey smile, “just in case in the future you might want to take that route… I think you’d be pretty good at it” she finishes looking sweetly at you, making you melt with the direction of the conversation.

Unable to think about a normal response, you only return her dopey grin and return to your previous position, leaning into her and letting yourself be engulfed by her warmth, with the lingering thought of building a future with the girl who currently holds your entire heart.

#jihyo x reader #twice x reader #park jihyo x reader #gg x reader #twice imagines

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plasticfangtastic · 7 months ago

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Dairy Girl-- Part 2

A Homelander x F! Reader fanfic

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this and hope the lenght is enough of an apology, yeah this is gonna be liek 4 parts i got too engrossed btw. hope yall like it here's the previous chapter:

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

word count: 3.4K

Part 2– Calf

As he’d mentioned before the house was an escape proof cage– every window had its hinges super glued or welded shut, glass panels thick enough to prevent shattering but thin enough to allow sound in. That night as he’d left you for the first time you kept your composure, perturbed more by the earlier events that nothing had time to sink in, you venture across the 3 bedroom home, each room old taken straight out from a vintage furniture catalog, the master bedroom smelled just like your grandmother’s, the bathroom walls covered in tacky pink tiles that you told yourself will never get used to.

By the time you explored the whole building you understood the following: The size felt deceiving, without a way to see the outside this building could’ve been 35 floors high and you wouldn’t know, the east-wing of the building at the opposite direction where you’d emerged was cut off from you by a thick metal door, an eye-scan request made its unpickable lock, looking at how it cut on the hardwood floors you’d guess this is where in the kitchen and perhaps the garage and entry hall could be found, this overall felt like an architectural nightmare, the only other oddity of this was the piles and piles of bottled water– Vought branded water… you much rather drink Dasani than this crap… It was by far the worst one in the supermarket.

There were indeed no phones or even ethernet ports on the wall, the TV was bolted in its place and so was the VHS player (and all the furniture too), there were at least 350 titles on the walls (something you bothered to count on day 5), an extremely old vinyl player your only other company... whoever had supposedly lived here was a big fan of Cab Calloway, ABBA and Bruce Springsteen, here you and Bruce could become intimate friends it seems after all you had all his vinyls, alongside an expansive jazz assortment, nothing in this selection went past 1989.

You also learned a very useful fact on day 3 you stared at one of the 18 cameras that you’d found.

“I really want some Mcnuggets! Like just a 12-pack and a large Sprite! Maybe an Oreo Mcflurry too!” You yelled into the camera waving your arms as if the circular lense would reply somehow.

Barely few minutes later the air was filled with the roaring sounds of a bike burning tires seemed the forbidden end faced some road which made you giddy, about 50 minutes later a small door at the door itself opened smoothly where the first strange hand you’ve seen in the last 3 days popped-out leaving a bag with a familiar logo… it wasn’t maccas tho, it was Vought-a-burger which was okay but that wasn’t the point, you picked your meal and your oversize ice-cream and drink and begun connecting lines– Your prison was in Pennsylvania, based on the area code on the phone number on that old pizza box, located close enough from both a pizza chain and on a 15 to 20 minutes drive from a Vought-a-Burger, the library held no maps for you to try to find your location but give or take about an hour or two by foot from any civilization… Yet as you drank the mostly melted caramel churro sundae you smiled thinking of how to steal a bike.

That Night you picked two tapes from the wall not caring one bit about what you were going to see, you stared at the camera.

“Hey can one of you check like an underrated 80s movie list from IMDb ‘cuz I seen a few of these already… at least bring me something new!”

As always no response was ever given, you dragged your feet towards that ornate bedroom of yours, pink walls, flowery quits, a matching chaise lounge, a hardwood coffee table bolted to the ground and your private TV and VHS player, it took you an hour to remember how to use these thing that second day here. You put on a movie, curling in your bed in the dark, smelling the sweet flowery smell of fabric softener, this didn’t smell like home, pillows too soft, mattress too soft everything here was made to bring you comfort but it was making you feel like a squatter.

The cold light of the screen enveloped every surface and you slowly faded away as ‘Lady in White’ began to wrap up, eyes glued to the screen so firmly you screamed when the faint red light peeked from the corner, clutching the quilt across your body as the red faded away and all you saw was a vaguely illuminated shape.

Blurry colors with no clean shapes, standing facelessly enough blue to let you see it was humanoid, Homelander creeped closer, his body blocking the light and like a shadow he devours everything, he turned around to pause the player, draping his gloves on the dumb box as he turned around once more, your heart caught in your throat, each breath quick and sharp as he took another step closer, hushing softly and he’s there swallowing you whole he kneeled into the bed the mattress squeaked and chimed sinking under his weight pulling you in, only the faint outline of gold eagles and soft blonde locks told you with absolute certainty that he was here… that 3 days ago you indeed met The Homelander, far from the pretty blue-eyed hunk from the movies more ghoul.

You swallowed as his head rested on the pillow next to your hips, his nose burying in the cushioned pillowcase.

“I was busy with work” He mumbles softly, staring at you with the same playfulness of a guilty pet owner who’d ran out of their cat's churu treats– "I promise to visit, I got you something… left it downstairs for you.”

He stared at your white knuckled hands and without uttering a word you understood his demands, fingers moved by psychic force alone, you welcomed him into your lap as you came undone, burying your digits into his hair, soft like cotton, so smooth you dreamt of cat’s bellies as you scratched him, he took the remote from under you lifting you with so much ease your brain struggled to compute it at first, the movie played and all he wanted was petting.

“Security told me you’ve been good… nothing crazy… am glad, "he said with a tired tone.

“What good would that do me…?” You replied with your eyes focused on the screen.

If you wanted to survive I had to get on his good side, no? you though

“I like it when you people understand your place” He chuckles softly.

‘You people’? You could easily discern the meaning behind his words by tone alone, your finger stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring up immediately.

“I think this would be more productive if you told me exactly what’s going on… I won’t try to run or scream… am just confused and scared…” you spoke bluntly as his gaze met yours in the dark.

“This is my private speakeasy and you’re the bartender… tap too… is hard being on top… and I want some relief… and a sanctum–

“To express your socially unacceptable inclinations/interests? Fair enough I can imagine the press would eat you alive if they found out you liked breastmilk.”

“You’re cute and smart too.” He pushed himself into your stomach, your body sinking to the shape he wanted, holding you tight– I’ll be a good owner and let you asks me absolutely anything you want”

“Why me?”

“Dunno.” His lips tightened into a flat line– the doctors picked you, I asked for a good provider… but all the women downstairs and you did have one thing in common” He sounded awkward as he spoke listening to your increasing heartbeat– you kept producing… I asked to have easy access to my treat but somebody downstairs came out with all of this” his hand lazily gestures around– bit extra I know.”

How simple, he didn’t even care about this to begin with, glaring at him gave you no answers or comfort.

“My family…?”

“They think you killed yourself, I've been told… your ex-hubby been on twitter acting holier than the virgin mary, absolutely devastated for likes” You bit your lips, face scrunching up ready to shout and cry– everybody suspects he murdered you even the cops”

“I'm going to kill him!!” Your tears flowed regardless – god fucking dammit!”

Your whole body rejected the news, twisting your stomach and filling you with needles

“How would you do it?”

“Bash his head in with a hammer…?? I don’t know but fuck him! I wasted 5 years of my life with that bastard!” You cried.

Homelander buried his face into your stomach, hiding the smile on his face. as you cursed outloud for a little bit, he paid no attention to your words.

“Sorry…” You cleaned your tears trying to stop this embarrassing display, the mere thought of him acting like he cared made you sick when he wouldn’t even come to his own son’s funeral– are you gonna hurt me?” you cleaned your nose against the pillow.

He moved so quickly before you knew it he’s face to face and even in this dark room only lit by rolling credits he appeared serene as a painting… It makes your blood run cold.

“Why would I hurt my comforter?”

That night he only slept for a couple hours, never moving from your stomach, holding you regardless, he snored softly, mumbling half-spoken words, lips twitching and brows furrowing, you petted him gently watching his hardened frown melt.

Some days he’d come once, others he’d come five times and then there were the days were you didn’t see him at all, leaving you awkwardly aware about how odd these exchanges felt… for it never felt truly sexual, your fears of molestation and ‘real’ assault dissuaded as you accepted that all this man was doing was come here to whine and bitch about work and suck on your titty– like right now, Homelander has been shouting, talkign so much shit about his coworkers you started to wonder if it was made up for nobody could certainly be that allegedly incompetent, about how stressful it was to do 20 plus media interviews all day, about hoq\w his latest film “Justice Serve” was a fucking nightmare already despite being only half-way thru pre-production.

“Do you even know what it's like to deal with idiots who think they’re better than you because they have an award!?” He put your nipple back in his mouth with a frown– who does Villeneuve think he is” He mumbled into your skin.

Yet he didn’t only bring petty grievances and thirsty lips– he showered you with gifts, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce filled with soft fragrances: sweet but not sugary, warm tones without too much spice. Brought you beauty products to pamper you… to watch you play with from the many cameras in the house, and dressed you like a doll in clothes you honestly wouldn't have bought in the first place, too flowery and tradwifey.

You did so with a fake smile, you’d be pretty for him if you must, keep your tongue in-check and swallow the ever increasing knot in your throat for he at least wasn’t loud towards you, he didn’t yell, he didn’t make scenes… you were just living like his newest pet.

His miniature cow standing in the living room instead of the evergreen pastures outside, VHS tapes and steel food trays made your fence.

You keep busy cleaning this house making stories of who had lived there, Bruce the only one who spoke to you.

Analysing the house inch by inch, there had to have been a spot they’ve missed you kept thinking, you figured that somehow they monitored your sleep cycle, only entering to remove dirty clothes and trash in the death of night, they knew if you were obviously awake, on day 14 you stayed up till around 5 am and not a peep was heard accross the house but as you woke past noon all your trash had been cleaned up, on day 16 you stayed awake all day felt sick passed out and same thing, you would find a way out, you would force them to take you out, all the furniture was glued in its post but if you had to cause a fire you fucking would… as you stared at your clean bedsheets you figure you could force them to come in and drag you outside but as you postulated the possibility of a faux-suicide attempt Homelander’s face flashed accross closed eyes– dare dissapointing him and lose all the goodwill you’d been building, trust, even presents more extravagant than anything your ex ever did.

Had he not kidnapped you, hold you against your will in an underground bunker, used you as a milk fountain and terrified the fuck out of you with his invisible steps in the middle of the night you would had found him charming… endearing even… at least he was still handsome… frightening but handsome.

Day 18-19-20 were the worse so far, days went by and your isolation only grew he had not come by, your meals delivered so quietly you missed them and found them cold, birds either too loud or gone but Homelander never came, every hour the anxiety only grew as you found your throat aching to speak with somebody other than a non-present 80s musician.

You made a stack of the movies you’ve seen yelling to the camera demanding more to watch, abandoning the cause to focus on the obscene collection of Danielle Steel books in the library… at least 30 books, at least it was a distraction as you woke up for the third day in a row without hearing from Homelander.

You talked to yourself, prettier views didn’t make up for human interaction, you had isolated yourselves before… you didn’t eat, shower, answer calls, simply left yourself to rot in your bed, sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, the calm heartbeat of the machine keeping you alive until the phone battery died, now here you were curling in the couch feeling that endless void inside you screaming back at you, nothing to distract you from it any longer.

How ironic that those days locked in the basement had been the firsts since the funeral that you’d hadn’t thought about it.

Now every sleep came with dreams of distant cries, empty halls that cooed back, and a sense of urgency as time slipped from underneath you, nothing here smelled like him, yet in your sleep you held your pillow as you once held him, swearing it smelled like him, in the silence the singing birds sound like babies, but there’s nothing but creaking floorboards, old pipes and foreign ghosts in this place.

In this endless silence your mind told you this was limbo, jazz solos disguised the pandemonium of a silent afterlife, but as your heart anguished once again you buried yourself in paltry distractions, reading out loud as to keep your vocal chords warm and delude yourself that there was some company in here, mostly to hide the nonexistent crying.

It took you by surprise when half way thru ‘The Ghost’ you heard the buzzing of the steel door, your ears perked up stretching your neck before falling into the floor, shaky knees picked you up once more with a brave kick, quick steeping into the living room– Homelander stood staring at the messy pile talking to the camera to have this sorted and for the first time since you’d been here you sawn another human, who answered his call almost immediately, a man in kevlar rushed in his gun bouncing on his back alongside a young man dragging an ikea bag.

“Homelander!” Your voice was hoarse but he still turned to smile at you.

“We got you some new movies Ms. L/N” The young man spoke dropping the bag with a heavy thud.

“Watch it!” Homelander growled and you saw a slight stain dribble down his pants– just go wait in the library kitten while these ones sort this out for you.”

Your feet moved anyways, too excited by the presence of new faces, had he not cleared his throat you would’ve said anything just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, you looked away and that big steel door was wide open, an armed guard by the exit tho… it was an office, painted white with cool fluorescent lights.

Run, the voices scream.

Run.

For fucks sake run!!\

but...

You stay still.

It’s a test. Run and die, run and he’d snap your spine in thirds before you understand what happened your brain would be separated from your cranium no doubt, you swallow and take a step back, slow heavy agonizing steps lead you to the library.

Homelander’s gaze softens as he watches you sit by the unlit fireplace, he follows you soon after leaving the staff to work behind, you lift your head with a stiff neck, your tongue swollen inside your mouth, he smiles gently dropping to your level, carrying a small box.

The pretty bow doesn’t catch your attention in the least.

Not that dashing smile and ever so blue eyes either.

He tickles your nose without touching.

Chamomile and oat, a pale scent, subtle and clean…

As he scoot closer to you urging you to take the meaningless box held by nude hands, he pets your chin, leaving you to catch nutty tones… his hands smell of almond oil and cream.

He’s talking as he guides your hand into opening the present but you aren’t hearing a single word spoken… all you care about is his aroma…it invides you carving an aching hollow chest, making you dizzy and the world is squeezing your whole body with a thousands of pounds of violent force but you’re still held in one piece, wrapping your neck with the necklace he’d got you, touching every exposed inch leaving traces of sweet almond on you, resting his chin on your stiff shoulder so close whispering sweet nothings to you… hair smells so creamy… milky coconut, it makes you ill– You could name every brand he wore if asked.

“You like it?” He asks into your neck.

‘Like’ what? You guessed he meant the necklace.

“Where have you been?” You asked, wanting to think of anything but that bitter scent.

He pushes you down into the carpet, your hair drapes everywhere so he moves it to give himself no chance to pull it, you can’t even argue but your surprise and discomfort still paints your face, before you can say anything he drops his head on your stomach, nuzzling your dress and pulling your hand towards his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it” his muffle words sound angry, he whined into your stomach a quiet order demanding affection.

Obeying orders before he could whined even more for now you wanted silence again.

Staying like this for as long as he needed, leaving you to speculate what brought him such distress that caused him to abandon you as a result, a part of you stared in awe as you realized you how long this man could stay still without making a sound for.

How long did you lay there in a shared repose that your eyes shut? you wondered as the orange glow of afternoon sun warmed your cheeks, his hand cleaned a falling tear off your face as you woke up with a headache.

“Had a nightmare?”

Your hand unconsciously pulled him close to you, burying his face under your chin he’d awkwardly smiled as he adjusted to your demands, talking to you but it was white noise, your kept him still bridging an arm across his neck locking him in position, your other hand buried in blond, closing your eyes as you got high on shampoo.

In your mind much like your dream you hold him so close, he was plump and giddy, his hair more than a thin tuff, you laughed with him, as you dried his back, you swore to never love the scent of coconut, you held back your pain as you held him with all your might.

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x fem!reader #personal #my fic tag #the boys amazon #i have not proofread this so i die as the dog that i am #will edit for errors tomorrow cuz its almost midnight when am posting this.

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will80sbyers · 10 months ago

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ST5 possible timeline

Let's see what I remember that's actually confirmed from pictures and other stuff

Ep. 1 (100% confirmed) :

We know that Will has a nightmare/flashback of the UD

Linda Hamilton has some scenes

Steve and Jonathan do whatever they are doing in the pre-vis with that thing that becomes green instead of red

Steve and robin are together inside the radio station eating snacks (?) from the pic. Ross posted of day 1

Robin, Will, El, Nancy and Joyce are in a scene together

Ep.2 (100% confirmed) :

We know for sure Karen is in the episode and probably at the Hawkins Memorial Hospital

Lights at the hospital flicker like the Demogorgon is there or vecna etc

Either ep. 1 , ep. 2 or ep. 3...

but in the same time frame:

Morning:

Mike is at his house in his room thinking about something

Dustin and Mike get in a fight at school with the jocks friends of Jason - Dustin's shirt gets ripped

Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and Murray are taking stuff from the supermarket and they steal a truck with food in it

Steve and Jonathan (?) make the antenna on Steve's car

Someone is studying radio stuff at school (?)

Evening:

Dustin goes to Eddie's grave to talk to him after this because he has the shirt like that

Mike goes to El to talk on the roof of the radio station

Something with action happens, they get attacked, Joyce and Hopper are both at the radio station and probably Will is there too

El is fighting with somebody and the tie she has breaks - she has the same outfit on from the radio station

Robin goes to the Hawkins memorial hospital and Vickie is there too

Night:

Unless it's a vision - Will is at the radio station under the antenna at night ( he's probably the one that gets attacked because he's on the tower opposite from where Mike and El are sitting and talking...)

El is near the UD vines with the same outfit and blood on her nose... Maybe she's in the upside down but I'm not sure because the vines could be invading Hawkins

Not clear yet to me in which episodes these things happen but probably all either before ep. 4 or in ep.4 :

Vecna vision or nightmare of Will at school in the field with the bike

Possible vision: someone is in the woods with the red light and near Castle Byers with the vines all around

Little Will & grown up Will are inside Castle Byers in the upside down, probably a flashback or vision/nightmare

Someone in the woods gets attacked by someone with powers and gets thrown into the air

Nancy is inside the bunker at the radio station dressed how she's dressed when she's with the others taking the food from the truck

Hopper and others are at the old dumpster probably to train and learn how to fight

Someone gets hurt at a leg when they are inside the Hawkins memorial hospital

Karen takes a bubble bath and drinks wine (ep. 1 ?)

Something is being filmed at the Wheeler's house

Will looks cool with his jacket and haircut, he's inside the radio station and Jonathan is there too... Jonathan seems dressed like he was dressed when he was at the radio station with Murray, Nancy and Robin and Steve near the truck of the supermarket so this could be in the first episodes ? Will is dressed with his green shirt and the undershirt so differently from when he's at the mansion and also from when he's at the farm (in which he has the same shirt with the stripes-> ep. 4 prob)

Mike, Will, Lucas and Dustin are at the farm and do the hand group thing

Robin, Will and Mike are at a farm together (the farm scenes are probably ep. 3 or 4)

El and Will (same stripes outfit from the radio station tower and the farm without the jacket) are at the mansion with the pool, Will looks sick and El has a scene screaming

Joyce and Hopper arrive with the blue van and maybe they make a pole in the street fall down by speeding with the car

Police or government are involved in the mansion scenes

Jonathan and Nancy are there at the mansion too, Steve's car is there with the antenna so maybe they drive it there (?)

Lucas is with Max at the hospital and makes her listen to music (?)

Will and Robin have some type of interaction, both of them and Mike are at the farm in ep.4 and a child named Derek (?) is there too

Karen gets badly hurt and goes to the hospital

Mike gets hurt but not seriously and Will goes to the hospital

Holly gets kidnapped by Vecna

Mike has scenes with Ted Wheeler

Either ep. 2, 3 or 5 (not clear to me but I've been told they were filming those but also idk for sure)

The characters are attacked by something at the radio station, there's an action scene where Will (or someone else) screams to Steve (or someone else) to RUN !!!

Mike and Robin help some children in the tunnels (?)

Henry and Holly are in the mindscape together at his house living in a fantasy where also other children are involved and they have scenes inside the house and in the park in front of it

There's a scene of Steve's car driving in the Upside down near a cemetery

Scenes at the white church that's probably in the upside down because it has the vines

Notes: The mansion seems to be a simple house of rich people

Ep. 4 (100% confirmed) :

Dustin, Nancy, Jonathan and Someone else we don't know fall in the Upside Down from the farm with a car that has the antenna in the middle

Mansion = orange

Farm = green

Probably the same episode because of the outfit

That's it... I for sure forgot something but I'll add later when I have time to review all the leaks we got!

#byler #stranger things #st5 #st5 production #st5 speculation #st5 spoilers

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taeyongdoyoung · 4 months ago

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act three: i might kill my ex

summary: unable to sleep, you try to think of something that will finally free you from the demons of your past... characters: reader, heeseung, sunoo, sunghoon, jay, jake, jungwon (mentioned only) genre: thriller, dark romance(-ish) warnings: insomnia, trauma, prison visit, allusions to prison violence, threats, nightmares, guns, tattoos, illegal activities, breaking in, manipulation, toxic ex, cops, blood, murder (?), suicide (?), songs+scream movie references author's note: hello everyone! the title is inspired by the scream movies and this awesome song, once again this can be triggering for some so read at your own discretion! 💙 also, this is the final part of my scream trilogy, check out the other parts if you're interested: part one & part two word count: 3k

Another sleepless night. Even though Sunoo is in prison and you now live with Heeseung as his place is better protected from breaking and entering, the mere thought of Sunghoon roaming around freely is enough to make every second of your existence a living hell. You wish the cops would take your testimony more seriously but the lack of fingerprints works magically in his favour.

You feel like a burden to your boyfriend. You follow him around like a lovesick puppy everywhere - to his work, to the gym, to the supermarket. You don't dare leave his side for fear that the second you do, something bad will happen and Sunghoon will be back and take you again. You hate being like this. You ask Heeseung multiple times if he's really okay with you being clingy and he patiently answers each time that your well-being is the most important to him and that he seriously doesn't mind you being around him all the time.

But you do. So you try to take baby steps. The first one being something you've been planning to do for a while. And finally gathered the courage to do. Visit Sunoo in prison.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Heeseung asks cautiously, gripping your hands.

"I can do it. There will be guards and cameras and stuff, I will be safe," you promise.

"No, I'm aware you'll be physically safe but are you sure you're ready for this? I'm talking about the mental aspects of it..."

You nod, thinking about how lucky you are to have such a considerate, warm boyfriend.

"I think I'm ready. I don't wanna be your shadow all the time. I gotta learn how to be my own person again. I figured this was a good a place to start as any."

"You're very ambitious, but okay. You know I love it that you're next to me, right? I feel safer myself when I can see you," Heeseung murmurs reassuringly.

"I know, I know," you repeat, giving him a hug. "But I gotta do this for myself."

"I trust you," your sweet boyfriend replies.

This. This is why Heeseung will always be your choice. The fact he sticks by your side and trusts you unconditionally is something Sunghoon could never achieve.

When the hours for visitation arrive, you are all nerves. Gone is the confident you that was sooo sure she could do this by herself. But you have to be stronger. So, you face your former best friend.

"Hi, Sunnie," you greet him calmly.

"N-noona, you c-came to see me," Sunoo's eyes are watery with emotion and he looks a little battered. Oh God. You don't want to imagine how hard prison life is on him. He looks so pitiful and small. But then, you remind yourself of the reality. He betrayed you and helped Sunghoon kidnap you. He's just facing the consequences for his own actions. But still...You can't help but feel a surge of sympathy for him.

"Of course I came. You're my best friend, right?"

"I don't deserve to be your best friend," Sunoo shakes his head. Good. At least he's aware of it.

"You're right, you don't," you say coldly. "And I might be an idiot but I still don't. So I'll give you an offer. Ask for a retrial, tell the truth about Sunghoon, tell them he forced you to help him and you'll get a lower sentence. From five to three years. And I'll consider forgiving you."

"I can't do that, Y/Nnie," Sunoo shakes his head.

"He will never love you. I know it, you know it, we all know it."

"It's not about that anymore. If I tell on him, he's gonna kill me," Sunoo whispers, terrified.

"Did he threaten you?"

Sunoo nods, looking around as if to make sure no one else saw or heard.

"Fucking hell, Sunoo, then all the more reason for you to testify against him! So the cops will take action and capture him."

"Easy for you to say. He could send money to some of the prisoners and I could end up dying in here."

"Well, you might die in here but I might die out there, have you ever thought about that?" you exclaim angrily.

"He won't kill you."

"You can't know that," you strongly disagree. "Just think about it, okay? You might be saving two lives by telling the truth."

Sunoo sighs deeply.

"I'll sleep on it, alright. How have you been, though?"

"Oh, suddenly he cares! I'm holding up, I guess. I can't exactly erase the traumatic memories of being kidnapped by my best friend and my ex."

"I'm sorry. I mean it," Sunoo says sincerely. And maybe he really does mean it.

Because three days later you receive a call from the police that Sunoo has asked for a retrial and he testified against Sunghoon, telling the whole truth. Even with no fingerprints, his statement, along with yours, holds more power now. And the police will start investigating further and looking for Sunghoon. That's some progress, at least.

But it's not enough. You still have a hard time falling asleep. 2-3 hours per night tops. And whenever you do sleep, you are haunted by terrifying nightmares and traumatic memories. It can't go on like this. You need something more. Something to help you feel safe.

"I need to ask you for a huge favour," you talk to Heeseung one afternoon.

"Oh?"

"It's illegal," you mention the seriousness of it.

"OH?" Heeseung is in shock.

"I need you to help me get a gun."

"Babe, what? You're not gonna do anything stupid, right?"

"Stupid is my middle name. No, but seriously. I just think I'll feel safer if I have it. For like...potential self-defense. If you know who manages to get to me. If I happen to be alone."

Heeseung shakes his head fearfully.

"I don't want to leave you alone," he insists.

"You're not my babysitter, Hee. Sooner or later, it'll happen. And I just wanna be prepared. A precaution, nothing more. I'm not planning to actively look for him," the way you say the last word is full of bitterness and anger. "But if he comes, I'll be ready."

"Okay, um," Heeseung replies reluctantly. "I have this American friend. His name's Jay, he's a total sweetheart but he might be able to hook you up with a gun. You know, just for self-defense purposes."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks so much, Hee," you squeeze his hand, already looking forward to it. Maybe that will help you sleep better at night.

You meet Heeseung's friend Jay at a lowkey shady looking place that is a tattoo parlour. Jay himself has lots of tattoos of eagles and ravens and cats. Damn, you might consider getting a tattoo yourself one day. If you survive this shithole that has been the past few months.

"Nice to meet you," you shake his hand.

"Likewise," Jay responds firmly. "Heeseung talks about you like all the time."

"That's weird 'cause I only found out about you recently," you reply, honest to a fault.

"Ouch. I don't blame him, though. If my girlfriend was so beautiful, I wouldn't want her to meet any of my friends," Jay jokes.

"I'm flattered but uh-"

"Relax, sweetheart. I have a boyfriend. And even if I didn't, you're not my type."

"Point taken," you shake your head in amusement. "So, I can get the story behind the eagles but what's with the cats?" you ask curiously, pointing at his tattoos.

"They're meant to represent my love for my cat-like boyfriend Jungwon. He's a real cutie. I feel like you two would really get along. We should go on a double date sometime!"

"That's kinda weird but in an adorable way," you chuckle. "And I'm game for the double date thing."

"So, let's get down to business."

"To defeat the Huns?" you finish the thought.

Jay eyes you strangely. Okay, not a Mulan fan but has tons of cat tattoos. You can get past that.

"Hee told me you want a gun?"

"Um, yeah. As a precaution. For potential self-defense against my shitty ex who kidnapped me."

"Do you have any preference in mind? In terms of weight or design?"

"I don't know anything about that. Whatever you recommend is good. Just something that will help me sleep comfortably, I guess."

"I have a couple of options, I'll let you try them out. There's also a shooting range underneath the tattoo parlour. I'll show you a couple of tricks, just in case."

"That sounds amazing," you reply enthusiastically. "It's more than I could ask for. Seriously, thanks!"

"Anything for my friend's girlfriend," Jay shrugs as if it's not a big deal.

After trying out a couple of guns and Jay showing you the ropes of shooting, you feel more confident and pick the weapon that speaks to you the most.

"This one," you whisper, enthralled by how light and yet powerful it feels.

"Good choice," Jay hums approvingly. "Well, I hope this whole situation ends for you soon and stay safe."

"Thank you for everything."

"Don't forget about that double date!"

"I won't," you promise and you hope that happy day comes sooner rather than never.

Time passes and there is no trace of Sunghoon. As if he was a ghost you imagined. But you know better. You know he's out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Let him come. You're ready now.

Heeseung receives an amazing job opportunity that would entail him going abroad for one week. You encourage him to take it. He's really worried about leaving you alone. But you know you can handle this.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep, I'll be fine, don't worry."

"What will you do if something bad happens?"

"I'll call you or your cop friend Jake or your lowkey sus friend Jay."

"Good girl," Heeseung praises you and kisses you gently. "And if your phone isn't nearby for some reason?"

"I'll use the gun only in self-defense."

"Right. Um, I love you, baby," Heeseung hugs you tightly.

"Love you too, Hee."

"Be back soon," he promises.

"You better," you smile.

Night comes and you are more uneasy than ever. You have been sleeping better lately with Heeseung by your side and the gun under your pillow. What has become of your life?

You make peace with the fact you probably won't get much sleep during the following week. It's okay. You'll get to sleep forever one day. But not today, Satan.

And then, speak of the devil, you hear it. A sound you know all too well. A door being attacked. But this time, he doesn't have a key. And uses something that is perhaps a bobby pin. He is slower. And you are fast. Your right hand is on your gun in no time and your left hand is on your phone. It might not even be him, but you don't care. Heeseung must be on the plane right now since he doesn't pick up so you call his cop friend Jake.

"Hi, Y/N, is everything okay?" he picks up immediately.

"Hi, Jake, someone is trying to enter Heeseung's place right now. I mean...our place."

"Oh my God, I'll assemble a squad and we're on our way! Don't do anything stupid!" Jake advises you. Heeseung might have told him you own a gun now. Oh well. You know Heeseung trusts Jake so you probably won't get in trouble with the police.

"I'll try," you chuckle and hang up. You send a quick text to Jay, informing him of the circumstances and just as you hit send, the door clicks.

He's in.

"Hi, princess," Sunghoon greets you. Oh, he looks so angry he hasn't seen you in ages. Good. Anger is good.

"Stay back," you warn him warily, pointing the gun at him.

"Aw, you're not happy to see me?" Sunghoon pouts in disappointment.

"You look like shit, Sunghoon," you hiss.

"Gee, thanks. You're as beautiful as ever," he compliments you.

"I know," you say even though you don't feel beautiful. You have dark circles under your eyes, your hair is greying from all the stress and your mental health has never been worse. But you're still here, fighting against all odds.

"Come back to me, Y/N," Sunghoon begs, straight to the point.

"Never," you shake your head with determination, tears clouding your vision. Fuck, you hate that you still get so emotional when facing him. It's a weakness that might be your downfall. But you won't let it.

"Were you pretending when you said you can learn to love me again?"

"I could never love you," you admit honestly. "And neither can you."

"N-no, that's not true," Sunghoon argues. "Just come with me, please. No one has to get hurt. Not Heeseung, not Sunoo. Just us two and everyone you care about will be safe."

Heeseung's on a plane right now. Sunoo's in prison. As much as your heart is telling you that Sunghoon could really hurt them, your mind is aware that he no longer has any power. The power is in your hands right now. Jake and the cops are on their way. But they'll be too slow.

"Well, that's too bad, 'cause I only ever cared about myself," you smirk coldly.

"You don't. You're full of love and light and warmth," Sunghoon insists blindly.

"Not anymore. You took them from me. I'd ask you to give them back but I don't think you can," you say openly. You don't even believe half of what you're saying. But that doesn't matter. You just have to make him believe it.

Sunghoon pulls out his own gun, pointing it at you. A mirror image. Did you make him worse? Or did he make you worse? You don't know. And you no longer care.

"Well, if I can't have you, no one will," Sunghoon glares at you.

"Not in my movie!" you scream.

You genuinely cannot tell who fires the gun first.

You can only hope it's you.

The End

author's note: if you like open endings, you may stop reading here. if you don't like them and are not satisfied with the uncertainty, keep reading for three possible endings i have in my head 🖤

Ending One: I hope you die first

Your whole body is shaking and your hands are covered in blood.

It's over. Sunghoon's dead. You really killed him. You can't believe it.

As you hear the police sirens surrounding you, you suddenly feel dizzy.

When the time for a trial comes, the court rules it was in self-defense. Considering how Sunghoon stalked and kidnapped you, the law is lenient towards you and you get away with a fine for owning an illegal gun. Well, having a cop friend also helps.

You spend the rest of your days surrounded by people you care about. Heeseung is always by your side, supporting you through everything. You can't imagine making it this far without him. And Sunoo serves his three years in prison. Once he's out of jail, he makes it his mission to make you forgive him. Slowly, he creeps back into your life. And you let him. Somehow time has eased the hurt from the betrayal.

There are happy moments, there are sad moments and then there are the moments when you just feel empty.

But the guilt and pain stay with you. Your forever companions. Sure, you are free from Sunghoon. But you can never be free from yourself.

Ending Two: I See Red

Sunghoon drops on his knees the moment he realizes what he's done. Fuck. You're gone. He killed you. The one and only being he truly loved. Or deluded himself into thinking he loves you. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he wasn't even capable of it.

With no reason left to go on, he points the gun at himself, pulling the trigger. Maybe in another life, he'll do better. Maybe you'll meet again.

The cops and Jake at the crime scene they're immediately struck by the sight of the two bodies. Sunghoon's hand is reaching towards yours but your face is turned to the other direction. Even in death, you don't want to look at him. Alas, they came too late.

When Heeseung learns of your death, he is completely devastated and heartbroken. Miles and miles away, he cannot even get to your funeral on time. At first, he contemplates doing what your ex did to himself. But he knows you wouldn't want that from him.

So, he spends the rest of his life trying to help victims of abuse or kidnappings, aiding the police whatever way he can and organizing therapy sessions. It's not much, but he'd like to believe he's making a difference.

As time passes, the pain is still there, but diminishes in magnitude. Heeseung eventually finds comfort and love in the arms of his friend Jake. But a part of his heart stays there with you, in that cursed night.

Ending Three: Scream cause we wanna go faster

Both guns fire at roughly the same time. Both you and Sunghoon apparently suck at aiming them. You manage to injure each other, but nothing lethal. Seconds later, the police arrive, apprehending Sunghoon. The medics show up soon after and take care of you.

Sunghoon gets a life sentence for stalking, kidnapping and attempted murder. You don't visit him. Not even once. You don't want to see him, not even to gloat. That chapter of your book is over. Your only wish is to put it behind you for good.

Heeseung finds out about what happened right as his plane lands and he wants to return as soon as possible but you tell him to finish his work and then come back to you. Now, you will have all the time in the world.

"Welcome back, Hee," you greet him at the airport once he returns.

"My God, darling, I'm so glad you're okay," your boyfriend hugs you tightly, not wanting to let go ever again.

"Of course, I'm okay. I promised Jay we'd go on a double date with him and Jungwon, didn't I? And I always keep my promises," you tease.

"Damn right, you do," Heeseung laughs. "But seriously, just thinking about what might have happened, I feel sick."

"Well, let's just be glad it didn't," you kiss him deeply.

In another universe, maybe you're dead. In a different world, maybe Sunghoon died.

But this is your world. Your movie. And you just pressed play.

The End (for real this time)

#enhypen #enhypen fic #heeseung #sunghoon #sunoo #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #thriller #dark romance #enhypen angst #writing

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 4 months ago

Note

I would like to ask for part 3 of nightmare in Toronto

*ahem*

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

Ask and ye shall receive!

Knightmare In Toronto

Chapter 3: Meet The Neighbors, They Said!

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The kitchen was abuzz with activity.

As it turned out, everyone was hungry, with Wind offering to help within a millisecond of you popping the question. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you folded in the face of those baby blues staring up at you, averting your eyes as you contemplated how one child could be so damn adorable, eventually settling on marching to the kitchen and declaring that anyone who wanted to help was welcome to it, a cheerful Wind at your heels.

It was only when you bent to retrieve the only pot you owned that Wild made his presence known, asking quietly if there were any ingredients you needed. You informed him that you had gone to the supermarket earlier, which elicited a strange look from the blonde, but you were too focused on keeping Wind from waving the knives like toys and retrieving your cookbook from the depths of the top cabinet to care.

“Okay,” you blew the dust off the cookbook. Wind oooed and Wild sneezed, to which you issued a dry “bless you,” and flipped to the correct page. Green Bean Soup had been one of your favorite recipes when you were a child, so you didn’t see any reason not to make it for them. “I’m going to assume none of you know what a stove is?”

Their blank stares confirmed everything. With a labored sigh and quick massage to your aching temples, you tossed the cookbook on the counter, rolled up your sleeves, cracked your knuckles awesomely, and intoned: “Let’s fix that.”

Within ten minutes, you had a large soup boiling atop the stove, all thanks to Wind’s chopping abilities and Wild’s tendency to produce ingredients from his pants pockets, which you were beginning to suspect doubled as a gateway to a black hole when you caught him trying to pull what appeared to be an entire ladle from the thing. He continued to surprise you when a small vial of red powder—Goron Spice, he called it, which was both terrifying and intriguing—made its way onto the mix, while Wind flitted around the area to simultaneously snoop and ask a million questions.

Despite the chaos, there was something inherently refreshing about being in the presence of others. You rarely received visitors, and it was nice to laugh along with Wind’s antics or Wild’s cleverly-placed quips. The soup also smelled delicious, which did not favors for your initial distrust; if they wanted to hurt me, they would have done it sooner, you reasoned, watching Wild stir the liquid—a vibrant carmine that looked just as good as it smelled, with tender veggies gliding at the surface with each flick of the ladle—as it bubbled and hissed.

"You're pretty good at this," you said as Wild scraped the last of the chicken—the meat of choice—into the pot, already blooming with delicious, fragrant steam. "Who taught you?"

“I did,” the man’s response was swift and to the point, but only a fool would miss the soft smile in his eyes… until it turned sour and he glanced down at the soup. “At least, I think I did,” his expression darkened further. “My memories… they’re not all there.”

You nodded sympathetically as he stirred the soup, lost in thought, reaching over to tap more spice into the pot. Wild’s grin was quick, and his motions grew quicker to incorporate the powder. Wind, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, pipped up from his perched position on the counter. “That’s okay, Wild! You’re the best cook I know!”

“Thanks, sailor,” Wild’s mouth quirked up even more, and you stepped over to the dishes cabinet to give them some privacy, feeling a bit out of place. You were curious, sure, but it wasn’t your place to ask. Opening the door, you groaned, drawing both boys’ gazes.

“Oh, for the love of—”

“What’s wrong?” Wind hopped off the counter to sidle up beside you, neck craned as he assessed the situation.

You gestured to the nearly-empty cabinet housing your meager dining possessions: four plates, two bowls, three glass cups of varying size, a chipped mug with Grumpy Cat’s frowning face plastered to the visible side of it, and the Paw Patrol sippy cup you discovered between your couch’s cushions a year into owning it.

Wind patted your forearm with a grin. “That’s okay! We have our own bowls,” and, just to assuage your fears, he reached into his satchel and produced a small wooden bowl, complete with a set of carved silverware and a small cup. “See?”

“That’s what eyes are for, Wind,” came Four’s voice from the living room, but there was no real heat behind his words. You had to hold back a chuckle at the younger boy’s exasperated expression, and excused yourself to the hallway when he turned to look at you with a ‘did you just hear that?’ expression.

Once in the hallway, you made a b-line for the hallway closet, retrieving all the blankets you had, which was a startlingly large number considering you lived alone. You threw the ones that wouldn’t fit around your shoulder, then padded down to the guest room. It had been just your luck that the house had come with such a large room, nearly twice as big as your own. Until now, you had been using it as a makeshift quiet space, complete with a heavenly beanbag that you were only slightly embarrassed to admit you used more than your own bed.

You nudged the door open with your foot, immediately tossed the blankets on the beanbag when Wild’s call of “Stew’s done!” rang through the house. Scrambling back to the kitchen, you snagged a bowl and joined the already forming line, sandwiched between Twilight and Wind, their bowls at the ready.

After getting your food, you walked to the living room and flopped down on the couch–there was no way in hell your tiny dining table was going to fit everyone.

"May I join you?” Four materialized at your side, the steam from his bowl slightly obscuring his face. You nodded and he plopped himself down on the couch next to you. A beat passed, only broken by a sigh. "I'm sorry for scaring you, it wasn't right of me."

“You’re fine,” you spooned some soup and blew on it, glancing at him as the tips of your mouth curved up in a cheeky grin. “I would have screamed too, scared cat."

His gaze snapped to you. “Excuse me?”

You held up your free hand in surrender. “Joking, joking!”

Four rolled his eyes and you could have sworn the typically blue edges flashed a starling shade of purple for a split second. “You better be,” he said through a mouthful of soup, and you were glad there were no hard feelings.

"What's this?" Came Wild's curious voice. He had taken up residence on the carpet, stew set aside in favor of examining your television, running his fingers across the smooth surface.

“It's called a television,” you reached for the remote. "Watch this!"

The TV crackled to life when you pressed the power button, not considering how someone new to your world might react to this technology of the future. As expected, Wild threw himself back with a shout as the latest episode of Family Feud filled the screen with an obnoxious blare, then swiftly brandished his sword in the wake of this new foe. Four also went ramrod straight and retrieved his own sword, nearly dropping his stew in the chaos. You screamed for them to stop, but it was for naught when a Call Of Duty ad joined the commercial sequence. Wild yelled in shock, thrusting his blade into the center of the television.

ZZZZCHH!

Orange sparks exploded around the weapon, and Wild’s body shook as he was undoubtedly electrocuted, hair going every which way in a manner that would have been hilarious in any other situation. Amidst the insanity, Four attempted to pull Wild from the sparking television, only to receive what you could only assume was a very nasty shock. Twilight, Wind, and the tallest guy joined the fray just as the lights began to flicker, their barking voices melding into a cacophony of craziness.

"What in Hylia?!" Someone cried, though you didn't recognize their voice. Glancing up, you met the purple eyes of an even more ridiculously-dressed stranger. His hair was what could only be described as a warm strawberry blonde and, if that wasn't enough, he appeared to be wearing a red tunic over a long green dress with... where the fuck were his pants?

"Put some pants on, whore!" You screeched, half delirious with terror, just as there was a loud crash and Wild flew across the room, landing squarely against the family photos hanging on your wall with a stuttered oof. Your tone spiked with outrage as you beheld the current madness. "What the hell?!"

“Wild!” Wind rushed to Wild’s side, shaking his shoulder. He looked up at you, the beginnings of tears blooming in his adorable little eyes. You felt your anger slip like sand through clenched fingers, slowly stepping up to Wild’s prone form, pressing your fore and middle fingers to the side of his neck, probing the arteries below for a pulse. It was at that moment that you truly noticed the scars marring the side of his neck, long enough that they simultaneously dipped down beneath his shirt and stretched up to the base of his elongated ear. “...Is he dead?”

“I…” The silence was somber as you searched harder… only for Wild to cough and swat at your hand, eyes gazing blearily at the ceiling.

“Hylia, it’s like fighting wizzrobes all over again…”

What?

Despite the fact that half those words made no sense at all, you released the breath you’d been holding. You drew yourself up, still dazed by the fact that that had just happened, you brushed past a startled Twilight and blank-faced tall man, calling over your shoulder: “Someone get him on the couch–I’ll get water.”

“‘M fine,” you heard Wild murmur from the other room, followed by soft scuffling noises. You grabbed the sippy cup from the cabinet and filled it with water, returning just in time to witness Four heave the taller man by his armpits onto your couch. Impressive, was your first thought, followed by: I don’t want to imagine the overtime, when you passed the crackling television, still impaled on the massive sword. It was a fucking miracle your house hadn’t caught on fire in the chaos.

“Here,“ you handed the cup to Wild, who took it with a baffled expression, though it didn’t stop him from dutifully chugging the thing. “...Dare I ask why you stabbed my television?”

“That’s a fancy term for a mimic,” the pantless stranger snapped, mirroring your posture. You instantly stood straighter, ready to square up if needed. The stranger snorted at your half-glare, expression darkening suspiciously as he scanned your home. “Where are we?”

You tried not to look at the sword attached to his belt, crossing your arms over your chest and slightly cocking your left hip in a manner that you hoped conveyed the seriousness of the situation. “My house.”

The newcomer blinked, and Wind stepped in, excitement regained. “This is Legend, he’s with us–”

“Uh huh,” you muttered under your breath.

“–and this is (Y/n), we’re staying with them until everyone else gets here.”

You felt your expression soften–Wind was a cute kid–and it was only mildly difficult to manage a short wave; you definitely weren’t here to make enemies out of any of them.

“Sup.”

Bafflement swept across Legend’s face as Wind mouthed the word to himself, though neither of them had a chance to reply when a heavy series of knocks came down on your front door. For a moment, you froze, feeling like you had just been caught red-handed, but quickly flew into action when Legend stiffened, hand falling on the hilt of his sword. “Put that away,” you hissed as the barest glint of steel flashed in your field of vision, fearlessly batting his hand down and rushing over to the door with a hurried “stay right there” to the gaggle of men in your living room.

“Hiiii, Cindy,” you said as soon as you cracked the door open, praying to whatever deity you could that she wasn’t here to bitch about how your petunias interfered with the HOA guidelines. “What can I do for you on this,” you were going to say ‘fine day’, but that felt a tad too cheery for the insanity that had occurred in your living room alone. “...acceptable afternoon?”

“Finally,” your neighbor tossed her freshly highlighted bangs from her face, but you were more surprised that her demon spawn children were nowhere to be seen, likely congregating elsewhere to commit more crimes against the local wildlife. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

You deadpanned, ignoring the hushed whispers behind you. Cindy’s brows lifted, and she tried to peek behind you, but you squared your stick shoulders and fake coughed. “I don’t know, Cindy, what time is it?”

“It’s too damn early, that’s what it is,” she said despite it being after five o’clock in the afternoon. “I’ve always considered you a sensible neighbor–”

“Hold on,” you held up a hand, bafflement creeping into your expression. “Why are you here?”

“For god’s sake, (Y/n),” she put two fingers on the bridge of her nose and you felt your exasperation ebb minutely–seems like you weren’t the only one who had a hard day. “What are you doing, screaming like that?“

“...Um.”

“I get that the Tic Tac app condones all these newfangled things, but that’s no excuse to involve the neighborhood in your shenanigans–”

What. The. Fuck.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor–did she think you were having an orgy? It was so… so hilariously wrong that you were temporarily rendered speechless, helplessly listening to her spiel about adequate soundproofing and some other bullshit about using protection that you didn’t have the brain power to comprehend at the moment. It didn’t help that there was an audible gasp from within the house that followed her initial words as one of the boys ultimately came (har har) to the same conclusion you had.

When you did find your voice, it came out in choppy half-sentences that did absolutely nothing to help your case. “I’m not– why would you–”

“Oh, honey,” Cindy tossed her hair in one flawless move. Distant screaming could be heard from her property and you cringed at the thought of having to call the fire department so soon after last time. “Before you–” she leaned close, and you backed away, unintentionally revealing Wind’s head poking out from the living room wall. ”–there was me.”

With that, your neighbor was gone. You remained at the foyer, leaning against the door frame for support, expression completely drained of any and all emotion. Every one of your thoughts was centered around the complete and total madness that had just occurred until Wind whispered. “Is she gone?”

You closed the door and collapsed back onto it, battling with the distinct urge to scream like a maniac. Four wandered around the corner and plopped himself against the wall next to you. You allowed yourself a few moments of silence, only moving when the tallest man’s bulky form entered the hall, flanked by Twilight, Wild, and Legend, who was the first to speak.

“That was…” if you had been paying attention, you would have noticed the faint redness on the tips of his ears.

“I need a nap,” you groaned, massaging your temples for the nth time today. The tallest man stood a bit straighter when you fixed your sights on him. “How many more of you did you say were coming?”

“Three more,” he glanced up and you half expected to see another one of them dropping from the ceiling. When nothing happened, you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“Okay, the guest room is just down there–” you pointed at said door for emphasis. “–and mine is the one after it. There should be enough blankets for y’all, but I can go on a supply run if anything ends up on fire…” you paused, tone taking a distinct, pleading undertone when you continued. “Please don’t set my things on fire.”

“You have our word,” the tall man promised, laying a hand over his heart, and you felt marginally better.

“Rad. Now,” you clapped your hands. “Who wants croissants?”

This chapter fought me tooth and nail, so please be gentle!

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #the chain x reader #loz fanfic #lu x reader #lu sky #lu time #lu wind #lu fic #lu warriors #lu legend #lu wild #lu four #lu twilight

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chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang · 5 months ago

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Vlad, Viago and Deacon as parents headcanons [pt.2]

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Author’s note: I love writing this shit to a very unhealthy degree. I might make a oneshots out of this later. Also does anyone know Deacon’s nationality? Some say Polish, others say German. I’m still not sure.

Also, if some of you want pt. 3, please let me know what scenarios would you want me to explore specifically, because I am running out of ideas a bit…

When you first appeared in the house, Viago found some old suitcase in the attic and proposed that you’ll sleep in it, until they get you an actual casket.

You tried it, but couldn’t really slumber because of the constant nightmares and it was too scary to open the lid, because of the sun.

So you started sharing a coffin with Viago, at least until you felt calmer.

It resulted in him sacrificing a bit of his sleep to your rather constant tossing and turning, but he quickly got used to it.

He sang you German lullabies to put you to sleep or whispered some calming affirmations (you didn’t understand a word, but it was sweet).

He found these moments so precious, that he actually got upset, when you obtained your own coffin and started sleeping separately in the attic.

Since the attic was now technically your room, Vlad, Viago and Deacon decided to help you decorate it to your liking, so you went on the town basically robbing thrift stores and supermarkets by hypnotising the cashiers.

They helped you assemble the random ikea furniture you got, even though neither of you could understand the instructions on the box.

In your free time, you’ll often find yourself hanging around in Vladislav’s room, posing for his portraits. He likes your expressiveness, it really gives his paintings the right look. And so you won’t get bored sitting there for hours, he asks you about your life before you became a vampire.

You also speak a lot of Romanian together, because Vlad wanted you to know another language, so he only communicated to you in Romanian for a while and you unwillingly started to understand it with time.

If you miss your family, he will take you to your childhood home. Of course, you can’t really interact with them anymore, but you can at least watch and it might make you feel a bit better to know they are still living a good life and that they miss you just as much.

At one point all three of them realise, that you would benefit from some friends within your age group. So they take you out to an arcade pretty early in the evening.

Unfortunately, living with ancient vampires kind of killed any chance for your social skills to develop properly, so you ended up scaring a bunch of kids and getting very upset.

To compensate for it, Deacon called you along to watch videos on the laptop, that Stu set up. You accidentally stumbled upon Bill Nye reuploads and binged them together, because you thought he’s the smartest person to ever roam the earth.

All of them have some kind of a default nickname for you. Viago calls you “Mäuschen” (little mouse), Vlad calls you very simply “Child” and to Deacon you are “Rodent”.

Stu and Nick are kind of like uncles/siblings to you. When the three have to leave somewhere, they usually leave them to babysit you. You have a lot of fun together! Since all three of you still remember what it’s like to actually be a living and breathing human, you get to talk more about recent news and events, rather than reminisce about the past.

You are also the only person in the group, who can’t really steal your clothes from victims, since neither of the vampires is very keen on killing children. Mostly, they ask their newfound werewolf friends to pick something up for you during the day or steal it themselves during the night.

Considering you can’t go to a normal school, they decided to teach you at home. Vlad teaches you literacy and art, Viago teaches you sciences and history and Deacon teaches you actually important shit like hypnotising tax collectors, draining the blood of your victims into mason jars and looking cool as fuck.

If you call Viago “dad”, he will be over the goddamn moon. It’s like he accomplished a goal he didn’t even know he set.

If you call Vladislav your dad, for a moment he would almost feel this long forgotten warmth in his chest. It’s like his heart started to beat again.

If you refer to Deacon as “dad”, he will be very startled and confused at first. It’s a weird feeling for him to have someone trust him and depend on him so much. He won’t admit it, but he really loved that emotion.

The more you are around, the more they get into being parental figures.

Tagging people who asked for part two: @italakthoughts and @rthounasty (this is a fire username btw)

#what we do in the shadows x reader #wwdits fanfic #wwdits x reader #what we do in the shadows #wwdits #fanfic #viago x reader #x reader #deacon x reader #vladislav x reader #vladislav wwdits #vladislav the poker #deacon brücke #deacon wwdits #viago von dorna schmarten scheden heimburg #viago wwdits #child!reader #platonic fanfic

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syoish-aot · 7 months ago

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"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 1)

sequel to "I Found You" (which you're going to want to read first or you'll be very confused)

Eren/Reader

post canon, reincarnation AU

memory loss

word count: 1650

CH 2 ->

“Is this heaven…”

Eren’s eyes widen as the words come spilling out of your mouth:

“...Mr. Kruger?”

Everything felt like a dream…

Which you found odd considering how when you normally woke up everything was a nightmare.

But not this time… this time it was a dream. A wonderful, peaceful, happy dream.

And because of that, you were going to enjoy every moment of it.

“What’s that?” You excitedly asked Mr. Kruger as you pointed to the strange object at the further end of the room. It looked like a picture frame but it was glowing like a light!

“It’s the TV.” Mr. Kruger said.

“Tee… vee…” You repeated slowly before you gasped. “It’s amazing…”

“Um... yeah it’s- it’s pretty cool.”

“And what’s that!” You excitedly asked again.

“A microwave.” Mr. Kruger told you.

“That!?”

“The fridge.”

You continued to dart around the apartment pointing at all the new sights around you and asking for explanations of what they were. It was amazing! Everything was amazing!! It was all so shiny and clean, the complete opposite of the grimy life that you were used to.

As you buzzed around the apartment, Eren’s eyes followed you.

He knew how you felt right now. Exactly how you felt, actually; because he’d experienced the same thing just that morning. He’d also woke up, completely confused about where and when he was, until his memories of his past life and his current life meshed together and everything (for the most part) made sense again.

That was supposed to be the end of the confusion. He was supposed to remember and then he could move on and enjoy his second life, just like his friends had.

And yet…

“So what is this place?” You asked, finally coming to a stop in front of him. You placed your hands behind your back, smiling up at him with your eyes wide and practically sparkling with excitement.

It made his heart hammer against his chest.

“Well uh- it’s-... it’s where you live.” He awkwardly told you.

“I live here!!”

“Uh- yeah…” Eren cleared his throat. “And… I- I do too.”

Your eyes widened. “You do too?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well uh-” Eren looked away from you and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how much was safe to say. He knew how confusing it would be if he threw too much information at you at once and he had a feeling that confusion would do more harm than good. His friends had taken things slowly with him, so he figured he should do the same with you. After all, he now knew firsthand that it just took a little bit of time for the memories of this life to mesh with the memories of the past. All he had to do was wait it out. Right?

“Is it the same here?” You suddenly asked him.

“Is… Is what the same?”

“Do I take care of you here too?” You asked softly, causing a rush of heat to run up Eren’s spine.

“Y-Yeah...” He stuttered before he could think of anything else to say.

To be fair, it wasn’t a complete lie. You were his girlfriend so you did take care of him sometimes. You made dinner when he worked late. Cleaned the apartment on your days off. Got on his ass about not matching his socks on laundry day.

But he took care of you too. He mopped after you swept. Made sure the dishwasher ran when it was full. Watered the (overpriced and half-dead) plants you kept insisting on buying from the supermarket anytime you got groceries.

It was a partnership. And it had been for the last six years.

“Hm…” You hum softly in reply as you continue to smile up at him and a glimmer of something- something familiar- flickers in your eyes. “It feels the same.” You tell him.

Eren isn’t sure what you meant by that, but he’s a little too intimidated to ask.

Especially when your eyes flick left, then right, then left again as you look between his own. You’re smiling, still smiling so softly as the expression on your face becomes so familiar but still so new.

He’s seen the look before.

Not here, but before.

In another time. In another life. Under different circumstances that made being close to you like this impossible.

“It’s probably time for bed, isn’t it?” You asked him as you pulled away. “Do you need me to help you change?”

Eren’s heart leapt into his throat again. “N-No!” His cheeks flushed crimson. “I can um- I can do that myself.”

You laughed and it made his heart flutter.

Just like it always did and just like it always had- even in that brightly lit hospital room in Liberio…

Hot.

It was always so hot in the middle of summer.

The heat made you feel sluggish, especially in combination with the thick humidity in the air that was likely indicative of an upcoming storm.

It wasn’t just the heat though, there was something else in the air, the anxiety of… of… of impending doom, an undeniable end, the constant fear that something could happen in a moment’s notice that it would completely shatter everyone’s life into pieces.

You were used to that though. It was just a part of war.

So the heat.

That’s what was really bothering you.

You sighed as you leaned against the window sill, looking out across the courtyard two stories below.

A doctor in a white hospital coat was ushering a patient inside. The old man sobbed and hollered about- honestly, you have no idea. There was no point in paying enough attention to find out. Two patients sat at a bench in hushed conversation. A delivery boy rushed through the gates with a stack of papers in his hands, the white armband he wore immediately caught your eye as it contrasted against his dark clothing.

You brought your teacup to your lips and sipped your tea as your mind slipped off to somewhere else.

Somewhere nice.

“I hear we’re getting a new shipment today.” Your coworker Myra says, completely snapping you from your daydream as she steps up to you and leans against the other end of the window. Just like you, she stares down at the courtyard below. She snickers as she watches the doctor escorting the old man below. The doctor struggles to lift the man to his feet.

“Shipment of what?” You ask wistfully, only half paying attention to her as the rest of your mind is still swept up somewhere else.

Somewhere nice.

“Eldian devils, of course.” Your coworker sighs, the amusement now gone from her tone and replaced with boredom. “They’re coming in from Fort Slava. Probably going to be all fucked up because of it.”

“We won the war,” you point out, still only half paying attention to the conversation, “you should probably be celebrating.”

“I am celebrating.” She says as she turns away from the view and presses her back against the windowsill so she can stare into the break room instead of the courtyard. “Unfortunately, the celebration comes hand in hand with how much damn work it’s going to create for all of us.”

You sigh and give up on your daydreams. You’ll go back to them later.

“Soldiers are coming home.” You say as you look over at her. “That’s a good thing.”

Myra scoffs. “Eldian soldiers,” she emphasizes. “It’d be easier on all of us if they just died out there. Fucking devils… what a pain.”

You don't get what her deal is.

If she doesn’t want to work with Eldians, maybe she shouldn’t have taken a nursing job at an internment zone hospital.

But you don’t say that to her, there’s no point in making enemies with the one coworker that you (sort of) consider a friend.

“Oh look,” she says just in time for a large truck to pull up to the front of the hospital. A Marleyan escort drops the tailgate and a line of soldiers begin climbing from the back of the truck.

Soldiers with bandages across their chests. Limbs. Heads.

Soldiers with missing legs. Arms. Eyes.

Soldiers that stagger forward in a line, passing through the gates of the hospital with their heads turned down, barely paying attention to the world around them and focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other (if they even have two feet to focus on, that is).

Eldian soldiers.

Straight from Fort Slava.

“Hey, you!” The Marleyan soldier escorting them calls, slamming his gun against the side of the truck.

One last Eldian pulls himself out, walking on a single leg as the rest of his body is supported with an old crutch.

He has a bandage around his head, concealing a (likely missing) eye, with long brown hair that’s in desperate need of a trim.

You assume he wears the same expression as all of the other traumatized soldiers do when they show up at your hospital. The same bags under their eyes, frown lines etched against their face, and depressed lost look of desperation. The desperation for what? You aren’t sure. Escape. Death. Freedom. It doesn’t matter what it is, because it’s always the same.

You’ve worked at that hospital for years and it’s always been the same.

And yet when this soldier, this Eldian soldier, crosses the courtyard below you, he’s shoved by the Marleyan that’s escorting him. He stumbles. He looks up.

That’s when you see it.

You see the look on his face.

And you see his eyes.

A stunning composition that reminds you of the night sky on a full moon- swirling blues and greens beautifully illuminated with flecks of golden stars.

Your fingers tighten against your teacup, pressing its warmth firmly against your palms.

Hot.

It was always so hot… in the middle of summer.

#aot x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren x reader #my writing #i found you too #me: it's going to take a while for me to start the sequel #me (like a week later): so here's the sequel #what can I say I crave validation

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http-shield · 29 days ago

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twilight? -bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: pre-civil war (bucky is in Romania and finds a friend in the local supermarket girl) they finally have their first coffee date! angst! bucky thinking about his past. honey is a replacement for y/n ~ wc: 2.4k ~ not proofread

For fifty years, the soldier had been the active mind in the body of James Buchanan Barnes. For that half a century, Bucky’s actions had not been his own, which in some aspects soothes the guilt that gnaws at his chest like a raven ravaging a corpse, picking at his decaying organs till his bones shine bright and clean, but in some other regards bolsters the powers of the monster made of shame and regret because he had been there, albeit locked in the deep, deep recesses of the soldier’s mind without any way of breaking free of the prison, but he was still there. James saw everything, felt every wound that tore at his skin, heard every cry and plea, the weight of the knife in his palm as he plunged into the neck of the soldier’s mission. He was there. Was. A key verb Bucky reminds himself of every morning as he spills the contents of his stomach into the sink after a new nightmare wretches him awake. Was. The word he writes in his journal over and over again until the script begins to look like chicken scratching. Was. Written in steam on the mirror as he dresses after a shower. A faint mark on his hand. The slip of paper in his wallet. A consistent reminder of his current reality. It has been working well this far, each time he feels that familiar pull of guilt's spindly fingers gripping his shoulders, he opens his journal or reads the slip of paper, a way to redirect his thoughts away from the feeling in the pit of his stomach that does not conjure any distinct memories, but fills his body with dread.

Was. Was. Was.

The slip of paper sits neatly in the second card slot in the tattered (and stolen) wallet. Beneath it is a metro card (also stolen) and another slip of paper.

If you ever get a phone x

0763 389 295

Your handwriting is neat, slanting slightly to the right as you quickly scrawled the message on a larger piece of paper before ripping it and slipping it into Bucky’s shopping bag. He hadn’t noticed the note until he had gotten home and began to unpack the groceries. Squished between two cans of fruit sat the delicate white piece, the black ink had leaked slightly due to the condensation off the fruit you had ‘sold’ him quickly before you shoved him out the door in case your manager caught on to the suspiciously low sale price and rectified the ‘mistake’.

“I don’t want you to get fired, I can pay for the fruit.” Bucky had whispered as you pushed him out the door, your hands on his backpack shoving him towards the automatic doors. He was letting you push him, allowing you the small victory of feeling as though you had power over him in this moment just because he liked the way you smiled when you noticed his lack of apprehension to the touch.

You shushed him and continued to press forward. “It’s not that expensive, I’ll just label it as a mistake.”

Bucky stopped, rooting his feet to the floor and preventing you from shoving him another inch. He felt your body slam into his back at the sudden halt, a small huff coming from you at the sudden bump. He turned to face you. You looked even cuter as you pouted.

“Exactly, so let me pay for them.” He began to reach for the wallet but your hand on his wrist stopped him.

Panic paralysed the ex-assassin for a moment as your fingers wrapped around his arm, your pinky dangerously low to the edge of his jacket sleeve, to the sliver of metal that sometimes peeked out from under the layers. Bucky’s heart began to race, thudding in his chest and filling his head with loud thumps, his breathing turned shallow, chest heaving rapidly. He should run. Wretch his arm away from you and run the entire way home, then get on a train and move.

Run, you moron! Run!

But he couldn’t. The grip on his wrist softened as you noticed his change in demeanour. You pulled back breaking all contact in a fraction of a second and stepping back, giving him a wide berth to move if need be.

“Are you-?” You asked, face softening in concern.

Bucky nodded, inhaled a short sharp breath and squared his shoulder. “Yeah.” he slipped the wallet into the plastic bag. “I’ve gotta go, see ya.”

And he was out the door. The whooshing in his brain didn’t stop until he was safely inside his apartment, the door barricaded with a plank of wood and the sound of the television playing softly in the background. The metal of his arm flashed in his peripheral vision, and god did he want to rip it from his body. To tear the faux appendage and throw it into a river, off a mountain, in the dump, anywhere that I would not be attached to him. Tears pricked at Bucky’s eyes as he felt his throat tighten with impending tears. He had already cried this morning and had hoped he would not again for the rest of the day but as he slid down the the door, the tears began to flow and Bucky was once again alone.

—---

Bucky’s apology for the abrupt exit came a day later. In the form of a letter left for you at the front desk. A coworker hands it to you, clearly very annoyed that he had been tasked with something other than work.

“Some guy left it for you.” he sighs, shoves his hands into jacket pockets and starts to walk down the aisle.

“Some guy? And you took it?” You shout at him in disbelief. “Did you even ask his name?”

Your co-worker shakes his head, still with his back to you and answers. “Didn’t care enough to.”

The envelope itself is clean. No weird marks or stains, nothing that could indicate that there would be anything creepy or dangerous inside. It isn’t heavy or bulky so no weird gift concealed in it, so maybe it’s safe? You slowly open the paper careful to avoid spilling any powder or whatever may be inside but as you open it and find a note, your fears begin to subside.

Inside there is a handwritten note addressed to you.

Honey,

I’m sorry that I left so quickly the other day. You did nothing wrong, I just got a bit overwhelmed and had to leave. I’ve left extra money in here to pay for the plums so please put it in the register or use it for something you want, I don’t mind, I just don't want you to get fired.

I might not be in for a few days (there is a big job coming up a town away) but I'll see you when I get back. I still don’t have a phone so I’ll come in and see you. I hope you still want to get coffee.

Bucky x

---

"So why are you in Bucharest?”

The question is simple enough that a non-detailed answer could be given, and neither one would be the wiser, Yet you both sit in the booth, eyes trained on the steaming cups of coffee, in complete silence.

You're the first to break the silence.

"Did you get the plums?”

Bucky looks up from his coffee, lines of worry melting. “I did.” he reaches into his backpack, the same one you had seen on him each time he came into the store, and pulls out two perfectly purple plums. His large, gloved hand dwarfs the small fruits, looking like tiny river stones in his palm.

For a moment he is no longer the man who had saved you from certain death. He is a boy you had met long ago in the village square with eyes of endless blue and a smile of summer sunshine, whose hand slipped in yours as you ran through fields of wheat and barley, hiding in empty fox holes and climbing the great oak trees. He is a child, unburdened and carefree, suffering and heartbreak unknown.

You sit straighter, leaning in to get a good look at the fruit before you and match the small smile on his face.

“You want one?” Bucky offers.

The action itself does nothing to shake the aura of innocence surrounding him at that moment. It was too kind, too well-intentioned to reignite that ember of apprehension that lives in each interaction you have, but there is something off about him, not sinister or unpleasant, just something that isn’t quite as obvious as it should be.

You shake your head at the generous act.

“Oh, it's okay. They must been expensive, not being in season. Thank you, though. You’re very sweet.”

Bucky nods and retracts his hand, the fruit disappearing back into the backpack. His cheeks are pinker than before, ears tinting red and you wonder if it's because of your compliment, though not at all your intention, but it has your heart racing a beat faster.

“Have you always lived in Bucharest?” he asks, gloved fingers picking up the mug of steaming coffee.

“Not always.” You trace the lip of your mug with a finger, taking the time to formulate a concise response without trauma dumping. “I lived in a few Yugoslavian countries until I was around five then moved to the US ‘till around a year ago. Travelled around for a bit before finally settling here.”

“Didn’t like any of the other places?” Bucky takes a sip of his coffee.

“London was good, Ireland even better but I missed the feeling of home. I wanted something that made me feel safe and ended up in Serbia for a bit before coming here.”

“What made you choose Romania?” his interest in your story seems sincere.

You look up from the foam of your cappuccino to find Bucky watching you intently.

“Wanna hear the dorky truth or a cooler answer?”

“Dorky truth.”

You sigh and square your shoulders. “Vampires.”

“Vampires?” Bucky laughs, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the rest of his amusement.

“I know, it’s stupid. I just-” You can't help the laugh that escapes you as you begin to gush over the creatures you had obsessed over as a teen. “I was obsessed with vampires when I was a kid and promised myself I would visit Bran Castle when I got older, which I did see on my first week here, and then ended up finding a really nice apartment and a decent job so here I am.”

“You were obsessed with vampires as a kid?” Bucky fixes you with a look of pure astonishment.

You nod, taking another sip of your coffee to hide the blush creeping over your face.

“You, a child, were obsessed with a terrifying creature of the night?”

“I wasn’t a child. Okay, a kid is an exaggeration, I was, around fourteen, fifteen maybe. And I read this book and the vampire was attractive and it just spiralled from there.”

“The vampire was attractive?”

“Yes, as attractive as words on a page can be.” you shrug,

“Are you admitting to finding old bald men with creepy ears attractive?”

Old bald man? Creepy ears? Oh!

“Bucky no! Not Dracula!” the volume of your exclamation is a tad too loud for the small cafe.

“What other popular novel about vampires is there? He’s the only one I can think of.”

“You’ve never heard of Twilight?”

“As the time of day, yes.” he looks at you as though you're the stupid one for thinking that Twilight could be anything other than that.

“Not the vampire series with the mortal girl and vampire lover?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“You need to watch it.” you rub your temples in mock frustration. “We’re watching it, I’m going to force you to watch it so you can see the appeal that is the modern-day vampire.”

“I’m not going to-” he begins his protest.

“Why are you acting like you have a choice in any of this? As your friend, I must educate you on the wonders of the Twilight Saga, the fate of our friendship depends on it.”

“As my friend?” the corners of his mouth twitch downwards in a sad smile. “We’re friends?”

“Yeah. What other word would you use to describe two people who are gonna spend the next week watching the best and worst movie franchise in the history of mankind?”

“A kidnapping victim?”

You gasp in shock, hand pressing against your heart in offence. “How dare you? I was about to open my home to you but no longer, Bucky….” You trail off not realising you don’t know his last name.

“Rogers,” he answers and you continue your tirade.

“Bucky Rogers, you are no longer invited to my twilight marathon.” you can’t stop the smile from spreading over your face despite your futile attempts at mock anger.

Bucky just shakes his head and laughs, his eyes crinkling up as he smiles at you. “You’re a weird kid.”

“Kid?” You laugh and pick up the mug you had almost forgotten about. “How old are you?”

“Older than you think.” there is a hint of humour in his answer but you're not sure why. It had not been a funny question or any kind of innuendo yet the glimmer in his eyes alludes to a fact you are not yet privy to.

“That’s ominous,” the cup returns to the table but your fingers do not leave the mug. “Are you secretly a hundred-year-old vampire? Are you here to seduce me into joining your army of the undead?”

“I am but I’m not bald with long ears and creepy nails so I don’t think anything I do is gonna work on you?”

“It wasn’t Dracula!” you throw your hands up exasperated and sigh, your cheeks hurting from the constant smiling.

Bucky hums his refusals to accept your truth. He is prettier now, especially as he relaxes into the soft cushion beneath him, all tension eased as you both laughed at your ridiculous life choices. The blue in his eyes seems brighter and you like the way his lips look as you smile. Fuck, he is beautiful.

“Imagining me bald with pointy ears?” Bucky teases, tucking his hair behind human ears.

You cannot help the rolls of your eyes as you shake your head. “Nope, just thinking about how you don’t really look like a Rogers.”

#http shield ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ #draft dump #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x you

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the-ace-with-spades · 9 months ago

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I'm in the middle of a renewed obsession with cooking shows (kitchen nightmares, top chef but mostly polish editition hell's kitchen; also, watched burnt, the movie with bradley cooper, again...) and cooking for myself again (not as good...) and my top gun brainrot consensus is

I need a Celebrity Chef! Bradley AU.

An AU where he and Mav still stopped speaking when the papers pulling thing happened and Bradley left for college but when Bradley didn't have much choice but to either cook his own food (alone, without Mav's help for the first time in his life) or to starve on his college budget, he discovered some ridiculously good cooking skills there.

And you know, maybe he started a part-time job in some restaurant that went onto some equivalent of kitchen nightmares and the chef being the face of that show saw something in him and offered him mentoring and then when said chef was offered leading a new hell's kitchen/master chef show, he was there as one of the team sous chefs.

Or maybe he's one of the contestants and he either wins or he is good enough that he catches the chef's eye and gets to work and train under them. And maybe then he becomes new season's sous chef as well.

Imagine Mav turning on the TV one evening to see if he can make the new cooking show into his new guilty pleasure and seeing Bradley's face on the screen.

But I need this AU mostly because I fully believe that when they meet one way or another (either through Mav or sometime before the TGM timeline by accident) Jake has no fucking idea who Bradley is. He doesn't watch TV, he doesn't eat fancy food, and Bradley totally doesn't look like the type (hawaiian shirts, old jeans, too chill, lives in a house that looks like it hasn't had new decorations or furniture since the 80s) so when Bradley tells him 'oh I just work at a restaurant, nothing exciting' he just assumes he's a waiter or a barman or something. At that point, Bradley has his own fancy restaurant (Michelin-starred), regularly makes it onto the TV screens and is a celebrity.

So Jake would do all those ridiculous things before he finds out --- try to impress Bradley by making him burgers from supermarket ground beef, telling him his ravioli is not that good when Bradley cooks for him, taking him on a date out to a hole-in-the-wall taco place, blatantly criticizing his apple crumble because 'it has nothing on his ma's apple pie' and he might or might not have said that Pizza Hut is an okay place to go eat on a date. (And, you know, Bradley was absolutely charmed by the confidence and the dumbassery and everything in general just being so Jake, and it's not like he's a total culinary snob, he remembers how he was raised, etc).

It'd be even funnier if Jake finds out through Mav. Like, Mav asks the team to come to a dinner with his family and Bradley is holed up in the kitchen and Jake like a good southern boy asks if they need help with the food and Mav goes all, "Oh no, don't go in there, he's going to eat you alive if you even think about offering to help. My kid is some big fancy chef, he barely lets me help."

And then Bradley comes out of the kitchen with the amuse-bouche (kinda, it's not like they're in a restaurant...) and Jake has a surprise of a century because one, Bradley is Maverick's son?? and two, he's a chef??

Jake and Bradley have a little back and forth about it and then the whole squad is like, "You're dating the Bradley Bradshaw? And you, sir, your son is the Bradley Bradshaw?" because they recognize him from the TV.

And Jake finds out that not only is his boyfriend his CO's kid, he is also a world-renowned celebrity chef. And then the daggers are 0h-ing and Ah-ing at the best food they've ever eaten and Jake still goes, "I've eaten better steak."

And Mav, who has seen Bradley's rage and heard his rants about people having no taste tenses up until Bradley laughs and says, "Will do better next time, baby."

Years down the line, Bradley always repeats in the interviews that his husband is his toughest critic.

Maybe he's even asked to be the face of a new hell's kitchen-like TV show and one of the challenges for his contestant is cooking something his husband will like. Also, maybe cooking something from Mav's recipes in a way that will remind him of his childhood...

(Bonus points if Bradley is a recovering alcoholic/drug addict person non grata just like Adam from the Burnt movie... also, maybe it was Mav who kicked his butt into recovery??)

#this is silly #sorry needed to get it out so I can focus on my actual writing and not half-formed plot bunnies #that said if someone writes this i'll give you my firstborn #hangster #tgm #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin

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meirimerens · 4 months ago

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how do i save money as a college student? there are cafes at every corner luring me in with coffee and food. cooking in a dormitory kitchen can be stressful (there are other people there sometimes), i generally don't enjoy the process of cooking, and the ouroboros of dirtying and washing the dishes is exhausting. i've moved to making coffee at home (grinding the rocally loasted beans), but still sometimes buy takeout coffee during classes to lift my mood 'cause education is eating my soul alive.

i will likely not have the bestest of tips because 1) my living situation is different from yours and i can tell you not dealing with dormitory kitchen nightmares actually helps a lot 2) i'm gonna be saying stuff you will not like. but you might have to hear it regardless.

full disclaimer as far as "saving money": i have worked fulltime all summer and was living at my parents' at the time, who would legitimately look at me with horrified eyes if i implied i wanted to pay a rent in my own house. i also am currently working (part-time) and, due to my low income, i qualify for multiple types of government aid. a tip: if there is anything like that in your country just apply apply take em take em all. even if it ain't much just take it. i also live very close to some of the cheapest supermarket chains in my country, which might not be the case for you.

now here are tips, including things you won't like hearing:

you're just gonna have to be neutral towards cooking. you don't even have to like it. just be neutral. you're also gonna have to be neutral about doing the dishes. is it sisyphian in nature? yes. is it a normal part of being an adult? also yes. you're not always gonna have mommy to do your dishes for you. partners and friends are not dishwashing machines. in the same way you have to become neutral with being alone like in your life in general for your own peace of mind, you have to become neutral with cooking and cleaning.

plan your meals for the week and ONLY GO SHOPPING FOR WHAT YOU HAVE PLANNED. this video got me on that grind and this is how i'm handling food way better this year than i was the first time i was on my own. you might have to stock up on "essentials" (at least a cooking oil such as olive or canola, salt, pepper, some spices that you can fw with, depending on the cuisines you fw some soy sauce,...). if you go shopping without a set bunch of ideas, your food will go bad before you eat it. or you'll try to eat it by making shit up and you will be disappointed and it will put you off from cooking.

related to above: look up low-effort recipes. look up shit like "student meals" "one pot meal", "easy lunch", stuff of the sort. save them their dedicated youtube playlist. and then do them. do a one-pot recipe, eat in the pot, have leftovers, that you keep in the pot, cover it with film, put in fridge, and eat the rest, from the pot, another day. less cleaning up.

speaking of cleaning up: check out this video. it will not make washing dishes any more enjoyable like you won't yippiiii kick your feet in glee but it might at least make it suck a little less.

get on what my dad calls "cuisine de célibataire" or "bachelor's [maidenless] cooking". it's bullshit meals that you can whip out quickly. typically in my case it's recipes i found online that i lower the effort for even more. doesn't have to be cute doesn't have to be fancy it needs to be nourishing and good enough that you'll want to eat it.

also kinda sucks if you're a meat eater and goddamn i could go for a marinated chicken breast rn but lower your meat consumption if it's not already done. the world is so beautiful these days that you can find plenty of vegetarian or even vegan meals that don't suck. i really like pickup limes' recipes. her cherry tomato orzo recipe entered my regular rotation, sometimes i swap out the orzo for pasta, or the cherry tomatoes for normal tomatoes, or i make it soupy, whatever. make sure you still get protein because otherwise your brain and body will hate you like for real for real, but thankfully chickpeas and lentils can be very versatile & also tasty & pretty cheap.

leftovers. always do more than you think you'll need. if you want to cook for 2 meals, actually make a portion for 3.

now this is a part that just sucks. won't even lie to you. just sucks. to quote marx "The less you eat, drink, buy books, go to the theatre or to balls, or to the pub, and the less you think, love, theorize, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you will be able to save and the greater will become your treasure which neither moth nor rust will corrupt—your capital. The less you are, the less you express your life, the more you have, the greater is your alienated life and the greater is the saving of your alienated being." the one way to save money in this world is to deprive yourself of stuff. means not buying clothes you would like but don't necessarily need. not getting little treats as often as you're used to. it just sucks. won't lie.

related to above and to little treat : make of the treat more a Reproducible Vibe than something you systematically buy. my little treat is a biweekly (as in one every fortnight) boba tea (the cheapest they have on the menu). but between these, i still must have a treat to keep myself from going nuts. this i do by making a tea of mine, from my stash that i would have regardless, and make it a little bit fancier. sweeter than i usually have it in the morning. and with a little cookie. i buy the pack of cookies regardless because i will snack on it over the span of the week/the two weeks it takes me to finish, but it is the combination of sweet tea + cookie dipped in the tea (very important) that constitute The Treat. The Treat for me can also be lying down in the middle of the day with my glasses off.

resist the temptation. even if it fucking sucks so so bad and i'm aware of it. but if you try to save money, you won't do it by spending it on stuff.

tried to word it in a way that doesn't make it sound kinda erotic and failed but basically the harder you resist the temptation the better it feels when you give in some days if not a week or weeks after the first desire crept upon you. makes it special 💋 or so help me god

on god it's gonna be okay in the end and if it's not okay it's not the end. AFFIRM!!!!!

#allô (answers)#anonymous #adulting with meiri. it sucks the whole way through #actually kind of a lie i was able to try making marinated eggs for the first time in my life #while living on my own and it was kinda so good so. the little things.#try marinated eggs btw food of the summer. i make the ones from ''drive me hungry'' website their ramen eggs.

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