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whirlybirbs · 6 months

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BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST | AO3 | SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing: a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster.

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague.

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock."

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches.

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate.

ALL I WANT TO DO IS GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot.

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah.

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig.

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade.

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was.

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...?

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all.

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear.

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter.

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows.

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future.

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning.

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not.

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action.

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused.

You hope it all works out for her in the end.

But, Christ this coffee is bitter.

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am.

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work.

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior.

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract.

And so this has been home for the last four months.

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras.

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers.

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one.

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern.

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny.

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it.

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do.

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now.

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you.

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark.

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK.

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to.

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131.

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it".

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door.

Your boots follow in a trail.

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo.

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief.

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again.

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too.

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline.

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different.

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that.

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday.

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time.

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London.

1977, huh. Zaniac.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled.

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet.

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone.

And he's here, wasting his damn time.

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time.

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks.

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes.

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in.

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?"

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact.

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time.

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki.

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis.

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt.

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin.

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers.

He has to... He...

He needs you back.

Now.

#beyond the void #from the void with love #loki x reader #loki x doc #loki x y/n #loki reader insert #loki/reader #loki/you #loki imagine #marvel imagine #marvel reader insert #loki season 2 fic #marvel fanfic

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fluentmoviequoter · 8 months

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Poisonously Bad Day

Requested Here! (Thank you so much for my first Tim Bradford req!!)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Just before your anniversary with Tim, you receive threatening messages. When someone tries to take your life, you and Tim learn the importance of talking to one another. (Or, Tim's crazy ex stalks you and Tim gets really worried about you.)

Warnings: reader is stalked and threatened, violence with a nail gun, reader has severe food allergies and uses an epi-pen, a little bit of grumpy x sunshine with our favorite grump, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I do not have much practice writing for Tim, so I apologize if he's OOC. However, I really love writing for him and trying to capture his amazing character, so I love the practice and appreciate any other requests you send me! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim Bradford doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Or he didn’t before he met you. Your sunny personality drew him in, making his world a little brighter. From the moment he met you a few months ago, Tim has been enraptured by you. He’s still grumpy; his personality didn’t change overnight upon meeting you, but your sweet laugh and kind responses to his grumpiness make him happy. His smile isn’t as rare as it once was, but you still fight to see it, bringing as much sunshine as possible.

As your two-month anniversary approaches, you’re happier and giddier than usual. Toning it down as you knock on Tim’s door, you’re surprised to see him already smiling when he invites you in. It seems you’re rubbing off on him, even if he only shows you the softness that lies under the grumpy Tim you know and love. Although your relationship is very new, you haven’t even learned much about Tim’s previous relationships, you know you love him and treasure every moment you spend with your man of honor.

“Hey, you,” Tim mumbles, pulling you into a warm hug. “Missed you.”

“Long day?” you ask, pushing your fingers through his hair.

“Unbelievably. Nolan and Lopez decided to interrogate me about why I was in a ‘good mood’ all day.”

You stifle a laugh at Tim’s air quotes. He rolls his eyes when he sees your bright smile but pulls you into the kitchen anyway.

“I didn’t even know you could smile,” you tease him. “Now I want to know what caused the good mood.”

“I think you know.”

Despite his initial hesitance in getting close to you, Tim obviously knows how to treat you right and make you feel seen, appreciated, beautiful, and loved. Each moment you spend with him makes you a little more curious as to why no one has snatched him up yet. Yes, he’s grumpy, but he’s also just a big teddy bear underneath if you’re willing to dig.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim usually walks you home after dates, but he gets called into work, so you return alone. There is a small envelope slipped in the space between your door and the jamb, and you decide to open it before going inside.

The simple message reading ‘Back Off’ doesn’t give much information, so you shrug as you unlock the door. It’s probably just some kids messing around or a silly prank that ended up at the wrong house.

As soon as you lock the door behind you, your phone rings.

“Hello,” you greet cheerfully.

The line is silent for a few seconds before it beeps, disconnected from the other end.

“Wrong number,” you hum to yourself as you walk away from the phone.

When it rings again, you don’t answer. Your cell phone rings, a rare picture of Tim smiling (that he will delete as soon as he finds it) lighting up your screen as you race to answer it.

“Hey,” you say.

“I called your house a second ago, are you home yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, someone called right before with a wrong number, and I thought it was them again.”

Tim hums before telling you he wouldn’t be at work as long as he thought; he just needed to help with some paperwork before a case went to court.

“I can get reservations for next weekend if you’re still okay with my restaurant choice.”

You smile at Tim’s willingness to let you choose before assuring him that you only want to be with him, but you like the food there, too, so it’s a win-win.

After Tim hangs up, you fall asleep, forgetting about the note and the phone call.

✯✯✯✯✯

Someone knocks on your door as you exit your bedroom the following morning. You locate a bathrobe, pulling it over your pajamas before opening the door. Another envelope is on your mat, but no one is in sight.

The message in this one is a bit more concerning. The message, typed in a plain black font, reads: ‘I will KILL you to take him back.’

You consider calling Tim, asking him if he knows of any pranks like this going on in the neighborhood before deciding he’s probably too busy with real police work. Maybe you’re just paranoid.

Your cell phone rings, and you answer quickly, silencing when the only noise on the other end is distorted breathing. After they hang up, your thumb hovers over Tim’s number.

“Grow up,” you chide yourself before returning to your room to get ready.

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the day, more creepy phone calls are made to your cell phone until you finally turn it off. When you meet Tim for lunch, he asks if you got the message he sent you, and you tell him a white lie: too many telemarketers were calling, and you turned it off. He nods, but his gaze is intense like he doesn’t quite believe you.

✯✯✯✯✯

After three days of phone calls with nothing but breathing and more notes about someone killing you to get whoever him is back from you, you’re tired. However, the morning goes by with no calls, and you think maybe whatever it was is finally over. When you walk out to your car, you freeze in the driveway and nearly drop everything you’re holding.

Someone has slashed your tire and put a large building nail through it to attach a note.

You are next.

Up to this point, you’ve been more agitated than anything, but now you’re scared. Whoever this is has been close to you and knows when you come and go. But, at the same time, it’s just some notes and phone calls, not like you’re in any immediate danger.

Your phone buzzes, and you jump, an incoming text from Tim startling you. You reply to his message quickly, telling him you ran over a nail at some point and won’t be able to meet him for lunch. Seconds after pressing send, he calls you.

“Morning,” you answer, staring at the nail in your tire.

“Are you alright?” he asks, ignoring your nice greeting.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m still at home, just noticed the tire.”

“I can come pick you up for lunch,” he offers. “Or come see you.”

“It’s completely out of the way, Tim, no worries. I’ll make up for it tomorrow?”

Tim doesn’t speak for a moment, and you can nearly see the crease on his forehead as he dissects your answers.

“Sure,” he says finally. “Call me if that changes.”

As he ends the call, he rubs his chin and decides to ask you what’s going on next time he sees you. You had been so happy and excited leading up to your anniversary, but it’s like a switch was flipped in you, and now you don’t want to talk to him. He believes you about the tire, but something else is bothering you, and he intends to find out what.

✯✯✯✯✯

Eating lunch at your desk, someone brings you a box from your favorite bakery.

“This was delivered to the front desk,” your coworker says, leaving it with you.

There are no names on it, but Tim is one of very few people who knows how much you like their treats. He also knows that you have severe food allergies, and it is one of the few bakeries in Los Angeles that happily works around them. Smiling at the idea of Tim sending you something after your rough morning, you open the box and take one of the goodies out.

After the third or fourth bite, you realize something is really wrong. As your throat closes, you start to panic as you dig through your bag for your epi-pen. One of the girls at a desk near you sees you and rushes to your aid, pulling your spare epi-pen from the communal snack area and inserting the tip into your leg as she yells for someone else to call 911.

The adrenaline surges into you, clearing your throat as you take a deep breath. Immediately, you know that whoever slashed your tires knows more than where you live and when you leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

The hospital is busy, and people are in and out of your room so frequently that you can barely think straight. You hear someone yell your name, recognizing Tim’s voice anywhere. He appears in the doorway a moment later, wide-eyed as he looks you over.

“I completely forgot I put you as my emergency contact. I’m so sorry,” you apologize lowly.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice softer than it was outside as he nears your side.

“I- I ate something and forgot to check the ingredients. Then I couldn’t find my epi-pen.”

Tim knows you always check the ingredients; your allergies dictate part of your life. If you didn’t make it or order it after inquiring about its ingredients or how it’s made, you don’t eat it.

“How are you feeling now?” Tim asks, deciding it’s not the best time to press for the truth. His hand lands on your leg, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“I’m okay. My chest is still a little tight but they gave me something for it.”

“Let me call my chief and I’ll take the rest of the day off so I can take you home,” he offers.

“No, don’t do that, Tim. One of my coworkers can give me a ride home so you can go back to work.”

“I don’t think you should be alone.”

“The medicine is working, I just have to give it time and take it easy for a few hours. I promise I will be fine.”

Tim nods, squeezing your hand before kissing your forehead. “If you need anything, call me.”

You nod, watching him go. The feeling of his hand on yours is still there, and you feel terrible for lying to him, but there’s no real evidence that someone is trying to hurt you. Maybe someone was trying to be kind with the treats and didn’t know about your allergies.

Even as you think it, you realize it sounds ridiculous. You’re in danger, and you’re going to have to tell someone eventually.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your coworker drops you off after you insist you can walk to the door alone. Mostly, you don’t want her to see the giant nail in your tire.

Worse, you realize, is the other one. You slow when you see your front door, with a six-inch building nail driven into it. It’s nearly level with your eyes, and a disgusting mix of red and brown paint covers the door below it. A replica of a murder scene, you presume.

Finally understanding that every little thing over the last few days has been a threat, you don’t feel safe alone in your house. Stepping back, you prepare to call Tim.

Before you can, you see a woman standing in your driveway, staring at you with a nail gun and a paintbrush hanging from her hand.

“Who are you?” you ask quietly, swallowing as you try to steady your voice.

“I’m the one that Tim Bradford is supposed to be with,” she answers, slowly moving toward you. “Everyone could see how good we were together. Then you showed up and he changed his mind about me. Whatever you did to get him away from me… I will do so much more to you.”

You step backward as she speaks, fumbling with your keys behind your back. Just as she reaches the front of your porch, you step inside quickly and slam the door, locking it and looking around frantically for something you can use as a weapon. It gets quiet outside, not even a footstep audible as you hold your breath to listen.

A key slides easily into your lock, and you scramble into the kitchen, loosening your grip on your stuff to grab a knife on your way to the bathroom, one of the only doors that lock. The front door closes and locks, her easy footsteps far too familiar with the layout of your home.

Reaching for your phone to call for help, you realize that you dropped your phone to get the knife. You stand in front of the bathtub, terrified as you raise the knife in front of your chest.

After a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, the doorknob jiggles. You tighten your grip on the knife handle as she hums.

A nail shoots through the lock, lodging in the metal mechanisms, and you back up until your calves are pressed to the cool side of the tub. Another nail comes through the door, launching through the hollow wood and lodging into the tile on the wall behind you. You drop your head as the tile shatters, and a third nail follows quickly, her aim much lower as it hooks your pants, pinning you to the porcelain behind you. You rip your leg free, stepping away from the tub and failing to notice the stinging sensation or the blood trickling down your ankle as you climb into the tub, hoping it offers enough protection.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim clenches his jaw when his third call to you goes unanswered. You promised to keep him updated after the anaphylaxis scare, but it’s been a couple hours since he left you in the hospital, and he hasn't heard a thing.

“Tim, just go,” Angela says, a knowing look on her face. “You won’t be able to focus until you know they’re okay. Unless you’re finally willing to tell me who brought a little sunshine to Timothy Bradford’s cloudy skies,” she taunts at the end.

Tim lets out a soft “hmm,” accepting her offer and gathering his things from the edge of her desk.

“She must be important,” Angela calls behind him, smirking to herself when he doesn’t correct her.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your breaths are loud and shaky even as you focus on controlling them. Several more clicks are heard from the nail gun, and you flinch each time, curling further into the bathtub. A loud screech draws your attention, a second nail dislodging the knob and the lock before the door opens.

You take your chance, hoping to surprise her as you jump toward her, knocking her to the floor and using both hands to point the nail gun away from you. She tries to roll out from under you, squeezing the trigger and firing a nail into the ceiling as she does. A small shower of drywall dust coats the room, but you keep your head down, entirely focused on keeping her at arm’s length.

“When it ends – when you end – I get him back!” she grunts, twisting in your grasp.

The sharper end of the paintbrush she had earlier is pushed into your side, and you gasp, loosening your grip on the nail gun. She raises it quickly as she tilts to the side, dumping you onto the floor and taking the upper hand. A nail is fired beside your head, momentarily deafening you as you flinch away from it.

You are unsure if she said him or Tim, but you think she means the same either way. Tim is the only thing you can think of that someone might want to take back from you.

“Isn’t that his choice?” you ask, pushing her hands away from you as she gets angrier.

She drops the paintbrush before using both hands to push the nail gun toward your forehead. You raise your legs, kicking her forward and over your head. As she topples, she squeezes the trigger multiple times. After the last firing sound, you open your eyes and notice a nail holding your shirt to the floor.

When you hear her groan behind you, you reach over until you feel the metal trash can beside your toilet, raising it over your head and dropping it aimlessly.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim has dozens of questions he wants to ask, but as he races to your house, they slowly fade into two: are you safe, and how can he make you see that telling him everything will benefit you both? He knows he doesn’t always seem like the best listener and isn’t big on sharing, but he wants to know what is happening in your life, what you’re feeling, and what you’re dealing with. More than that, he wants to be at your side, helping you navigate a life with him.

✯✯✯✯✯

The door opens with a loud bang, causing you to flinch. You attempt to sit up before yelping in pain when something tugs your side. Someone is running through your house, and you’re torn between yelling for help or staying silent in case she wasn’t working alone.

Tim yells your name, and you sigh before answering, “In the bathroom.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim turns into your driveway, blocking the sidewalk as he parks behind your car, he sees the oversized nail protruding from your tire. Walking past it, he knows that wasn’t accidental, nor was the slash below it.

Worried about you and racking his brain over who would do something like that to you, he sees the scene on your door and kicks it open before he even thinks to knock.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim stops in the hallway, his eyes raking over the nails lining the door and the few stray ones in the wall across the hallway. It appears that most of the attack was aimed at the bathroom, but whatever happened escalated quickly.

Using his shoulder, he forcefully opens the door before entering the small bathroom. He steps over your unconscious assailant, lowering to his knee beside you. Looking over you, he lays a hand on the side of your neck, a warm and welcome comfort as he directs you to look at him.

You try to move closer to him, but he rushes to stop you.

“Don’t. Don’t move. The ambulance and more help are on the way, let’s just wait for them,” he says.

You nod, trusting him but unsure why he won’t let you move.

“Is she…” you ask, trailing off.

“She’s unconscious,” Tim answers concisely. “What’d you hit her with?”

“The trashcan,” you answer, a small smile appearing and making Tim shake his head.

“I should get one of those,” Tim jokes, leaning toward you.

Sirens grow louder as they get closer, and Tim sighs in relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I can’t ask what happened yet, that’s for the next cop. But as your boyfriend, are you okay?”

“I am now,” you answer, raising your hand to lay over his on your jaw.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Do you know who she is?” the officer asks as the EMT sits beside you.

“No,” you answer. “I’ve been getting phone calls and messages for a few days, but I’ve never seen her before.”

“I have,” Tim interjects, shaking his head at you before supplying a name. “My ex.”

“Any idea as to why she attacked you?” the officer asks, glancing toward Tim.

“Sergeant Bradford, I presume. She said she’d kill me to get him back, but never said who him was,” you answer.

Tim nods, lowering his voice to explain something to the officer as the EMT asks questions about how you feel.

You sigh in relief as the paramedics carry Tim’s unconscious ex out, gripping Tim’s hand as he moves to your side again.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry,” the kind EMT says.

Tim moves his fingers, letting you squeeze him as much as you need.

“The nail caught some of your skin, but I’m going to try to go fast to minimize the pain.”

Understanding why it hurt to sit up before, you focus on Tim’s hand in yours rather than the hands on your torso, working to free you from the bathroom floor and stop the bleeding.

“All done,” the EMT announces. “You didn’t even flinch. We’ll get you to the hospital and let the doctors check everything.”

You sit up with Tim’s help, leaning against him as a temporary bandage is placed on your side. Looking around your destroyed bathroom, you move closer to Tim, grateful for him.

“Your ex is crazy,” you mumble against his shoulder.

Tim laughs, and it's a short but relieved noise accompanying his arm across your back, keeping you close and comforted.

“We’ll fix the bathroom later,” he promises.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, prompting Tim to kiss the crease between them. “You’re not coming back here for a few days. Don’t give me that look.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Leaving the hospital, Tim lifts you from the wheelchair, staring at you when you grab his shoulders.

“I can walk, Tim,” you remind him.

He doesn’t listen or doesn’t care, taking the last few steps to the passenger seat and setting you down before buckling your seat belt, mindful of your bandaged side. He carries you into his house, grabbing some of your favorite snacks and drinks before sitting beside you and welcoming you into his arms. He’s quiet, but you’ve grown to understand Tim’s different silences better than most people’s words.

Right now, he’s relieved, but you’re sure he has a lot of questions, too. Getting him to ask them is the hard part.

“Have any other exes I should know about?” you ask after a few minutes.

“Hmm.” He raises his fingers as he nods and shakes his head, a playful ‘debate’ over who is worthy of being mentioned. Lowering his hands and giving you a sincere look, he says, “No, I don’t think so. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention her, I never expected she’d do something like this.”

You nod, though you never considered blaming him for something so completely out of his control. This is all on her, and she’ll have a chance to explain herself.

“Think I’d be a crazy ex?”

“You won’t be an ex at all,” Tim answers, tugging you closer against his chest.

Turning toward him, you trace your finger in small shapes over his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim asks gently.

You shrug. “I didn’t know how. And it wasn’t that bad at first.”

“You have to tell me these things or I don’t know something is wrong, I can’t help.”

“But you get grumpy,” you reply with an exaggerated pout.

Tim proves you right, grumbling even as he kisses you. “I’m allowed to be grumpy when someone is hurting the woman I love.”

You sit up quickly, and Tim’s eyes widen, his hands raising to your side as he grows concerned that you hurt yourself.

“You love me?”

Tim shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he mutters, “Against my better judgment, yes.”

You giggle at his grumpiness, leaning back into his side. He pulls your legs across his lap, letting you curl completely into his side. Toying with the hem of his your borrowed sweatpants, Tim lets his mind wander before tracing a gentle finger around the bandage on your ankle.

“Tickles,” you argue when you yank your leg away from him.

Tim pulls your leg back down, pointing out, “I deserve a few tickles after the week you put me through.”

“I was poisoned, and you had a bad week?” you repeat.

“I knew you were lying, you lying liar that lies!”

You duck your head at the reminder of everything you kept from Tim over the last few days. The anniversary you were so excited about now seems tainted.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, drawing your attention. “I’m not mad at you. And whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m right here.”

“I don’t even know how she found out about the allergies,” you mumble.

“That’s probably my fault. I have notes and epi-pens everywhere, so if she was close enough to do this to you, she was close enough to find any of my stuff laying around.”

You shiver at the idea of her going through your things, but Tim’s hand rubs down your back and chases those thoughts away.

Taking his invitation, you start at the beginning and tell him about the notes, the phone calls, the bakery box, and how the little, seemingly harmless notes progressed so quickly. He grows grumpier with each word, so you determine you may need to make the ending a bit more interesting for him.

“And then my knight in shining armor showed up and saved the day,” you finish, kissing his cheek. “He’s just a grumpy teddy bear.”

Tim pulls you closer, glad to have your company again. “Tell me things and I’ll be even more of a teddy bear.”

You smile excitedly, so Tim clarifies, “Only for you.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #tw: violence #tw: injury #🐿 anon

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 29 days

Text

Knightmare In Toronto

Chapter 2: Portal Paradox

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There was a distinct pain in your head when you rose from your slumber, laid on the couch like a drunkard. A blanket had been draped over your prone form, though you chalked it up to an unusually proactive action you'd taken before your nap. Your perfectly normal, fever-dream nap starring medieval men without food allergies who broke into houses.

That is, until you saw one of those men–a new one with dirty blonde hair, a dark green tunic with tan pants, and... were those face tattoos–sitting in your armchair and your fears were realized: today (at least, you think it's still today) was real and there were more strangers in your house.

Ignoring the pang of discomfort in your neck, you shot up, ready to square up to this new threat. "Who are you?"

"Oh! You're awake," the man smiled, which was incredibly weird for a home intruder. "I'm Twilight."

Twilight… why was that familiar? It almost sounded like a gang name, but you highly doubted the aforementioned situation was even remotely affiliated with gangs—though the odds that he had been watching you sleep were a bit close for comfort.

At your lack of response, Twilight's expression shifted to one of concern. "You alright–?"

"I don't want drugs!" You blurted.

"I repeat, we don't have drugs," Four's head popped in from the kitchen, expression a perfect deadpan.

"Only people on drugs talk about portals!" You shot back as black spots danced in the corners of your vision. "Ain't no portals in Toronto!"

"Toronto?" Twilight looked puzzled in the shrill wake of your outburst. What was this guy, a saint?

"Canada," you finished. He stared at you with a baffled expression and you deadpanned. "How do you not know where that is?"

"Because we are not from your world," another, deeper verse answered. You watched in disbelief as yet another man stepped out of your minuscule kitchen. He was tall, wearing a long silver tunic and black pants. Two crimson stripes lay perpendicular beneath his right eye, and there was another blue marking on his forehead.

You opened your mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

"Drugs."

"That's not–" Four sighed, running a hand down his face like a tired dad. "You need sleep."

"You need Jesus."

"Excuse me?" Asked the tallest man, and you wisely shut up.

Twilight, who had been silently observing the exchange, piped up. "About that, sorry for falling on you."

You blinked. So that's why your head hurt like you chugged some bourbon and fought a moose for territory. "Oh, naw, it's fine, you should see what I deal with at work."

"When you say it like that, I don't think I want to."

Your laugh surprised even you, bubbling up your throat like soda. "Smart."

The newcomer cleared his throat, bringing silence back to the room. "Miss..." he looked to Four, who mouthed something suspiciously close to your name. "(Y/n), I know this may seem impossible to you, but this situation is very much real. I can assure you that no one here is under the influence of… substances."

Damnit, you were hoping you could make that joke a few more times. "Okay, well, he," you pointed at Four. "materialized in my living room and that man," you pointed even more aggressively at Twilight, who had the decency to look sheepish. "apparently fell on me. Speaking of, how are you here?"

"The door was unlocked," the tall man said, and you nearly fell over. "About your garden..."

Your expression turned to one of terror. "Not my petunias..."

"I'm afraid you'll have to direct me in finding replacements as none of us are familiar with this world."

Wait.

"Us...?" You parroted, trying and failing to hide your apprehension.

"About that–" Four began, only to be interrupted when yet another crash rang out in your kitchen, followed by a series of loud whoops, and your greatest fear was once again realized: there were more of them.

"Just how many more of there are you?" You asked in horror.

"Currently five, as we are waiting on Legend, Warriors, Sky, and Hyrule."

Oh god, was your first thought, followed by: who the hell names their children that?

"We got Wild!" Wind introduced. "Five down, four to go!"

You could handle this. You would handle this. Like an adult.

"So... you're not from this world?" You asked the tallest of the three, which seemed to be the leader of the current group.

He nodded sagely "Yes, we are from a land called Hyrule."

...Hyrule? Why was that familiar? It certainly wasn’t a place you knew of, but you didn’t think they were lying.

"You seem conflicted," Four observed dryly.

"Quiet, I'm having my midlife crisis," you said, despite the fact that you were nowhere near your fifties. "You try having medieval men poof into your living room like it's a regular Tuesday."

"Gee, that's oddly specific."

Your eye twitched.

"Four," said the tallest man, effectively regaining control of the situation. "Our apologies for causing you strife, but this situation is quite unique."

"No kidding," you muttered, but being upset wasn't going to solve anything. "Okay, what's your plan then?"

The tallest seemed to hesitate, so Twilight took over. "We were hopin' we could wait here until everyone passes through. For safety."

You couldn’t argue with that; they were a long way from home if your suspicions were correct. "Alright, I can do that."

"Much appreciated," he looked like he wanted to say more, but purposefully chose not to.

You would have said more, but Wind chose that exact moment to appear with yet another man in tow. He was lanky and tall, with yellow hair that reached his midback. His tunic was also blue, though considerably shorter than Wind's, and he had various belts criss-crossing his chest. His most defining feature, however, was the large pink scar marring his left cheek and ear. You tried not to look too hard.

"This is Wild," Wind introduced. "Wild, this is (Y/N)."

'Wild' nodded politely. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," you responded, feeling a bit sheepish. You glanced at the clock and realized it was now past five. "Geez, I really slept in, huh?"

"It was for the best," Twilight offered a wry smile. "Better get so"

You waved him off. "You're fine, I'm alive."

"That is good."

"Wait, what's happening?" Wild cut in with a confused expression. "Where is everyone?"

"They haven't appeared yet," Four responded, though his voice was slightly uncertain. He gestured to you. "They've agreed to let us stay until everyone comes through."

"That's so kind," Wind exclaimed. "I knew you were nice."

You couldn't hold back a soft scoff. "I wouldn't be so trusting, l could be an axe murderer."

"Are you an axe murderer?" asked Four.

"Naw, I prefer maces."

"Well, I'M a pirate," interjected Wind, laying a hand on his chest.

"Oo, shiver me timbers," you said on instinct. Wind laughed raucously, and you caught a few others chuckling along. Maybe this wasn't as bad as your reptile brain had made it out to be...

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out for inspection, missing the curious glances from the other occupants of the room. In the time it had taken to come to terms with this insanity, you'd managed to miss six messages from your bestie, Brianna, who had invited you to an after-work party a few weeks from now. After typing a quick response, you shoved your phone away and stood up. "So, who's hungry?"

This chapter fought me tooth and nail, so I’m glad it’s finally out there for you all! Enjoy and don’t forget to tell me what you think in the comments!

#linked universe #link x reader #crack fic #lu time #lu wind #lu four #lu twilight #lu wild #loz au #Knightmare In Toronto

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panda-writes-kpop · 5 months

Note

Hey I requested that last yunjin x gn reader can u do another one where they’re sitting at home and he’s trying to help her come up with a song for the new album thank you

my victory - "my sugar" ~ h. yn.

a/n: thank you for the request, and i hope you enjoy this! it's a bit short, my apologies in advance, my allergies are kicking my ass 🥲 it's a bit different than your request so i hope that's alright!

tw: reader is a simp (aren't we all)

♡ Masterlist ♡

summary: yunjin has trouble drumming up inspiration (me too girlie) for song lyrics on her upcoming album. As her partner, you take it as your responsibility to help her get out of the house and find her groove. and you get to spend time with your girlfriend - a win-win scenario!

"Babe, stop it!"

Yunjin's screech lands on deaf ears as you plant another wet kiss on her cheek.

"How am I supposed to focus when you-" She turns her head to face you, and you place a fleeting kiss on her lips, "now you're teasing me."

You lazily wrap your arms around her waist before pulling her away from the desk.

"C'mon, you've been looking at that laptop for hours and nothing has come to you. Why don't we go out for a bit so you can refresh your mind?" You suggest as she tries and fails to grab her laptop from the desk.

"I have to finish these lyrics before the deadline-" Yunjin tries to argue, but you shush her with another kiss to the lips.

"-which is a month away, and you're supposed to be relaxing when you're here visiting family and friends." You emphasize the word friends, as if the company that approved the trip wasn't already aware of your relationship.

You wanted to make the most of Yunjin being back in the States, but with her so focused on her group's upcoming comeback, you felt like Yunjin was with you without really being there with you.

"Alright." She reluctantly closes her laptop after you let her go from your arms. "What do you want to spend today doing?"

"You're such a fucking cheater." You scoff as you tally up the miniature golf score.

"You're the one who gave me the handicap." Yunjin accuses you as you roll your eyes.

"You said you were bad at mini golf!"

"I said I was bad at mini golf... when I'm without a handicap." Yunjin teases you as you finish adding the scores together.

"You failed to mention that when we started." You sigh as you show her the score card. "You got ten up on me, so you know what that means."

"I'm the winner?" She beams at you, and your crushing defeat is nothing compared to her happiness.

"You have to buy me a pity drink, as the winner."

"No fair!" She whines as you grab the car keys.

"It pays to be a loser." You shrug before unlocking your car.

"Cheers." You press your glass to hers. "To love, to us."

"And to sore losers." Yunjin jokes before taking a drink from her glass. "I'm glad you took me out for a date, babe."

"Me too, I can actually have some time with my girlfriend this week." You chuckle to yourself. "Feeling better now that you're out and about?"

"I am, despite your sarcasm, and I've got a few new ideas for that laptop." She presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Any of them involve me?" You lean in to kiss her on the lips before she pushes you away.

"None of them, actually." She scoffs after you kiss her. "But I haven't written any lyrics yet, so there's time for you to inspire a few."

You pull her in to another kiss to show your approval.

"Let's head back to my place so we can relax for a bit, and then you can write as long as you want, alright?" You pull her into your arms before she snatches the keys from your hand.

"One more drink?" She looks at you with pleading eyes.

"One more drink." You say confidently, as if the two of you aren't going to spend the rest of the night in each other's arms, the laptop and her work schedule long forgotten.

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fandomlifeofsara · 2 months

Text

Mornings on the Sunny

As the night draws to an end and the light of dawn closes in on the Thousand Sunny, the strawhats prepare for yet another day on the open seas.

Sanji is the first one to wake, before the sun rises over the horizon. He makes himself a cup of coffee before getting on with planning the meals of the day, from breakfast to supper and every meal in between. With Luffy on the ship, it’ll be quite many of them. He takes out his little notebook with notes on everyone’s preferences, allergies and needs when it comes to food and diet. He reads through it carefully before planning each dish for each person for the day.

Next to wake is Zoro, who’s also up before the morning light for a workout session before the rest of the crew wakes up. Might be some distractions otherwise. Before heading to the crows nest he walks by the kitchen where the cook is preparing breakfast. “Your shitty pre-workout smoothie is on the table” the cook calls out, his back to the swordsman, concentrated on the delicate tea leaves he’ll use for Nami’s morning tea. “Try not to choke on it”. The swordsman calls back, ”Like I need your stupid drinks to help me”, but he grabs the smoothie anyway and heads out.

When the first rays of sunshine hit the sails of the Sunny, Robin makes her way from the room she shares with Nami over to the kitchen. She didn’t get much sleep this night but it wasn’t unusual. She still felt rested enough to get up and get some studying done before breakfast. In the kitchen, Sanji just finished pouring a cup of coffee. “Good morning, beautiful” he says by way of greeting before handing Robin the cup. “A fresh cup of black of coffee, just the way you like it!” He made it sound simple but she knew the time and care the cook put into making each of his creations. One sip and Robin could taste all the flavor of the freshly ground coffee beans, straight from Jaya Island. Once again she thinks about how lucky she truly is. Robin gives the cook a smile. “You’re too sweet Sanji”, she says and takes the cup with her to the library where she can spend some time with her books.

It’s a while yet before anyone else wakes up. Zoro has finished his workout and is napping in the morning sun up in the crows nest. He did wake up early after, he deserves some rest. Down below, Nami finally appears on deck. She’s still tired, but a walk between the orange trees always helps wake her up in the morning. She makes sure they have enough water and nutrition before heading to the observation deck to check on the weather for the day. It’s always good to be prepared, and she likes giving the weather report over breakfast. On her way, she looks up and sees a pair of feet hanging over the edge of the crows nest. Nami mutters to herself about how she always finds that damn swordsman either sleeping, training or drinking.

Franky may not be the earliest of birds but he rarely stays in bed for long. Once he’s awake, there’s simply too many things to do, too many ideas to realize. Last night he actually fell asleep in his workshop, tinkering with yet another new innovation that would improve the ships defenses. And when he wakes up he goes straight back to work. At least for a few minutes before he realizes that he needs some energy. Franky leaves the workshop and goes to the kitchen, where Sanji is plating up the dinner table for breakfast. The whole room was smelling delicious with different flavors and spices. Franky couldn’t wait too see what the cook had prepared for them this morning. So instead of heading back to the workshop, he grabs a cola from the temporarily unlocked and unchained fridge, and sits down at the table to chat with Sanji while he cries the last of the eggs.

When breakfast is finally ready, Sanji and Franky make rounds on the ship, calling everyone to the kitchen. Jimbei, after having had a long night of steering the Sunny across treacherous waters, had decided to sleep in this morning, but the call of breakfast was enough to wake him from his deep slumber. When he goes out to grab the morning paper, he’s met by Brook, the only other old man in the ship. He’s delighted in the skeletons simple jokes and lightheartedness. Brook himself is overjoyed to have someone onboard who finally appreciates his clever puns. “I can smell the omelettes all the way from here” he says to Jimbei. “Sanji sure is an eggcellent cook!”. They both laugh on their way to the kitchen.

Last ones to wake are the boys; Luffy, Chopper and Usopp are laying on a pile on the floor in their shared room, all of them deep in sleep and snoring loudly. It isn’t until Sanji himself walks into the room, after having called out to them several times, and gives them a gentle smack in the head, that they finally open their eyes to take in the late morning light. These three could sleep for days. The mosshead too, if he didn’t wake up to workout, Sanji thinks to himself. And Luffy, he could sleep through a storm without a care in the world. With much complaining about having to wake so early, the boys finally, slowly, make their way to the kitchen. But as soon as Luffy gets a whiff of the freshly cooked food, he’s once again full of energy. He takes off across the deck, leaving Usopp and Chopper to follow as fast as they can. On his way back, the cook kicks the mast that holds the crows nest, shaking Zoro from his nap. Annoyed, he makes his way down, and is the last one to sit down at the table.

Finally, all the strawhats are gathered over breakfast, loudly chatting to each other, sharing stories, enjoying their personalized food and are having a wonderfully simple morning. Nami shares the weather report and plans on where to sail according to her maps and her log pose compass. Luffy, of course, wants to take the most fun route possible, even though the others know that his definition of “fun” is the equivalent to “dangerous”. Usopp once again tells them all the story of how he single-handedly fought and defeated a giant goldfish with nothing but his slingshot and wits. Franky excitedly shares his new ideas for how to make the Sunny go even faster if he could just adjust the main and foremast. Zoro, with his mouth full, complains about how the shitty food would taste better if he had some sake, to which the cook does not respond well.

After breakfast, everyone sets about with their tasks and doings for the day. While Sanji stays in the kitchen to clean up, Nami and Robin head to the library, where the former will study her maps and the latter will try to decipher yet another ancient text the crew had found on an earlier adventure. Usopp and Franky walk together to where their workshops lie at the stern of the ship, talking excitedly about mechanics and wood properties. Before Jimbei takes his place behind the steering wheel yet again, he takes a quick swim around ship to freshen up and scout the area from under the water. Chopper collects some herbs from the garden he shares with Usopp, and heads down to the sickbay to prepare some medicine and do some research. Robin had recently gifted him a book with rare and peculiar deseases that he had been reading intensely for the last couple of days. Zoro was back on yet another workout session. Can’t lift too little, right? Brook goes back to the boys room to pick up his violin. When he comes back out, he stands on the middle of the deck, between the orange trees, and plays a little tune. It’s a new song today, one he’s been working on for quite a while. It’s calm yet eerie, each note sounding as if the waves had been given a voice to sing with, and they were singing the song of old ancestors, waters that hadn’t been sailed for hundreds of years. The song echoes throughout the whole ship, keeping each of the crew members company while they go on about their day. At the very front of the ship, on top of the lion-shaped figurehead, Luffy has taken up his usual seat. He looks out over the ocean, towards the horizon, as far as his eyes can see. The music fills his ears and his heart, giving him goosebumps all over his arms. His eyes are filled with excitement and his soul with longing. He smiles to himself. Let the next adventure begin.

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snoopyana · 8 months

Text

neighbors.

“ fuck the fame and the fortune. well maybe not the fortune. “

with doyoung recently moving into the area, he wanted to meet his new neighbors. but with his kind intentions, comes a burning desire for his sly next-door neighbor.

kim doyoung. smut

May 15th, 10:35PM.

a faint knock rang throughout your apartment, you had been stationed in your living room, waiting for Hyuck and his friends to arrive. already having everything ready for them, you trudged over to the door, unlocking and swinging it open in one swift motion. the 3 men stepped into your entryway, closing the door behind them.

disappearing into your home, faint chatter from your TV could be heard, paired with your footsteps echoing through the hall. reappearing in front of the trio again, hands now occupied with small bundles of weed. “i think this is all.” voice barely above a whisper, hyuck reached out to empty your hands, giving the drug to the quiet mark and jeno that stood behind him. “thanks and sorry for such short notice, we added a little extra for your time.” pointing behind him, the 2 men shot a small smile, which you gladly returned.

handing you a folded lump of cash, going in for a side hug as he did. “thanks and no problem. but be careful with leaving, they’ve gotten a little more observant lately.” they being the front desk of your apartment complex. sending the males off, you settled back into your couch. counting off the money you newly received.

as the men walked out of the residence, doyoung happened to be at his door across the hall. glancing over his shoulder, he watched as the trio made their way out, mumbling amongst themselves as they spun a corner to the elevator. once they were out of sight, he couldn’t help but look at your door. the realization hitting him, he never even greeted you yet.

May 17th, 7:20PM.

doyoung was awoken to the sound of his alarm going off. rubbing the sleep from out of his eyes, making his way to the kitchen. he had stayed up a little longer than he should have. thinking about how to go about greeting you. slumping over his kitchen island, the male settled for a simple cookie box. praying you had no allergies. deciding to avoid nuts and peanut butter cookies just in case. once his decision was made, heheaded for the shower. you on the other hand, were already ready for your day. planning to have a little outing with your friends, you had gotten a little excited — leading to you being 40 minutes ahead of schedule. scrolling through your phone to kill time.

when the time came, you both walked out your respective doors at the same time. bag slung over your shoulder. locking your door, you turned to see doyoung doing the same. the first thing you noticed was how he basically towered over you, second being how you never saw him before. you examined his outfit, gray turtleneck, and black slacks. seemingly dressed for something important. while you on the other hand were simply going to quick meetup. he turned to meet your gaze before walking down the corridor, with you trailing close behind him, slipping your headphones on. neighbors by j.cole making its way into your ears. stopping at the elevator, doyoung pressed the lobby button.

the ride down was quiet. you were occupied with your phone, he was occupied by you. analyzing and starring a little longer than he should. the sound of the machine rumbling filled the silence, then a ding. the doors slide open and the two of you stepped out. walking towards the door, you finally looked up from your screen to realize he he held the door open for you. “thanks.” you said with a small grin, making your way to your car. he watched you walk away before making his way to the bus stop. his face heating up as the scene replayed in his mind.

May 18th, 4:37PM.

it was a slow day, having a few people stop by to pick up different things from your home. not expecting anyone else for the day, the noise of someone knocking on your door came as a surprise. the pounding continued as your feet shuffled across the floor. opening the door, you were greeted by a nervous doyoung. his hands gripped a little box, the male rocked on his heels, lips parting to speak. but you bet him to it. “how can i help you?” your eyes scanned his face as he searched for his own words. “i just wanted to stop by, say hi. i just moved in across the hall.” he paused, freeing one of his hands to point at his door. “and yeah. i wanted to give you these. they’re cookies.” pushing the box towards your hands, he hoped you’d accept his gift.

his eyes locked with your own, feeling your hands brush over his to retrieve the box. his hands feel back to his side, there was silence. “thanks uh.” you didn’t know his name yet, but he was quick to fix that. “doyoung. i’m doyoung.” he leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “thanks doyoung.” smiling at the male, you retreated back into your home, kicking the door closed with your heel. doyoung doing the same, not wanting to look weird standing outside of your door.

setting the cookies down on your coffee table, you went back to watching whatever show was playing on your tv, quickly being more occupied with your phone instead of whatever lousy show aired that afternoon. glancing over your screen, the pink box of cookies stared back at you.

June 7th, 9:27AM

the sun seeped through your blinds as your alarm blared for the sixth time. your hand draped over your eyes, while the other searched for your phone. turning the alarm off, you laid for a moment— staring at the ceiling. the buzz of your phone making you finally get up. ignoring it for now, you made-way to the bathroom, cranking on the shower.

doyoung had been awake for awhile now, making his rounds around the kitchen. you had told him that you enjoyed the cookies he made last month and the male made it a habit to make you something sweet every week — going out of his way to deliver it in front of your door by 10AM. running a little behind today, he opted for some simple cinnamon rolls. digging in his fridge for the icing he made a few hours prior.

as he baked in his home, you exiting the shower. water dripping from your body while you slowly made your way to your bedroom. flopping into your desk chair, letting your body partially air dry. it was now 9:57 and you expected to hear a knock on the door. quickly dressing yourself, the expected knocks rang through the walls. opening the door to a smiley doyoung, he plopped the treats into your arms. “i hope you don’t mind, i ate like two.” rubbing his hands together, he waited for the hug that you recently started to give him after his deliveries. you two getting rather close in such a short amount of time.

sighing, your eyes locked. “since you had some, im gonna have to skip that hug. bye doie!” going to close your door, his foot stopped it. “you can’t do that!” he whined through the crack. “yes i can, and i just did. bye doyoung!” kicking his foot causing him to retract — giving you time to close the door with a laugh. shuffling to your kitchen, the box was placed on your island, to be eaten later.

June 19th, 2PM

you were sat in front of your vanity, doing last minute touches to your face. doyoung had invited you to hang out a few days ago. offering to take you around the city. it felt like a date, to him it probably was a date, to you it definitely was a date. canceling any other plans you had that day — in case this outing ran longer than planned. slipping on last minute jewelry, your phone buzzed on your bed. rolling your chair to the bed, a message from doyoung blared on your screen.

baker man🐰

hey, just wanted to let you know i’m outside.

rushing to the front door, you slide your shoes on. reaching for the jacket that hung on your coat rack. he could hear you shuffling around as he stood outside your door. adjusting his shirt as he waited. your door finally opening, he made room for you to walk out. “you ready?” he questioned, looking you up and down. “mhm, lets go.”

June 19th, 11:37PM

the night.seemed to go by fast. walking through the streets, stopping at small stores to look around. doyoung had even bought you a few things that you looked interested in — offering to then carry the bags for you as he walked beside you. before you two left, you had offered to take your car, as it would mean he’d have to carry less stuff. he declined, wanting all the places he took you to be a surprise — since if you drove, he’d have to tell you every location. but you didn’t mind walking late into the night, getting to know doyoung even more as you walked together.

making it back to the apartment, you fumbled with the keys as the man stood behind you. bags in hand. finally, the door cracked open and you stepped inside, doyoung following. he placed the bags in your living room, looking around the place as he did. as this was his first time actually being inside your apartment. it was simple, the faint smell of peach invading his senses. “you can take a seat if you want.” you yelled from the kitchen, walking into the living space with two waters. placing his on the coffee table.

he watched as you plopped down onto your couch, making yourself comfortable. doing the same, he relaxed into the seat. there was silence, out the corner of his eye he watched you scroll through your phone. lips parted as your finger lazily tapped the screen. it set him aback when you broke the silence. “tonight was fun, thanks for taking me around.” your eyes were still glued onto your screen — posting some of the pictures that you took while out. doyoungs face was never clearly seen in the pictures, but you kinda liked it. liked the thought of no one really knowing who he was.

“i’m glad you liked it.” he whispered, a smile forming on his face as he turned his body to face yours. feeling the couch dip, your eyes flickered away from your screen. taking in the man that sat in front of you. your gaze going between his eyes and his lips. he took that as a sign, leaning forward until he hovered over you. faces mere inc lol hes away from each other.

throwing your phone onto the couch, you ignored the messages that came in. your hands finding their way to the back of doyoungs neck. gently pushing him down so your lips met. his skin heated up as the small kiss quickly evolved into a not so small make out session. you were in control to start, the power slowly shifting to doyoung as he gripped your waist. breaking the kiss to settle you onto his lap. his lips quickly finding yours again.

stopping for air, you looked at his now expressively dilated pupils. the man shifted underneath you, rocking his hips into yours. blood was rushing to his dick and he painfully aware of it. you were too. your hands gliding through his hair as the light from the TV illuminated parts of his face. he started to get embarrassed as the silence grew and his cock twitched in his pants. eyes roaming around the room to avoid eye contact. his eyes darting to your hands that were making their way to his pants.

leaning down, your lips next to his ear, you whispered “we gotta make this quick, haechans coming by for a deal.” nodding his head, doyoung helped you get his pants off, tugging at the fabric until it was now at his knees. pulling down his boxers, a hiss slipped past his lips as the cold air hit his dick. it twitched as he sat there and watched you discard of your jeans and panties. your shirt covering your bottom half.

your thighs on either side of his lap, you hovered over him. doyoung let his hands grip onto your waist to keep you steady, eagerly watching as you lined his dick up with your hole. slowly sinking down onto the man, his groans filled the room as he was now buried deep inside you. biting down on your lips, adjusting to the stretch.

the man gave you close to no time to adjust any further. gripping onto your sides, his hips snapped up into yours. earning a drawn out gasp from your throat. your arms wrapping around his neck, head falling into the crook of his neck while he abused your core as a brutal pace.

“d..doyoung slow down..” whining into his ear, he only speed up. the sound of skin slapping together filled the dimly lit room. your breathing grew heavy, clenching around the male. the knot in your stomach quickly tightening. you couldn’t even get a sentence out before your body started to feel weak and you were seeing stars. your body being hot to the touch as you came.

you felt dizzy and began to feel over-stimulated as doyoung kept his pace. biting down on his lips, he felt himself start to unravel. “inside?” he huffed out, his arms gripping around your body tighter than before. mumbling a breathy yes into his neck, he quickly finished. feeling his own cum drip onto his legs whist pulling out.

you two laid there for a while, the sound of your phone going off and a knock on the door. reaching for the device, your eyes darting across the screen.

haechannie🐻

hey im outside

i would have came in but you sounded a little

busy‼️‼️

note- hihi, i wasn’t planning on posting this fic first but since it IS doyoung day, i decided to prioritize one of my favorite men. happy birthday doyoung and i hope you guys enjoyed!!💗💗

#luvyujun #kpop #nct #nct 127 #kpop smut #haechan #nct dream #nct smut #doyoung #hyuck #fanfic

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marlenacantswim · 1 month

Note

BAM headcanons for your little guy????

i can always count on you, whoop <333

i'm thinking ab the tenth doctor real hard bc of that novel i just read, so imma drop some headcanons ab him and his companions, and probably 14 too bc i'm feeling it.

ten's got a little bit of a chew stim / oral fixation. this is inspired both by the number of times he holds objects in his mouth in the show, and him chewing the end of his stethoscope in Prisoner of the Daleks.

fourteen, meanwhile, learns he has a LOT of a chew stim once he's settled into his new life with the nobles. the discovery unfortunately comes at the cost of sylvia's second favorite spatula, which 14 absentmindedly chewed a hole into while making himself eggs one morning.

tentoo and rose celebrate the day she and nine first met as their anniversary. when they get married (through a lowkey traditional timelord wedding to "celebrate his heritage"), they make sure to hold the ceremony on that same day.

one january day, a few years into their relationship, rose is telling tentoo how worried and stressed she is about her job prospects. tentoo reassures her by saying "i think you're gonna have a great year :)" which suddenly unlocks the memory she'd had of meeting ten on new year's, 2005. since tentoo doesn't remember this, they both conclude that it must have been the actual doctor visiting her sometime after the metacrisis, and through her description of the events, tentoo silently realizes that ten was there because he was dying.

14 has a sleep pattern of about one or two nights of restless insomnia, followed by one night of deep, babylike sleep that lasts for 10 hours if uninterrupted. it's not uncommon, on these nights, to find him asleep in front of a project he's been working on, as he is the only one in the house who has not yet recognized this pattern.

as a time lord, he doesn't need to sleep this much in theory, but my mans is so tired, and for the first time like, ever, he has the space to actually catch up on lifetimes of lost sleep.

time lord dreams tend to be five-dimensional, but the trends can change with regenerations. for instance, nine's dreams were only ever three-dimensional, and always in black and white. ten's dreams have a wild range of possibilities, from so photorealistic he confuses them with real memories, to so abstract that the experience is more akin to being the subject of a picasso painting. he dreams every time he falls asleep, even if he's just taking a nap. 14's dreams are always photorealistic.

donna snores. not super loud, but enough to be obvious to anyone but her. ten always found the rhythmic sound soothing; pulsing white noise like that of the tardis. he'd often fall asleep in the same room as her because of it. all of this applies to 14 as well, to the extent that, some mornings, donna and shaun find him curled up into a ball asleep at the foot of their bed like a dog.

martha and the nobles keep very well in touch, to the occasional horror of 14 who has no idea how to read her and feels pathetically awful about how he treated her during her time as a companion. martha honestly still believes he's the most amazing thing, but she's gotta admit that watching him sweat bullets every time she addresses him feels kinda cathartic, so she has no qualms putting off that talk.

martha has also since pivoted back to the medical field, where she is doing quite well, thank you for asking.

since we see ten in the pjs from "The Christmas Invasion" again in "Smith and Jones", i choose to believe that he liked them so much that he simply kept them. i imagine the conversation with jackie went "howard won't miss these, will he?" "miss what?" "thought not. okay thanks, bye!"

i also imagine ten makes an active effort to sleep in the pajamas as often as he's able. he sleeps about thrice as much as nine ever did, all because he's obsessed with the fun ritual of wearing them to bed.

ten actually has a mild but sensitive allergy to cats. he never realized this, not because he didn't ever have the opportunity to, but because he was always too preoccupied to piece together that the reason his psychic functions felt fuzzy and the psychic paper used a misplaced modifier and the skin near his collarbone itched was because he was in the same room as a cat five minutes ago.

this is why it took him a second to piece together what exactly was off with rose in "New Earth": his ambient telepathy was too fuzzed over from the cat nurses to notice rose's brainwaves were wrong.

having a human brain, tentoo's memory faculties are still giga-impressive for a human, but not nearly as robust as his timelord counterpart's. he still remembers events, emotions, and concepts clearly, his biggest regressions being in the categories of exact terminologies and complex mathematical processes. the loss he's most distraught about is the vast majority of languages he once knew. he can still speak and understand all earth languages and gallifreyan fluently, but his knowledge of xenolinguistics is relegated to the occasional profound vocab word he remembers fondly.

a lot of these ended up being sleep-related for whatever reason; maybe i just want the man to rest </3

#thank you whoop you are always and forever the best #🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶#doctor who #the tenth doctor #the fourteenth doctor #10th doctor #14th doctor #nuwho #rtd era #donna noble #rose tyler #martha jones #tentoo #metacrisis doctor #running my mouth #ask and you shall receive #dw headcanon

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