#Donut Stash

[pony-central]

Frame Redraw from "The Perfect Plan" comic

Now in shaded style and revised work

They got to Boyfriend's Donut Stash again after a long promise of staying away from it. They did get hungry

[newmiemew]

ferret coded critter

[burgerspeople]

thinking once again about judy and kima getting stoned as fuck on edibles because it’s so relatable to my first experience with edibles

[vibinsanemoved]

Object Permanence.

I miss the days when I was clearly oblivious to things Then I met you and you rearranged my way of thinking One day you taught me about Object Permanence I haven’t been the same since

You didn’t hold back when you explained it to me And hit me with a fact that made me immensely guilty You compared it to the way I showed you that I love you How constant reassurance was needed or you’d forget

I know damn well I was never like this before I didn’t need reassurance over the simplest things I was sane enough that I didn’t question anyone’s love Until you kept questioning mine without missing a beat

You taught me the mindset “no matter what I do it isn’t enough” Now when someone shows some kind of interest in me I can’t help but think: “How long until they get tired of me?” “They love me, they love me not.” “I love you.” “No, you don’t.”

I thought my high school love was the one that fucked everything up But nothing can compare to the Hell you put me through You taught me how intense emotional pain can be And I never wanted to rip out my heart so fucking badly

I flinch every time love opens its arms for me Waiting for it to strike at me just like your words did Like sharp and dull knives tossed around in my mind I didn't need reassurance before, now I need it all the time

[arsdecader]

Lingering Feelings

Pairing: Marika x Rei's Sis

Summary:

A fragmented collection of Marika's memories about the person she's grown to admire, and, maybe, even love.

Note:

I originally wrote this for a merm4idweek event last year, but disaster strikes when around that time a lot of my ongoing projects got lost. I had just finished it as a sort of Marika's birthday celebration post. It was also written to the feeling of fleeting summer romance...

[macabresymphonies]

So what's up with the food, Lena?

Why is all food supposed to be eaten on site, Lena?

Why is Sam getting addicted to your coffee, Lena? Did you swap it for decaff?

Why for a second time we see new hire starting their work with eating something that Lena bought?

Why is it established for like third time Alice wants to eat outside of the office or brings her own food into the office?

WHY WAS SAM OKAY WHEN IT WAS JUST ALICE MAKING HIM COFFEE AND NOW HE'S ADDICTED TO OIRA COFFEE? WAS SHE SWAPPING IT WITH HER OWN COFFEE STASHED AWAY SOMEWHERE?

WHAT'S IN THE MINI-DONUTS, LENA?

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 3 - Ignihyde]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

**Need to go to bed for work tomorrow so Diasomnia will be on my next day off. Can't stay up long enough to squeeze it in**

If there was one thing Idia hated, it was going out in public. He hated how the sun burned his eyes, all the bugs flying around, the way people looked at his hair, and almost had a heart attack at the idea that he'd have to talk to people.

Major bummer. 0/10, don't recommend.

But he'd suck it up and soldier on because the call of sweets was too tempting to resist. The trek to Sam's isn't the longest from Ignihyde but it's enough to make him pace himself.

Yeah, he's not really an outside person. Or a physical activity person outside of dancing to Premo or working on his projects.

He briefly wonders if Ortho put Sam up to this as he finds his second wind and ascends the hill. Who has a bomb sweets sale and DOESN'T ALLOW ONLINE PURCHASES?! WHY WERE THE DISCOUNTS IN-PERSON ONLY?

Idia breaths a sigh of relief and fixes his hoodie before mustering up his courage and opening the door. He's throwing himself into the proverbial lion's den, into an introvert's worst nightmare!

The noise and people are almost too much but he distracts himself with all the pink and red. Mercifully, the candy is spread out around the store so he doesn't have to stay in the sea of people. Idia doesn't discriminate when it comes to sweets; he gets soft cake rolls, pixie sticks, little donuts, a few chocolate bars, and a couple of limited edition dessert drinks. He's secretly glad Sam's regular stock didn't take a hit because of the holiday; his snack stash needs replenishing. Packs of ramen and little things of convenience bury his sweets stash but he's careful not to crush anything.

He can almost hear Ortho nagging him to get something green or slightly healthy. If he doesn't, Ortho will be mad at him for a week. It becomes a battle of wits between the Shroud brothers and Ortho is the king of juvenile inconveniences. Idia has learned the hard way; Ortho resets his alarms, throttles his wi-fi, messes with his lights, takes apart his tablet or takes it off charge in the middle of the night, and just about anything else he can think of.

Idia begrudgingly puts some green smoothies in his basket. Along with some pudding cups.

Satisfied with his raid, he waits in line. He's chanting to himself the whole time: just walk, don't make eye contact! Just walk, don't make eye contact! The line stalls enough for someone to bump into him and he panics, stumbling forward into the person in front of him. His hair flickers and flares a little in his panic.

People give him space and he babbles a quick apology. He pulls his hoodie up over his hair but it doesn't hide everything. It makes him feel safe, though. He relaxes a little.

Then, he hears it.

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

Oof. MAXIMUM cringe. NO ONE on campus has a charisma stat high enough to make THAT work! Except Kingscholar and Schoenheit, maybe.

It gets worse when he realizes someone said that TO YOU.

OH NO! HE HAS COMPETITION!

The tactic looks like it failed, though, so he's comforted. You wouldn't go for something so cheap and cheesy! This guy looks like a D-level tank AT BEST. You're an SSR easy. D-levels and SSR's don't go together!

He's an SSR when it comes to stealth and technical skill so maybe one day you guys can link up or whatever. Your choice. The tips of his hair turn pink and he blows on the closest strand to mute the color.

The guy is doubling down. "You're rolling a one, pleb. A hard one." Idia whispers to himself.

"You say somethin', Shroud?" the guy turns to him.

FUCK, HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

Idia's hair roars to life with surprise. He yanks the hoodie down before the fabric singes and crisps. His strands are wild, untamed, and yellow. His instinct is to stutter and deny it, to backtrack, but your eyes are just shy of pleading and it makes him swallow the word soup.

"I-I said you're rolling a hard one. Y-You're failing!" Idia doesn't know if he's going to faint first or if his legs will give out. His heart might go first.

The guy clearly doesn't get the reference. The brain is buffering and the lag is too great. He shakes his head with a sharp, toothy smile, unable to help himself. Dumb normie, Idia gives a breathy chuckle. Idia has that unfortunate condition where his face talks for him and it must've said some shit because the tank is now laser-focused on him.

You're over the counter before he can process anything, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and telling him to leave. The guy just jerks his shoulders and stays the course. Idia sees you get ripped over the counter and tumble to the floor. You recover decently and grab the closest thing to you but something about the sound of your body hitting the floor sends him into a rage he'd only felt in online arguments.

It feels like his veins are burning. He can tell by the size of his shadow and the light dancing across the floor that his hair is long and ferociously orange. Raging orange. Lethal orange.

"Caution," Idia manages somehow through his rage. "C-Contents are hot." he knows he has to stay put. If he approaches the guy he will LITERALLY catch on fire. It's not a bad idea, and he can see the gears spinning in the guy's head. He's wondering if Idia's going to do it or if he has enough time to hit the door.

The guy chooses the door.

It takes several minutes for Idia to calm down. His hair seems to shrink as he deflates into his usual quiet mannerisms. It's shorter than normal! "Used up all my fuel," Idia complains as he drags himself to the counter. "Need calories." he melts pitifully into the counter.

"You need to buy what you burned, too." Sam points to the singed chips and snacks. He already has a few packs that are beyond saving in his arms. Idia realizes the shop is basically empty now and finds the energy to blush. Pink cheeks look really cute against his blue hair!

"Does this mean I'm done for the day?"

"Yes." Sam looks at you. He's not mad or disappointed, but he means you're done. "I think you're a bit of a fire hazard." he teases.

You both blush.

None of this was in his decision tree! WHAT DOES HE DO?

"You, uh, you want to come by Ignihyde and, um, watch some stuff? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I just, you know, since it was my fault and all--"

"Is that a nat twenty in the wild? I think I have to now!" you joke.

"You get that?" Idia's mouth hangs open in surprise.

"It might have different names but I think it's the same thing in my world." you shrug. He's so down to discuss games from another dimension!

A nat twenty indeed!

----

Ortho was doing his best to fill the gaps with whatever Sam's shop had to offer. Idia's grocery order was a little delayed due to the Valentine's holiday so he needed something decent to tide him over. Determined to keep his brother from an early, sodium-induced death, Ortho took it upon himself to shop. He wasn't totally heartless, though, so he'd throw in a few bags of chips to make Idia feel better.

A lot of this chocolate was out of the question! The sugar was through the roof! Then again, Idia was hopelessly addicted to sweets. He's pretty sure his brother broke some kind of record for sugar tolerance.

Equipped with Vil's suggestions and the things he researched, Ortho started hunting for healthy foods. He filled the basket with smoothies, yogurts, dark chocolate, fruit, and protein bars. There should be enough texture and flavor variation there to make Idia happy. Well...relatively.

Ortho floated patiently in line, subtly recording the conversations around him for later playback. Organic human interaction was interesting and would help him improve his algorithms and processes.

It's not like it hurt anything! All of the conversations were innocent and--

WAS SOMEONE TRYING TO MAKE A MOVE ON HIS FRIEND? HIS BESTEST, MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND?! ONLY HIS BIG BROTHER CAN DO THAT!

You may not totally get that he's a techno-organic construct (and not a boy who just really loves pretending to be a robot) but HE GETS that YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE AND THAT'S NOT OKAY!

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ortho weaves carefully through the people, playing a little 'wee-woo' alarm through his speaker system.

He floats beside the guy, staring at him with those big gold eyes. Pinching his thumb and pointer finger together turns up the alarm.

The guy is ignoring the alarms! How ridiculous! Is this what Idia means by natural selection and survival of the fittest?

A red light pops out of his shoulder, spinning in place.

HE'S IGNORING THAT, TOO?!

"You're being interrupted!" Ortho glares at him now, tuft of blue hair dancing angrily. "This conversation is clearly inappropriate for the setting and is henceforth terminated!"

"Terminated? Big words for a little boy! Go away, big people are talking!" the guy tries to shoo him away.

"Don't be rude to him!" you snap, "And he's right! The conversation is terminated!"

"Terminated!" Ortho echoes, pumping his fist. "Terminated!" he repeats, laughing when some of the people in line begin to join in and chant 'terminated, terminated!'

The guy leaves without buying anything and Ortho is happy to take his place. He pays for the the snacks. "And here's a sticker for you for being so sweet!" you put a sticker on the back of his hand. It's a heart wearing sunglasses.

Ortho laughs despite himself. One day he'll get Idia to explain it to you in a way you understand. He's surprised nothing like him exists in your world but he's glad to be here with you in Twisted Wonderland.

[devoutekuna]

Midnight activities

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

"Mama" poking at your side as she tried to wake you up. "Mama, mama" words repeating as Sukuna shuffled about, trying to shut her out. "Mama, I want to sleep here tonight" he absolutely hated how his daughter always wanted to be close to you, leaving no room for one on one intimacy. "No go away" pushing her hand off your sleeping body. "You go away!" Of course she had the confidence to talk back to him, swiftly getting out of bed as he knew that no servants would be awake at this time, grabbing the girl's wrist as he dragged her out of the room. "Hey!" "I'll eat you if you don't shut up" he always threatened her with that as it was the easiest way to get her to stop.

Nanami-

His daughter tried to stay awake since 7pm but she occasionally fell asleep, fortunately she woke up just in time for her father to come back from his mission, he was due back over 6 hours ago, so she was pretty upset when he was so late, and not even bringing any food for her back. "Daddy" scaring the man as he expected nobody to be awake at this time. "Hey sweetheart" dropping his stuff to twirl her around. "Did you bring anything back?" Hands placed on his shoulders to look over his body towards the bag. "Like food?" The only thing he brought was a bag of small donuts, despite how unhealthy they were it was the only thing he liked in the corner shop. Nodding her head. "You can have some donuts.

Gojo-

He was a light sleeper so it was expected that he would wake up when he heard the bedroom door open. "Papa!" The toddler holding the plushie he bought him a few weeks ago, wearing matching pyjamas to his, with a backpack on too? "Look what I found!" Pointing at the bag. Fortunately you weren't awake right now, still tucked in. Quickly glancing at you before rushing out of bed. The pair of them had a sweet addiction, taking any chance they could to stuff their face with food. "I found the secret stash!" His heart dropped as he saw the contents in the bag, normally Satoru would buy a bunch of food whilst visiting a new city and then stash them away at the top of the cupboard, where only he could reach... Somehow his son got up there and raided the whole thing, but atleast eh was nice enough to share it.

Geto-

His twins were supposed to be fast asleep in there bedroom after tucking them in, but somehow he wakes up with a girl sat on his shoulder trying to open his eyes to see if he was awake or not. "I think he's asleep" replying to her sister's question, the pair of them were trying to find the leftover cake from this morning. "I'm awake" scaring the girl as she almost fell of the sofa, fortunately he had quick enough reflexes to catch the girl, sitting up as he placed her back on the sofa. "What are you two up to?" Putting on his slippers as he stretched his muscles.

Toji-

"Ready?" Passing his baby girl a full water bottle, apparently he thought that his daughter wanted to work out with him when he saw her crawling towards the living room. Furniture moved to the side to give him more room as he sat his daughter down on a floor pillow. Disappointment overlooking his face as she dropped the bottle, letting it roll towards him. "I thought you wanted to train with me?" The poor girl didn't even know what was happening she just wanted to see her father.

[siasthoughts]

⍣ ೋ roses 'n golden apologies.

nanami kento x gn!reader

PREVIEW;

your dear ol' husband who's always passively loved you, has always been pretty distant. but for some reason, these past 2 years, he's become unbearably neglectful.

CONTENTS; has plot . sex is used as an apology . gojo is a homewrecker . lowk angst at start . i actually write the sex this time no way! . long kinda??

💿 JEALOU$Y - THE NEIGHBOURHOOD ♫

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

nanami sighed, finally shutting off the computer that burned his eyes for hours on end. he checked his watch, nine-thirty. shit. he promised to finally take you out for dinner tonight, he should at least buy you something, no? he stood from his leather office chair, the movement creaking under his weight as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat.

the space was now dark, he was the only one to stay once again. the sight made him groan to himself as he stepped into the elevator. recently, his home was growing quieter, the warmth was fading. no– you, you were growing quieter, your warmth was airing out.

ding. the elevator opens to reveal a similar view, empty and dark. he walks through the lobby, his oxfords echoing through the empty space as he finally makes his way to his car, bringing the engine to life. you still like roses, right? maybe he should get you some donuts too. he quietly grips around the wheel, swerving it out into the road and making his way to your favorite bakery.

he arrives at the bakery, you introduced this place to him and it quickly became one of his favorite places too. he recalls the ways you hoard the puffs and strawberry-filled donuts, the memory forming a small smile on his lips as he enters, a familiar chime greeting him.

a nostalgic scent of bread and cinnamon permeates the air, almost thick enough to taste as he calmly walks straight for the donut corner. he frowns, his eyes scanning the labels to land on the strawberry ones—

empty.

“good evening! is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” a kind, chocolate-haired girl asks as she clasps her hands together.

“ah,” he speaks in thought, “cream puffs?” he asks in monotone.

“yes, right this way!” she leads him to the cream puffs, a hand out to showcase the shelf.

the place has changed a bit since they last been here, which is… a year and a half ago.

he takes two, and heads to the counter without wasting a second. roses, yes, roses. he thinks as his feet quickly find themselves in the floral shop conveniently placed next to the bakery.

he quickly buys a bouquet of roses, and hurried back to his car, carefully stashing the gifts onto the passenger seat. his eyes linger on the seat for a second too long—recalling when it was you sitting there. alright time to go home.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

at some mcdonalds.

you sat comfortably against the cushioned seats, a white-haired man in front of you, blabbering all sorts of nonsense, pulling out hearty giggles from you. god, when was the last time you've laughed like this?

"and then, i swear, i saw a vein in utahime's forehead burst!" he laughed out, taking a big bite out of his quarter-pounder.

you laugh, taking a sip of your drink. luckily enough, the story he's telling doesn't include kento. and for the past hour, you've completely forgotten about him.

"yeah? what happened next?" you entertained, keeping your eyes intently on him as he enthusiastically continued on.

"then nanami walks in and sees the mess in the classroom!" he chuckles, leading to a few stares.

your face drops as your phone coincidentally receives a notification, your eyes flickering to the screen.

nanami kento

honey? where are you?

your silence doesn't go unnoticed. "what's wrong?" satoru asks cautiously, tilting his head down to try get a peek at you, then at your phone.

"na... na..." he begins to slowly read, "oh-" he blurts out, "do you have to go now?" he thoughtfully asks, recognizing the situation.

you've opened up to him about the situation, not fully, but just a quick summary that's enough for anyone to understand.

"well..." you huff, staring at the screen hesitantly for a few moments, then shutting your phone off. "i guess." you sigh, stuffing your phone into your bag.

"aww, c'mon..." satoru pouts playfully, watching you stand. "thanks though," you smile softly, "this really helped." you thanked as he stood, following you over to the exit.

"want me to drive you home?" he asks cockily, clear with intent. it'll save money, you think. "sure." you accept.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

nanami sat at your couch, the silence of the empty apartment defeaning. a warm, dim light of the floor lamps illuminated his features as his gifts sat untouched next to him. he stared at the blank phone screen, waiting for a response. anything, anything will do.

creak.

his head snaps toward the door, to see you stepping inside. a soft yet almost aching smile paints his face, "dear, you're home." he greets, standing to his feet and gently grabbing the gifts.

you look up at him, your eyes devoid of amusement at the sight. he picks this up, his own smile quickly falling away as his grip on the flowers tighten.

"hi..." you reply flatly, your jaw as tense as the air. "oh, uh- here, i got these for you." he still persuades, handing the bouquet and puffs over to you. your gaze drifts to the offerings, forcing a smile as you take them from him.

"thanks."

"so... uh-" nanami rubs the back of his neck as he stuffs a hand into his pocket, "what were you... doing?" he asks, watching as you walk past him, setting the bouquet down onto the center island of the kitchen, and storing the puffs almost carelessly into the fridge.

he swallows his words, feeling his heart sink at the scene. "oh, i was just with..." you hesitate for a moment, "satoru." as the name falls from your lips, nanami feels his heart fall even further.

"satoru?" he repeats, not sure if he believes it, "well... what did you guys do?" he asks, walking towards you. "we just had a good simple time at mcdonald's." you respond, shrugging casually.

he recalls the lavish presents he gives you, and upon hearing your 'simple' indulgences, it makes him feel like a stranger.

"really..." he hums bitterly, his arm falling to his side as his hand balls into a fist, "well," he clears his throat, "i'm sorry i didn't get to take you out." he forces the words out as he tries to keep the eye contact.

"it's fine." you respond shortly, "i had a good night anyway."

were you doing this on purpose? your words rubbed salt further into the wounds, your steps scatter across the floor as you head towards your shared room.

"sweetheart," he calls out, his voice bordering on either a demand or threat, "i'm... i'm really sorry." he walks up behind you as he realizes you weren't gonna even stop in your tracks.

"i said it's fine."

"please-"

"kento," you interrupt, "it's okay."

he frowns down at you as you turn to him, your eyes looking as if they were challenging him. and as you turn back, he speaks before even realizing, "please, i know it's my fault," he starts, "but how do you think i'll react if you just mention another man? especially someone like gojo? an old friend?"

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "and how do you think i'll react if my husband just decides to act like a single man for two years?" you shot the question back, "goodnight, kento." you groan, turning back to continue towards the bedroom—

a hand finds your wrist, and before you realize it, you feel a pair of lips against yours. you grunt against him, your back hits the bedroom door, his mouth greedily, desperately invades yours.

"i'm sorry."

kiss.

"i'm so damn sorry."

"let me-" you stammer before yet another kiss.

his hands work swiftly to open the door, you stumble back until you hit the bed, your hands gripping onto his shoulders. you don't know if you want your breath back, because one thing's for sure, you miss him taking it away.

finally, he pulls away only to quickly move down to your neck, "kento- wait..." you breathe out, almost a gasp as you grip onto his hair, "hey..."

"for my peace of mind, please let me pay back for all the nights i made you sleep alone," kiss, "the forgotten dates," kiss, "the cold love," kiss, "sorry for leaving you empty."

you feel his warm hands burn down across your sides, trailing down to your aching hole, making you yelp. his legs were in between yours, "kento!" you gasp as he pushes his hands into your sweats and into your underwear.

"i want you to hear it before i get drunk on you," he rasps out, his middle finger circling your entrance, "i love you," he murmurs, "i love you so much."

he slowly pushes his fingers into you, stretching you out. he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck as he shuts his eyes tight, feeling you tight around his digits. god, he just wants to bury himself inside you.

but he'd be too greedy, no? hold yourself together, kento. he hisses against your skin, curling his fingers inside you. "you're so tight..." he grumbles out, "do you want me to stop?" he asks lowly, his fingers stopping.

"are you serious?" you mutter, breathless though feeling as if the tension now cracked, "i'm just... loosening up, we haven't done this in a while." you frown.

a slight red flushes against his ears at your words, "i'm sorry." he huffs out before slowly picking up the pace once more. "i just... wanted to make sure."

you roll your eyes at his words, though truly appreciating the sentiment, "just keep going." you groan, circling your hips eagerly.

his pride beams at this. at the fact you're still eachothers. he pulls his hand out of the fabric momentarily, and a small mewl escapes you as he pulls back.

he raises his arm to take off his watch, then rolling up his sleeves to his elbows before getting back down to work. he knows you love it when he does that.

you lay, aching desperately for him as he inches off your bottoms, sliding them from your legs and throwing them aside. you eye the growing bulge in his pants, a mischievous grin creeping onto your lips.

"i think it's okay now," you announce abruptly as his fingers hover over your entrance, "what?" he asks in a stammer, "—i mean, you can put it in now."

"but it'll hurt." he quietly fights back as he rests his hands on your hips. "aren't you desperate?" you teased, reaching down to his hardened arousal, eliciting a low groan from him.

"see? you'll do good for the both of us if you just put it in."

he hisses, his fingers fisting the sheets. he's struggling. really struggling.

"my love- please-"

you continue to grind your filthy little fingers against him.

"c'mon kento, you know we both want it."

your fingers slowly inch towards his belt, unbuckling it, then pulling it off teasingly. next, you slowly unzip his pants and he makes no move to stop you.

"you can do it on your own now can't you?" you grin, pulling your hand away. his jaw tenses, staying silent before he begins to slowly pull the fabric down.

you chuckle, watching as he let it hang below his hips, just enough to reveal his desperate cock. he feels your stare, "do you want to touch it?" he laughs lowly.

it sinks even deeper, he finally realizes how much his own body has been craving you. you reach out, wrapping your hands around his length, pumping slowly.

he throws his head back, deep growls reverberating from his throat as his dick twitches under your touch. your thumb slides across the tip to spread the beading precum, using it as lube.

"haah..." he breathes out, his chest heaving, "that must be enough..." he murmurs impatiently as he brings his head back down to look at you, pulling your hand away from his arousal.

"oh so you're getting bold." you giggle as he positions himself against you, feeling the tip of his dick nudge against your entrance.

"didn't you want that?" he shoots back, holding your hips firmly as he slowly, gently pushes into you. his jaw and muscles tense at the sensation, fuck.

"hng!" you whine softly, feeling the size invade your long untouched hole, your legs shivering before you realize he's been still for too long, "hey, why aren't you moving?" you frown, observing him.

you notice his torso twitching, you look up to see his creased beows and small beads of sweat forming at his forehead, you can't help but let out a cut laugh. "kento... are you already going to..." you laugh, clenching around him, making him sigh.

"st-stop that..." he huffs out, trying to compose himself, "it's just- been long okay?" he excuses as you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, "ngh- shit! don't-" he stammers, his dick twitching around your tight muscle.

"okay- okay, i'll move..." he speaks with halfhearted confidence as he begins to slowly pull out before slamming back inside, "so... tight..." he mutters under his breath.

"uff..." you watch as his cock slides in and out of you, your fingers clawing at his forearms as you feel each and every inch of him, "have you... ever considered the fact you're just big?" you wittily reply, throwing your head back.

"it's alright though isn't it? you've always been able to take me." he groans, nuzzling his head against the crook of your neck once more as he begins picking up the face.

"ah- ah-" your moans slip out in time with his thrusts. "and... you always practically suck me in, such a greedy little thing." he rasps out as he feels your heat grip him, the resistance of your muscle driving him crazy.

you slowly feel a familiar feeling building in your stomach, and in sync, his fingers tighten on your hips, he's close too. his pace slowly falls out of a pattern, becoming more erratic than controlled.

"k-kento..." you moan, "i-i'm close..." your voice breaks in the words as his teeth nip at your neck. "i know, i know, me too." his warm breath trickling down your neck as he leaves light marks on the tender skin.

closer, closer... just a bit more. his hips drive into you, with the only goal of hitting that sweet spot. he moans quietly against you as he pumps himself, "i'm gonna cum- take it all for me, okay? take it all-" he growls as he buries himself to the hilt.

a whine escapes your mouth as your body writhes under him, that knot in your stomach finally snapping as you feel his warm seed fill you up. he keeps you close, basking in the afterglow.

"you did so good, so good." he whispers, kissing your cheek as he caresses your face tenderly, his cock subtly twitching inside you as you feel bits of cum drip down your ass.

god how you missed him whispering in your ear like this. how you missed all of this.

"again..." you murmur.

have to make up for lost time, no?

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

this is obviously self indulgent 🤤🤤🤤 nanami fics r going extinct so i had to take matters into my own hands, first time fully writing the sex hope i did good 😈😈

[pony-central]

PonyCentral: Here at PonyCentral Incorporated, we need to make sure that our customers are satisfied with their order. So, I'm selling Boyfriend's Donut Stash for $5. With free delivery, and free shipping directly to your door. Just one simple rule - Don't tell Boyfriend anything. Shh! 😁

[ihangelic]

as a girl who worked in the otter section of a zoo, lemme tell you a little about otter hybrid!riwoo (gn!reader, pure fluff!)

otter!riwoo is a velcro boyfriend. he’ll be holding your hand, playing with your fingers or fidgeting with your clothes 24/7. usually it’s unconscious— like you could be grocery shopping and as you’re picking things off of the shelf, his hand is still glued around your wrist. or when you’re at the register handing the cashier your card, he has two fingers hooked around the belt loop of your jeans T^T

otter!riwoo falls in love every time you randomly buy him little snacks! once you bought him a donut while on the way to hang out with him and he could smell it on you before you even revealed the pastry to him, small excited squeaks coming from his throat as he hugged you before happily taking the treat in his two hands and eating it. literally, you can’t give him a snack if you’re not prepared to have him all over you for the rest of the day. riwoo baby just wants to be in your arms and cuddle after eating and stare at you with hearts in his eyes.

otter!riwoo secretly steals small things of yours because they remind him of you and he likes having them when you’re not around :( like a keychain, piece of jewelry, a forgotten shirt or hoodie you left at his place. you finally find out one day when you stumble across his stash in his closet. and when you tell him what you found he’d be sooooo adorably embarrassed and kinda worried you’ll be upset >~< of course you assure him that it’s fine, you actually think it’s super cute— and he’d blush so hard omg <3

otter!riwoo loves to give you random little things! like yknow how riwoo’s always catching confetti n’ stuff for ihan? he does that to you too T^T if you’re at the park together or walking on the sidewalk he’ll suddenly hand you a lil flower he saw in the grass or a rock he thought was pretty. (also, if there’s butterflies, he gets super entranced with them and follows them with his eyes and follows it around. will try to get the insect to land on his hand so he can show you that too— OMG IM CRYING) and when you keep the random things he gives you he gets SO HAPPY UFJDNDJJD. not to mention that if you give him a random thing back— marriage. you literally have to marry him now because that couldn’t mean anything else in riwoo’s mind other than a proposal. (like actually, he’s shopping for a wedding tux the very next day.)

[realityjoey]

SEASON 1, EPISODE 3: “THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY.”

The buzz of a new workweek vibrated through the precinct. Phones rang. Radios crackled. The hum of conversation and the occasional barked command created the usual chaotic symphony that made the building feel alive.

For the first time in three weeks, Detective Dylan Jenkins stepped back into it.

She wore her full uniform for the first time since the shooting—crisp blues, her badge catching the light on her chest. Her left arm was no longer in a sling, though she still moved it carefully, the stiff way someone does when their body remembers trauma before their brain does. The bruises had faded, but there were remnants in her posture, the tightness in her eyes, the way she instinctively scanned every room like something might explode.

Still, she looked sharp. Focused.

And she was glad to be back.

Sort of.

Her first stop wasn’t the bullpen, or the break room where Lucy had probably already stashed a welcome-back donut. It was the Watch Commander’s office—where she now stood outside the open door, knocking twice on the frame.

Sergeant Wade Grey looked up from behind his desk, his hands steepled over a manila folder.

“Detective Jenkins,” he said with a nod. “Come in.”

She stepped inside, arms crossed loosely, giving him that standard Dylan smirk that she used to deflect anything remotely emotional. “You called me in here to personally inspect my battle scars?”

Grey didn’t even blink. “No. I called you in here because before I send anyone back out onto my streets, I need confirmation they’re not just physically cleared—but mentally ready.”

Dylan sighed and dropped into the chair opposite his desk. “So, therapy mode today. Fantastic.”

He opened the folder and tapped the paper inside. “You passed your medical clearance. Shoulder’s healing well. Range of motion acceptable. No nerve damage. But none of this tells me what I actually need to know.”

“Which is?” she asked, already bracing.

“That you’re ready to come back and not pretend like getting shot didn’t affect you.”

Dylan scoffed. “Come on, Sarge. I’ve been through worse. This isn’t my first traumatic Tuesday.”

“I’m aware,” Grey said calmly. “I read your London file. The forced entry that went sideways. Your partner who bled out. That time you were held at knifepoint by a domestic suspect and refused to stand down. Your brother.”

Dylan’s smirk faltered. Just slightly.

“This,” Grey continued, “isn’t about what you can survive. You’ve already proven that. Repeatedly. This is about how you survive it. Whether you’re going to let this job eat you from the inside out like it has a thousand others who thought they were invincible.”

She shifted in the chair. “I’m not one of those people.”

“No?” Grey leaned forward, voice low. “You dragged a bleeding officer out of a gunfight while you were bleeding yourself. You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t even notice—because your adrenaline was pumping so high, and your focus was so external, you ignored your own life being on the line. That doesn’t go away when the stitches come out.”

Dylan clenched her jaw. Looked away for the first time.

Grey studied her a beat longer, then softened—just a touch.

“You’re good, Jenkins. Damn good. But you’re not made of steel. Neither is Bradford.”

At that, her eyes flicked up. Sharp.

“He needs to take it easy too,” Grey said. “You both do. That kind of bond—what happened out there—that’s not just something you walk off. You took a bullet for him. He watched you go down right in front of him. You think either of you came out of that untouched?”

Dylan swallowed.

“No one’s telling you not to be here,” Grey added. “But slow down. Be smart. This job doesn’t reward martyrs—it buries them.”

She was quiet for a long moment.

Then: “You done psychoanalyzing me now, or should I get horizontal and talk about my childhood?”

Grey leaned back, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Just go easy on the hero complex for a few weeks.”

She stood slowly, the sarcasm already returning to her voice like armor. “I’ll try. Can’t promise anything if Tim gets sentimental again, though. Might have to throw myself into traffic.”

Grey smirked. “Welcome back, Jenkins.”

As she left the office, Dylan’s expression was unreadable—wry on the surface, but something quieter underneath.

Maybe Grey was right. Maybe flipping the switch didn’t work like it used to.

But if she was going to do this job right—again—she might need to start learning a different way to survive.

The moment Dylan Jenkins stepped out of Grey’s office, her head was buzzing — but not in the way it usually did before a shift. It wasn’t adrenaline. Not nerves. Just… noise. The kind of internal hum you get when someone touches a nerve you didn’t realise was still raw.

Grey’s words echoed behind her eyes: “This job doesn’t reward martyrs — it buries them.”

She tucked them away, buried deep behind her usual smirk, and headed toward the briefing room, where the rest of the squad was already beginning to filter in. The place was half-full when she slipped in and leaned against the back wall, one arm hanging loosely by her side, the other still stiff from the injury, though she was pretending otherwise.

At the front of the room, Sergeant Grey stood with his usual quiet authority, clipboard in hand. The second she walked in, his eyes met hers. A single nod.

Then, in his no-nonsense tone, he spoke.

“Alright, listen up. We’ve got a priority case from last night. Armed robbery, downtown. Citizens’ Bank on Seventh. Five masked suspects. Got away with over eighty grand in cash.”

A few murmurs rippled across the room.

Grey held up a hand, then motioned toward the aide next to him, who began passing out photocopied stills from CCTV footage. Blurry, grainy images showed figures in tattered, grimy clothes — makeup smeared across their faces, fake blood splashed over ripped shirts.

Zombies.

Dylan squinted at the grainy image as the sheet landed in her hand. “Oh, for f—”

“Yeah,” Grey said, hearing her before she finished. “Halloween came early.”

A chuckle floated from somewhere near the front. Tim Bradford, seated with arms folded across his chest, gave Dylan a look — amused, knowing — but said nothing. She returned it with an eye-roll.

“These five suspects,” Grey continued, “stormed the bank at 2:37 a.m., full ‘undead’ getup, armed with handguns. One fired into the ceiling. No casualties, no injuries, but they cleared the vault in under four minutes and vanished before patrol arrived.”

“Witnesses?” someone asked.

“Only one worth anything,” Grey said. “Night janitor. Said they moved like they’d done it before. Coordinated. Not amateurs.”

Dylan tapped her sheet with one finger. “So we’re looking for a pack of criminal thespians?”

Before Grey could respond, the door at the side of the room opened, and in walked Captain Andersen — composed, elegant, eyes sharp as ever.

The room stiffened slightly. Her presence always commanded attention, not through volume, but precision.

Her gaze scanned the group quickly — and then stopped squarely on Dylan.

“Detective Jenkins,” she said, her voice firm but warm.

Dylan straightened instinctively.

“Glad to see you back on your feet.”

“Ma’am,” Dylan replied with a respectful nod.

“If you need anything,” Andersen continued, walking toward the front of the room, “you come directly to me. Any resources, any support — medical or otherwise. Understood?”

There was a beat of silence. Dylan could feel a few heads turn in her direction. Not pitying — just… watching.

“I appreciate that,” she said, calm and measured. “But I’m good.”

Andersen studied her for half a second longer, then gave a curt nod and turned to the group.

“Regarding the robbery,” she said, taking over from Grey with seamless authority. “Intel suggests the suspects are part of a fringe performance collective — formerly tied to small-time theft and vandalism. They call themselves the ‘Dead Awake’ Crew. Most of their previous run-ins have been harmless. Art school dropouts with a flair for dramatics.”

Someone near the front snorted.

“They’re not a joke anymore,” Andersen said coolly. “They’re armed. Organised. And they’ve just pulled off the cleanest bank robbery we’ve seen this year.”

Tim’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the photo again. “Why now? Why escalate?”

“That’s what you’re going to find out,” Andersen replied. “Grey will coordinate the ground work. Jenkins — I want you plugged in on the criminal psych angle. Dig into their previous group affiliations. Bradford, you’ll partner.”

Dylan blinked. Her eyes shifted sideways — and locked with Tim’s.

He raised an eyebrow.

Of course.

Grey clapped the clipboard shut. “You know your assignments. I want updates by end of shift. Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped. Conversations bubbled. Officers began filing out, some excited by the bizarre case, others rolling their eyes at the thought of chasing down zombie-costumed robbers.

As Dylan folded her copy of the CCTV stills, Tim walked by and smirked at her.

“So. Back on the clock.”

“Back in the frying pan,” she muttered.

“You know, if you wanted attention, you could’ve just worn a cape,” he added, falling in step beside her as they walked toward the exit.

She shot him a sidelong glance. “I’m saving the cape for the press conference. Think it’ll match my bullet scar?”

Tim chuckled.

And just like that — the day began.

But beneath the sarcasm and weirdness of zombie crews, Dylan felt something settle inside her. She was back. Still healing. Still raw.

But back.

And this time, she wasn’t doing it alone.

The afternoon sun cast long streaks of light through the windshield of the patrol car as it cruised slowly down Melrose, weaving through a maze of street vendors, graffiti-tagged alleyways, and the occasional jaywalker with a death wish. It was the kind of shift that felt deceptively calm—no high-speed chases, no shootouts, no chaos. Just simmering tension beneath the surface.

In the front seat, Dylan Jenkins sat slouched with one leg bent against the dash, flipping through case notes for the “Dead Awake” robbery. Her shoulder twinged every now and then, but she ignored it. She wasn’t about to mention it. Not after the looks she’d been getting all day.

Beside her, Tim Bradford drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting near the radio, gaze scanning the street with practiced calm.

For a while, the only sound was the distant chatter of dispatch and the occasional rustle of paper in Dylan’s lap.

Then Tim cleared his throat.

“You uh… bleeding out again, or just brooding dramatically?”

Dylan’s eyes flicked toward him, unimpressed. “Wow. Subtle.”

He didn’t look at her. “Just asking. You’ve been quiet.”

“Because I’m reading.”

“You hate paperwork.”

“And yet it still makes better company than you.”

Tim smirked, but she could tell he was still watching her—really watching. His eyes drifted toward her shoulder, toward the way she shifted every so often, like the seat wasn’t quite right. She could feel it—his concern tucked beneath sarcasm, like it always was.

“I’m fine, Tim,” she said flatly.

“You sure?”

“Don’t start,” she snapped, sharper than intended. “If one more person asks me if I’m okay like I’m made of glass, I’m going to scream.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say you were made of glass.”

“Didn’t have to.” She dropped the files onto her lap and turned slightly toward him, the fire behind her voice impossible to miss. “I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t handle it. You think Grey would’ve cleared me if I wasn’t ready? You don’t see me fussing over you, and you got shot too, or did we all just forget that part?”

Tim was quiet.

The tension between them hung in the cab, thick and heavy, until finally—he exhaled.

“Alright,” he said, nodding slowly. “Fair.”

Dylan looked away again, jaw tight. Her fingers drummed against the case file, restlessness creeping in. She hated this part. The hovering. The worry. People thinking they were being kind when really, they were just picking at the scab before it healed.

A beat passed.

Two.

Then, softly—almost too soft to hear over the hum of the engine—Tim said, “Good to have you back.”

Dylan turned her head slowly.

Her expression shifted, just a touch. Still guarded. But something about his tone caught her off guard. It wasn’t a joke. Wasn’t performative. Just honest. A little raw around the edges.

Her lips curled into a slow, smug smile.

“Of course it is,” she muttered, turning back to the window. “Your life’s boring without me.”

Tim let out a short laugh. Quiet. But real.

“I’ll give you that.”

They didn’t say anything more for a while.

Didn’t have to.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, or heavy. It was something else. Something earned.

The kind of silence that lives between two people who’ve been through something together—and come out the other side still on the same page.

Not partners in name only anymore.

Something deeper.

Something real.

The call had come in just after lunch. A Code 44 — entrapment. Unusual location: a bank ATM vestibule. Even more unusual? The trapped subject was not a thief, but a repair technician who’d somehow gotten wedged inside the back of an ATM overnight after crawling in to fix a malfunction.

By the time Tim Bradford and Dylan Jenkins pulled up in their shop, the sidewalk outside the small neighborhood bank was buzzing with confused onlookers, two twitchy bank managers, and one extremely muffled voice yelling something about “airflow” from within the ATM booth.

“Only in L.A.,” Tim muttered as he slammed the door shut.

Dylan squinted at the glass-walled enclosure just off the main lobby, where the clunky metal ATM sat bolted into the wall like an angry refrigerator. “How the hell does someone get stuck inside an ATM?”

“Apparently he crawled in through the maintenance hatch, the latch jammed, and no one noticed he didn’t leave last night,” Tim replied, reading from the report. “He’s been stuck in there for almost twelve hours. And his oxygen’s running out.”

Dylan blinked. “There’s no air vents?”

“Not proper ones. Machine’s designed for security, not comfort.” Tim turned to the flustered manager. “Fire department?”

“On their way,” the man said, wiping sweat from his temple. “But ETA’s another ten minutes. They’re dealing with a multi-vehicle pileup on the 101.”

Tim glanced back at the ATM, then at the tiny speaker where a garbled voice was shouting something about “suffocating in here!”

“Ten minutes is too long,” he muttered. Then, to Dylan: “Get the breaching kit from the trunk. We’re breaking him out.”

Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “You want us to hammer down the wall of a bank?”

Tim was already striding toward the shop. “The part of the wall surrounding the ATM, not the safe. Don’t get dramatic.”

“I’m British. We invented dramatic,” she muttered, but followed him.

Moments later, both of them were back in the vestibule, geared up with mini sledgehammers, crowbars, and a tactical pry bar. The bank staff looked uneasy. Tim ignored them.

“Start on that left panel,” he instructed, “right where the power cables meet the base. It’s weakest there.”

Dylan nodded and braced herself, gripping the sledge with her good arm and using the injured one for balance. She swung — once, twice — and felt a sharp jolt of pain sear down her shoulder and into her chest.

The third hit didn’t come.

She stood still, breathing hard, jaw clenched, her body locked in place by the flare of agony. The old bullet wound pulsed beneath her skin, deep and raw despite the healing. She stared at the wall, not moving, her hammer gripped tightly in one hand.

Tim’s voice came from beside her. Calm. Steady.

“You good?”

She didn’t look at him.

“I’ve got it,” she muttered, teeth gritted.

Tim watched her carefully. “You’re compensating. Your grip’s off.”

“I said I’ve got it.”

She lifted the hammer again — but stopped halfway. Her shoulder gave a warning throb, and she knew: one more hit, and she’d be down.

Silence lingered for a moment.

Then, without a word, Tim stepped forward.

He gently took the hammer from her hand. Didn’t meet her eyes. Didn’t mock. Didn’t offer sympathy.

Just got to work.

Swing.

Swing.

Swing.

With practiced rhythm, he drove into the panel where Dylan had started, the metal groaning under each impact. Cracks spread through the drywall and insulation until, finally, a panel gave way with a crunching pop.

A loud gasp came from inside the ATM as fresh air rushed through the opening. “Oh thank God! I thought I was gonna die in here!”

“Hold tight,” Tim called, grabbing the crowbar to widen the gap.

Within two minutes, they’d peeled away enough of the surrounding wall to slide the technician out — drenched in sweat, wide-eyed, and babbling his thanks like he’d just been reborn.

EMS took him from there.

Tim set the tools aside, breathing hard. Dust clung to his sleeves. Sweat beaded on his brow.

He finally turned to Dylan.

She hadn’t moved much. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were fixed on a spot on the wall that no longer existed.

“I was fine,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Tim replied, brushing dust off his vest. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

She looked at him then. Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just tired.

And grateful, in a way she didn’t say aloud.

Tim didn’t push.

Didn’t press.

They walked back to the shop in silence.

And though she wouldn’t admit it — not even under interrogation — letting him take over just this once didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like partnership.

The kind built one busted ATM at a time.

The drive back from the ATM call had been quiet.

The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, or even heavy — just tired. They both smelled like drywall dust and sweat, and Dylan’s shoulder still pulsed like it had its own heartbeat. But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

They were almost back on patrol, cruising down a wide East L.A. street, when Tim’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, and the change was instant.

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. His back straightened. His whole body seemed to lock into place — like a building bracing for an earthquake.

Dylan noticed it immediately.

“You good?” she asked, brows furrowing.

He didn’t answer. Just clicked on the Bluetooth and answered with a tight, “Yeah. It’s Bradford.”

A voice crackled through. Too muffled for Dylan to make out the words. But she didn’t need to hear them to understand.

His jaw clenched.

Then: “Which hospital?”

More garbled words.

Tim’s entire demeanor shifted. A flash of something in his eyes — fear, fury, panic. He ended the call with a stiff jab of his finger and floored the accelerator.

The car lurched forward, tires screeching slightly as he cut across two lanes and gunned it through a yellow light turning red.

Dylan gripped the dash. “Jesus — Bradford. What the hell’s going on?”

His voice was clipped, dry. But underneath, it cracked. “Emergency Room. County General.”

Dylan didn’t ask questions. She just buckled her seatbelt and braced.

They pulled up to the emergency bay minutes later, the cruiser barely in park before Tim threw open the door and stormed into the hospital. Dylan followed at a slower pace, more cautious — watching him from behind, watching his shoulders tense with every step.

Inside, the fluorescent lights were brutal, and the waiting room buzzed with distant cries, the rustle of paperwork, and the low wail of someone down the corridor.

Tim went straight to the front desk.

“I’m looking for Isabel Bradford,” he said, voice steady but barely contained. “She was brought in maybe thirty minutes ago. OD.”

The nurse didn’t even blink. “Room 14.”

He didn’t thank her. Just turned on his heel and marched toward the hall.

Dylan followed — a few paces back now, unsure of where she stood in this. But instinct told her not to leave. Not yet.

As Tim reached Room 14, the door opened — and there she was.

Isabel.

She looked even worse than last time. Gaunt. Pale. Her skin had a yellow-grey tint, and her eyes were dull, ringed in dark bruises like smoke. She was wearing hospital scrubs now, thin socks on her feet, arms trembling slightly as she moved.

She froze when she saw Tim.

Her lips pressed together in a bitter line. “Oh. Of course.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He reached for her arm — gently, but firmly — and guided her back into the room, closing the door behind them.

Dylan was left in the hallway, just outside. But the walls were thin. The door wasn’t fully latched. And the moment Tim spoke, she heard it all.

“You OD’d.” Tim’s voice cracked — not with rage, but with heartbreak. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that someone even found you?”

“I didn’t ask to be found,” Isabel replied, her voice hollow, tired.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he snapped. “You’re trying to disappear, and if you keep doing this — you will.”

There was a long pause. Then he went on, voice rising, emotional.

“Do you know how many dead junkies I bring in every month? Alone. Blue-lipped. Ice cold. No ID. No family. Just another bagged body someone has to zip up while the rest of the world shrugs.”

“Tim—”

“No. You don’t get to cut me off this time.” His voice cracked. “You think I don’t get it? You don’t want to come home. You don’t want help. Fine. I can’t drag you back. But what do you think this is doing to the people who still love you?”

Silence.

“To me?” he added, voice low now. Broken. “You think this doesn’t rip me apart every time I wonder if the next OD call I get is going to be you?”

Another pause.

Then Isabel spoke, flat and cold.

“Save the tough love for someone else.”

Tim’s breath caught.

“I’m not your responsibility anymore,” she went on. “I stopped being your wife the day I left. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I don’t—owe—you?” he echoed, stunned.

She laughed bitterly. “Stop trying to be my white knight, Tim. You couldn’t save me then. You can’t save me now. Just let it go.”

And then the door burst open.

Isabel stormed past Dylan without even a glance, scrubs flapping, hospital socks skidding slightly on the tile.

Tim stood inside the room, staring at nothing. Shoulders heaving.

Dylan didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

She just stood outside the door, quiet — still.

The hallway outside Room 14 still buzzed with fluorescent light and low murmurs, but Dylan didn’t hear any of it.

She was frozen, eyes locked on the corridor where Isabel Bradford had just stormed off, shoulders tense, body vibrating with the sting of what she’d heard behind the door.

Inside that hospital room, a silence had fallen — sharp and echoing.

Then—

BANG.

A crack echoed through the wall, deep and jarring. Dylan flinched.

She didn’t wait.

She pushed open the door to see Tim, standing in the center of the room, fist buried in the drywall, knuckles scraped and red, his entire frame heaving with barely suppressed rage.

The wall had dented around the impact — a jagged, angry wound matching the look in his eyes.

“Tim,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her.

He didn’t turn. Just stared at the wall like he might punch it again.

Her voice was lower this time. Calmer. “You alright?”

He yanked his hand from the hole, shaking out his fingers. The skin over his knuckles was already turning red, the kind of bruising that would bloom purple by morning.

“I’m fine,” he snapped.

Dylan blinked. The sharpness in his voice wasn’t surprising — but it was too sharp, too immediate. It wasn’t defense. It was deflection.

She took a step closer. “Yeah, okay, but if you’re planning on breaking every hospital wall we visit, I’d appreciate a heads up. I’ll bring gloves.”

He turned sharply toward her, jaw clenched. His face was pale with fury and frustration, his eyes rimmed red — but no tears. Tim Bradford didn’t cry. He just imploded quietly.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Sure,” she said coolly. “Which is why your hand is bleeding and your jaw looks like it’s about to snap in half.”

He shook his head, biting down the snarl of emotion bubbling behind his eyes.

“You didn’t need to follow me in here.”

“No,” she replied, crossing her arms, “but I did.”

His eyes met hers then — a flicker of something raw and barely contained.

That was when it hit her.

He was exactly like her.

Stubborn to the bone.

Too proud to admit when something cut too deep.

Too afraid of what would happen if they stopped to feel it all.

And maybe that was why she didn’t back down.

But before she could say anything else, his radio crackled.

Dispatch, crisp and cold:

“7-Adam-19, Units in the area respond.”

Tim grabbed it instantly.

“7-Adam-19 responding. En route.”

Dylan stared. “Seriously? After that?”

He was already heading to the door. “We’re still on duty.”

“Tim—”

“I’m fine, Jenkins.”

He didn’t wait for her. Just walked out, leaving her in the quiet wreckage of a hospital room that had seen too many kinds of pain in one day.

She looked at the hole in the wall. The dust still floating in the air. The smudge of blood on the plaster.

Then she exhaled, grabbed her jacket, and followed him.

Because stubborn or not, he didn’t need to be alone right now.

Even if he didn’t say it — especially if he didn’t.

Echo and Franklin wasn’t exactly the glitziest part of town on a good day — but tonight, it looked like trouble had parked itself and cracked open a few beers.

As Tim Bradford and Dylan Jenkins pulled up to the curb, they were greeted by the low thrum of engines and the roar of masculine laughter. Chrome flashed under the streetlights. A pack of six bikers, all thick-necked, denim-vested, and clearly drunk, stood outside a rundown bar, smashing bottles against the curb and revving their bikes like they were gunning for a drag race in the middle of the sidewalk.

The Dead Bastards.

Dylan eyed them through the windshield. “Charming.”

Tim didn’t respond right away. He gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, jaw still locked from the hospital. His expression was unreadable — which told Dylan exactly what she needed to know.

“You sure you’re good to do this?” she asked quietly.

He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Yeah.”

She didn’t move.

“Tim,” she said, softer now. “After Isabel—”

“I said I’m fine.”

His voice wasn’t sharp this time — it was flat. Cold. Like he was trying to cut off the feeling before it reached the surface.

Dylan glanced out at the bikers again. One of them was already watching the cruiser, arms crossed, a toothpick hanging from his mouth like a dare.

“This group have a rep?” she asked.

Tim nodded once. “Dead Bastards. Local outlaw motorcycle club. Half of them have records. Guns, fights, DUI, some armed robbery. But not all of them are in yet.”

Dylan raised a brow. “Prospects?”

“Exactly. The way it works,” Tim continued, finally slipping back into his calm, informative rhythm, “is that to earn your patch — full membership — a prospect has to commit a felony. But not just any felony. It has to be done in front of patched members.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “So this isn’t just some drunk guys posturing.”

Tim shook his head once, eyes still on the group. “No. This is an initiation waiting to happen.”

Dylan leaned back in her seat, scanning the cluster of bodies, the barely-contained aggression. One guy — younger, twitchier — kept flexing his fists. He didn’t have a vest. No patch.

She followed the logic quickly. “The unpatched one’s going to swing at us.”

“Probably.”

“Then we should call backup.”

Tim turned to her, expression unreadable. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Dylan gave him a flat look. “That’s not an answer. That’s a reckless one-liner.”

He was already opening the door.

“Bradford.”

He looked back at her. That edge of fire still smoldered beneath the surface, his knuckles bruised from the wall, his heart still bleeding from the hospital.

But his voice was calm when he said, “I’m not letting today spill into this. You cover my six, I’ll cover yours.”

Dylan didn’t believe him. Not fully. But she knew she wasn’t letting him go in alone.

She stepped out of the car.

The bikers turned toward them like wolves scenting blood.

“Evenin’, officers,” one of the patched men called, voice oily. “Come to join the party?”

“Party’s over,” Tim said, approaching with hands raised just far enough to show calm, not submission. “You’re loitering, you’re drunk, and you’re blocking the sidewalk. Get on your bikes and leave.”

The young prospect stepped forward.

Exactly as predicted.

“Or what?” he sneered. “You gonna arrest me for breathing too loud?”

Dylan stepped up beside Tim, her hand hovering near her belt. “No. But the minute you take a swing, I’m going to be the one putting you face-first into the asphalt.”

The biker grinned, stepping closer. “You sound fun. Maybe you cuff me nice and slow.”

Tim’s voice dropped. Low. Dangerous. “You make one move toward her, and you won’t like how I handle it.”

Tension snapped like wire pulled tight.

The moment the prospect stepped forward, chest puffed and nostrils flared, Dylan could feel it.

Tim Bradford wasn’t diffusing the situation.

He was feeding off it.

The tight set of his jaw. The way he squared his stance. The way he looked at the younger man like he wanted him to make the first move.

Then came the words.

“Alright,” Tim said, loud enough for everyone to hear, tone razor-sharp. “Here’s the deal. We fight. If I win, you get cuffed and booked. If you win, you walk. No charges. Just me and you.”

Dylan’s head snapped toward him. “Bradford.” She warned, for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

He ignored her. Eyes locked on the prospect.

The biker’s lips curled. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

It was reckless. Impulsive. So stupidly out of character it chilled Dylan’s blood.

The biker didn’t hesitate. He lunged.

Fists collided with ribs. Boots scraped against gravel. Tim and the prospect slammed into each other with the weight of barely-contained violence, grunting and growling as they swung.

The crowd surged, forming a circle of shouts and jeers. Dylan tried to push through, hand on her radio, “10-10 in progress,” already in her mouth — but something about the look in Tim’s eyes stopped her cold.

This wasn’t just a fight.

This was a man bleeding out emotionally, and trying to stuff it all back inside with his fists.

Tim took a hard jab to the side — right near his healing bullet wound — and staggered. His grunt of pain was sharp, but he kept going, ducking low and driving his shoulder into the biker’s gut, both of them crashing to the ground in a scuffle of limbs and curses.

The prospect landed two more punches — one to Tim’s ribs, another to his jaw — before Tim rolled, mounted him, and slammed his fist down hard enough to split the guy’s eyebrow.

Blood sprayed.

The cheering stopped.

And in the hush that followed, Tim yanked the biker’s arms behind his back and cuffed him, breathing like a warhorse, face flushed with fury and pain.

The silence between Tim and Dylan was deafening as they walked back to the cruiser.

Dylan’s boots stomped hard against the pavement. Tim moved slower, one hand pressed discreetly to his side — trying, and failing, to hide the fact that he’d reopened something beneath the stitches.

They reached the car.

Dylan spun on him.

“What the hell was that?”

Tim said nothing at first. He reached for the door, wincing. Then, without looking at her: “Handled it.”

She stepped in front of him. “That wasn’t handling it. That was picking a fight with a wannabe criminal so you could bleed out your emotions on the sidewalk.”

He looked up then — eyes sharp, defensive. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“No,” she snapped. “It didn’t. It made you reckless. It made you stupid. And it made me watch while you tried to implode because you can’t deal with the fact that Isabel OD’d.”

He stiffened.

“You think that was police work?” she went on, relentless. “That was a fucking therapy session with fists.”

Tim said nothing.

Dylan stepped closer, her voice low now — tighter, furious, but barely trembling. “I’ve seen what this kind of thinking does to good cops. First you chase the adrenaline, then you start believing it’s the only thing that makes you feel anything. You’ll stop calling for backup. You’ll stop thinking about protocol. And one day, someone’s gonna end up dead.”

Still, he didn’t look at her. Just kept his eyes on the cruiser.

So she hit him with the last card.

“If you ever pull something like that again,” she said, voice cold and sure, “I’m telling Grey.”

That got his attention.

He looked at her now — really looked.

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

And behind all that righteous anger was something else — fear. Not just for him. But for the version of herself she recognized in him.

Finally, after a long, taut moment, he nodded. A shallow, heavy nod.

“Got it,” he said quietly.

Dylan exhaled and turned away, opening the car door.

“Good.”

And as they sat in the silence of the cruiser, neither of them spoke.

But something had shifted.

Because for the first time, Tim Bradford had been slapped with the truth — not from a superior, or a therapist, or an ex.

But from someone who actually saw him.

And wouldn’t let him fall.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the haze of downtown L.A., casting long shadows across the cracked concrete and flickering neon signs. Tim Bradford pulled the shop into a grim-looking side street just south of Pico — the kind of neighborhood that reeked of hopelessness and long-faded ambition.

Dylan Jenkins sat in the passenger seat, gaze flicking between Tim and the crumbling apartment block they’d parked in front of.

“Where are we?” she asked cautiously.

Tim didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small white box, sealed and labelled in bold: NARCAN – NALOXONE NASAL SPRAY.

Dylan’s heart sank.

“Tim…”

“It’s nothing,” he cut in, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll be two minutes. Stay in the car.”

“Seriously?” she said, her voice sharp. “You brought me here without telling me? You’re just going to march into a junkie den with a gift bag of Narcan?”

Tim paused, his hand on the door.

“It’s not a gift,” he snapped. “It’s life-saving.”

“And it’s enabling,” Dylan said, matching his tone. “You’re not helping her — you’re just keeping her alive long enough to do it again.”

He turned back toward her, the heat rising in his face. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me. You don’t know how it feels.”

“Don’t I?”

That silenced him.

Dylan opened her door and stepped out, letting it slam behind her. She faced him full-on now, her voice quieter but dead serious.

“You think you’re the only one who’s ever watched someone you love disappear into an addiction? My dad drank himself into a seizure when I was seventeen. I found him. I smelled the blood before I saw it. He didn’t want saving either. But I didn’t go bringing him whiskey just because I wanted to feel close to him.”

Tim’s shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths. He looked away, jaw tight.

Dylan kept going. “I get it, Bradford. You love her. You feel responsible. And you think if you can just keep her alive a little longer, maybe one day she’ll pull herself out.”

“She might,” he muttered.

“Or she might die, and you’ll have spent the last six months slowly destroying yourself trying to stop it. She left, Tim. She left you. And I am not going to let you throw yourself into her fire and drag me in after you.”

His eyes flashed. “This is my choice. Not yours.”

“No, it’s not,” Dylan snapped. “You’re supposed to be training me. Showing me how American policing works. Not dragging me into some twisted vigilante-style Florence Nightingale routine because you’re too angry at yourself to let go.”

The silence between them was brutal. A slow-building static that hummed against their skin.

Tim looked down at the Narcan box in his hand like it was both a weapon and a lifeline.

Dylan stepped closer, her voice lowering. “You don’t want to see how she’s living. You don’t want to see what she’s let into her life. You’re holding on to a version of Isabel that doesn’t exist anymore.”

She held out her hand.

“Give it to me. I’ll take it up.”

Tim looked at her, torn — the internal battle playing out behind his eyes: love vs logic, grief vs duty, past vs present.

Then, reluctantly, he handed her the box.

Dylan nodded. “I’ll be back in five.”

She turned and walked toward the building, shoulders squared, eyes forward.

And Tim?

He stood frozen beside the cruiser, watching the woman who was supposed to be his trainee step into the kind of mess he’d tried so hard to clean up — and finally realized:

Maybe she was training him too.

The stairwell of the apartment block smelled like damp concrete and stale cigarette smoke. The kind of building where the light flickered overhead, and you kept one hand near your weapon, even when things seemed quiet.

Dylan Jenkins climbed slowly, the Narcan box tucked under one arm, her free hand brushing the railing. She didn’t like being here — not just because of the building or what she might find, but because it wasn’t her mess.

It was Tim’s.

But someone had to clean it up today.

She reached the third floor, found apartment 3B, and knocked.

It took a moment before the door cracked open, chain still attached. Behind it, Isabel peered through with glassy eyes and a hollowed-out face that seemed even thinner than it had a few hours ago.

She blinked. “Oh.”

Dylan held up the box. “Delivery.”

Isabel stared at it, then slowly unlatched the chain and opened the door.

Dylan stepped in — cautious, controlled — and took in the room.

It was… not what she expected.

There were no needles on the floor. No filth. No blaring music or strangers passed out on the couch. In fact, it was tidy. The curtains were drawn, the air stale but not rancid. Still, it had that quiet, sterile kind of sadness that Dylan recognized from her dad’s flat back in London, the way addicts sometimes lived in limbo between pretending to function and slowly dying.

She placed the Narcan box on the counter.

Isabel lingered in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her hoodie swallowed her, sleeves tugged over shaking hands.

“He send you to check on me?” she asked.

“No,” Dylan replied. “He told me to stay in the car. I decided not to.”

Isabel huffed a soft laugh. “Sounds like him.”

There was silence for a moment, thick and pulsing.

Then Dylan said, “You used to be a cop?”

Isabel’s head lifted, eyes narrowing. “He told you that?”

“No. You’ve got old certifications on your fridge. CPR expiry. Defensive tactics flyer. Something told me you didn’t just pick those up for fun.”

Isabel’s posture sagged slightly. “Yeah. I was LAPD. Before everything went to hell.”

“Is that how you met Tim?”

“Academy,” she said, voice dull. “He was the uptight one. I was the wild one. He said it balanced us.”

Dylan nodded slowly. “And now you’re here. Getting Narcan hand-delivered by the next woman stuck cleaning up your mess.” That hit. Isabel flinched. Dylan didn’t soften. “He got shot, you know.”

Isabel’s eyes widened.

“Saving someone. Because that’s what he does. He saves people. But today he almost got himself killed again, and I think part of him would’ve been okay with that if it meant not feeling this anymore.”

Isabel blinked fast, lips parting like she wanted to speak — but no words came.

Dylan stepped closer.

“You’re not just ruining your life. You’re ruining his. And the worst part is — he’ll keep letting you.”

There was a long pause, full of brittle tension.

Then Isabel whispered, barely audible: “Tell him not to come back.”

Dylan stared at her for a beat. Searching for something — maybe regret, maybe fight. But all she saw was emptiness. A hollow shape of someone who used to be something else.

She nodded once. “I will.”

Then she turned and left.

Back at the cruiser, Tim was waiting behind the wheel, one arm resting on the window. He didn’t look at her as she got in.

The silence stretched.

One minute. Two.

Then Dylan said, “She was a cop.”

Tim exhaled sharply, like someone had pulled the air from his lungs.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Met her at the Academy. Thought I was lucky. She was… smart. Sharp. Wild. I thought she was just tired all the time. Out late. I assumed she was having an affair. Never thought it was the drugs.”

He looked out the windshield, eyes distant.

“By the time I figured it out, the hook was already in deep.”

Dylan stared ahead too, resting her arm along the door. “Her place is alright. Clean. Tidy. Doesn’t look like a trap house.”

Tim mumbled, “Thanks.” They didn’t speak again for the rest of the drive.

But the air between them had changed. Less fire. More gravity.

Tim had let her in, even just a little.

And Dylan had seen the truth up close — the thing eating him alive.

And now?

Now, it belonged to both of them.

The sun had long dipped beneath the skyline when they finally returned to the precinct.

The bullpen had thinned out. Radios quieted. The sound of ringing phones had faded into an eerie hum of end-of-shift exhaustion. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed softly — too bright for a room this tired.

Dylan Jenkins slipped away toward the locker room first, her movements sharper than usual, jaw clenched just a little too tight.

It wasn’t until she tugged off her outer shirt — stained from dust, sweat, and the day’s chaos — that she saw it.

Blood.

Her white undershirt was soaked along her shoulder. A fresh bloom of deep red.

“Shit,” she hissed, digging into her locker and grabbing the nearest wad of paper towels she could find. She pressed them over the reopened wound, swearing under her breath, trying to slow her pulse — trying to stop the bleeding.

It had torn. Probably during the scuffle. She’d felt the pull, the ache, but ignored it.

Because of course she did.

She pressed harder, gritting her teeth.

The door creaked behind her.

She didn’t look up — didn’t need to.

Tim Bradford’s voice was quiet. “Dylan?”

She didn’t answer at first, too busy trying to mop up the blood, the tissues already turning crimson.

When she finally turned around, he was already halfway across the room, his expression falling instantly from its usual stoicism to pure concern.

His gaze flicked from her face to her shoulder, where blood was now sliding down her bicep in slow, stubborn rivulets.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“No shit, Detective.”

“You tore it.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Sit down.”

His voice was firm, not angry — not yet — but threaded with something else.

Guilt.

Tim crossed the room in two strides and grabbed the first aid kit from the wall without waiting for her permission.

She sat on the bench, annoyed, breath shallow. “You don’t have to—”

“You shouldn’t have been in that fight.”

Dylan flinched — not from his touch, but from the truth in his tone. “I didn’t even fight. It must’ve just twinged during the heat of the moment. Maybe I got shoved… I don’t know. I was fine until I wasn’t,” she muttered.

Tim knelt in front of her, opening a sterile pad. “That’s not good enough. You should’ve said something earlier.”

She looked down at him. “And what? Have you tell me to take another week off while you fight your way through every emotionally-charged biker gang in the state?”

He looked up at her, eyes narrowed.

“Touché.”

She smirked, despite herself.

Then winced when he dabbed at the wound. “Ow. Gentle.”

“You’re the one who took the bullet for your T.O.”

“You’re the one who was so dramatic I had to focus on you.” She teased.

He sighed, shaking his head.

But the moment didn’t last long.

The door opened again.

Sergeant Grey walked in, arms crossed, brow raised, surveying the scene with all the practiced disappointment of a father finding his kids elbow-deep in trouble.

“Well,” he said. “Is this the part where I get to say ‘I told you so?’”

Dylan didn’t miss a beat. “If you must.”

Grey walked in slowly, eyes locking on the blood, then drifting to Tim’s face.

He didn’t need to say a word. He knew what kind of day it had been. Knew about Isabel, knew the pressure Tim was under, and now saw his officer bleeding again because neither of them could stop throwing themselves into things they weren’t ready to face.

Grey rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re both a pair of stubborn idiots, you know that?”

“Absolutely,” Dylan said, deadpan.

Tim was still focused on securing the bandage, but his hands slowed slightly.

Grey exhaled. “I was going to give you two separate lectures.”

Dylan arched a brow. “Still planning to?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Grey said. “But I’m thinking we do it over three pints instead of one. I have a feeling it’ll go down smoother.”

Tim looked up, a flicker of gratitude behind his worn-out expression.

“Your treat?” Dylan asked.

Grey smirked. “You wish.”

And for the first time that day, in the still of the locker room with bloodstained gauze and raw emotion still in the air, Tim and Dylan laughed — not because things were okay.

But because for once, it felt like maybe they weren’t carrying it alone.

[psychic-pigeons]

hey if you write a pattern for the chilchuck amigurumi I will buy it instantly

ive gotten multiple asks about this, so ill just answer them all here in one go.

i wrote down everything while i was working on it, but i theres some stuff that i would do diffrently and i also didnt take a lot of process pics so it wont be a full proper pattern for those reasons, but ill add all that i have under the cut!

i dont want any compensation, but if you wanna do me a favor you can donate to esims for gaza, unrwa, any of these gefundme's, or another trusted charity of your choice.

now to the pattern! i would love to see the results of anyone making a squeakychuck, feel free to tag or dm me :)

the dimensions of this depend on the size of ur squeaker and yarn, i had a 4ish cm squeaker and somewhat thick 4/8 cotton yarn (kinda 6/8ish thickness). depending on ur yarn and squeaker u might need to follow a different pattern for the body.

if youre using a different body base pattern, the tunic and blouse pattern are pretty easily adjustable. ill add some notes for that at those sections of the pattern. ill also link some videos i used at relevant sections.

if theres an Action store near where u live, see pic below for the yarn i used for the skin, reddish brown, black and light brown. i got 3 of these but 2 packs was enough. the dark brown and creme were from my stash. i also got the squeaker from a donut dog toy from Action.

-

abreviations list (all in us terms):

mr = magic ring

sc = single crochet

hdc = half dubble crochet

slst = slipstitch

ch = chain

bobble = 5 double crochet in one stitch

4inc = 4 sc in one

4 inc = increase in the next four stitches

BLO = back loop only

FLO = front loop only

what you need:

-skin color of choice yarn

-creme/white yarn (normal for body, thin for blouse)

-greyish creme (for boot flaps)

-black yarn

-dark brown yarn

-light brown yarn

-reddish brown yarn

-green yarn

-4 tiny buttons (for arm joints)

-cardboard (for shoe sole

-3.5mm hook

-squeaker

-needlefelt needle

-stuffing

-stitchmarker (optional, i always mark the first stitch of the round)

-

once again disclaimer, this is not a propper pattern, this is just what i wrote down while i was crochetting. it may not nessecarily be the best way to do it. i wanted most clothes to be removable, but you have to partially disassemble the doll if you want to remove them. if you dont like how something looks or works ur free to do whatever you want. big fan of fucking around and finding out personally.

if you have any questions feel free to dm me, might take me a while to reply though.

-

SQUEAKY CHUCK PATTERN 3.5mm hook

head (skin)

r1: sc 6 in mr

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc 1, inc) x6

r4: (sc 2, inc) x6

r5: (sc3, inc) x6

r6: (sc4, inc) x6

r7: (sc 5, inc) x6

r8-15 : sc 42

r16: (sc 5, dec) x6

r17: (sc 4, dec) x6

r18: (sc3, dec) x6

r19: (sc2, dec) x6

r20: (sc 1, dec) x6

r21: sc 12

slst, fasten off

ears x2 (skin)

r1: sc6 in mc

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc, inc) x6

r4-6: sc 18

r7: dec 9. slst fatsen off.

Body - leg up (skin, black, thick creme)

start with skin

r1: ch 6, inc in 2nd from hook, sc 3, 4inc, sc 3, inc

r2: inc 2, sc 3, inc 4, sc 3, inc 2

r3: inc 3, sc 5, inc 6, sc 5, inc 3

r4: BLO sc in all

r5: sc 3, dec 2, sc 3, dec 2, sc 6, dec 2, sc 3, dec 2, sc 3

r6: sc 1, dec, sc 4, dec 6, sc 4, dec, sc 1.

r7: sc 6, dec 3, sc 6

stuff

-r8 dec, sc in all

change color to black [color change video]

r9-23: sc in all

1st leg: fasten off

2nd leg [joining legs video]:

r24: sc7, ch 1, sc join in 1st leg after last sc, sc13, sc1 in visible v loop of ch1, sc 7

r25: sc7, sc 1 in remaining v loop of ch1, sc21

r26-31: sc 28

r32: sc 7, change color to creme/white, slst 1, sc 20

r33-35: sc 29

r36: (sc 8, dec) x3

r37: (sc7, dec) x3

r38: (sc6, dec)x3

add squeaker

r39: sc21

r40: (sc 5, dec) x3

r41-42: sc18

r43: (sc 1, dec) x6

fasten off

Arms (skin, dark brown)

i made the arms movable with button joints, but after looking at some videos i discovered that what i did is not called a button joint and i dont have a video explaining it, so i hope this drawing helps.

the red bits are the buttons inside of the arms and body, and the thread (blue for clarity, i matched it w the skin) should be pulled tight and finished off with a double or tripple knot inside the body.

or you could just sew on the arms that also works. but wait with doing that until youve finished the blouse as the hands dont fit through the sleeves. i have a seperate section on assembly at the end of the pattern.

start with skin

r1:sc6 in mc

r2: inc x6

r3(sc, inc)x6

r4 : sc 18

change color to brown

r5: sc 18

1st arm r6: sc 3, bobble, sc 14.

2nd arm r6.2: sc 14, boble, sc 3

[i matched the top loop to the bobble color but i think it would look better if u didnt]

r7: sc 18

r8: (sc 4, dec)x3

r9: (sc 3, dec)x3

r10 sc12

color switch to skin (you might want to do this a round earlier, i didnt initially plan on making the gloves flared, and this color change part can sometimes be seen and look kinda weird)

r11-14: sc 12

r15: (sc4, dec)x2

r16-19 : sc 10

r20: (sc3, dec)x2

r21: sc8

insert button joint

r28: (sc2, dec)x2

slst, sew shut

glove flare (dark brown)

r1: ch 15, slst join LONG TAIL

r2: (sc4, inc)x3

r3: sc4, inc, sc8, inc, sc 4

r4: sc 2, slst fasten off

sew 2 rows below thumb bobble

boots (light brown, dark brown, greyish creme) [video]

these are removable but they dont go on easily, so you gotta patiently massage the feet in there.

start with light brown

ch 7, start in 2nd from hook:

r1: sc 5, 3inc, sc 4, inc

r2: inc, sc 4, inc 3, sc 4, inc 2

r3: inc, sc 5, hdc inc 7, sc 5, inc 2

r4: slst fasten off. sew in holes/tails, fray ends for flat gluejob. trace onto cardboard for sole.

switch color to dark brown

r1: BLO join slst, BLO sc in all

r2-3: sc in all

glue in sole

r4: sc 8, dec 5, sc 12

r5: sc 7, dec 4, sc 10

r6: sc7, dec2, sc 10

r7-10: sc in all

switch color to greyish creme

r11-12: sc in all

r13: slst, FLO sc in all

r14-16: sc all

slst fasten off

flip the greyish creme flap over.

blouse (thinner creme)

this is a standard raglan pattern, if you need the whole thing bigger/smaller you need to have more/less chains at the beginning. this change also carries over to the collar. the increases are evenly spaced for me, and unless your doll has a very broad chest this shouldnt have to change.

if the arms need more space you need to either add more rows to the r3-7 part and/or add more chains in r8 (this part should fit pretty sugg around the body)

i was experimenting a bit w using BLO to minimize the gap where the sleeve and body seperate (r8). it worked p good but you can ignore it if you dont understand it and just sc in all.

(edit: if this confuses you, understandable. I answered an ask abt it here but feel free to ask if its still unclear)

r1: ch24, slst join.

r2: (sc 5, inc) x4

r3-7: inc in first of previous inc. last row should have 10 sc between increases.

r8: sc5, blo sc 1, ch 5, blo sc join in 1st of next inc, sc 11, blo sc1, ch5, blo sc join in 1st st of next inc, sc 5

r9: sc6, blo sc 1, sc 5, blo sc1, sc11, blo sc 1, sc 5, blo sc 1, sc 6

r10-13: sc in all (36)

r14: (sc8, inc)x4

r15: sc in all (40)

slst finish off

Sleeve

r1: join mid armpit, slst ,sc2, sc in the leftover bits from the BLO stitches, sc 11, sc in leftover BLO bits, sc2

r2-6: sc in all

collar

join left-middle front, sc 7, inc, sc8, inc, sc 7. turn

r2: sc7, inc, sc 10, inc, sc 7. turn

r3: sc8, inc, sc 10, inc, sc 8. turn

cuffs

r1: join mid body-facing side, FLO sc 20

r2-4: sc 20, slst fatsen off

Tunic (red brown) [tunesian entrelac crochet]

if you want to make this bigger i recommend keeping the same square layout, but making the squares bigger. its a bit of measuring and math to figure it out.

the tunic is made in tunesian crochet and i dont really know what written patterns for that look like so i hope this makes sense.

for a single square:

r1: ch4, start in 2nd back bump from hook. pull up a loop from ever back bump. you should have 4 loops on your hook total. simplestitch in all

r2-4: simplestitch in all.

r5: slst in all. fasten off

for the slanted parts i did the decrease by pulling through the middle 2 loops in one go on the back pass

this is how the full thing should look, its worked from bottom left to top right.

sew together the shoulders together, then sew in all of the ends

:) good luck

tunesian crochet has a tendancy to curl, so if you used cotton i def recommend blocking it

i defined the grid a little bit with a dark brown pencil.

cowl (green)

BLO sc 7, repeat till desired lenght, then BLO slst join the last row to the first.

scalp undercut bit (dark brown)

r1: sc 6 in mr

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc 1, inc) x6

r4: (sc 2, inc) x6

r5: (sc3, inc) x6

r6: (sc 4, inc)x6

r7: sc36

sew on back of the head (recommend doing this before the ears and face, see end for more detailed assembly instructions)

hair (reddish brown) [hair video]

disclaimer, this is kind of a mess. the lenghts didnt line up the way i intended so i improvised by adding loose strands and spent a lot of time pinning every strand in place before glueing them down.

i used bison kit contact glue since its sturdy, transparant, flexible and waterproof. you can use hot glue as well, i just personally dont like it because its bulky.

r1: sc 21 in mc. join BLO slst

r2: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, gdc10, BLO slst join

r3: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, gdc10, BLO slst join

r4: ch13, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 11, BLO slst join

r5: ch13, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 11, BLO slst join

r6: ch 14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12, BLO slst join

r7: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, BLO slst join

r8: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, BLO slst join

r9: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, BLO slst join

r10: ch 14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12, BLO slst join

r11: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10, BLO slst join

r12: ch 10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8, BLO slst join

from now on, join in the FLO's of previous round

r13: ch10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8, FLO slst join

r14: ch10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8 , FLO slst join

r15: ch12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10 , FLO slst join

r16: ch12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10 , FLO slst join

r17: ch14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12 , FLO slst join

r18: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, FLO slst join

r19: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, FLO slst join

r20: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, FLO slst join

r21: ch14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12 , FLO slst join

1x ch 6, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 4

2x ch8, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 6

2x ch 10, sc in 2nd from chain, hdc 8, slst in same, fasten off.

2x ch 12, sc in 2nd from chain, hdc 10, slst in same, fasten off.

3x ch14

pin all in place until it looks good, tie +glue loose strands first. then glue back pieces, crown, and lastly bangs/ top back layer. some of the lose strands go behind the ears, one is the left sideburn, and the rest is to cover up the crown. these pics are the best i can do as a guide, this was my first time doing this so i was struggling lol.

i didnt fully glue down the bangs and the top back layer bc i thought it would be fun if u could ruffle his hair, but my friend who i gave the plush to has significantly abused him (its been 2 days) and his hair is a mess so im gonna have to glue it down again lol. might as well do it all the first time if u plan on throwing him down the stairs or something.

Face

for eyes + eyebrows, embroider outline with dark brown, then needle felt [video] the inner parts w unraveled dark brown fluff. the dark brown i used was probably acrylic. cotton doesnt really work well for this.

Belt and pouch (dark brown)

the belt is a 3 strand basic friendship bracelet! [video]

sew together the ends and hide it with by sewing the pouch on top.

i didnt write down the pattern for the pouch, but from the top of my head its the same start as the squares for the tunic

r1-9: simple stitch in all

r10: simple stitch 1, decrease by putting your hook through 2 vertical bars when pulling up a loop, simple stitch edge 1.

r11: slst in all, finish with a long tail

use tail to sew together the sides, and sew the pouch onto the belt. use some yellow thread to make a button.

ASSEMBLY.

put on the blouse, put the arms in their place and finish the button joints.

put on the tunic, lace the sides with dark brown yarn, finish with a knot and hide the tails underneath the chest part of the tunic.

slide on the belt and boots.

sew the scalp undercut bit to the head

sew the ears to the head

tie + glue the loose hair strands behind the ears

glue the back of the hair

glue the back of the hair

glue the middle circle part of the hair

glue the top back layer and bangs

sew the head to the body

put on the cowl

i hope this is somewhat clear, feel free to dm me is you have questions.

enjoy your squeakychuck :D

[ficsbyabby]

Mornings After a Mission

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female!Reader

Warnings: nothing, could be interpreted as implied smut but it doesn't have to be

Words: 1194

a/n: This is for @omgrachwrites 1k follower celebration! I chose the prompt "Stop moving and let me braid your hair!" Check it out; this girl rules! And thanks for the love on the last post!!

Russian is google translate, so my apologies. Feel free to leave a correction if this is wrong!

милый= darling

дорогой= sweetheart

It was the morning after a mission. You had gotten back late last night, and with the debriefing and how gross you felt, you hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Nat. You had recently started dating, and while you weren't to the point of sleeping together, you usually talked to her before bed and gave her a kiss. Stretching (and wincing when you realized how sore you were), you got up in search of Nat and maybe, breakfast.

In the kitchen of the common floor, Nat was feeling guilty. The mission had been rough. You had gotten hit pretty good by a couple of agents, and she had been busy trying to get to the hard drive, so she hadn't been able to check on you. She knew you were tough; it wasn't about that. Nat wasn't used to this feeling, the way she felt about you. She had fallen head over heels for the newest avenger, this girl fresh out of the SHIELD academy, the one who bounced on the balls of her feet when shown a new weapon. You were pure, something Nat wasn't used to. So here she was, attempting to make your favorite breakfast, planning out a day with you.

You shuffled into the kitchen, yawning. You were so focused on getting coffee that you hadn't noticed your girlfriend standing at the stove. What you did notice was your coffee, made the way you liked, set in your favorite mug, already on the counter. Looking up, you grinned.

"Nat! Thank you, my saviour!" you gushed dramatically.

"You're welcome, I wasn't able to check on you last night, милый, so I'm making up for it." she replied, snorting a little at your theatrics.

"There isn't anything to make up for! I didn't come to see you either! And check up on me? I'm a big girl, I'm fine!"

"Too bad, I'm spending the day with you. We're doing the dorky couple stuff, movie, dinner, whatever you want." Nat answered, ignoring your protest at her checking up on you.

"Whatever I want? I've got some thinking to do." you considered your options.

"Whatever you want, дорогой."

"Okay, first I want you to not burn the tower down trying to make... that." you told her, scrunching your nose up at the smell of burning.

Natasha whipped around, groaning at the burnt mess she had created. Scraping away what was meant to be a nice breakfast, she was grateful for her forethought to have a backup. Slipping away to her room (the greatest hiding spot, no one went into her room), she returned quickly, proudly holding a box of donuts from that little place down the road from the tower. You smiled and took your favorite from the box, happily eating.

"Donuts! Thanks, Red!" Tony exclaimed, walking in, much too peppy for this early and going for the box.

"Nope!" Nat answered, swiping it before Tony could get it, "These are for y/n."

"Come on! This is my tower, share the donuts!" he argued, a pout forming on his face.

Grinning at the exchange, you passed Tony a donut. Though Nat groaned outwardly at the action, inside, she was beaming. This was why she loved you. You were so kind to everyone. She expected this to happen, which was why there were more donuts stashed away. She retrieved them and set them on the counter as more avengers filled the common room. After a few minutes of quiet, filled with the sounds of eating and the occasional groan, Tony suddenly spoke up.

"So why does y/n get donuts? We were all on that mission!"

"Because y/n's her girl, that's what you do." Steve answered.

"That's right! We're spending the day together doing that coupley stuff so don't you dare call me down to the lab because you accidentally blew yourself up! Call dum-E.," you told Tony.

"Ooh, Red and y/n/n are going to be gross today. Thanks for the warning." Tony snarked back. "And I certainly will not call Dum-E. I like the building intact.

Nat shook her head, a fond smile on her lips. The rest of breakfast was filled with similar exchanges. You and Tony could go head to head for hours. You were the only one on the team that could match Tony without ending up in a snit for hours afterward, a trait Natasha and the rest of the team admired.

Soon the group dispersed. With a day off, the team had the freedom to do whatever they pleased. When you and Nat were the only ones left, you both started on cleaning up. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you started talking.

"So let's definitely watch a movie. Maybe one of those silly rom-coms, and then we can go out for lunch. That can be your choice because I am not deciding everything we do. After that, we'll change into pajamas and do absolutely nothing. Take-out for dinner in one of our rooms if we want to be alone, or we can see what the rest of the team is doing."

"Sounds good, дорогой. But for lunch let's just go for a walk until we spot something that we want. Just a nice casual day." Nat replied.

"Awesome!"

With a plan in place, you finished cleaning up the mess that the Avengers tended to leave when eating and made your way to the movie room. Snuggled up next to Nat, you put on some cheesy movie and relaxed. An hour into it, you got bored; after all, you were used to being busy. You brightened up as you got an idea.

"Tasha, can I braid your hair? My hands need to do something." you whined at her.

This was a pretty big request. Natasha was quite proud of her hair. It was always perfect, something you were quite jealous of. You expected her to say no, for her to take your hands and lay back, but Natasha Romanoff was full of surprises.

"Okay."

Natasha shifted a little so you could reach her hair. You thanked her repeatedly as you got to work making the perfect Dutch braid. Nat sat still for a few minutes, watching as the man on the screen made some declaration to a girl who was not interested. Soon though, she reached a hand behind her and stroked whatever part of you she could reach. Soon that progressed to her snuggling closer. Finally, she turned her head to try and kiss you.

"Nat stop moving and let me braid your hair!" you complained, but your laughter and smile betrayed you.

Utilizing her skills, she wiggled out of your hold without pulling her hair and grabbed you. Pulling you close, she started kissing you, anywhere she could reach. You soon did the same. The two of you were delighted, close to each other, until...

"Oh come on! When I said you guys were being gross, I meant, like being cheesy and giving me cavities. Cavities not nausea!" Tony exclaimed, interrupting your moment.

Nat stuck her middle finger at him, pulling you up off the couch and into her bedroom.

You never did finish that braid.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Steal Your Heart (Part 1)

When the calling card of the infamous Knave of Hearts arrives, he’ll rob his victims blind of their most treasured items on the appointed date. Enter ace detective Yuu accompanied by rookie cop Deuce Spade, both seeking to apprehend the Knave and bring him to justice.

Will they succeed, or will the phantom thief steal their valuables--and their hearts--first?

This was originally meant to be one fic, but it was getting to be WAY too long. I decided to split it in half and release this part now and the second part (which I am still working on!) later. This first part focuses more on Yuu and Deuce; the second part will be more Yuu and Ace.

(Please note: there are slight romantic implications in the form of an Ace/Yuu/Deuce love triangle, but those elements could also be interpreted as platonic or as just playful teasing with no additional meaning. It’s all in the eyes of the reader!)

Imagine this...

The police station’s waiting room was a familiar sight.

With time, the shiny checkered floor had grown matte, marred with scratches and scuffs from the boots that crossed it on a daily basis. Someone had taken to attempt to pretty up the otherwise dull space by hanging out abstract paintings on the cream-colored walls, and a vase of white roses dripping with red paint at the check-in desk. There was as even a glass tank which housed a small family of colorful hedgehogs.

Maybe they were meant to be welcoming—but really, they were more clashing than anything. Certainly not a fit for the stiff atmosphere of the station.

Still the fluorescent lightbulbs buzzed faintly, flickering in and out on occasion. The sound distracted from the old television mounted in a corner to entertain guests. It seemed to play commercials on a loop more often than it played actual shows. Currently, an Olympus Corp. branded tablet was being toted as the next big technological marvel—though the TV’s audio was fuzzy at best, and the image half static.

A coffee table pushed to the wall, stacked with a new stash of magazines. Whoever updated the reading materials—most likely the friendly senior officer with orange waves for hair—was into the latest trends, often selecting fashion magazines with high gloss finishes. A dangerously beautiful man graced the covers of many of them, dressed in the hottest summertime styles while looking the part of an untouchable ice queen.

As usual, the station was scented with coffee and tea, the beverages of choice for many officers burning the midnight oil or working overtime. The chief demanded it at times to meet deadlines and goals—he was such a stickler for them—and the caffeine helped those under him stay sane as they went about their duties.

In the afternoons, most were either out on lunch or on patrol, lessening the foot traffic at HQ. There was only one man in uniform, seated behind the desk and filing some papers.

Yuu shifted in their own chair, adjusting the rim of the baseball cap upon their head. They were suited in an inconspicuous jacket and sneakers, fingers toying with a badge in a pocket, hidden out of view. To the common man, they were a jogger--but one flash of their lilac gemstone bound to a black and white striped ribbon, and there would be no doubt as to what their true identity was.

The smell of coffee and tea grew stronger, and Yuu glanced up from behind the bill of their hat.

The bespectacled man from behind the front desk had approached. He had a sheepish smile, bearing a paper cup filled with hot brown liquid and a napkin with a donut laid upon it. Bright pink icing dusted with sugared violet petals crowned the golden fried pastry.

“Detective.”

“Mr. Clover.” Yuu nodded—a terse, polite greeting. ���It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Please, just ‘Trey’ is fine.” He offered the treats, which they readily accepted. “Sorry for calling you in on such short notice. I’m sure you’re busy juggling your other cases—but I think I speak for the entire department when I say we’re thankful that you were able to make it.”

“No worries, I’m used to it in this line of work,” Yuu replied. “It must be something pretty urgent this time around. The Chief sounded frantic over the phone.”

Trey rubbed at his chin, grasping for the right words. “Let’s just say he’s not in the best of moods right now. You’ll need that sugar to get through this in one piece.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Just trying to avoid any trouble. You’d better finish them before you step into his office. You know how he hates it when there are crumbs or spills in there.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Yuu gave a joking salute before starting to pack away at their snack. The drink was the instant kind, and practically scalding, but it was easy to tell that the donut was homemade. The pastry, flaky on the outside and fluffy on the inside, dusted with sugar granules and sweet icing. “Wouldn’t want the Chief to be blowing a fuse again.”

“No, definitely not. He’s done too much of that lately.” Trey carefully eyed Yuu’s donut, now only half of it left. “Oh, but be sure to brush your teeth a thorough cleaning tonight, or I might have some problems with you. Cavities and staining are real dangers, you know.”

“Are you Assistant Chief of Police or my dental hygienist?” Yuu took a generous swig, then a bite just as big. “You worry too much about everything.”

“Ahahah… Do I? It’s a habit, I guess. Comes with the job.”

“That stressful, huh?”

“Well, I do what I can to smooth things over. Hopefully you can too. It’s been difficult on our department with the Chief all rattled up about the… situation.” He stopped himself. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from him.”

So the case is top-secret, Yuu concluded with the last of their donut. Not to be discussed in the public.

They ran their tongue across the length of their mouth, lapping up the remains of sugary residue. “I understand. The details are not to leave his office.”

“You catch on quickly. No wonder why the Chief thinks so highly of your abilities.”

“Flattery’s a part of your tool kit as well, Trey?”

He raised his eyebrows. “… You’ve worked long enough with us to figure these things out. Nothing gets by you, it seems.”

“UGIGIGIGIGGGGHHHH!!”

The remainder of Yuu’s drink sloshed around in its cup, set into motion by the bloodcurdling scream.

A familiar man with orange waves erupted from the chief’s office, hurriedly slamming the door shut behind him. His typically relaxed features were arranged in panic, his hair frazzled.

“How did trying to calm him work out, Cater?” Trey inquired half-heartedly. It was a courtesy more than genuine curiosity.

“What do you think?” the senior officer groaned, sinking where he stood.

Yuu quickly finished their drink, tossing their trash—the evidence they had been there—away and then stood, adjusting their jacket. “That sounds like it’s my cue.”

“Yeah, it is.” Trey sighed, frowning. “He’s in a tough spot right. Be kind to him, will you? That’s all I ask.”

“You got it.” Yuu tipped their baseball cap as they passed the officer. “Thank you for the pick-me-up. I’ll be seeing you, then. Officer Diamond—get some rest.”

“Good luck.”

“You’ll need it, Yuu-chan! Brace yourself.”

The Police Chief was a small but serious man.

His character came through in his office space: books on law and order neatly arranged on shelves, papers and files alphabetically organized in their cabinets, and pens evenly spaced apart and arranged in rows. A crystal vase with deep red roses was poised beside his writing implements. A plate polished to a fine shine was propped up at his desk, reading: Riddle Rosehearts, Chief of Police.

Perched imposingly despite his short stature in his seat, he impatiently tapped a finger on an arm. Riddle’s face was a telltale red and veiny, proof of his earlier outburst, but was beginning to cool into a faint, smooth pink.

There was already another man in the office, sitting across from the Police Chief. He was pale and jittery in a suit the color of the night and sewn with blue sequins and glitter. A top hat rested upon his raven locks, the brim of it shading his hauntingly golden eyes.

Yuu removed their hat and, keeping it to their chest, gave a shallow bow as they entered. “Sir.”

One move out of line, one hair out of place, and they suspected he, in his volatile and vulnerable state, would explode anew.

“Welcome, Detective. I’m glad you could join us today.” Every word was a gruff puff of air, a leash with which to wrest control of his rage. Riddle gestured to the empty chair beside the nervous man. “Sit.”

Yuu obeyed, sinking into the seat offered. They casted a glance at the stranger adjacent to them, who was fiddling with his velvet-lined gloves.

“Mr. Crowley, this is the independent detective from Stray Cat Investigations that I had previously mentioned to you. The force has collaborated with them for a number of difficult cases in the past. Their wit and strategic skills have made them an invaluable asset. I thought it prudent to have them return to join us for your case as well.

“Yuu, meet Dire Crowley. He is the esteemed director and curator for the Sage’s Island Museum, and he’s come to us with his woes.”

“Hello, Mr. Crowley,” Yuu said politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He responded with a tired attempt at a smile. “Yes, you too.”

“Now that we’re all acquainted with one another...” Riddle produced a file from beneath his desk and placed it before himself. “Do you care to explain, or shall I?”

“I-I’ll elaborate!” Crowley crowed. He picked at a collection of keys belted to his waist, glistening gold under artificial lights. “The Sage’s Island Museum is planning a new exhibition on the Great Seven. As part of the exhibit, we are having many priceless artifacts flown in from all over Twisted Wonderland. We have donations from even Briar Valley’s royal family!!

“There will also be a great number of important VIP guests present for the grand opening of the exhibit. Royalty, wealthy benefactors, important diplomats, businessmen, celebrities... All individuals who wish to see their history on display! This is very important, you see!! M-My reputation--er, I mean, the museum’s reputation--is on the line here!!”

“Right.” Yuu nodded as they parsed through the information. “I’m following what you’re putting down. And where does your problem arise, Mr. Crowley?”

“Ah, now that,” Riddle smirked, “is the question of the hour.”

He opened his file, pulling out...

A single playing card, its back facing Yuu.

“I trust you’ve been keeping up with the news?”

“As any good detective would. There have been several robberies lately. Terrible, really.” Yuu’s expression clouded with concentration. “Hmm... but if it’s a potential robbery that you’re concerned about, Mr. Crowley... Doesn’t the Sage’s Island Museum boast a state-of-the-art security system from Olympus Corp.? I doubt the average thief would be able to bypass it.”

“That’s just the trouble,” Crowley loudly lamented.

“We are dealing with no ordinary thief,” Riddle clarified.

“It’s not?”

“No. Far from it.” The Police Chief exhaled sharply. “The string of robberies from before--they’re connected by a single thread, perpetuated by the same lone culprit. And now that scoundrel intends to continue his crime spree.”

“I’ve never heard of this before.”

“You shouldn’t have. It was a top-secret operation within my force since the first of its kind.”

“Why am I being told of it now?”

“Because, loathe as I am to admit it, the culprit has managed to outwit us and elude capture each and every time, He employs a bag of cheap parlor tricks and smoke and mirrors like the coward he is,” Riddle confessed begrudgingly. The blue-grey of his eyes were steely and stubborn. “A case as important as this needs the additional man—and brain—power, Detective.”

He placed the playing card down and slid it toward the detective. “This arrived in the morning at Mr. Crowley’s desk, the same as all the prior robberies. It gave him quite the fright. He rushed all the way to the station to beg for our assistance.”

“This is...” Yuu gingerly turned the card over, revealing a message scrawled on the other side in bright red gel ink. Each letter was big and bubbly, bursting with cheek and pomp.

Their heart jumped.

To the Old Crow that safeguards the Museum,

Heyo~

Your pockets look a lil’ heavy there, so I’ll help you out. (Aren’t I so kind?) Three days from now, I’ll claim one of your most prized treasures at the stroke of midnight.

Stand back and watch as I perform the greatest magic trick you’ll ever see... and make the portrait of the Queen of Hearts vanish before your very eyes. It’ll be a show-stopper!!

Until then,

Phantom Thief Knave of Hearts <3 ;3

P.S. Send the cops my regards, they can’t catch me lol (especially when their teapot tyrant’s patience is in SHORT supply geddit)

“They’re just flat-out announcing what their intentions are,” Yuu realized. They were half impressed, half shocked at the gall. “You said all of the victims received messages like this?”

“Calling cards, yes.” The fury had returned to Riddle’s features, causing his voice to spike and strain. “It’s infuriating!! What does he get off on, misappropriating magic as cheap parlor tricks for crime, writing notes in such a cocksure manner, taunting us to pursue him?!

“Not only is he poking fun at my height and committing a crime, but for mere SPORT?! For the THRILL of it?! He’s making a mockery of the good people of this island and of my men and our efforts to secure the peace!!”

The Police Chief slammed a fist down on his desk, rattling his glass vase and setting his perfectly straight pens askew. Crowley shrunk back in fear. “That Knave of Hearts...!! He must be stopped at all costs!!”

“Y-Yes, absolutely!!” Crowley chimed in. “For my--er, I mean, for the museum’s sake, this criminal must be put behind bars!! That’s why I’ve come to you, my good people!

“My taxpayer dollars help fund the police force, so I’ve come to collect on what its promise to protect and to serve the community!! Well, here’s the community at your doorstep asking you to protect and to serve!!”

“That’s why you want to put me on this case,” Yuu concluded, clasping the calling card to their racing heart. “To prevent this from going down tonight.”

“And furthermore,” Riddle added, “to investigate the identity of this so-called phantom thief once the museum is safely secured.”

“That’s a tall order, sir.”

“You’ll have access to our force’s resources, and to my officers. You will assist in overseeing this operation, with maps and outlines of the museum’s security detail from Mr. Crowley. We’ll cooperate to create a plan of attack to apprehend the Knave.”

“You misunderstand me. I never said I wouldn’t take the job,” Yuu coolly informed the Chief. Their mouth cocked upwards with confidence. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Oh, blessed day!! From the very bottom of my oh-so-generous heart, thank you very much!!” Crowley cried tearfully.

For the first time the entire briefing, Riddle smiled back at Yuu. “Hmph. That’s what I like to hear. Happy to be working with you again, Detective.”

“Likewise, Chief.”

The sun had already set when Yuu exited the station, the stars blinking into existence. Several hours had been spent picking the museum curator’s brain with a fine-toothed comb, looking over layouts, and memorizing security detail. The information had been well-stocked, and now came the time to let it marinate and bloom into plans.

Stuffing their hands in their pockets, Yuu shuffled down the sidewalk and past rows of parked vehicles. Ahead, neon lights flashed in and out, and the trains rattled on their well-worn tracks, buses and cars honking at each other, the chatter of street vendors filling the air.

And something different than the usual tonight.

The city never slept, always buzzed with energy. Yuu had become accustomed to its sights and sounds, finding them even comforting. Their best ideas were conceived against the hum of the cityscape. It was just soft enough to not fully distract, but just noticeable enough to tug at their thoughts for long enough to stray into new territories and concepts.

Light from lonely streetlamps created tears in the darkness, illuminating the path to their favorite downtown thinking spot: the Mostro Lounge. A good (albeit overpriced) drink would chase away their tiredness.

Yuu continued with that promise in mind, every step catlike. First quick, next slow, then quick, moderate, slow, quick, slow, quick, moderate. Their speed, ever alternating.

Their ears strained against the sounds of the city, slowly parsing through the individual elements.

Trains, buses, cars, chatter… and the soft footsteps masked by them. Footsteps which matched Yuu’s pace.

There was no mistaking it now.

I’m being followed.

They didn’t look to see who it was—the first rule of tailing a target was to never alert them to your awareness. Yuu would know (as oftentimes they were the one in the position of tailer).

They cast their eyes across the street, which was busy with bodies. Once Yuu merged with the crowd, they could easily shake off their stalker.

Their feet picked up their pace again, hurrying to the crosswalk. It was a glaring red, advising pedestrians to stop.

Shoot, Yuu cursed.

They felt a presence step up beside them. From the corner of their eye, they could make out a dark form--clothes. Yuu pretended to check the time on their phone, and glimpsed him in the reflection.

He was in a hoodie, with the hood pulled up and head down to conceal his features. His hands, too, were out of sight, a sea of baggy fabric hiding identifying features, save for his frame. Lanky, but reasonably packed with muscle to keep up with Yuu.

The man shifted, and his sight grazed theirs. His eyes were hard and icy, a silent threat.

Yuu quickly focused on the crosswalk light. Their heartbeat became as loud as the surrounding sounds. Screeching above the vehicles, shouting from the rooftops. THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP.

At last, the light turned from red to white.

Walk.

They started--and so did he.

“Excuse me.” A hand came upon their shoulder. The other pulled at something with a sinister glint. “Do you have a second?”

No walking, Yuu corrected themselves. Run!!

They sprinted down the crosswalk, jostling pedestrians with a hasty “sorry!” thrown back at them. As Yuu weaved through the crowd as fast as they could, they could not completely shunt out the man after them.

“Hey, please wait!! Where are you going?! C-Come back, I need to talk to you!”

His voice carried above the others. People jolted back, the crowd parting to make way for the man to charge forth. His volume swelled louder and louder as he gained on them.

Towering apartments seemed to bear down on Yuu. Their windows, glaring.

A shop. Find a shop and get inside!!

Yuu pumped their arms, pleaded for their legs to move more efficiently.

Again, a weight fell upon their shoulder. It was a clamp, fingers biting Yuu’s skin through their jacket as they dug in and held firm.

The other hand wielded the same shining object that it had before. Yuu looked more closely this time, and the unease in them dissipated. It was not the pointed tip of a knife, but the glint of a familiar officer’s badge wreathed in golden roses.

The man tore off his hood with a sigh--though Yuu noticed that he wasn’t one bit out of breath. Navy bangs fell across his forehead, his eyes a peacock green-blue, much friendlier under the streetlamps than the crosswalk signs.

He smiled at Yuu as though he were greeting an old friend. His grip turned into a tender squeeze. “I finally caught up with you!”

The detective awkwardly pulled away, confusion scrawled on their face. “Um... Sorry, who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Oh! Uh...” The man jumped, retracting his hand. “That’s because we haven’t! Er, not officially anyway, but I’ve heard a lot about you!!”

Yuu pointed to his badge. “That. You’re an officer?”

“Yessir!” The man offered the proof of his identity and stiffly saluted. “Officer Deuce Spade, sir!! I’m a new recruit...!! I just joined the force a few weeks ago!”

Yuu mustered a faint smile. The darned fool was going to give them away. “... Am I in trouble, officer?”

“Nossir! Not at all!” His entire face shone with eagerness, earnest, and a slightly nervous energy. Maybe Yuu would have found it adorable (in the same way that a child trying hard was adorable), were he not blasting your occupation to the public. “Why would you be in trouble, sir?! You’re working with...”

“Okaaay, that’s enough out of you!” Yuu slapped a hand over Deuce’s mouth, silencing him.

Curious onlookers murmured amongst themselves. Some had taken to halt and full-on gawk. Children pointed, adults narrowing their eyes with suspicion.

Yuu frowned, removing their hand to shoo pedestrians away. “Nothing to see here, folks. Just a misunderstanding. Move along, Wonder Boy and I can settle this ourselves.”

“Wonder Boy?” Deuce, in a daze, pointed to himself. “Is that... me?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Yuu folded their arms. “I assume you’re free now?”

“I am, sir! I was just let off my shift a little while ago, sir!”

“First, drop the ‘sir’. It’s giving me a headache,” Yuu instructed. “Second, if you’re free, then you’ll be joining me for a drink and a chat. We have things to discuss--chief among them being why you were following me.”

Ring-a-ling!

A bell sounded as the door to the Mostro Lounge swung open. Deuce stepped into a new world, Yuu at his side.

The interior itself was dim, but glass lights fastened in the shape of jellyfish projected swimming incandescent lights in purple, blue, and pink. Velvet booths lined one half of the eatery, the other, a glossy bar with tall, narrow stools, the shelves behind it healthily stocked with bottles in jeweled tones. Strangers poised with drink took residence in most of the seats.

The entire back wall had been repurposed into a massive aquarium teeming with aquatic plants and exotic creatures. Seaweed and coral gently swayed to the rhythm of the smooth jazz floating through the lounge, fish frolicking among them.

“Whoooa,” Deuce gasped, craning his head to drink in every detail. “I’ve never been to a place as classy as this. It looks so expensive. You think my salary’s enough to cover at least an appetizer?”

“Hang on tight to your wallet,” Yuu warned. “This place will squeeze you for every thaumark you’re worth and then some—and they won’t feel a bit of remorse about it.”

The detective raised an arm, flagging a nearby waiter.

Their uniform was simple yet sleek: dark dress pants, a white bow tie, spotless gloves, and a cummerbund and suspenders over a lavender button-up shirt. It allowed for slight variation—one waiter skidded by with his shirt buttoned as low as food safety regulations deemed safe. Another jotted down orders with a jacket thrown over his shoulders and a pair of glasses tucked into the crevice of his buttons.

The waiter Yuu called out to approached like a shark fin cutting through still water, neatly bowing to greet their waiting customers. He was prim and proper compared to the other servers, not a button out of place.

When he raised his head, Deuce marveled at his mismatched olive and gold irises, the teal of his hair marred by a stripe of black. Three diamond-shaped scales dangled from his left ear, as sharp as his eyes.

“I bid you welcome to the Mostro Lounge, honored guests,” the waiter said smoothly. He gaze immediately cut to Deuce. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you, today, Yuu-san. How delightfully rare.”

“Acquaintance. We just met outside under… less than ideal circumstances.”

“Oya, how quick you were to seize on that chance encounter. I may even deem you a bigger opportunist than our dear manager.”

“… Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Deuce inquired.

“Perhaps you will find the answer to your question, should you act as a patron at our establishment for long enough.”

“Quit toying with him, Jade. You know what we’re here for,” Yuu grumbled. “My usual.”

“If that is what you wish. And for this gentleman acquaintance of yours?”

“Just ice water is fine, sir!”

Jade maintained his polite smile. “Very well. One glass of ice cold water for you. I will bring you a menu as well, in case you begin to feel peckish late into the night.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“Right this way then.” Jade gestured for the two to follow him.

“He’s upselling you, you know,” Yuu pointed out under their breath. “Hoping that you’ll buy something when presented with the opportunity to spend.”

“E-Eh, he is?! I didn’t even realize…”

“Fufufu. Please, do not let your worries consume you. You have come to relax, correct? We at the Mostro Lounge ask that you put your fins and your feet up and enjoy yourself while the night is still young.”

They were escorted to two empty stools in a (relatively) quiet corner of the bar. The glass jellyfish lights were clustered in the center of the main dining area, leaving the corner like a slice of dark, uncharted waters. Jass music and conversation filtered into a muffled melody.

Yuu plopped down with relief, followed by an apprehensive Deuce. He slowly sank into the cushy seat.

“I will be right back with your drinks. If you will excuse me.” With another bow, Jade rounded the bar and rolled up his sleeves—the transition from waiter to bartender. Presenting his back to the duo, he set to plucking bottles off of the shelves.

Deuce blinked. He still hadn’t taken to fully processing his new surroundings. “Are we really going kick back and have drinks when there’s a serial thief on the loose?”

“We can’t talk about that in public, or risk blowing my cover. It’s safe to talk here,” Yuu reassured him. “What happens in the Mostro Lounge stays in the Mostro Lounge. Say what you want about the slimy staff, but they know how to keep their patrons’ secrets. Client confidentiality and all.”

The young officer brightened. “Ooooh, I get it!”

“… You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed,” Yuu remarked bluntly. They slipped off their baseball cap, letting loose their hair. “So? Let’s have it.”

“Have what?”

“Your reason for following me.”

“Oh!! That.” Deuce nervously scratched at the back of his neck. “That’s kind of…”

The detective drummed their fingers on the polished counter. Methodical, deliberate. “You mentioned that you recently joined the force. However, only senior officials in the police department and myself were privy to this operation. How did you come to learn about it?”

Deuce stiffened, thrown off his beat (if he had any to begin with). “Th-That’s…!”

“I’m asking you a question, Mr. Spade. Please answer me truthfully.”

“I… um… Truth is, I…” Deuce stared at his lap, unable to meet the detective’s eyes. “I might have eavesdropped when I returned from my patrol shift…”

“Go on,” Yuu coaxed.

“There was a report I had to submit to the Chief, but it sounded like he was busy in his office. It’s hard to not notice him when he raises his voice, sir. I decided to wait outside until he was done, and… well, I got curious.”

“Wasn’t Assistant Chief Clover also present? He just let you do that without a single protest?”

“Assistant Chief Clover was very nice to me! He laughed a little and said ‘make sure you don’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar’!”

Darn it, Trey!! You could’ve been a LITTLE stricter with this guy…! Yuu groaned, massaging the bridge of their nose. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get a better picture of what went down. You followed me wanting to learn more about the operation.”

Like a curious child chasing after a white rabbit. Still immature, still wondering, and still way over their head.

“Yes, but that’s not all!” Deuce insisted. He abruptly stood from the table. “There’s an even more important reason than just satisfying my curiosity, sir!”

Yuu quirked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“I had to talk to you—without the Chief around. I had to. That’s why I followed you in secret.” The officer nibbled his lower lip, as if biting back something harsh and bitter from coming up.

“Out with it, Mr. Spade.”

“Pardon the intrusion,” Jade coolly interjected. His tone was nonchalant but his bemused smile was a telltale sign that he was relishing in every second of the hot gossip. “Your beverages.”

He slid two glasses between Yuu and Deuce before departing. One was tall and slim—a highball—loaded with carbonated water and fruity gummies. Yellow for jeweled pineapples, red for ruby berries, green for frozen mint, black for floral cacao, and blue from pure azure salt. It was Yuu’s usual, the famed Mystery Drink. The other glass was, by comparison, an ordinary drink of water, a single large, clear cube of ice floating in it.

A bead of sweat ran down Deuce’s jawline. Condensation forming and racing on his glass of water.

Suddenly, the officer slapped both hands on the counter, slamming his face down upon its surface. His navy hair splayed, forehead touching the table in a display of humility.

Yuu almost spilled their drink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m begging you, sir!! P-Please put me on the mission!!” Deuce pleaded, his voice shaky but resolute. “I… I want to help catch the Knave of Hearts too!!”

“If that’s all you wanted, why ask me? Go through the proper channels to…”

“I can’t!! The Chief would never allow it.” His expression creased with shame. “He says rookies need to work their way up from meter maid to working on cases.”

“He’s right. You need to grow into these things, not rush in head-first in a burst of passion.” Yuu made to take a sip of their drink—but the officer’s fist collided with the counter, the liquid inside the glass sloshing overboard. Seltzer water splashed onto their pant leg, leaving a sticky wet spot on a thigh.

“P-Please reconsider! I know how to handle myself in a fight! I’m fast, I could easily catch up with him if it’s a race on foot!”

“Look,” the detective said irritably, “I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish here. Fact is, no matter how much you ask, I wouldn’t want to take you on for this case. You’re too green behind the ears—and sorry, but I just don’t see you as an asset.

“You may be strong and quick on your feet, but it’ll take more than strength and speed to catch the Knave of Hearts. There’s a reason he hasn’t been caught yet.” Yuu tapped at their temple. “It’s this. He’s got smarts, and we need to combat that with smarts of our own.”

“I-I can be smart!! I can try to, at least! Please, just let me try…!!”

Frustrated, Yuu scrutinized the young man again. Their eyes roaming, searching, for detail wrong, a hair out of place.

Years of sleuthing had built up a great amount of cynicism and distrust in the detective. How many times had they pulled back the curtain, revealing the ugly truths hidden out of plain sight? How many bruised egos--both clients and coworkers--had they encountered? People seeking status or to feed their own pride.

Yet when they looked at Deuce, none of that ugliness or ego came through. Here was someone who stubbornly stared right back at Yuu, unwilling to back down, even when his dignity lay in tatters on the floor the instant he prostrated himself.

Another selfish bid for recognition? They ventured, toying with the idea. Maybe personal ambition, looking to climb up in the world.

“... One reason,” Yuu said, holding up an index finger. “Give me one good reason why I should take you on. Convince me.”

Deuce recoiled--as though even he hadn’t expected to have made it this far, or to be taken seriously at all. His brows creased with effort as he racked the recesses of his mind to find the right phrasing.

A second later, he let out a piercing shout.

“GAAAAAAAAH!!”

With a grunt, Deuce grasped his cup of ice water and lifted it to his lips. He hammered the drink in a single swig, releasing a satisfied hoot. The liquid courage had revived the man, returning the spark to him.

In a voice as clear as the drink he had just downed, Deuce said, “It’s for my mom. She’s just about the sweetest, most hard-working person I know.”

He hung his head and slammed his empty cup down, shaking the entire table.

“She raised me as a single parent. Mom never once complained, only wanted the best life for me.” Deuce glared into his glass, speaking with scorn and anger--not at others, but for himself. “And how did I repay her? I... turned to delinquency.

“I acted out because I wasn’t man enough to do the mature thing and work on myself!! She blamed herself for my stupid decisions! I made mom worry for me so, so much...”

Plip, plip.

Deuce faltered, letting quiet tears dribble down his cheeks and landing on the cube of ice left in his glass. Once they made contact with the frozen block, it was impossible to tell what was water and what was salt.

“I swore to myself that I would turn my life around... to show mom that it’s not her fault, that she did all she could to raised someone who could contribute to society!! So I studied really hard at the police academy, and even though my grades were crappy, I managed to graduate...!!”

He choked up, a concoction of fiery passion infused in his stuttering words. “I can finally be that model officer and make a change in the community! But I haven’t done a damn thing...! I just play meter maid while bad guys are out there running free, when I could be out there making this city a safer place for mom and everyone that lives here...!!”

The noises of the lounge seemed to fade into a stoic silence around Deuce. His declaration reverberated loudly. “I have to do this. I need to do this.”

He bowed again, his forehead pressed hard against the surface of the table. The single word he uttered was hoarse, desperate.

“Please.”

Deuce pried himself up almost painfully. The eyes were aquamarine, wet with hot tears. Something shone through them in shades of blue and green, priceless as any treasure: an honesty that burned like an eternal flame.

Yuu startled, striken by a single, haunting revelation: He’s telling the truth.

“... I don’t think I’ve met someone like you before,” they said cryptically. “I don’t doubt your story—but as touching as it is, I don’t know if...”

Hesitation reared its head, and Yuu forced themselves to look away. Couldn’t bear to see him, that wide-eyed sincerity.

Emotion clashing with their sound logic. Two things that shouldn’t have belonged together colliding. 

Wait... things that don’t belong together? Things I didn’t expect, surprises and twists to the tale...

A ex-delinquent turned into a policeman. A selfishness turned selfless. An anticipated lie turned into a truth. Something there that hadn’t been before.

The detective’s mind raced, quickly outpacing the words leaving their mouth. A solution which subverted expectations, a trap laced with honey for a man with sticky fingers.

That’s it. We’ll pull a trick of our own.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” Yuu abruptly announced. “You’re in on this operation, Mr. Spade.”

“R-Really?!” Deuce’s face nearly tore in half, his volume revving up like a motorcycle engine. “You mean it?!”

“I do.”

Yuu took a cool sip of their Mystery Drink. Flavors from all over Twisted Wonderland cascaded over their tongue—a triumphant, fleeting pleasure.

They set their glass down and bent over, gripping Deuce by the strings of his hoodie. Yuu tugged, bringing the policeman lurching forward.

His clammy forehead against theirs. Centimeters away, his eyes widened. A flushed heat climbed to his cheeks, his voice set in a stammer.

“S-Sir, what are we...”

“You’ll have to follow my instructions very carefully,” Yuu replied with a devious grin. “Listen up, rookie: cuz you’re going to be the star of this show. Here’s the plan...”

The ambience of the lounge drowned out Yuu’s whispers. From afar, their words could only be read through the shapes of their mouth, the increasingly confused and alarmed expressions that Deuce pulled.

Jade observed them patiently, chuckling to himself. “My, my, it seems like our genius detective has found yet another solution.”

CLATTER, CLATTER!!

A tray piled high with empty plates and dishes was slammed down. Jade’s twin peered around the stack, leaning lazily against the bar.

“Eeeh, but I bet against them this time.”

“Playing the contrarian runs its risks.” Jade picked up a glass, staring at his brother through it. The golden orb called his left eye was clear as a topaz. “As for myself, I’m excited to see how this plays out.”

PAP.

A notepad came down on the table as a third waiter joined them.

“Both of you need to stop gossiping and get back to work,” their manager chided, sliding the notepad—scrawled with fresh orders—to Jade. “Leave the customers to tend to their own business. We’ll soon know the outcome.”

[To be continued...]

[aphroditeinthesea]

Heyyyy, can I request a Cinnor Stoll x fme!reader?

Can can you by and chance make her a mortal where he meets her by accident whike runs from her abusive family..?

All good if you can't! And fic of Connor is good!!

“ you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me? ”

connor stoll x fem!reader 🐍

a/n this is kinda a concerning request but hope ur okay xx

⚠️ mentions of abuse and swearing

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Seven hours. That’s how long she had been away from home and already her heart was racing. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should just turn around and pretend like she got lost or something.

She currently sat alone in a crowded cafe she had come across in a town a few hours away from her hometown. Nobody she knew would be here. Her heart raced though when she realized how vulnerable she was currently.

All alone in a strange place. She had some money she had saved and some she stole from her parents’ stash in the attic. It was enough to last her for who knows how long. But not enough if she wanted this to work.

“Hey, are you y/n?”

She looked up to see a boy about her age standing in front of her. She raised an eyebrow, “maybe, why?”

“Sorry, I think I got your drink by accident.”

“Oh,” she looked at his hands that were holding an iced coffee with her name misspelled in sharpie, “yeah, that’s mine.”

He leaned over the table to hand it to her, “I didn't drink it or anything, I jus thought it was a different drink.” Of course he wasn't going to say that he went in there with the thought of stealing a random drink that was yet to be claimed.

She took a sip and her face scrunched, “oh this sucks ass.”

He laughed, “what?”

“This coffee, it tastes like they got it out the sewers.”

“Glad I didn't try to steal it then.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

She shook her head, “I should be leaving anyways.” Not that she had anywhere ot go.

“Wait!” He paused, “wait, I mean, there's a great coffee shop down the street. Trust me its way better than here.”

She looked at him for a second. She thought about her choices here. Leave and have no where to go or hang out more with this cute guy who for some reason wants her to have a good coffee. “Lead the way.”

He grinned as he led her out of the door, holding it open for her. As they began walking down the sidewalk, he looked over at her, “are you new around here?”

“You could say that,” she mentioned.

“What does that mean?” He replied, confused.

She sighed, “I’m new here.”

He nodded, “cool, where are you from?”

“A few hours away, I just,” she looked over at him, “I wanted out of my hometown.”

“Oh,” he stayed silent for a second before speaking again after realizing, “did you run away?”

She laughed softly before nodding, “ding ding ding!”

“Woah,” he responded, trying to comprehend, “you're not like a serial killer or something, right?”

“Just one,” she joked.

“Perfect, because if it was more then that might be an issue.”

She smiled and looked down at her feet on the ground before hearing his voice again, “here it is.”

She looked up at the coffee shop. It had a large pink sign reading “Dolly’s Donuts.” It was a quaint little place that was painted while with a few teal accents on the windows. After a few moments, she spoke up, “why are we just standing here?”

He didn't look at her as he answered, “I’m banned from here.”

She laughed, “you’re what?”

“I might’ve somehow schemed them out of a few dozen donuts.” He added, “I’m banned from a few places around here. Not all for stealing, some because they cant handle a joke or two.”

“Wow, a criminal.” As she began walking towards thw entrance, he stopped her again.

“Wait a second, please?”

She grinned, “alright.”

He nodded, and snuck over to a next door store with an outdoor display of baseball caps and sunglasses. He snuck on a blue cap with matching blue glasses before making his way over to her.

“Okay, let's go.”

“They wont recognize you like that?” She retorted sarcastically.

“Connor Stoll is gone, hello Stonnor Coll.”

“Your name's Connor?”

“Yeah, sorry, forgot to mention that.”

“Well, come on, Stonnor,” she flicked her hand, motioning for him to come. He followed behind her as they made their way into the shop.

“Welcome to Dolly’s, what can I get for you?”

Y/N looked over at Connor, “what do you recommend, Ston?”

“Two vanilla lattes, please,” he replied in a deepened voice. “And, uh, some extra whipped cream for the little lady here.”

The barista nodded before walking away. Y/N swatted his arm, “little lady?”

He grimaced, “yeah, I have no idea where that came from.” He looked over the display box where they had laid a few donuts, while the barista wasn't looking, he grabbed two of the donuts, hiding them in napkins that were out nearby, “here put these in your bag.”

“Seriously?”

“They're worth it, trust me.”

She rolled her eyes and took the donuts, slipping them into her tote. When the barista came back over, Connor causally grabbed the drinks, handing one to y/n and holding the otreh in his hand.

“Anything else for today?”

“Actually, just a,” before he finished, he grabbed y/n’s arm and dragged her out of the restaurant at full speed.

“Connor!” she called as she nearly spilt her drink. He smirked and he led them to a gazebo out of sight of the shop.

As they came to a stop, neither of them could breathe from both laughing adn the bolting.

“That was so fucking fun,” she breathed out, clutching to hold her stomach. He watched her in amusement as she leaned back up to look at him. She took a sip of the latte before her eyes widened, “wow, that totally was worth the robbery.”

“Right?” He chuckled.

She turned to grab the donuts out of her bag until he spoke again, “what’s that?”

“What?”

“On your,” he leaned closer and moved some of her hair, “your eye?”

“Oh,” oh. She breathed deeply, “that's just uhm, it’s from, well.”

“Is that why you were running away?”

She stayed silent and just looked at the wooden floor of the gazebo.

“Shit,” he sighed, backing up, “are you okay?”

Her eyes met his again, “right now, yeah.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“No, I just,” she hesitated, “I just wanted out.”

“Here,” he grabbed her hand to get her to sit down with him on the ground. She obliged, sitting criss-cross applesauce across from him, their knees touching. He took a breath, “let’s have some donuts, yeah?”

And, yeah, for right now, she was okay.