#Go Fast” collection of racing jackets

[freshthoughts2020]

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: kissing, making out, suggestive.

(Thank you for who ever requested this. I lost the request )

Leah Williamson x Police!Reader

- Officer Charming -

MasterList

Leah Williamson had always prided herself on her calm, collected demeanor. Whether it was during her football days, facing down roaring stadiums and unforgiving opponents, or in her current life as a youth sports coach, she rarely let anything phase her. But all of that went out the window every time she saw you in uniform.

Your crisp navy-blue police uniform, the polished badge glinting on your chest, the confident stride—it all made Leah’s heart race in a way nothing else could. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone (yet), but she might have been developing a slight obsession with your job.

You first met Leah at a charity football match a year ago. The local police department had put together a team to play against retired professional players, and you had begrudgingly agreed to join. You weren’t much of a footballer, but you could at least kick a ball without embarrassing yourself.

Leah had been the opposing team’s captain, her natural charisma drawing attention even off the pitch. You had noticed her immediately—her sharp passes, her authoritative presence, and, later, her easy laughter during the post-match drinks at the pub.

“You’re not bad for a copper,” Leah teased, handing you a pint with a cheeky grin.

“And you’re not bad for a retired footballer,” you shot back, earning a mock-offended gasp from her.

The banter flowed effortlessly after that, and by the end of the night, you had exchanged numbers.

Fast forward a year, and the two of you were officially dating. Leah had adapted surprisingly well to your unpredictable hours and occasional late-night callouts. She even joked about the perks of dating a police officer, like always having someone to help her parallel park.

But there was one thing she hadn’t expected: how much she liked seeing you in uniform.

“Are you seriously just standing there staring?” you asked one morning, raising an eyebrow as you adjusted your utility belt.

Leah leaned against the kitchen counter, unabashed. “I can’t help it. You look… authoritative.”

You snorted. “I’m going to work, not a photoshoot.”

“That doesn’t make it any less distracting,” she said, her grin mischievous.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the flush creeping up your neck. Leah had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel electric.

One Friday night, Leah convinced you to join her and her friends for drinks at a local pub. It had been a rough week for you, and you were looking forward to unwinding.

Midway through the evening, one of Leah’s friends, Georgia, leaned over with a teasing smile. “Does Leah make you handcuff her for fun, or is that just a perk of the job?”

Leah nearly choked on her drink, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. You, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow and played along.

“Only when she gets out of hand,” you said smoothly, earning a chorus of laughter from the table.

Leah shot you a mock glare. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Is that so?” you teased, leaning closer.

The banter continued, but later that night, as you walked Leah home, she tugged you to a stop outside her door.

“Do you actually have handcuffs with you right now?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.

You smirked. “Leah Williamson, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” she said, pulling you closer by the collar of your jacket.

You didn’t need any more encouragement. Your lips met hers in a heated kiss, the tension of the evening bubbling over into a moment of pure connection. Her hands found their way to your shoulders, pulling you even closer as the world around you faded away.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Leah rested her forehead against yours, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Let’s just say I’m a fan of your job,” she murmured.

One afternoon, Leah decided to drop by the station to surprise you with lunch. She walked in, carrying a bag of your favorite takeaway, only to find you in the middle of interrogating a suspect.

She stood by the door, watching you work with a mixture of pride and amusement. Your no-nonsense tone, the way you commanded the room—it was mesmerizing.

When you finally finished and stepped out, she greeted you with a grin. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

You laughed, taking the bag from her. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I wanted to see you in action,” she said, giving you a once-over. “And I wasn’t disappointed.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but you couldn’t hide your smile.

Leah had always been a bit of a prankster, and one day, she decided to test your patience. She swiped your hat from the kitchen counter and put it on, striking a pose.

“How do I look?” she asked, her tone mock-serious.

“Like you’re about to get arrested,” you replied, fighting back a laugh.

She grinned, stepping closer. “And what if I don’t go quietly?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “Then I guess I’ll have to take you down myself.”

The tension between you crackled as Leah closed the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was equal parts playful and passionate.

“Careful, officer,” she murmured against your lips. “You might enjoy this too much.”

Leah had always been an excellent driver—at least, that’s what she claimed. But one day, while you were on patrol, you spotted a familiar silver car parked on a double yellow line outside a café.

You frowned, pulling up behind it. Sure enough, the license plate was unmistakable: Leah’s.

Shaking your head, you got out and strolled into the café, where Leah was seated by the window, happily sipping a latte. She froze mid-sip when she saw you in your uniform, your arms crossed and an unimpressed look on your face.

“Oh, hey, love,” she said with an innocent smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy seeing your car outside on a double yellow,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

Leah blinked, trying to feign ignorance. “Is that… illegal?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” you deadpanned, pulling out your notebook for effect.

“Wait, wait!” she exclaimed, standing up quickly. “You’re not actually going to write me a ticket, are you?”

You pretended to consider it. “Rules are rules, Leah.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

Leah narrowed her eyes, a playful glint replacing her initial panic. “Fine, but if you give me a ticket, I’m putting pineapple on your pizza for the rest of your life.”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Leah grinned, stepping closer. “That’s what I thought, Officer Killjoy.”

Later that evening, you both recounted the story to your friends, who unanimously agreed that Leah deserved at least a warning.

Leah had always been curious about your work gear. One evening, after a long day, you came home to find her examining your handcuffs with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“What are you doing?” you asked, kicking off your boots.

“Just… looking,” she replied innocently, holding the cuffs up. “These seem pretty sturdy.”

“They’re meant to be,” you said warily.

Leah smirked. “How do they work?”

You gave her a pointed look. “Don’t mess with them, Leah.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll arrest myself?” she teased, already fiddling with the mechanism.

Five seconds later, there was a loud click. Leah’s triumphant grin faded as she realized she had successfully cuffed one wrist to the kitchen chair.

“Uh… love?” she said, her voice suddenly sheepish.

You stifled a laugh as you walked over. “Did you seriously just handcuff yourself to a chair?”

“It was an accident!” she protested, tugging at the cuffs. “A little help, please?”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I should just leave you here for a bit.”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, but her attempt to look intimidating was completely undermined by the chair dangling from her wrist.

After a few more moments of teasing, you finally unlocked the cuffs, shaking your head. “You’re a menace.”

Leah grinned, rubbing her wrist. “You still love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you said, pulling her into a quick kiss.

Leah’s love for your uniform reached new heights when she discovered your old academy photos.

You were tidying up one weekend when she stumbled upon a framed picture of you in your cadet days. You had a clean-shaven look, your hat slightly too big for your head, and a proud but nervous smile.

“Oh my God,” Leah said, holding the photo up. “Is this you?”

You groaned, snatching it from her. “It was my first day at the academy. I look ridiculous.”

“You look adorable,” she said, trying to grab it back. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

“Because I knew you’d never let it go,” you replied, tucking the photo into a drawer.

Leah crossed her arms, smirking. “I’m going to need you to recreate that look for me.”

“Absolutely not.”

But a week later, you came home to find Leah wearing a cheap police costume she’d bought online, complete with a toy badge and plastic cuffs.

“What do you think, Officer?” she asked, striking a dramatic pose.

You burst out laughing, doubling over as she tried to look serious. “That’s… that’s terrible,” you managed between laughs.

“Terribly accurate,” she quipped, tossing the toy cuffs at you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, pulling her into your arms.

“And you love it,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

One evening, as you were both cuddled on the couch, Leah turned to you with a mischievous look.

“If I ever got arrested for real, would you bail me out?”

You snorted. “Depends. What did you do?”

She pretended to think. “I don’t know, maybe I stole something… like your heart.”

You groaned, pushing her playfully. “That was awful.”

Leah laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “You love it.”

And, of course, you did.

[harryspurpleloofah]

I am not sure if you have seen the performance Harry did at MSG with Kacey Musgraves ("You're Still The One" by Shania Twain), but I would love a one-shot based off of something like that. Maybe the reader is also a singer and she and Harry have been secretly dating and that song is how they announce their relationship? And, of course, I would love for it to be smutty if you feel it. I LOVED "Elevator" and I am about to go and read "A Taste of You Instead".

Hii! Thanks so much for requesting I’d love to write this for you! As a massive Shania Twain fan I loved this show too I’ve seen it and LOVED it. Thanks for reading my work let me know what you think of a taste of you instead 💜 if anyone else has any requests would love to take more

Still The One

(Picture is not mine)

Summary: Harry and Y/N have been dating for a while now but the public has never picked up on it since they e been successful at keeping it low key. One day though Harry and Y/N plan a surprise for their fans at MSG.

TW: swearing, smut, p in v sex but reader is on birth control, nipple play, tit sucking, clit stimulation

The hum of the crowd echoed from the arena beyond, a low, electric thrum that seemed to vibrate through Harry’s chest. He sat on the edge of the couch in his dressing room, pulling on his boots and adjusting his jacket, though his mind wasn’t entirely on the preparations. His thoughts kept drifting to the moment that was fast approaching—the moment everything would change.

His phone buzzed on the table in front of him. He didn’t even need to look at the screen to know who it was. A grin tugged at his lips as he reached for it, his fingers swiping to answer before it could ring again.

“Hey, you ready?”

Her voice was warm and familiar, with a hint of teasing. He could practically picture her, her smile lighting up even over the phone.

“Yeah I’m ready. But I was just making sure you are. You still in?” Harry asked, trying to mask the slight edge of nerves that had crept in.

“Of course,” she replied with that same confident ease that made his heart race every time he heard it. “I’m almost there. Five minutes tops.”

He let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch as he ran a hand through his hair. “You sure? No backing out now.”

She laughed, the sound low and knowing. “Are you nervous, Haz?”

“Not nervous.” He paused, glancing down at his phone and the growing list of messages and show notes. “Just...figuring out how this is going to go.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end, and then her voice softened. “You know we’ve been planning this for months, right? It’s just a song, Harry. And it’s ours.”

His heart thudded at the words. Their song. The one they’d practiced in private, their secret duet that would be unveiled for the world to see. He rubbed his thumb over the phone’s screen as if he could touch her through the distance.

“I know. I’m just...” He shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. “You’re a lot braver than I am.”

“That’s debatable,” she replied. “But don’t worry. I’ll be there in five.”

“See you then. Love you.”

“Love you more. Bye.”

With the call ending, Harry stood up and walked to the mirror, adjusting his jacket one last time. His reflection stared back at him confident and ready for the show of a lifetime. But tonight wasn’t just about the music. Tonight was about her, about them finally stepping into the spotlight, together.

He stepped away from the mirror and turned toward the door. His pulse quickened at the thought of her walking in, her face lighting up as she stepped onto the stage, and how in just a few hours, the whole world would know.

The energy in Madison Square Garden was electric. Harry’s voice still lingered in the air as the final notes of his last song faded out, the crowd still roaring from the performance. He stood center stage, bathed in the golden light of the spotlight, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he took a moment to collect himself. The audience's excitement was palpable, the adrenaline of the show still buzzing through him.

He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, catching his breath, before leaning into the mic. The crowd quieted, the anticipation building in the air like static.

“Alright, alright, thank you so much,” Harry said, his voice warm and steady, yet carrying the hint of something personal, something more intimate. “It’s been an incredible tour so far, and I’ve had the pleasure of sharing the stage with some amazing people.”

He paused, glancing down at his shoes as he chose his words carefully. The crowd, sensing something was coming, leaned in a little closer. Harry smiled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he looked up. “But there’s one person I’ve been lucky enough to share this whole experience with… someone who’s very special to me.”

The murmur of curiosity rippled through the crowd, but Harry wasn’t ready to give it all away just yet. His gaze flickered towards the side of the stage, where you were just about to step out, your silhouette barely visible behind the curtains.

“I’m not going to give too much away,” he continued, his tone light, teasing. “But she’s an incredible talent, someone I respect deeply. We’ve spent a lot of time together on and off the stage, and I couldn’t be more excited for you all to finally see her.”

Harry’s gaze softened, a hint of affection in his smile. He cleared his throat before continuing. “So, without further ado...please welcome someone who is incredibly important to me, and someone who I’m beyond proud to have here with me tonight. Please give it up for the very talented, Y/N!”

The lights shifted, and the crowd erupted into applause as she stepped out onto the stage. As she walked toward him, Harry couldn’t help but smile. It was more than just the crowd’s reaction that made his heart race, it was the sight of her, stepping into the light beside him. The moment they’d been waiting for, where their secret was no longer a secret, and everything they shared would be known to the world.

She took his hand as she joined him on stage, her fingers brushing against his, the familiar warmth of her touch calming the fluttering in his chest. The cheers from the audience were deafening, but Harry couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. He squeezed her hand, trying to steady himself.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice low, only for her to hear.

She gave him a soft smile, her eyes full of warmth and confidence. “Course I am.”

And with that, they began to sing.

The familiar chords of "You're Still the One" filled the air, and for the first time, the entire world knew what had been hidden for so long. The connection between them was undeniable. Their voices blended together effortlessly, each note coming from a place of shared history, of countless hours spent together behind the scenes, rehearsing, laughing, and just being.

As they sang the chorus, Harry’s hand found hers once more, their fingers lacing together as they shared the mic. The crowd’s applause had faded into the background, the world shrinking down to just the two of them.

Her heart raced as she looked at him, her eyes meeting his for just a moment, the weight of everything they had hidden suddenly feeling so light. This was their truth. And in that moment, everything felt perfect.

“Thanks so much for having me tonight!” She shouted in the mic over the deafening cheers of the crowd, “I’ll leave you to it.”, she said to Harry with a smile before putting the mic on the stand and waving goodbye as well as blowing kisses to the people of the arena before disappearing backstage.

"Alright, alright," he said, his voice warm and light. "I know, I know…it’s a lot to take in, huh?" His grin widened, and the audience laughed, the tension lifting just a little. "But before we go on, I just want to take a minute. I know some of you might be a little…surprised, but I need to say this."

"Y/N and I have been together for a while now," he started, his voice steady and filled with affection. "We’ve kept it private for reasons that I’m sure most of you can understand, but the thing is…she means the world to me. More than I could ever really put into words."

He let out a small breath, “I’m not here to overshare or get all mushy on you, but I do want to ask one thing, and it’s important to me..please, show her the same respect and kindness that you’ve shown me over the years.”

The audience seemed to soak in his words, the mood shifting from one of curiosity to understanding. Harry smiled, his heart swelling with the quiet, simple truth of what he was saying.

“She’s an incredible person, and I’m so lucky to have her by my side. I just want you all to know that. It’s not any of her fault that she’s dating me and I am who I am and my life comes with some amazing perks that I am so so thankful for. But I think you can all guess there’s a bit of an ugly side to it as well and I don’t want her to see any of that just for the mistake of dating me.”

The crowd had settled down slightly now and fortunately it looked like most if not all of them were understanding what Harry was saying, some nods and cheers accompanying his little speech about her. He smiled before continuing.

“I would like to again remind you all to remember that everyone is a person even celebrities, and we thank you so much for all the love that’s been given to us on your part but we also request that you please don’t make judgements about anyone before knowing hem personally. Thank you so much.”

The crowd cheered along in agreement, a few people already cooing and recording the speech he was making.

“Right enough of the sap we’ve got a show to put on people!”, he grinned widely as the crowd roared for him. He gestured to his band to start playing, “Now Madison Square Garden I’ve got a great song for you so up on your feet and sing along if you know the words it’s Kiwi!”

The thunderous applause was still echoing in Harry’s ears as he walked off the stage, his heart racing from the sheer energy of the performance. His face was flushed, his curls damp with sweat, but he couldn’t stop smiling. The show had been a success, and more importantly, the weight of their secret was finally gone.

He pulled the towel from around his neck and wiped his face as he made his way through the bustling backstage area. His mind was set on finding her, his grounding presence, his partner in everything. And then he saw her.

Y/N stood near his dressing room, her arms crossed casually, but her face lit up the moment their eyes met. She looked radiant, still riding the adrenaline of being on stage with him, and the sight of her made his chest tighten in the best way.

“There you are,” he said, his voice low and filled with warmth as he approached her. He tossed the towel onto a nearby chair and opened his arms, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She melted into him, her hands resting against his back. “You were amazing,” she murmured, her voice muffled slightly against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her hips. “We were amazing,” he corrected with a grin. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, I mean that.”

She shook her head with a laugh. “You’re the one who had them in the palm of your hand all night. I was just along for the ride.”

Harry tilted his head, his gaze soft but unwavering. “You’re not just along for the ride, love. You’re the best part of it.”

Her breath caught at his words, and for a moment, the noise of the world around them seemed to fade. Harry reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering against her cheek.

“I feel so relieved.”

Her smile softened, and she nodded. “Me too. It’s a relief, you know? Finally being able to just…be.”

He studied her face for a moment, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Feels fucking good,” he murmured. His hand slid to her hip, tugging her a little closer, and his voice dropped lower. “You know what else feels good? Watching you out there, in that dress, singing like that…”

She gave him a teasing look. “Harry, you can’t keep it in your pants for one night?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Nope. Not when you look like that.” His hand wandered, brushing along the small of her back, then down to her ass. He gave it a light squeeze, his lips twitching into a smirk when she gasped. “I’ve been thinking about this since soundcheck. You know what you do to me, don’t you?”

“Harry,” she hissed “Someone could see us.”

“Let them,” he shot back, his voice low and thick. “We’re not hiding anymore, remember?”

Her breath hitched when he pressed her back against the wall, his lips ghosting over her jawline. “You’ve been driving me mad all night,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “You think I’m just gonna walk away after that?”

Her fingers curled into his shirt, her resolve slipping with every word. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love it,” he said with a grin before finally capturing her lips in a slow, filthy kiss. His hands roamed freely now, sliding over her hips, her ass, pulling her against him so she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.

She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his sweaty curls. “We should..probably go somewhere else,” she mumbled against his lips, though her grip on him didn’t loosen.

“Mm,” he hummed, trailing kisses down her neck. “Couldn’t wait that long if I tried.”

But he pulled back to grab her hand. “C’mon. Dressing room. Now.”

Her heart raced as he led her inside, shutting the door behind them with a click. His eyes were dark when he turned back to her, and the way he walked toward her, his shirt already half-unbuttoned, sent a thrill straight through her.

“Now,” he said, his voice rough, “where were we?”

She let out a gasp when his hands slid up her sides, slipping under her dress to grip her thighs. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he pressed her back against the wall of the dressing room.

“You looked so fucking good out there,” he continued, his lips dragging along her jaw and down to her neck. “This dress…every time you moved, I couldn’t stop thinking about what’s underneath.”

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice shaky but edged with want. Her hands moved to his chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. She couldn’t focus enough to undo them properly—not with the way his mouth was working on her skin, his teeth scraping lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Hmm?” he hummed, the sound vibrating against her throat. “What is it, love? Want me to stop?”

“No! Fuck-don’t,” she shot back, her words more confident than she felt

He grinned against her neck, his hands sliding higher until they were just under the curve of her ass. “Alright love.”

With a firm grip, he lifted her off the ground, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The move sent her dress riding up her thighs, and the friction of his trousers against her bare skin made her gasp. He carried her over to the couch in the corner of the room, sitting down with her straddling him.

The position gave him full access, and he wasted no time letting his hands wander, slipping under the thin straps of her dress to push them off her shoulders. She helped him along, her breathing shallow.

“Fuck,” he groaned, leaning back slightly to take her in. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, and the way her back arched into his touch made his cock throb against the tight confines of his underwear.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his eyes dark as they flicked up to meet hers, “you’re on the pill right?”

“Yeah-yeah I am.”

She reached down, her fingers deftly working to undo his belt. He helped her along, lifting his hips just enough to shove his trousers down, his boxers quickly following.

Her eyes dropped to him, her lips parting as she took him in. Harry’s breath hitched at the look on her face, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning up to kiss her again, rougher.

“Come here,” he whispered, his hands gripping her hips as he helped her lift herself over him. The anticipation made his head spin, and when she finally sank down onto him, both of them let out matching groans.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his hands gripping her tighter as he tried to stay still and give her a moment to adjust. But she didn’t wait, her hands braced on his shoulders as she began to move, slow and deliberate at first.

The way she rolled her hips had him biting his lip to hold back a string of curses. “You’re gonna kill me,” he said, his voice strained.

Her response was a breathy moan, her nails digging into his shoulders as she picked up the pace. The room filled with the sound of their bodies moving together, her quiet gasps and his low groans mixing in a way that made it impossible to think about anything else.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands guiding her movements. “Just like that. Keep going—fuck—you feel so good.”

She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his as she moved faster, the pleasure building between them. “Harry,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their heavy breathing.

His mouth was on her then, hot and wet as he sucked her nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck,” she gasped, her back arching as his teeth grazed her. The other breast wasn’t neglected for long, his free hand kneaded it, his thumb circling her nipple while his tongue flicked over the other.

“Always so good for me,” he murmured against her skin, his lips moving to the curve of her breast before sucking another mark into her flesh.

His fingers found her clit. He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, watching her face closely as her head fell back and her mouth parted.

“Harry,” she whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his lips finding her neck again.

With the combination of his finger rubbing her clit and his cock sliding in and out if her again and again, she found it easy to let go for him. She came with a guttural moan and he soon followed suit.

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together on the couch, their heavy breaths the only sound in the small room. Harry’s forehead rested against Y/N’s, his hands lazily tracing patterns on her back as they came down from the high.

“Still with me, love?” he asked softly, a teasing lilt in his voice as he brushed a damp strand of hair from her face.

She gave a breathless laugh, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Barely,” she admitted, her fingers sliding over his chest, tracing the faint lines of his tattoos.

“Good,” he said with a smirk, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Means I’m doing my job.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “Fuck you.”

“Love you too.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Finally being able to be us.”

“Better than good,” he said, tilting her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “Having you out there with me, hearing the crowd cheer for you, knowing we don’t have to hide anymore..it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she leaned in to kiss him softly, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. When she pulled back, she grinned, her fingers lightly tugging at his messy curls.

Y/N groaned dramatically, burying her face further into his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, brushing his nose against her hair. “But I reckon we’ll both feel better getting home. You good enough to slide off me, sweetheart?”

She nodded, sitting up slowly with his hands steadying her hips. He winced slightly as they parted, the loss of her warmth immediate but softened by the sight of her fixing her dress.

He adjusted himself, pulling his boxers and trousers back into place before standing to grab his shirt. As he buttoned it up, he glanced over at her, catching the soft smile she sent his way.

He grabbed his car keys from the side table, “get dressed baby honey we’ll go home.”

She stretched but soon got up and put on her clothes. That night they got home and enjoyed each other’s company to the fullest along with Legally Blonde, two cups of hot chocolate and a beautiful atmosphere of relief and warmth.

[seullovesme]

what i should've said » kang seulgi

pairing ⥬ seulgi x reader

genre ⥬ angst

summary ⥬ you will forever regret not being able to answer her question.

warnings ⥬ blood, death, nightmares

WC ⥬ 942

“do you still love me?” the question rang through your ears as you watched her walk away. you felt dizzy, wondering how you even got here. her figure got smaller and smaller as she descended down the dark concrete path, her hair flowing in the wind. you finally came to your senses and began running, ignoring how it felt like weights were attached to your feet. you sprinted as fast as you could before she could disappear into the fog, but you weren’t quick enough. you tripped over your own feet and by the time you looked up, she was out of sight.

no…

no…

“no!” you shot up out of bed, sitting up dazed in a panic. your heart was racing and your hair stuck to your forehead due to the sweat collecting on your skin. your blanket had come off in your sleep, and you had knocked a pillow off of your bed. you panted as you looked around, grounding yourself after that nightmare.

it wasn’t uncommon for you to have those kinds of dreams these days. actually, this was your sixth one in a row after having broken your streak previously as you didn’t dream at all that night. it was the same sequence, you watch as seulgi leaves you while the words ‘do you love me’ cloud your mind. everytime, you’re frozen and unable to move, and by the time you want to run after her, it’s too late.

you get up and sigh, throwing on a pair of gray sweats and a black hoodie, not caring about looking good. you comb out the tangles in your hair with your finger and call it a day, grabbing your car keys and phone as you knew where you were going to end up in a few minutes.

the trip there was a blur, but there you stood across from her.

specifically, her grave.

you stared at the words inscribed on the stone, but it looked like unreadable squiggly lines through the tears welling in your eyes. the flowers you laid the first day were beginning to wilt. they were her favorite kind of flowers, and they reminded you of her. they started off so beautiful, so pretty, and they still were. they were just as beautiful, but they were going to die soon. the only difference is that you didn’t know she would.

when the flower begins to wilt, you know it’s going to die without help. maybe those words she said were her way of wilting, her way of warning you of the unforeseeable fate of her life. the accident felt like it was yesterday, or it was haunting you so much that it began to feel that way

she played with your fingers as you distantly stared at the crossing light, the red hand telling you not to cross. seulgi felt as if you were on a whole ‘nother world as she looked into your eyes. people began crossing when the light changed to a little green man walking, but you were frozen in your thoughts. seulgi didn’t force you to move, but she felt your hand go limp in her own. she peered down as you let go and sighed.

you placed your hand into your jacket as she kept her eyes on the ground. she felt broken, but she found the courage in herself to ask a question she longed to know the answer to. “do you still love me?”

you finally locked your eyes with hers, the shimmer they originally held was dulling out. you saw the eyes of someone so near and dear to your heart without even knowing it would be the last.

you heard someone yell from behind seulgi, a little girl crossing while the light was the red hand. a white truck was barreling toward that small child at such an alarming rate that you don’t even know how seulgi managed to move that quick.

before you could shout for her, seulgi ran down the crossway and pushed that kid out of the way, the truck slamming into her side, braking soon after. you stood at the edge of the crosswalk in disbelief as people ran to her, surrounding the bloody scene. their voices were all muffled to your ears as you felt dizzy. you slowly walked to the crowd like your feet weighed 20 pounds each.

you pushed everyone away, some people confused. you dropped to your knees and you finally let yourself take in the scene that unfolded. her pretty sundress with yellow flowers was now red, and her expression looked so peaceful despite the blood running down her forehead. you grabbed the sides of her face as people yelled to call 911, but you felt like it was only you and her.

you felt the softness of her cheeks that you loved so much, and you smiled. you didn’t know when you started crying, but you realized after seeing the tears fall onto her face. you tried to wipe your tears with your clean hand, but you couldn’t stop them.

the tears flowed like waterfalls. you started to shake as your sobs got louder and louder, your chest feeling as if it were collapsing in on itself. you screamed at the top of your lungs as you felt no pulse under the hands that so desperately clung to the sides of her neck, supporting her limp head so it didn’t rest on the rough concrete.

‘do you still love me?’

you stared down at the yellow wilting flowers. “of course i still love you.” you could only pray that she heard you and her question was answered.

[dirtsoilmulch]

I saw ur tags on my post and consider….Autistic Nick…like high functioning, smells and gross stuff being sensory issues, having stims like smokin and fidgeting with his gun and/or rings, his shirt being silk cause texture issues etc etc. but curious about ur takes about the gangs neurodivergence! :3c I think Ellis being ADHD is canon for sure lol

WOOOO I GET TO YAP ABOUT MY FAVS HUZZAH:

nick:

definitely picky sensory-wise, but decent and high functioning socially. maybe a bit too blunt but it comes off as he's just a bitch instead of he's just autistic (those two ideas coexist btw. he's a autistic bitch)

arguably the world's number one hand sanitizer fan. but still particular about the kinds he'd use even in an apocalypse, just because there are some that don't dry right on his hands, don't smell good when opened, etc etc

EXTREMELY particular about his clothes. no wonder he complains about that 3000 dollar suit whenever he gets shit on it, it's the 'safe' one

(also only one considering the situation but shhhhh)

(i'm sure pre-apocalypse he had like 5 different pairs of the same suit)

fidget king. turning his rings on his fingers (definitely comfort items even if he doesnt admit it), unloading and reloading his guns, unbuttoning and rebuttoning his jacket. there's so much he would fuck with

he can make rings and shit when he smokes it's impressive

(i had a lot to say abt nick oopsie)

ellis:

my glorious adhd king

"I don't know what hd is but my doctor said I had 80 of them bitches"

he thinks too fast for his mind and body to keep up with so he'll just say shit (that's not even a headcanon he just does that)

IF we are entertaining the autistic ellis headcanon as well (we are) his special interest is cars. both mechanical stuff and stock car racing (nascar and the like)

((i may or may not have an f1 nellis au in my brain because l4d2 and f1 are my fav things rn... idc if a nascar au makes more sense f1 is more epic))

collects the mini hotwheels stock cars. just hotwheels in general. look at him he would

can and will list of everything he knows about any given subject he likes, but he'd get distracted making a reference nobody understands and then explaining it with another reference nobody understands

im projecting idc

struggles socially just because he lacks the ability to understand subtle social cues. you have to say it directly to his face and Then he'll get it

nothing is a sensory struggle. he fucks w literally everything even the weird shit. maybe the textures and smells of certain foods (probably fish)

rochelle:

honest to God i don't think she realizes that her dear survival team are all neurodivergent (but I doubt they even realize it themselves)

token neurotypical it's a hard job but someone has to do it

accidentally mimics the actions of the people around her (intentionally just to give them shit for it, but it becomes habit overtime). nick will fidget with his rings, she'll mess with her bracelets. ellis will stand with a wide cowboy stance, she'll copy.

would also be the type to respond for someone else just because she knows what they'll say, but in a very bad imitation of their voice

just rochelle imitating ellis' fuckass accent. (literally everyone imitating ellis' fuckass accent. nick does it in game bro)

nice enough to pick up on the tiny things of everyone else and offers little trades for preferred weapons and such

coach:

oh coach... how I love you...............

adhd

a similar vein to ellis where he just has a lot going on in his brain at all times, but since he's grown (possibly medicated) he has a better grasp on it

definitely talks to himself under his breath tho, it helps him lock in

struggles with volume level definitely not based on me and my friends playing with the loud coach friendly fire mod but he tries his best and will shut the fuck up when asked

coach telling dad jokes.... not even a related headcanon its just on my mind

really elaborate ones but he loses it midway thru and remembers like 4 hours later (but forgets the intro to the joke)

(now it's related)

would attempt to help ellis manage his adhd better but that guy does not listen (or care to listen)

this was an accidentally very long post (oopsie). send more asks l4d2 fandom i could yap for DAYS

[trackterror3000]

more toxic lestappen yuri? on my watch? hell yea !!!! chapter two baby let's fucking gooooooooo

this mess we're in [femstappen]

Max is left shaking and crying and throwing up after getting that mind blowing head from Charlotte. What will she do next?

read part one here ♡

tags: formula one yuri - genderbent lestappen; bottom!Charlotte; top!Max.

warnings: smut; max being a little bitch; porn with some plot; semi-public sex if you squint

disclaimer: english is not my first language. please forgive any f1 innacuracies i may have created for plot reasons. hate comments will be blocked. feedback is highly appreciated!

It was free practice afternoon, and the weather conditions weren't looking too good on their side for the weekend. Heavy rain had swiftly taken over what otherwise would have been a perfectly sunny day. It caused a certain amount of turmoil around the paddock, and of course it meant Max would be flocking to Charlotte at any given moment.

Except things had been different for a good couple weeks now. To everyone, Max appeared more collected, briefer, even, which was unusual; she was more to herself whenever the drivers would debrief amongst themselves and she would be there. It's just unfair, Max would think to herself; it felt terrible not having the upper hand with Charlotte. Her presence now reminded her of feelings that she'd much rather bury than acknowledge.

Yet she decided to leave those aside as she approached her competitor, anyways. Someone was holding a red umbrella for her, a couple more people following close behind as they reached their team's garage, right beside Red Bull's. That is, until she spotted Max out in the rain, coming towards her.

Charlotte exchanged a few words with the man and took the umbrella from him, leaving them to their duties. Like Max, she was no longer in race attire; instead she had chosen a white skirt and red button-up for the media duties she was supposed to be performing for the rest of that day - which had just been drastically turned on its head. Someone had given her a rather large and puffy Ferrari jacket to cover up once the weather had changed. She approached Max with concern.

"You're gonna be soaking wet!" she said in her usual cheeky tone.

"Look who's talking. You're in a skirt," Max retorted. "Come on, I'm running from my strategists at the moment. Don't wanna deal with this right now."

The girls debriefed their way deep into the Red Bull garage, walking fast past engineers and everyone else Max had no patience for at that moment. Charlie didn't question it; they used to do this a lot back in F3, getting all up in each other's spaces like it was nothing.

"Have you seen Max?" They heard someone say, from just outside the hallway they now found themselves in.

The two of them exchanged glances. Then, without hesitation, Max pulled her by the hand into her driver's room. She quickly locked the door behind them.

Ever since their last encounter, Max had something brewing in her mind, and as the adrenaline was still fresh in her veins, she took the opportunity to act upon her desires.

Charlie barely had any time to process the new environment before finding herself stuck between the nearest wall and Max Verstappen. Max stood there with her arms on either side of Charlie, locking her into place menacingly.

"How dare you," Charlie snickered, arms crossing in front of herself, yet not making any attempt to escape.

"Couldn't let this go to waste," Max replied, taking a leap of courage and bringing one of her hands down to her thigh, grabbing firmly, then sliding it up her skirt.

Charlie let out a gasp, cheeks turning red as her brain scrambled for a snarky response. Before that could happen, however, Max's hand was reaching for her ass and her entire body was already responding to her touches, waist leaning in, leg locking hers into place. She felt the urge to give in, taking the woman's face into her hands and bringing it closer to her own; their lips locked into a passionate kiss, escalating further and further as Max's hands grabbed away at her body.

Charlotte had never striked Max as one to like girls, something which had made that entire experience so much more mind-blowing. It was something she had fantasized about before, as her competitor grew up to become impossibly prettier - Max couldn't help her own nature.

So part of her wanted this to be more special. Part of her wished that this was taking place on freshly-made hotel sheets, but that entailed many things which she didn't want to think about. Right now what they did have was this mess, and she wasn't willing to let it go to waste.

Max's fingers started playing with the fabric of Charlie's panties beneath her skirt; she found it unbelievably hot that she wasn't wearing any coverage there, and wondered if she did it often. Charlie moaned at the intimate touches and buried her head in the woman's neck, taking in her scent. Max pulled the small piece of fabric aside and began playing with her cunt.

As her fingers felt around the entrance Max realized just how wet she already was. She smiled at the mental note and reveled in how helpless she looked, fully at her mercy, just waiting for Max to stimulate her.

And then, at once, she had her fingers deep inside of Charlie, a thrust so sudden it made her stand on her tippy toes, choking out a gasp. With her free hand, Max grabbed the back of Charlie's head and pulled her back into a heated kiss; only then she resumed her movements, thrusting deep and determinedly. She'd go as far as her fingers could reach, then curve them as she pulled them out, hitting all the best spots.

It's something she'd done before on quite a few one-night dates, and like hell she wanted to taste Charlie's cunt, as well, but she was enjoying this a little bit more. She tilted her head up in euphoria as Charlie's nails digged into the back of her t-shirt.

She let go of Charlie's mouth just so she could hear the little gasps that she was letting out at every thrust; Max's hands frustratingly brushed against her clit every time. Charlie discreetly brought one hand down towards it, trying to stimulate it properly, something that amused Max. She could only watch as the woman's eyes fluttered in pleasure, now incapable of staring at Max, focused on all the sensations that were building up from her core.

As Charlie's whines and moans got needier and needier Max lifted one of her legs up for better access, allowing herself to go faster. Charlotte was twitching already, her forehead damp, head tilted back against the wall; she barely managed to grab onto Max's neck and guide her towards her own, where Max sucked and bit, leaving behind rather conspicuous marks.

"Oh my-" she gasped for air, "Max, I'm gonna cum,"

And at that moment Max found herself at a crossroads. She would love to keep stimulating her into oblivion; part of her craved to experience this beautiful woman falling apart in her grasp, to hear her own name spilling from her mouth like prayer... As much as she'd take pleasure in being the one to bring her over, however... Max had bigger intentions in mind. Perhaps not bigger than her own carnal desires at that moment, but she'd have to find the strength to sacrifice those.

Because she was going to slow down her motions, while slowly removing her fingers from Charlotte's pussy. At last, she was going to pull away from her neck, letting go of her leg as well.

Max watched as Charlotte's eyes searched for hers in her confusion, eyebrows knit together in an adorable, yet pathetic expression. Max fought back a mean smile, letting her own eyes speak instead.

As the realization dawned on Charlie, she broke down.

"You are so! mean!" the woman blurted out, hitting Max's chest with both palms as she punctuated her words. "I can't fucking! believe you! Putain..."

She gave the woman one final, harsh push before turning to leave. She adjusted her clothes with harsh movements, then unlocked the door.

"You are a child Max Verstappen!" she spit out, her francophone accent coming through. "That's what you are."

Her voice sounded like it was about to break. Max felt a pang of guilt in her chest, immediately. She tried not to revel in it too much as the slam of the door left her all alone in her room, in deafening silence.

[writingbyshiloh]

I Love as Madly as I Hate

CW: JW universe (blood, reader kills and gets stabbed), ANGST!, Reader wears a dress, verbal fighting, dead marrage, Vincent being a dick and no beta (and Grammarly gave up halfway through), One sentence in French which means “leave us alone”, implied smut

AN: I hope this is angst, I don't really read angst myself. I overthought the tense this is in so much that words don't make sense anymore. FUN FACT! The title is from Les Fleurs du Mal which I want to have made an appearance in the other Marquis fic but I thought the title was fitting.

The bounty amount is in the sweet spot. High enough that it’s worth the effort, but not too high that half the world would also be trying to bag them with you. The only problem was with who set the bounty. That would be your ex, of six months. Well technically he's still considered your husband, and you were still legally married.  

That was your fault, bringing up the idea of a divorce, and waiting for him to sign. Wanting to get one last dig in while still married, you act surprised, reminding him he can’t get a second marriage, second changes are for men who failed the first time, remember? He took the papers from your hand, never for you to see again. Sometimes you think he burned them. 

The hit was for a mob member - Lukas Matthews, young and new to the underworld, not sure how things worked. He stole from one of his bosses, an acquaintance of Vincent. The younger mob man was distracted by all things flashy, expensive, and pretty. 

You didn’t have any trouble donning a sparkly dress, paying admittance to some dive club to stalk the man. As long as you push down the feeling that you were really just doing this to get a glimpse of Vincent, it was okay. Great even. Maybe if you were a normal person you could just call him. 

You watch the target for a while, sipping on soda from the bar so you could blend in. The man was still with his friends, and you figured it would be easier to take him when he was alone, probably outside, away from the other members of his group or innocent partygoers. 

—. 

Lukas ultimately lost, but he fought nasty. Maybe you were still rusty. The rest of your night now consisted of trying to patch up yourself or trying to find a black market doctor to fix you, depending on how bad your shoulder gets.

You were littered with scrapes, small cuts and sore muscles, but your shoulder got the worst of the battle. Lukas managed to cut quite deep with a broken beer bottle. Once it heals it will be a reminder of all the things you do to try and convince yourself that you’re over your husband. 

Pain flared every time you moved your shoulder, the wound being an inch or two below your collarbone left you trying to keep half your body still. You settle on taking Lukas’s hand, with the mob tattoo. You and Vincent know members of that mob would rather die than cut off their symbol. 

With the body shoved against a trash can, you place a few garbage bags to cover the mess. The hardest part of the evening was still to come. With your good hand, you fish out your phone from your bag. 

—

You assume he is attending some ballet dance or performance. You felt a bitter twist of jealousy. Was he there with someone? Has he moved on that fast? You think mind racing. When you texted the Accountants that you completed the bounty, you received a call from Chidi. 

“I hear you collected the bounty. Do you have proof of death?” he questioned. 

“I do. I have the hand with the tattoos, but the body’s here I can get something else” you rambled down the line, suddenly much more nervous than before. 

“Please hold.” 

The line was quiet, you watched people come and go from the club, secluded from the side street you were in. Backtracking into the club, hand in your bag you returned your coat check ticket. At least the jacket will cover up the bleeding, you can get the bounty and go home. 

“Hello?” Chidis's voice returned. 

“Yeah, I'm here.” 

“Tell me your address, the Marquis de Gramont will be sending a car.” 

—

The Marquis de Gramont looked amazing. He tried to always look his best in his suits, complete with an incredibly complicated knot, chains, and his signature pin. You still have your pin, hidden in a shoe box in your closet. Tonight was no exception to his looks. 

His suit was reflecting the lights in his mansion. You knew from the glitter, this was a suit he would were at a cultural outing. Bitter jealousy bites at your insides. Was he there with someone? Did he move on that fast? Is it a mistress? You think. The jealousy dies when you still see his wedding ring on his left hand. Your wedding ring feels heavier on your right. 

You both look at each other, his gaze lingering on your exposed legs, no doubt covered in blood. You felt exposed standing in the center of the large room. 

Vincent was the one to break the silence first “Did I buy you that dress?”

“No. I’ve had it for a while” 

He nods, stepping closer. 

“Proof?” 

You frown thinking he was asking about the dress, before remembering the severed hand. 

“It's here. Tattoos and all.” you struggle to get the appendage out of your bag without moving your bad shoulder. At least you had the sense to wrap the hand in a plastic bag. 

“Come to my office. We can talk in there” 

You do not want to “talk in his office”. The last time, you went to “talk in his office” about a bounty it ended up with you naked on his desk, the cold chain from his suit vest and his ring pressed against you. 

“I should go. You can just wire me the money or something” You reject. 

You can tell you surprised him before his face shifts back to a more neutral expression. 

“I have a nasty scratch so…” you trail off, hoping he leaves the issue. 

His gaze almost softens. The separation was less than a year ago, you guess that he still cares for you. He still keeps tabs on you, your neighbour works for him you’re almost certain of it. 

“Where?”

You gesture with your chin to your shoulder. 

The pressure from his stare makes you break down and shrug off your jacket, the inside sticky with blood. 

Already he is in front of you, pressing a cloth against your wound. 

“You need to see the doctor, mon amour.” 

You hate yourself for leaning into his touch, but at least he has good contacts for an underground doctor. It won’t be that hard to get in and out right?

—

The doctor arrived fast, not wanting to piss off the Marquis. You knew him from your early days of dating, long before your marriage, when Vincent insisted you quit. You wonder if the doctor remembers you. If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

You just didn’t think Vincent was going to join you. He watches the doctor tend to your shoulder first, sewing neat rows of stitches to hold your flesh in place. You stare at your jacket on a spare chair, no doubt forever stained in blood. The good doctor already gave a warning about closing your eyes, so you keep your gaze on the jacket, your nails on your good hand leaving imprints on the chair arm from the tension between you and Vincent. 

The doctor moves on to more minor wounds, mostly cleaning them, and patching them up if needed. Ignoring your soft hiss when the cleaner he is using hurts more than you expected.

Vincent is watching the doctor, scowling when you flinch in pain. 

The instant the doctor pushed the tray with his tools and bloody tissues away, Vincent speaks for the first time since the three of you sat down.

“Laissez-nous seuls” 

The doctor protests, wanting to give you instructions on caring for his work, making sure you don’t rip anything open. 

Vincent glares at the doctor, who places down some gause for you to take home and leaves without another word, closing the door behind him. 

The Marquis drops to his knees for a better look at your injury. One hand cups the back of your shoulder blade to keep you still, as he inspects you. You’re sure you smell disgusting, the smell of the bar soaked into your dress and your hair. The doctor cleaned up most of the blood, but Vincent never really cared about literally getting his hands bloody if the time was right. He would just wipe them on a cloth and toss it aside for one of his housekeepers to pick up. 

You turn your whole face away, as much as your shoulder will let you, sure he can feel how hot your face is across the distance. The feel of his eyes is heavy, and almost magnetic, pulling you to look at him. His other hand is on the armrest of your chair. 

“Don’t,” you said softly, trying to preserve any of the dignity that you had left. 

“Don’t what, mon amour” he whispered, still looking at your shoulder. 

“This.” You were mostly saying this to yourself, knowing that you only had seconds to get out of his personal space before you give in. You’re tired and hurt and he's right there, acting how he did when you first fell in love with him. 

You tilt your head back almost automatically to give him more access to your throat. He moved slowly, pressing kisses against your jaw like it would be the last time, before working his way to your mouth and kissing you properly. 

—

It’s like a bomb waiting to go off, not only having sex with him but also having to navigate yourself out of his bed without one of you making a gripe at the other. 

Well, not technically his bed. This was yours, in a guest room you made your own while being married, now empty. You moved your stuff out during the separation. Sometimes you regret not taking the bedclothes with you, but now you’re thankful you can feel them, cool and soft against your skin. 

You had no choice but to stay lying on your back, trying to keep your injury still. He was next to you in the same fashion. 

“You are still wearing your ring.” He speaks quietly. As if to prove his point, he toys with your wedding band. 

“I helped design it, of course, I’m going to show it off,” you reply not being able to look him in the eye. 

He kissed the back of your hand.  

“I believe I designed it, you just suggested the stones.” 

Hand flexed to fully show off the stones, you had to agree. 

The stones were suggested by you, on a date to le Musée de Minéralogie. It was just the two of you, and you had been taken with the rubies. Vincent walked alongside you, filling you in on information you might not have known. It was an off-handed comment from you, how red is a colour for both blood and love, very fitting in your line of work. 

“You have good taste,” he says while you think had instead. 

His hand skimmed your bare side, nimble fingers finding a small bump that was not there before your flight with Lukas. 

You flinched at the dull pain, not surprised if he “accidentally” poked it. 

“You should let me take care of you, mon amour.” 

That was it. The same words that started and ended your marriage. Being taken care of by Vincent made you feel like a doll, sitting on a shelf, never allowed to do anything. 

“Vincent,” You spoke with caution, the pain slowly seeping back into your body.

He held your chin gently, commanding your gaze to look at him. You softened looking at him. 

“It is true. Do you think I like seeing you like this?” he asks. 

“I don’t know what you like” you retort, steeling yourself for the argument to come. 

“I like you.” 

“Oh, you do? Is that why you made me quit bounty work?” you snap. 

“I asked you to stop because you're not very good at it and I did not want a dead fiancé.” 

Ouch. 

“If you were a better fighter, you would take higher bounties.” 

You don’t look at him as you leave the bed. You know he's sneering at you. 

But you’re not going to shrink away even though you’re naked. You know you have to get dressed in front of him but you can put on a brave face.

 “Thanks for this lovely reminder of why our marriage failed.” You spit out. You know the failed comment will piss him off. 

You leave without a second look, cheap shoes squeaking against the floor. 

—

You felt the lock slide open under the key, your apartment slightly cold and quiet. You still smelled like his cologne, only now the smell reminds you of the recent bitter memories. You discard your bag as you make your way to your bed in your apartment. Away from Vincent. 

As you take off your dress for the second time you feel your phone buzz. 

[Unknown number: Wire Transfer Sent. Deposit for Lukas is confirmed.]

Seeing him mixed with the rush of adrenaline after the fighting was too much, especially with the separation so fresh. Maybe he was right. Maybe you should go after higher bounties, especially not those set by him. 

Taglist: @heartrot666, @soraya-daydreams

[rorywritesjunk]

There's no race, no ending in sight

r rating. title comes from "two of us on the run" by lucius

(some Buggy now. The clown always falls fast in my works and of course he's a bit of a mess)

Taglist: @hey-august

pt 1 + pt 2 + p3 + p4 + pt 5 + p6 + pt 7 +Pt 8 + Pt 9 + Pt 10 + Pt 11 + Pt 12 + Pt 13 + Pt 14 + Pt 15 + pt 16 + Pt 17 (End)

Pt 4

Nothing was going right for Buggy since Crocodile, Sunny, and Mihawk showed up. Not only did Buggy constantly get reminded of his debt to Crocodile, the clown accidentally became the face of the Cross Guild due to his followers enthusiasm and loyalty. But for him, that really wasn't even the worse part.

For Buggy, the worse part was he found himself thinking about Sunny a little too much in the two weeks since they met.

She was Crocodile's wife. She wasn't always nice to Buggy, but there were little things she did that made Buggy see her in a different light.

She asked him to show her how to juggle after his failed attempt at wowing her. He had hesitated, thinking this was a joke to her, but she seemed to genuinely want to learn so he did, being mindful of how he taught her, trying to keep the touching to a minimum as he first showed her with a ball first, thinking it was easier.

The accidental joke about her handling his balls had her laughing. An actual, genuine laugh that Buggy thought was the prettiest sound.

That led to her judging the state of his jacket, noticing one of the cuffs coming loose from the jacket. After explaining Richie snagged it while Buggy was trying to get him to perform before Sunny showed up, she offered to fix it for him. No charge or anything. He must look his best after all.

When she returned it a few days later, the jacket looked brand new. She cleaned and ironed it for him, insisting that she did it because if he was to put on a proper performance for her then she wanted him to dazzle her.

She insisted he put it on to make sure it fit and he hated that he listened to her. He hated it even more how red in the face he got when she crowded him, buttoning it up to make sure it looked right on him.

Days later she showed up again, asking him to keep teaching her fun little tricks like juggling and plate spinning. Did she think this was a playground? He and his men had work to do! But she actually asked nicely, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger, looking a bit uncertain, and he found himself agreeing to it.

"As a kid I thought it would be fun to run away and join the circus." Sunny told him as she practiced juggling two balls in the air. "My mom caught me trying to sneak away one night."

"Why, were your parents awful or something?" Buggy asked, catching one of the balls when she miscalculated a throw. He tossed it back to her. "Watch what you're doing."

"My parents are absolutely lovely." Sunny smiled as she tried again to juggle. "I was just excited after seeing the show. My dad is a big softy and cried when he found out while my mom thought it was funny. She said if my dad hadn't been so upset she would have let me sneak away."

Buggy frowned at that. As a kid on Roger's ship, he threatened to run away multiple times when he was upset. Shanks always offered to join him and often as soon as the boys hatched the plan, the ship was already sailing away from the port, preventing them from following through. He couldn't imagine doing it just for fun.

"Huh." Buggy shrugged and suddenly tossed her a third ball, catching her by surprise. "Well, never too late to run away and join the circus, you know."

"Oh? Your circus is the only one around. Maybe I'll run away and join yours." Sunny chuckled as she failed to maintain her rhythm, dropping them. "Maybe I'm not meant to juggle."

"You just started learning." Buggy rolled his eyes as his hands went to collect them. He tried not to think of her showing up at the tent with a bag, ready to leave her husband to join him instead. "Don't give up yet."

"As long as you keep teaching me then I won't." She smiled at him and Buggy paused, swallowing heavily as his face started to turn red. She looked so pretty when she smiled.

Now he was sulking in the tent, nursing his injuries Mihawk and Crocodile inflicted upon him after the fliers were dropped, showing him as the head of the organization. They both laid into him and the bumps and bruises all over would certainly take some time to heal. He had a bottle of rum in one hand and an ice pack in the other, cursing their names.

It didn't make it any better that Sunny showed up shortly after, frowning when she saw the clown's head hanging from Crocodile's hook while his body lay at his feet. Buggy couldn't believe she was scolding her husband, but not for hurting Buggy so much, more on the fact that she just finished getting stains out of Crocodile's shirt and now it was dirty again.

Of course, she had no reason to worry about Buggy. She had her husband after all. Why would Buggy think she would show any interest in his safety when she had her husband to think about?

He huffed in annoyance, taking a few drinks of his rum as he sulked on the couch. He didn't want to think about her at all because he felt that would just get him into trouble. She just... She was so pretty. That was the first thing that came to mind. When she smiled, her face would light up and eyes sparkled and Buggy thought that was almost as wonderful as all the treasure in the world. Almost.

But he just met her a few weeks ago. He shouldn't be thinking about her this way when her husband wouldn't hesitate killing him.

And why would he think she would even consider him? If she was bored of her husband she would go to someone like Mihawk, wouldn't she? Not some pathetic clown who she saw crying in front of her husband, begging for his life to be spared. Buggy wouldn't be surprised if she started keeping her distance after that. Maybe he needed to tell her to, but would that do any good? She was stubborn and would probably ignore him if he told her that.

He finished the bottle and threw it aside, grumbling to himself as he tried to not think about her.

~

It was dumb to do it.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. He was a dead clown for sure but he couldn't stop himself.

Mihawk and Sunny were outside together, actually gardening. Sunny was in her overalls and a duck printed tank top. Buggy tried not to stare at her exposed arms, free of marks and bruises from a night with her husband. She had a big floppy hat on, shielding her face from the sun. He noticed her hair was in two braids, though a few strands were loose that she kept brushing out of her eyes. She looked... Cute.

Mihawk noticed Buggy first, looking up from his task with narrowed eyes. Sunny was standing, leaning on a rake as she turned to look at Buggy. She grinned when she saw him.

"The clown lives!" She chuckled as she looked him over. He wasn't in that goofy red outfit now, instead in pants and a shirt, something a little more practical. "I hadn't seen you in a while. Thought you may have run off or something."

"I was busy, okay?!" He shot back, only to recoil slightly under Mihawk's glare. Buggy straightened up and cleared his throat. "You stopped coming around to bug me about teaching you tricks. I... Was just checking on you."

"Checking on me?" Sunny repeated with a frown. "Oh, sorry, I figured you wanted space after everything that happened. And Mihawk wanted to start a garden and I asked to help him."

Buggy tried to ignore the swordsman, choosing to keep his attention on Sunny instead. "Yea, well, how are you going to get better at juggling if you stop talking to me, huh?! Didn't you want to learn all of this stuff?!"

"I do..." Sunny frowned. "But why don't you help us out and then you can teach me some more? I wouldn't mind learning more tricks from you, if you're free."

"What sort of 'tricks' are you teaching, clown?" Mihawk asked. Sunny laughed as Buggy tried not to shake with fear in front of him.

"I want him to teach me to juggle and spin plates, Mihawk!" She told him with a smile. "I get so bored sometimes. I thought it would be fun and he's a great teacher."

Mihawk looked between the two before his gaze fell on Buggy. "Is that all you're doing?"

""Y-Yes! What else would it be?!" Buggy exclaimed nervously, any remaining calm now gone from his body. He didn't want Mihawk getting the wrong impression and telling Crocodile. He would be dead for sure. "That's all! Nothing else, understand?! Just some little tricks!"

"Very well." Mihawk pointed to the rake Sunny was leaning on. "Help her with some of the weeds. The sooner this is done the sooner you can 'teach her little tricks'."

Sunny handed Buggy the rake before going over to where she left some bottles of water. Once she was out of earshot, Mihawk stood up and grabbed Buggy by the front of his shirt, startling him.

"What game are you playing?" He asked Buggy.

He put his hands up, shaking his head. "Nothing, I swear, she wants me to teach her things and... And if she's happy then her husband will be happy, right? Less chance of him killing me, right?"

Mihawk narrowed his eyes, studying Buggy's face for any signs of ulterior motives. Supposedly the clown was telling the truth, that this was just to entertain Sunny, but he didn't trust Buggy. He released him and pushed him back.

"Yes, keep her happy, that's the best thing you can do, clown." Mihawk told him before he returned to his task. Sunny came back over, adjusting her hat as she smiled.

"C'mon, Buggy. I'll show you what to do." She told him, touching his arm, causing him to stiffen up for a moment. He glanced at Mihawk who was watching them, so Buggy pulled his arm away and let Sunny show him what to do.

Oh, he was a dead man for this. Mihawk wasn't stupid.

[gravity-falls-dreamer]

Gravity Falls: Dreamer Chapter 9: Not a Chicken

The sun had just begun to rise, casting long shadows across the forest floor as Dipper walked alongside Mabel and Evalin. The woods were peaceful, the morning air crisp with a touch of dew clinging to the trees and leaves. Mabel, as usual, was darting from one spot to the next, her laugh light and carefree as she scooped up bits of nature; twigs, colorful leaves, shiny stones, all to add to her ever-growing collection.

“So, what are we looking for this morning?” Dipper asked, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

Evalin glanced over at him, offering a small, almost wistful smile. “Just enjoying the walk. The forest has its own rhythm. It’s nice to get lost in it for a bit.”

Mabel's voice rang out suddenly, high-pitched and full of excitement. “Look, look! A pinecone that’s shaped like a star!” She proudly held it up for everyone to see, her face lit with joy.

Evalin chuckled softly. "Always finding something interesting," she mused.

They traveled in silence for a while, the only sounds being the rustle of leaves underfoot and the occasional bird call. Mabel was still darting off every few steps, scooping up nature’s treasures. Today’s latest find seemed to be a small cluster of pinecones that she eagerly stuffed into her pockets.

After a time, Mabel’s voice rang out again, bright and full of enthusiasm. “Hey, I found something! You guys gotta see this!”

Dipper glanced over, a little distracted, but he couldn’t help but grin as Mabel jogged back toward them, holding something oddly shaped in her hands. The rock she held was smooth and round, its surface warm to the touch as she gently cradled it in her arms.

“Look! It’s like a rock shaped like a football!” Mabel said, grinning with excitement, but before anyone could respond, the rock gave a strange little wriggle.

Dipper’s brow furrowed. “Uh, Mabel… are you sure that’s just a rock?”

Mabel didn’t have time to answer before the rock slipped out of her hands. With an unsettling crack, it rolled onto the ground, revealing something far stranger than Dipper could’ve ever imagined.

It wasn’t a rock. It was an egg. And it had just hatched in front of them.

A small, chicken-like creature tumbled out, its scaly body covered in iridescent feathers. The creature’s long, serpent-like tail twitched behind it, slithering across the forest floor. It flapped its dragon wings weakly, trying to get its bearings, but thick mucus covered its eyes, sealing them shut as it seemed to struggle to see.

The sight was enough to send a chill down Dipper’s spine. He instinctively took a step back, his heart racing.

“Hey, Evi, what’s this?” Mabel asked, still far too curious, kneeling down to get a better look.

Evalin, who had been walking ahead, looked back. When she turned to see what Mabel had found, her face drained of color, and her eyes widened in terror. Without a moment's hesitation, she sprinted toward Mabel.

“Mabel, get away from that thing!” Evalin shouted, her voice urgent, sharp with alarm.

Evalin reached Mabel just in time, her hands instinctively covering the young girl's eyes as she pulled her close. Her voice was urgent and trembling. “Dipper, go get Stanford! Tell him there’s a cockatrice loose, and DON'T LOOK IN ITS EYES!”

But before Dipper could move, the creature’s eyes shot open, locking onto Evalin’s. She felt her blood run cold, a tight grip of terror seizing her chest. Her body went rigid, frozen in place, still shielding Mabel’s eyes.

Mabel wriggled, confused by Evalin’s sudden stillness. “Evi? What’s wrong?” she asked innocently, her eyes still closed.

Before Mabel could break free entirely, Dipper acted. He grabbed her hand, his heart pounding. “Mabel, don’t look!” he shouted, his voice sharp with fear. Without waiting, he tugged her back, pulling her toward the safety of the Shack as fast as he could manage, careful to keep his eyes averted from the creature.

Behind them, he could feel the heat of the cockatrice’s gaze, a suffocating weight pressing against his back.

Dipper burst into the Mystery Shack, Mabel right behind him, her excitement suddenly replaced with concern after seeing the distress on his face. "Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Ford!" Dipper yelled, rushing toward the living room.

Ford looked up from the desk where he'd been working, his glasses reflecting the light as he took in the sight of his frantic nephew. “Dipper, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Grunkle Ford, it’s… it’s a cockatrice! There’s a cockatrice in the woods!” Dipper gasped, trying to catch his breath, his eyes wide with fear.

Mabel, hearing the word, couldn't help but giggle. “Heh, cockatrice,” she chuckled. “It’s got the word ‘cock’ in it.”

Dipper glared at her, irritation snapping in his voice. “Mabel, this is no time for jokes!” he snapped. “This thing is dangerous!”

Ford’s expression immediately turned serious as he stood, his hands flat on the desk. “He’s right, Mabel. The cockatrice is a very dangerous creature. It paralyzes anything that looks into its eyes so it can eat later, without any struggle.” Ford paused, then his brow furrowed in thought. “Tell me, Dipper, was it big or small?”

Dipper quickly shook his head. “It was small. We saw it hatch from an egg… it’s just a baby.”

Ford’s face darkened. “I was hoping it was an adult. The only thing the baby can do is freeze people. The only way to unfreeze victims is to hear the cry of an adult cockatrice. If it’s just the baby… then we might be in trouble.” He didn’t need to say more. The implication was clear. Without an adult, there would be no way to free Evalin.

Ford’s gaze shifted, suddenly realizing something important. “Wait a second. Evalin. You were supposed to be with her on your walk this morning. Where is she?”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance, the weight of the situation sinking in. Mabel, who had been more attuned to Evalin’s well-being, spoke first. Her voice was quiet but steady, though her eyes betrayed her concern. “Evalin… she got got.”

Dipper nodded, his voice tinged with guilt. “She, uh… she froze. She’s still out there, Grunkle Ford.”

Ford growled, his face darkening with anger and frustration. “That’s horrible…” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. “But we need to focus. Did Evalin tell you not to look into the eyes of the cockatrice?”

Mabel nodded quickly, her voice firm now, despite the worry in her eyes. “Yeah, she told us. She said we’d freeze if we looked at it.”

Ford exhaled sharply, his mind working fast. “That’s good. At least she had the foresight to warn you. Now, we need to find a weasel.”

Dipper blinked, completely confused. “A weasel? What’s that got to do with anything?”

Ford didn’t waste time explaining further. His eyes narrowed, and he prepared himself for action. “It’s the natural enemy of the cockatrice. Trust me, Dipper. Now, let’s move. We don’t have much time.”

Dipper was still unsure, but he nodded, trusting Ford’s urgency. They didn’t have the luxury of questioning every detail right now.

Suddenly, Soos’s voice rang out from the lobby. “Hey! Dude! There’s totally like… a chicken?” Soos said, his voice full of disbelief before it was abruptly cut off by a loud scream.

The tension in the room grew thick as Dipper, Mabel, and Ford stood frozen, waiting for Soos to speak again. The silence was almost suffocating.

After a long pause, Soos’s voice came back, sounding more confused than before. “This thing is really cute! What wh—?”

There was a sudden, eerie silence. Soos’s voice cut off abruptly, and the unmistakable sound of a freezing scream echoed through the Shack.

Dipper’s heart raced. “It’s outside!” he yelled.

“Grunkle Ford! What do we do?” Mabel asked, her voice panicked.

Ford moved quickly, his expression serious. “I read somewhere you can use reflexive surfaces to safely gaze at the creature. We can use this information to avoid the cockatrice. Mabel, do you have a mirror?”

Mabel didn’t hesitate and ran upstairs to grab her hand mirror. But halfway down the stairs, she accidentally looked out the window, and her eyes locked with the cockatrice’s. She screamed in terror before freezing in place.

Dipper’s eyes darted toward Mabel, realizing it was too late. She had already been frozen, her body unmoving in the stairwell. His breath caught in his throat, but he quickly pulled his vest over his own eyes, shielding himself from the cockatrice’s deadly gaze as he ran to Mabel’s side to grab the mirror.

“Mabel got frozen too!” Dipper shouted, his voice tight with panic, as he returned to Ford.

“Damn it all!” Ford cursed under his breath, but he didn’t lose focus. “Dipper, listen to me,” Ford said quickly, grabbing the mirror. “If the mirror doesn’t work, don’t worry. I need you to go out and find the parent cockatrice. They’re territorial, so it shouldn’t be far. I’m counting on you, Dipper.”

Dipper nodded, still trying to cover his own eyes from the creature’s gaze. “I’ll do it, Grunkle Ford. I won’t let you down.”

Ford took the mirror from Dipper with a steady hand, his analytical mind already racing through the possibilities. “Alright, let’s be methodical,” he muttered, angling the mirror carefully to reflect the baby cockatrice. His brow furrowed as he studied its movements, his focus entirely on the creature. “Hmm... if I adjust this just slightly...”

Dipper shifted nervously beside him. “Grunkle Ford, maybe don’t stare too long-”

“Patience, Dipper,” Ford interrupted, his tone sharp but distracted. “I just need to observe its behavior through the reflection. It might reveal a pattern to-”

The cockatrice suddenly screeched, its iridescent eyes catching the mirror’s surface and refracting toward Ford. The shift was so subtle it could’ve been chance, but Ford’s gaze locked reflexively on the reflection.

“Wait... no!” Ford realized his mistake too late. His body stiffened mid-thought, the mirror slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor as his form froze in place, locked in an expression of wide-eyed realization.

Dipper’s stomach dropped. “Grunkle Ford!” he shouted, but there was no response. He stepped back, panic rising as the cockatrice hissed again, its eyes now scanning for another victim.

Suddenly, the front door creaked open. Dipper’s heart skipped a beat as he looked up to see Stan, completely unaware of the chaos inside the Shack.

“Ah, now to take my mid-morning, after-dump, air-freshing stretch. What is that, a chicken?”

Before Stan could get any closer, the cockatrice locked eyes with him. Stan’s body instantly froze in place, his arms still outstretched, his expression stuck in mid-question. The door hung ajar, held by his stiffened form.

Dipper watched, wide-eyed, as the cockatrice waddled inside, its eyes scanning the Shack. Panic surged through him. "No, no, no," he whispered under his breath, turning on his heel. He darted up the stairs, ducking into his room, praying the creature wouldn’t notice him.

The cockatrice paused for a moment, as if sensing something was amiss, but eventually it moved on, heading toward the yard.

Dipper waited, breath held, listening as the creature's footsteps grew fainter. When he peeked out the window, he saw the cockatrice had gone outside, its attention focused on the front yard.

Through the window, Dipper saw it freeze Waddles and Gompers, who were enjoying the sunshine, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby. The pig and goat stood perfectly still, locked in place, their eyes wide in frozen fear.

Dipper's panic rose as he clutched his chest, trying to steady his breath. His mind raced, but it felt impossible to think straight with his entire family frozen downstairs. How was he supposed to track down a weasel and save everyone? The weight of it all seemed too much for him to bear.

His gaze frantically scanned the room he shared with Mabel, desperately looking for a solution. Then, in the cluttered mess of her crafting corner, something caught his eye: a long, furry tail sticking out from behind a pile of fabric.

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat. A weasel’s tail? Without thinking, he rushed over and yanked it free, expecting to find a weasel attached to it. But to his dismay, it was just the tail; stray, discarded, likely from one of Mabel’s unfinished projects.

"Aw, seriously?" Dipper muttered under his breath. He stared at the tail in his hand, weighing his options. Then, with a heavy sigh, the thought hit him. Well, I guess... if I can’t find a weasel... I’ll just have to become one.

The very idea made him cringe, but there was no time to waste. He dashed downstairs and grabbed the Horrible Preteen Wolf Boy costume Stan had forced him to wear last summer. It was ridiculous, it didn’t make any sense, and Dipper was absolutely not excited about the idea of wearing it again. But desperate times call for desperate measures. He threw the costume on, huffing in frustration as the floppy around before adding the tail he found earlier.

He looked at himself in the mirror for a second, feeling utterly ridiculous, but he knew he had no choice. If it meant saving his family, he'd have to make do with the weirdest plan he’d ever come up with.

Dipper’s pulse raced as he stepped out of the Shack, the weight of his family’s fate pressing heavily on his shoulders. The streets of Gravity Falls were eerily quiet, with only the occasional gust of wind breaking the silence. He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to focus. Find the cockatrice. Capture it. Get it to the woods. Find its parent. Save everyone. It seemed like such a ridiculous plan, but it was all he had.

The town loomed ahead, and Dipper gritted his teeth. He had no choice but to follow through. He quickly grabbed a towel and a makeshift blindfold from the Shack before heading straight toward the town center.

Dipper tightened the makeshift blindfold around his eyes, his pulse pounding in his ears. The muffled world around him was disorienting, but he couldn’t risk even a glimpse at the cockatrice. He clutched the towel in his sweaty hands, the rough fabric providing some small sense of control in the chaos.

The cockatrice’s sharp screeches echoed through the narrow streets, the sound bouncing off the buildings and making it impossible to pinpoint its exact location. Dipper swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on his other senses.

He crouched low, the gravel beneath his sneakers crunching softly as he shifted his weight forward. A faint rustling to his left caught his attention; scraping claws on stone, followed by a quick, shallow hiss. It was close.

Dipper adjusted his grip on the towel, the fibers rough against his palms. The smell of dirt and feathers drifted past him, sharp and faintly musty, like the inside of an old chicken coop. His breathing quickened, but he clamped his lips shut, afraid even the sound of his breath might alert the creature.

Suddenly, the cockatrice let out a sharper screech, a grating, ear-splitting sound that sent shivers down Dipper’s spine. He winced, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t dare falter. The creature’s clawed feet clicked against the pavement, the uneven rhythm signaling it was pacing, circling, unsure of this strange, blindfolded threat in its territory.

Dipper reached out cautiously, his fingers brushing against the edge of a crate. He slid his hand along its surface until he reached the edge, using it as a barrier between him and the cockatrice.

Another hiss came from just ahead. The creature’s breath was wet and heavy, almost wheezy, as if it were testing the air for signs of danger. Dipper’s grip on the towel tightened until his knuckles ached.

“Okay, Dipper,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself. “You’ve got this. Just... don’t think about its eyes. Don’t think about how everyone’s counting on you.”

With one swift motion, he lunged forward, his hands sweeping through the air. He felt the towel hit something solid, the impact sending a jolt through his arms. The cockatrice let out a startled squawk, its wings flapping wildly beneath the fabric. Feathers brushed against Dipper’s hands; soft and sleek, but sticky with mucus that clung to his skin like glue.

The creature thrashed, its serpent-like tail whipping against Dipper’s leg with a sharp sting. He nearly lost his grip, but he tightened his hold, wrapping the towel around it like a net. The cockatrice’s body was warm, almost too warm, as if it radiated an unnatural heat. Its claws scraped at the ground, searching for something to grab, but Dipper kept his arms locked, holding it tight against his chest.

The creature writhed, its hisses turning to pitiful chirps, as if it were crying for help. The sound tugged at Dipper’s nerves, but he grit his teeth and held firm. The squirming bundle in his arms was heavier than he’d expected, like a large, unruly cat, but he refused to let it slip free.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not sure if he was talking to the cockatrice or to himself. “But I have to do this.”

Dipper stumbled forward, feeling the uneven cobblestones beneath his feet as he made his way toward the woods. Every step was an effort, the creature’s weight and struggling sapping his energy. But he couldn’t stop now. The cries of the cockatrice echoed around him, and somewhere in the distance, he heard a deeper, more resonant screech—the parent. He was getting closer.

As he entered the woods, he could hear the baby cockatrice’s desperate cries, and soon the deep, rumbling screech of the parent cockatrice echoed back at him. Dipper kept his eyes squeezed shut, knowing the adult cockatrice would be huge and dangerous.

He carefully approached, making sure not to make a sound. As he neared the parent, Dipper could feel the tension in the air. The parent cockatrice was close, and the baby was calling out, eager to be reunited. Dipper took a deep breath and gently placed the baby on the ground.

The parent cockatrice swooped down, its large wings creating a gust of wind as it landed beside the baby. The two cockatrices exchanged a series of hisses and chirps before the parent picked up the baby, cradling it close.

Relief flooded through Dipper. He hadn’t been sure it would work, but the parent had come for its young. As the parent cockatrice let out a triumphant cry, Dipper stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what would happen next. The sound of the parent cockatrice echoed through the woods, and for a brief instant, Dipper allowed himself to hope that the cry would reach the town and break the curse. He didn’t know for sure, but it was the only thing he could think of.

The parent cockatrice, now satisfied with the reunion, spread its wings and took flight, the baby following close behind. Dipper watched them disappear into the trees, still holding his breath, hoping he had done enough.

Without wasting any more time, he quickly made his way back toward the Mystery Shack. The journey felt like it took forever, but the anticipation of what he might find fueled him.

When he finally reached the Shack, Dipper found Stan, Ford, Mabel, and Soos beginning to stir. It was a relief to see them slowly coming back to life, their frozen expressions fading as they blinked and stretched.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Dipper called out, running toward them. He looked down at himself, realizing how ridiculous he must look in the weasel costume, and quickly tried to pull the tail off.

Mabel, grinning from ear to ear, pulled out her camera and snapped a picture. “Oh, this is definitely going in my scrapbook!” she giggled.

Stan, still a bit groggy, squinted at Dipper and raised an eyebrow. “Kid, you’re… you’re dressed like a… like a-” He stopped mid-sentence, a slow grin spreading across his face. “-a weasel? What is this, some kind of 'Weasel in the Woods' costume?”

Soos, who was rubbing his eyes, looked up and immediately burst into laughter. “Whoa, dude! You look like the world’s least intimidating superhero! ‘Weasel Boy’ to the rescue!” He struck a mock heroic pose, still frozen for a second before clutching his stomach in laughter.

Ford chuckled, clearly proud of Dipper’s success but unable to resist the absurdity of the situation. “Well, it’s certainly… unconventional, but effective. You did save the town.”

Dipper felt a sense of accomplishment, but it was short-lived. A sudden, uncomfortable thought struck him.

“Wait…” Dipper said, looking around. “Where’s Evalin?”

Ford frowned, his face darkening with worry. “She wasn’t with you when you came back?”

Dipper shook his head, his stomach sinking. “No… She must still out there in the woods…”

Dipper and Mabel led the way through the woods, following the path they’d taken earlier with Evalin. As they pushed past some trees, they spotted her up ahead, crouched low and inspecting something on the forest floor. They couldn’t quite see what she was holding, but just as Dipper opened his mouth to call out, Evalin swiftly slipped the object into her Bag of Holding, which vanished from view with a flick of her hand.

“Evalin!” Dipper called, and she jumped, glancing back with wide eyes.

As Dipper and Mabel called out her name, Evalin’s hands moved quickly, scooping up the remnants of the shattered cockatrice egg. The eggshell glinted faintly in the dappled sunlight, its surface shimmering with an iridescent sheen. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring no one was too close, before tucking the fragile pieces into her satchel and sealing it tight.

Just as she turned to face them, she brushed a strand of hair from her flushed face, forcing a smile. “Oh! Uh, hi, guys!” she said, her tone a little too bright. “You found me.”

Ford stepped forward, relief flooding his expression. “Evalin! Glad you’re safe,” he said, right as he and the others finally caught sight of her face. Evalin’s cheeks and forehead were covered in a chaotic explosion of graffiti; swirls, squiggles, and little doodles sprawled across her face in brightly colored lines.

Evalin blinked, confused as everyone stifled laughter. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Uh, Evi…” Dipper started, trying to hold back a laugh. “Did you, um, know your face is… a work of art?”

Ford, still holding the mirror from earlier, held it up to her, his amusement growing as he tried not to laugh. Evalin’s eyes widened as she saw her reflection, her cheeks quickly turning pink. “Ugh, fairies…” she muttered in embarrassment. “They must have got me while I was frozen.”

Stan gave her an approving look, scratching his chin. “You know, Evalin, you could be our new attraction. Bet we could sell some tickets for folks to see ‘The Mysterious Walking Masterpiece’!”

Soos leaned in, nodding enthusiastically. “Totally! You’re like… high art. Like, ‘I-don’t-get-it-but-I’d-pay-for-it’ art.”

Mabel grinned, snapping a quick picture with her camera. “This is going in the scrapbook, no question.”

Evalin sighed, trying to stay annoyed, but a smile started tugging at her lips. She looked over at Dipper, who was still in his homemade weasel costume, barely holding back his laughter.

“Oh, like you can talk, ‘Weasel Boy,’” she teased. “You actually look kinda adorable in that costume.”

Dipper rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smirking. “Yeah, yeah. Well, you look like the work of a preschooler let loose with a marker set.”

Evalin laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Guess we both look ridiculous.”

Evalin chuckled weakly as the group continued to tease her about the fairy graffiti, but Dipper noticed her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. As the laughter died down and the others moved ahead, Evalin lingered behind, rubbing her arms as if trying to shake off an invisible chill.

Dipper hung back, falling into step beside her. “You okay?” he asked, keeping his tone casual but watching her closely.

Evalin hesitated, her gaze flickering to the ground. “Yeah, I’m fine. I mean... as fine as someone can be after being turned into a lawn ornament by a baby lizard-chicken,” she joked, but her laugh was hollow.

Dipper frowned, his instincts kicking in. “Evalin,” he said softly, “you don’t have to brush it off. That thing is terrifying. I’d be freaked out too.”

She stopped walking, letting the others get a bit further ahead. After a moment of silence, Evalin sighed, pulling her hat down a bit. “It wasn’t just terrifying, Dipper. It was... horrifying. One second, I was yelling for you guys to run, and the next... I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink. It was like being trapped inside my own body. Helpless.”

Her voice wavered, and she looked away, her expression tight with frustration. “I’ve been in tough situations before. Magic gone wrong, fights I wasn’t sure I’d win. But this? It’s different when you can’t do anything. Just... nothing but wait and hope someone saves you.” She shuddered. “It’s not a feeling I’d wish on anyone.”

Dipper nodded, his face serious. “I get it. That sounds awful. But for what it’s worth, you didn’t freeze up. You got Mabel out of the way. You saved her.”

Evalin blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah... but at what cost? You and Stanford had to clean up my mess.”

“Are you kidding?” Dipper said, his voice firm. “If it weren’t for you, we might’ve all been frozen before we even knew what was going on. You gave us a fighting chance. Besides...” He gave her a small, lopsided grin. “We all take turns being the hero and the screw-up around here. That’s kind of our thing.”

Evalin stared at him for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thanks, Dipper. That means a lot.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Just, uh... maybe we can skip the whole ‘picking up mysterious eggs’ thing next time.”

Evalin rolled her eyes, but her smirk returned. “Noted. And maybe next time, you won’t wait until I’m turned into a statue to save the day, ‘Weasel Boy.’”

Dipper groaned, his face turning red. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Nope,” she said, grinning now. “Never.”

<< Chapter 1 // < Chapter 8 // Chapter 10 >

[paipertrails]

Cold shadows

Characters: Leila Markova (OC) , Misha Markova(OC), Jason Todd (Red Hood) Setting: Gotham City (The Narrows) Word Count: ~5,000 TW: Assault, Violence.

The chill of Gotham's winter cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to bite into the exposed skin on Leila’s hands. Her coat, worn and thin, provided little warmth as she hurried down the dimly lit streets of the Narrows. The neon signs above flickered weakly, casting shadows on the crumbling walls, while the smell of damp, decay, and oil lingered in the air.

“Hold tight, Mishka (little bear),” she whispered to her son, his small hand tucked securely in hers. Misha, just four years old, was quiet as always. His wide, dark eyes mirrored the caution in hers, and his lips, pressed into a firm line, rarely spoke unless he was sure they were safe.

They weren’t far from their apartment, but in the Narrows, every step felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of wolves. Leila knew better than most that the city had teeth, and they were always waiting for someone too slow or too weak to escape.

She adjusted the bag of groceries on her shoulder—a meager collection of bread, a tin of soup, and a few apples. She was doing her best to make the money last. After all, she had more than just herself and Misha to think about. The child growing inside her seemed to kick in agreement, and she absentmindedly rubbed her belly.

The tension in her spine never left. She had learned too much, seen too much, to ever truly relax in Gotham. Her escape from captivity had been nothing short of a miracle, but Gotham’s underworld was as dark as the one she’d fled, if not darker. Her trafficker’s empire had crumbled back in Europe, but that didn’t mean there weren’t remnants of his network lurking in this city.

They were halfway down the block when Leila’s stomach dropped. The faint echo of footsteps behind them sent her pulse racing. She glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of a group of men emerging from the shadows of a nearby alley.

They were too close. Too fast.

“Hey!” one of them called, his voice slurred with the unmistakable edge of trouble. “Where you goin’, sweetheart?”

Leila’s grip tightened around Misha’s hand. “Keep walking, Mishka,” she whispered, her voice calm but firm. “Don’t stop.”

The footsteps grew louder, closer, until she could hear their heavy breaths and feel the heat of their presence at her back.

“Hey! I said stop!” The voice, closer now, carried a sharper tone of impatience.

Leila pulled Misha behind her, turning to face the approaching men. Three of them—grimy, with matted hair and clothes that stank of stale smoke and sweat. The leader, a rat-faced man with beady eyes, stepped forward, a leering smile curling on his lips.

“Looks like you’re lost, darling. How ‘bout we help you find your way?” he sneered, his eyes sweeping over her and Misha with a sickening familiarity.

Leila stood her ground, her heart racing in her chest. Her hand instinctively slid to her coat pocket, where a small knife rested. She had never used it, but she wasn’t going to let them hurt her or her son. Not again. Not ever.

“Leave us alone,” she said, her voice low and steady.

The rat-faced man chuckled, taking a step closer. “Come on now, no need to be like that. We’re just having a bit of fun. How ‘bout you show us what’s in that bag?”

Before she could react, a figure dropped from the rooftop above with terrifying silence. The sound of impact was soft, but the air around them shifted, heavy with the presence of something—or someone—far more dangerous than the thugs.

Leila barely had time to register the movement before the figure stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, clad in a black jacket and body armor, a red helmet concealing his face. In his hands were two sleek, black pistols, but they weren’t raised. Not yet.

The thugs froze, momentarily stunned. The rat-faced man’s sneer faltered as his eyes flickered to the new arrival.

—the Red Hood.

“Walk away,” Hood said, his voice cold and flat, carrying the weight of a command that left no room for negotiation.

The rat-faced man glared but didn’t move. “Who the hell are you?”

Red Hood tilted his head slightly, the red of his helmet glinting under the dim streetlights. “Last chance,” he said, the faintest hint of amusement creeping into his tone. “Walk away. Now.”

The tension hung in the air, thick and oppressive, before the rat-faced man made his decision. With a growl, he lunged forward, his hand reaching for a knife at his belt.

But Hood was faster—so much faster.

In a blur of movement, Hood struck, his gun crashing into the thug’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the pavement. The other two barely had time to react before Red Hood was on them. One was sent flying into the wall with a well-placed kick to the chest, while the other found himself disarmed and pinned to the ground, Hood’s boot pressed against his throat.

Leila stood frozen, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Misha clung to her leg, his wide eyes watching the scene in silence.

The Red Hood didn’t speak as he stared down at the last thug, the pressure from his boot enough to keep the man gasping for air but not enough to crush his windpipe.

“You’re done,” He growled softly, his voice low and lethal. “Get out of here. If I see you again, you won’t be walking away.”

He lifted his boot, and the man scrambled to his feet, dragging his unconscious friend with him as he fled down the alley without looking back. The silence that followed was suffocating, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the faint clinking of metal as he holstered his guns.

Leila stared at him, unsure whether to thank him or fear him. She had heard of Red Hood—heard the stories of his brutal methods and his willingness to kill. She wasn’t sure what to expect now that he stood before her.

He turned to her, his gaze unreadable behind the red visor. For a moment, they stood in silence, neither of them moving. Then, he spoke, his voice quieter than before but still carrying that same cold edge.

“You alright?”

Leila blinked, snapping out of her trance. She nodded slowly, though her heart was still racing. “Yes… thank you.”

Hood's gaze shifted down to Misha, who was peeking out from behind her leg. His expression softened, just slightly. “You need to be more careful,” he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “The Narrows isn’t safe.”

Leila let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “No place in Gotham is safe.”

He didn’t argue. He simply nodded, as if he understood more than she realized. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Leila and Misha standing in the alley, the cold wind biting at their skin.

For a long moment, Leila stood there, her mind racing, trying to process what had just happened. She had been ready to fight—to protect Misha no matter the cost—but Red Hood had appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost in the night. And then he was gone, just as quickly as he had come.

She looked down at Misha, who was staring up at her with wide, trusting eyes. “Let’s go home, Mishka,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “We’re almost there.”

_______________________

LMK if you have any questions or requests for fics or oneshots ! If you wanna read more about Leila and Misha, interact with the story in some way, love you guys. Yes, even the silent readers <3

[nessieh18]

Nevra’s POV

I was always curious what thinking Nevra, when he saw Guardian again in the ANE. So, I tried write down with in his POV, grab his feelings and his thoughts 👀💖🥰

English is not my native language, grammatical or expression errors may occur. Even so I hope you enjoy it and find it understandable 😊

Season: 2, A New Era

Guardian's name in the story: Genevieve

Crush: Nevra

May contain spoilers

Note: There is a little change in it. They don't meet at the Central Pavilion, but in the HQ building.

Unusually, the HQ was more bustling that night. He didn’t need to perk up his ears to hear the conversation and the laugh from the Cherry tree. He closed toward the noise with lazy steps and enjoyed the fresh air. He took a deep breath, the scent of cakes and food creeped up in his nose. He could even tell who was there as he slowly separated from each other the smells. However, there was a sweetly intoxicating fragrance which he couldn’t deal with.

Nevra paused, just nearby the Central Pavilion. He watched the crowd silently without moving an inch, his eyes fixed on the statues wrapped in lights. His jaw clenched. It can’t be. He must be imagining from exhaustion. The smell was still there,  preying on his mind, not letting him rest. He slipped away silently, like a shadow. He didn’t want company nor to celebrate now. He walked over the empty market, the pale moon was his only companion and the painfully familiar smell that he obsessively followed all the way to the HQ building. It's madness. Too much sunlight hit his head and now he is out of his mind. Still, he felt the urge to find out the source of fragrance, even if it tears open a thousand painful wounds and memories.

He stepped down on the stairs but stopped in the movement. He watched the graceful figure appear in the dark place. She put on her jacket and freed her waist-length hair. Their gaze met and icy feeling rippled through on him. His heart unintentionally jumped, but he didn’t move. Not even when she desperately moved toward him. Then one more. The girl approached until she was right next to him.

“Hi…”It sounded like a question, not a greeting. Nevra squinted, looking at her from top to bottom and tried to make sure she wasn’t a mirage. That it’s not just a figment of his imagination. He saw her trembling slightly, he heard her heart fast racing. And her expression…The disappointment slowly replaced by despond. She seemed so real. He slowly put the piece together. Probably that’s why the banquet was outside because of her. She was here again. Alive. Nevra licked his dry lips and tried to collect his thoughts and his feelings, which were ready to sweep off his feet.

“Genevieve? Is that you?”

“Yes. I came back from the Crystal. And Leiftan too.”

“That’s good. So that’s why the banquet.” He didn’t say more. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Yes, its because of that” Genevieve replied in a slightly breathless voice. It’s like she might burst into tears at any moment. Still, she pulled herself, like she decided she wasn’t going to cry. “And… How are you?”

“I've been pretty busy recently. They probably said I took Leiftan’s place. And I’m trying to keep my eyes on Chrome. He handles things quite well, but he still needs to learn a lot.” He turned his gaze towards the front door as if anyone came to save him from this situation. “By the way, Have you met him and Karenn?”

“Yes, with everybody. They were very happy to see me.”

He knew his face darkened at the statement. He straightened up and tried to control the bitterness that overwhelmed his heart, driving it away, down to the depths. Where has been forgotten again. However, he couldn’t control his anger that was always there, even if he knew that it wasn't the girl's fault. That she doesn’t deserve this. His voice was sharp in the silent night, the words boiling angrily on his lips.

“Are you implying that I don't show enough emotion?" Genevieve crossed her arms and clamped her lips. 

“Nevra, for me it’s like it was only yesterday that I last saw you, that we were in love. I’m here again, after seven years and I try to keep up the pace. I totally understand that you moved on, but this whole thing hit me hard. Again. I feel the same as when I first landed here and I try to stay afloat, but something seems to be pushing me down. So yeah, forgive me if I get the impression you are coming down on me after all this. They said you came to see me every day when I was in the Crystal. Have you visited me in the last couple of weeks?” Genevieve's outburst stunned him for a moment. He looked away and bit his lip. She looked so defeated, when in fact he was the one being defeated.

“I went to see you everyday for a little over a year. Then…I started going less often. I had to move on. I’m so sorry, Genevieve. I wasn’t prepared for this. I’m really, truly sorry, but believe me, I’m glad you are here.” The words burned his tongue. Not only from the bitter truth but also from the confusion raging in his soul. He felt like he was balancing on the edge of a cliff and Genevieve was unconsciously ready to push him down. 

“I understand. It caught everybody by surprise.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.” Silence descended upon them. He had no idea what to say to her, so after a long pause he said:

“You should go back to the others. I have a few more things to do.” Lie. He only had to write the report but he felt so heavy that he was strongly inclined to put it off until the next day. He wanted nothing more than to get into his bed, but he knew very well that tonight would be a restless night. And as he watched Genevieve's receding form...so many chains were wrapped around him that he was slowly crushed.

[hoodie-prince-kid-archived]

No no no, go on my good sir.

im gay so i took from the yj show and gave him a motorbike. Hes also a cocky little shit and never masks his identity and therefore never wears a helmet when biking cuz he technically doesnt have to but at tim's insistence he wears one in more populated areas to set a good example (but at that point its just like he might as well fly) (that one ask sonic audio that goes "if you can run so fast, why do you need a race car?" "Uh. Because it's COOL.")

Idc if it's unrealistic, i gave him dark skin and curly hair and a broad nose for a sort of polynesian ethnicity look bc one of his comic runs was set in hawaii and i like when boy have melanin. He likes punk but also glam and color so he combines em all. The knee patches he sewed on himself, ma kent taught him to sew and to fix his clothes he uses stars cut from scraps of pa or clark's old clothes and sometimes from clark's torn capes. He's the designated clothes repairman on the yj.

I forgot his glasses, which is sucks bc he has a copious amount of novelty sunglasses, from the funny little circles to star shapes to visor types, all in various colors. He has so many but he knows when they go missing, do not mess with his glasses collection.

I gave him a mullet partly bc i just think theyre neat, but also bc he has a tendency to cover his neck cuz theres a serial number branded on the back of his neck from his time as a clone in a lab. Its also why he wears chokers.

The docs were easier to draw, but he also sometimes wears cowboy boots cuz he got used to em from helping pa out on the farm. He does also wear a cowboy hat when he's out there, but he doesn't wear one casually cuz he likes soaking up sunlight, so he leaves it at kent's family home. He would start tho if he got enough individual compliments while wearing it.

He has lots of patches on the back of his jacket representing both his identity and things that are important to him, he wears the logos of his friends in the yj and other patches that remind him of the people closest to him; if they dont have a logo or an insignia he asks them to pick one out for him. The jacket is real leather, he got it while he was still working for Luthor, it got torn up so Ma helped him fix it up and reinforce it using pieces from an old used jacket of Pa's and some material from a local smallville craft store.

Yea theres a kon design rant for you ig <:)

[thescrump]

Through It All: A Sonamy Story - Chapter 11: “First Date (Part 1)”

Sonic woke up early on the day of his date with Amy, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Despite his countless adventures, this felt different, and he wanted everything to be perfect for Amy. He stood in front of his closet, carefully considering his outfit. He wanted to look good, but not too formal. After a few minutes of searching, he settled on a simple, yet stylish outfit. He put on a white button-up shirt, blue jacket, and his signature red sneakers. He looked in the mirror and smoothed out his quills, making sure they looked their best. He recited to himself one of the many lessons his family taught him all those years ago on Christmas Island. One of those lessons that lingered in his head for many years. “Never let a girl cry.” He felt it had never been more applicable to his life. He may never need that advice more in his life. “You got this, Sonic,” he whispered to his reflection, a determined glint in his eyes. “Today's the day to let her know.” Satisfied with his appearance and confident, he grabbed his phone and sent a message to Amy. "Hey, Ames! Ready for our date?" He put his phone away and headed out the door, ready to meet Amy and start their adventure together.

Meanwhile, Amy couldn't believe she was actually on a date with Sonic. They had been friends for so long, but this was the first time they were out together in a romantic context. She couldn't believe it was really happening. They met up at a street corner near the small bookstore Amy frequently shopped at. As they walked through the bustling streets of Emerald City, Amy felt a sense of nervous excitement. Sonic, as always, was cool and collected, but Amy couldn't help but feel like her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Amy felt comfortable around Sonic, as she always did, but this time there was something different. It was as if they were seeing each other in a new light, and everything felt more significant. She tried to keep her cool and maintain her composure, but every time Sonic flashed her a smile, she felt a jolt of electricity run through her body.

As they walked, they passed by several shops and stores, each one with its own unique character. The lively sounds made everything feel magical. It was as if the city itself was celebrating their newfound connection. They chatted about everything and nothing as they walked. Sonic pointed towards a building. "I know what that is.", he said with a smile. "Star Light Tower!" Amy responded, her excitement showing through her words. "You know, I once went to the top of there. Of course, it was during a battle with Eggman." Sonic chuckled. "Typical Eggman." He looked at Amy with a playful glint in his eye. "But maybe we should go up there again sometime, without any robots chasing us." Amy blushed at the suggestion, feeling her heart race faster. "That sounds like fun." Amy's cheeks flushed as Sonic mentioned revisiting Star Light Tower. She playfully nudged him. “Only if you promise not to let Eggman crash the date and rope you into a battle.” Sonic grinned mischievously. “Deal, as long as you're up for the adventure.” The spark in their eyes ignited a shared sense of excitement and daring. They continued walking, admiring the sights and sounds of the city. "It's so beautiful whenever the day doesn't need to be saved." Sonic said in a more honest tone. "Maybe I should slow down more." "Whatever's best for you." Amy smiled at Sonic's words, appreciating his honesty. She knew how important it was for Sonic to keep his fast-paced lifestyle, but she also knew how exhausting it could be for him. They walked in silence for a moment, both lost in thought.

Eventually, they came across a small park, and Sonic suggested they sit down for a bit. They found a bench near a fountain, and Sonic went to buy some food while Amy sat and watched the people passing by. When Sonic returned with their lunch, they began talking about their interests and passions. "So, what do you do in your free time, Sonic?" "Go on a run. Listen to music. Mostly Crush 40. Hang out with Tails. Prepare for the inevitable next Eggman attack. Gets a bit dreary sometimes, always worrying about when it’ll happen." "That’s sad. But it's clear that you just drift around wherever your ambitions pull you." "I'm just living by my own feelings." "I know what song lyric that is!" Sonic raised an eyebrow. "Really? Which one?" Amy grinned. "It's from 'It Doesn't Matter', isn't it?" Sonic's eyes widened in surprise. "Wow, you really do know your stuff!" Amy giggled, feeling a sense of pride at impressing Sonic. They continued talking, and Amy shared her own interests with Sonic. "I love reading books, going on walks, practicing my hammer skills, and hanging out with my friends. And of course, I always make time for trying to be heroic." Sonic smiled. "You're heroic, Ames." Amy felt a warmth spread through her body at Sonic's words. It was as if he understood her in a different way than others, and it made her feel validated. “You’ve grown up a lot, and it’s nice to know Amy Rose now, not just Sonic’s fangirl.” They finished their lunch and Sonic stood up, stretching. Amy couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment. She was on a date with Sonic, the person she admired and cared for deeply. They were sharing their passions and dreams, and it felt like nothing else mattered in the world. She felt truly content. "So, wanna go on a run? I know a great spot." Sonic said with a smirk. "Of course." Amy said while smirking back.

[monarch-butterfly-03]

Sweet Dreams - chapter eight

Word spreads fast in a small town like Hawkins.

The smallest rumour can spread like wildfire, especially when the residents are extremely noisy. When the diner on the corner of main had mushrooms growing from the carpet, everyone knew within a day and the place had to shut down from a lack of customers. Or the town was buzzing when news of a new record store opening across town was heard, people wouldn't shut up about it for months. 

Even the news that Barbara Holland ran away from home and gone missing.

But Jennifer never, ever, expected the news of Will Beyers body to be found to become one of those rumours she heard in the whispers.

It happened early that morning. 

Jennifer was nursing a major hangover from the night before after drinking half a bottle of tequila from her dad's liquor cabinet. The lock he had on the cupboard was rather stupid as Jennifer knew where he hid the key but would never tell him that. She finished half the bottle within the hour and locked her door to keep her father from entering. As long as he knew she was home, she wouldn't be in further trouble.

But the next morning, Jennifer began to suffer the consequences of her actions. Her alarm didn't go off from the lack of batteries and Jennifer was already late to school. She decided she had to go and began slowly getting ready for school with her morning routine.

She turned on the radio in her bathroom and began brushing her teeth was when she heard the news.

Will Byers body was found dead.

The boy who is practically her little brother is dead. The boy she was protective and defensive over is dead. She couldn't believe it.

Jennifer chose an unhealthy decision to skip school that day. But her saw her actions as justified. 

It wasn't for her. It was for Joyce.

Last night, she bailed to visit Joyce Byers because of Jonathans photographic actions that broke her trust and boundaries. But this wasn't about Jonathan anymore. This is about a grieving mother. A mother who just lost her son.

Instead of going to school, Jennifer stole a ten dollar bill from her dad's jacket, picked up a bouquet of flowers, and headed over to the Beyer's residence to give her condolences.

But Jennifer didn't expect this to be so difficult.

She has been sitting on the Beyer's front step unable to bring herself to knock on the front door for the past twelve minutes. The bouquet of flowers rested beside her and her cheeks were slumped into her palms staring at the abandoned bike that laid in the grass in front of the residence.

The red bike was the bike Will learned to ride on. 

Jennifer remembered all those times Will would fall over but get back up and try again. He was a determined and stubborn little shit. But he was the closest thing Jennifer had to a little brother.

Everything about this god damn house reminded Jennifer about Will. The spare tire resting against the porch, the dent beside the door from Will kicking his shoes off before racing inside, the collection of sticks displayed beside the bottom step that Will uses as wands with his friends.

Why did she think she could do this?  Why didn't she think this through? Why does it hurt so damn bad?

"Jen?"Jennifer looked up to see Jonathan standing in front of her standing there speechless.

He was surprised to see her sitting in front of his house when he pulled up to his house. But kept his distance for caution. Jonathan was visiting home to grab his wallet before he would leave to plan the funeral home for his little brother but he never thought he would see Jennifer crying on his front step. 

Actually, that was the last thing he expected to see. He thought Jen hated him.

Jennifer didn't hear his car roll up to the house or the crunch of his shoes against the gravel as he exited the car. She didn't even realize she was crying until Jonathan pulled her into a hug and she began to sob on his shoulder, whispering empty words in her ear.

Jennifer hugged Jonathan tightly, embarrassed that Jonathan was comforting her when he was the one who lost his brother. He should be the one a crying mess but he was comforting her instead.

"I'm so sorry, Jonathan..." Jennifer whispered through her tears. "I am so, so, sorry."

Jonathan hugged Jennifer tighter and buried his face in her neck. For the first time since he heard the news, Jonathan completely broke down crying. He had to put on a front for the public and his mom. His mother was going insane believing Will was still alive so Jonathan had to take control of the situation. He had to be strong.

But now, in Jennifer's arms, he didn't have to. Now, he wasn't alone. Once the first tear slipped out of his eye, he couldn't stop the rest from following.

Neither of them knew how long they were standing there for or who was first to stop crying. But eventually they found themselves in the kitchen as Jennifer started the kettle with two mugs set out beside it in silence.

They haven't spoken a word since they left the driveway. But not a word needed to be said. They both just wanted the others company.

Jonathan was leaning against the counter with his hands in his pocket across from Jennifer. His eyes followed Jennifer walk around the kitchen opening the correct cabinet to pull of the tea bags.  She moved around the kitchen knowing exactly where everything was. Because she knew from habit.

Guilt overwhelmed Jonathan for what he did to Jennifer. Here she was taking care of him while he destroyed her trust in seconds yesterday.

Clearing his throat, he gained a bit of courage to apologize. "Jen-"

"Don't, Jonathan." Jennifer interrupted him ripping open the small packages and placed a tea bag in the corresponding mug. "I don't want to hear your excuses about why you did it. Especially not today. We can figure this out later. But for now, just tell me one thing," She ripped open the other package with greater force and placed it in the other mug. "Were you ever going to tell me or show me?" She sighed in defeat.

Jonathan frowned. "Of course. You're my best friend, Jen. But-"

He cut himself off. But how do I tell you about what I saw?  How do I convince you I am not going crazy? How can I make you understand the situation?

"But what? " Jennifer was now facing him and had her arms crossed annoyed. She didn't want to hear excuses. Instead, she fell for the alter position and began staring him down for an answer.

"I was worried you would see me different." Jonathan's eyes pierced through hers and his voice silent but sent a chill down her spine. The whistle of the kettle began to grow behind Jennifer and the room fell silent. Yet the silence in the room was louder than the whistle.

Their friendship was unlike any one Jennifer ever had. People often befriend her to be invited to parties or join another friend group. But Jonathan was the only person who truly saw her at her absolute worst. When she had tears streaming down her face, mascara staining her cheeks, and bruises on her arms, Jonathan didn't judge or laugh. He would hold her as she continued to break down and offer her a tissue. 

He is the only person to see who Jennifer Callahan really is. He was the only friend Jennifer could actually rely on.

"Jonathan Beyers, if you truly knew me, you wouldn't have thought that." Jennifer tsked. "I get that I can be a handful sometimes," Jonathan breathed a laugh. "But above all, I am still your best friend. Yeah, those photos is something we will talk about another day and I'll probably cuss out a bit. But regardless, you are stuck with me Byers. And no one can take our friendship away from another." 

The kettles whistle got louder and the silence grew thicker. Neither of them backed down from another's gaze daring another to break off the gaze. 

Jonathan's expression shifted into one Jennifer has never seen before. The click of the kettle indicated the water was done boiling and Jennifer turned around before she could figure out the meaning of his expression.

Air escaped from her lips that she was unaware she was holding in as she poured an equal amount of water into her designated white mug with a herbal tea bag and added some to Jonathan's designated navy mug with a green tea bag. Humming in approval, she picked up both mugs and turned around to give him the mug but froze in place when she met his gaze.

Jonathan was no longer standing across the kitchen. He was standing in front of her so close that Jennifer could feel his body heat. Jennifer suddenly felt vulnerable and she hated it. 

"Here." Jennifer held out his mug but Jonathan didn't take it. He didn't even look at it. He was staring directly down into her brown eyes.

"Do you trust me?" He asked quickly.

"Jonathan..." She looked up at him.

"Do you trust me? " He repeated lowly.

Jennifer was uncertain of where he was going with this and nodded slowly. 

"I saw something. The other night. The night Barb went missing. " Jonathan blurted out and Jennifer's grip tightened on the mug handles feeling her hands burn from the steaming hot mugs. "I saw a man. Without a face."

Jennifer's hands began to turn white and she had to set the mugs down before she split them on herself. "What do you mean a man without a face...? Jonathan, that's-"

"Impossible. I know." He breathed out running a hand over his face. "But I know what I saw. It was tall and had his weird face-" He rambled on about what he saw.

Jennifer froze and gripped the counter behind her to stabilize herself. Jonathan's voice faded into the silence as memories of a familiar creature appeared in her mind. The night they found Eleven, a creature just like Jonathan was describing jumped in front of her car and made her crash. 

She thought she imagined it. She convinced herself that it was just a bear and the rain was making her see things. Because there was no logical explanation for what she saw. What she saw was unnaturally impossible. But now Jonathan is rambling on-and-on about a creature that looks just like that. 

The connection was making her heart rate and her palms sweaty. "I have to go." Jennifer interrupted abruptly.

Jonathan stopped talking and his eyes widened. "Wait, what? Jen, I promise I know what I saw! You need to believe me." He pleaded desperately.

That's not the issue, Jennifer wanted to say. The issue is that I believe you.

"Look, Jonathan. I am just a bit overwhelmed with news about Will and Barb. J-just call me if you need to grieve but I need to go." Jennifer brushed past Jonathan leaving him speechless. He spun around to stop Jennifer but she was already out the door and climbing into her car.

The door was left open that let in a breeze that rustled the paper around the bouquet and blow the steam off the mugs as the blue car rolled out of the driveway. Jonathan stood there alone in his house staring at the door hopeless to make anyone believe him and the click of the kettle turned on behind him.

The little blue car rolled down the street at illegal speeds and Jennifer felt her heart racing while drumming her fingers along the wheel to her favourite Blondie song. But it didn't matter what song was playing, Jennifer was stuck in her thoughts.

This doesn't make any sense. What is it they all saw and how come the only sightings of it were seen the night someone went missing? First Will and now Barb. Something wasn't right about all of this. 

Jennifer felt like she had all the puzzle pieces in front of her yet couldn't make the connections. She felt like the bigger picture was being held from her and she wanted answers, and she knew exactly where to get them.

Turning on her left turn signal, she made an illegal u-turn and headed back down the road towards the center of the city ignoring the honking horn of someone she cut off.

It wasn't long before Jennifer parked in front of the police station and marched into the station in search for her father. Perhaps she didn't think this through entirely. Once her dad see's her here and not at school, he will lose it. But on the counter side, she was already grounded. What's the worst that could happen?

Whatever the risk, Jennifer was willing to take it for the sake of whatever is going on.

"Jennifer!?" Mr. Callahan's voice boomed behind the secretary desk and made Jennifer flinch on the welcome mat. Well, that didn't take long, Jennifer sighed. He was holding a stack of papers that crunched slightly under his deadly grip seeing his teenage daughter stand in the lobby of his workplace rather than at school like she should be.

Jennifer smiled kindly over to her dad and gave a sweet wave. "Hi there, dad. How are you?"

"Why aren't you in school!?" He marched around the desk and the secretary has yet to glance up at the teenage girl, too busy with the swarm of work covering her desk. But also seemed uninterested in the teens presence.

"It's lunchtime and I thought we could eat together." Jennifer lied through her teeth with a sweet smile to seal the deal.

Mr. Callahan glared at the teenager knowing she was up to something. "I am on patrol. Now get back to school." He snapped.

"Now, now, Callahan. I'm sure you can take your lunch early to have lunch with your daughter. We aren't that incapable without you" Officer Hopper walked out of his office towards the pair with a charming, almost mocking, smile.

Jennifer choked a laugh and Officer Callahan glared at the sheriff. "Already took my lunch." He muttered.

"Hm, pity." Hopper placed his hands on his hips and glanced at the teenager. "Well, you drove all the way down here. Might as well join us in the staffroom." He offered.

"She has school." Officer Callahan protested.

"She has plenty of time. Right, Jennifer?" Hopper raised an eyebrow at the teen.

Jennifer nodded. "Right you are, Officer Hopper." She smiled.

Hopper spared a glance at Callahan before directing the teenager back to the staffroom behind the secretary's desk. Jennifer was quick to scurry off and in that direction. She could feel the cold glare her father was giving her but she didn't dare to turn around to face them. Only her thoughts could imagine how much more grounded she would get when he gets home.

The staffroom was a dingy old room at the back of the station with a few windows and a flickering light. The room had two foldable tables stretched out with plastic chairs around it, only taken by a two police men in a discussion about some football game. A half eaten box of donuts sat on one of the tables that consisted of the gross picked over ones that Jennifer didn't bother for. A refrigerator, coffee maker, and microwave sat across the room in a small kitchen that had a bolded written note taped on the fridge: "Label your food!!! If it is not labelled - it is up for grabs"

"This way, kid." Hopper moved past Jennifer to the refrigerator. He grabbed out a paper bag with his name on it and headed to the unoccupied table with Jennifer close behind him.

The two policemen glanced at Jennifer as she passed and took a seat across from the sheriff. She refused to look at them as she recognized them both. One of the officers pulled her over for speeding a few months ago and the other gave her a warning after she was caught stealing alcohol from a store. The two policemen both muttered something and began packing up their lunches not wanting to spend their last few minutes on break by a girl who caused them both a lot of trouble.

"Where is your lunch?" Hopper asked biting into a ham sandwich.

Jennifer's stomach unintentionally growled. She didn't even realize she skipped breakfast this morning as her mind has been quite preoccupied. "I didn't bring one." Hopper raised an eyebrow suspiciously as he chewed on his sandwich. "I was hoping my dad and I could go out." Jennifer clarified quickly.

Hopper nodded and took another bite as Jennifer awkwardly sat there. "So, Jennifer. Why are you really here?" He asked through a mouthful of ham sandwich. Jennifer's face scrunched with confusion. "You're father has worked at this office for almost twenty years and I have not seen you in the station since you were six. There must be a reason to bring you out all this way."

"I'm trying to be a better daughter." Jennifer shrugged.

Hopper let out a laugh humorously and Jennifer's lips fell from worry and a tinge of hurt. "Jennifer, I don't know how stupid you think I am but I am not naïve. We both saw your fathers reaction when you arrived and know damn well that you have school right now. So tell me," He placed his sandwich on the bag, brushed his hands off from crumbs, and leaned his elbows on the table to stare Jennifer down. "Why are you really here, Jennifer?" He questioned.

Jennifer stared at him dumbfounded. He knows she is here for a purpose not for lunch. Apparently her lying skills need some work. But she can worry about that later. Right now, she just hopes that her story telling skills are good enough to get her out of this situation and get her access to information that can help her.

"I am here to confess a crime." She stated aloud and confident. Hopper narrowed his eyes suspiciously and leaned back in the plastic chair curiously. "The night Barb went missing at the Harrington household, there was a piece of information lacking from the write up. Something crucial." 

Three policemen walked in the staffroom laughing and talking loudly about some punk they just pulled over for speeding. They glanced at the two and gave respectful nods as they moved as a swarm to the coffee machine.

Jennifer gave a tight smile as she recognized these new officers: one chased her after catching her graffiti an alleyway but she managed to slip away, another gave Jesse a ticket for underage drinking when Jennifer was with him, and the last arrested both Jennifer and Jesse for trespassing many months ago.

As Jennifer looked at some of these cops, she hated some of them for giving her lousy tickets. But others she wished she could thank. Some of them didn't realized that they saved her by intervening.

Hopper threw his sandwich in his bag and stood up abruptly. Jennifer looked up at the gruff man who was brushing crumbs out of his beard. "Let's talk in my office." He grumbled.

Perfect.

Jennifer nodded and stood up, following the sherif out of the room. She glanced at the three officers all sharing the passing the pot of coffee and pouring some in their mugs as they laughed again of the same story.

The law and Jennifer have a toxic story. She hates the law so much and the people who represent it. But that is when Jennifer is in the offence. As soon as she becomes the defence, she praises and cries out to those who represent the law.

Heaving out a heavy sigh, Jennifer followed down the hallway to the last room on the left. The plaque on the door labelled it to be Sherif Hopper's office. The man plopped down in the chair behind the desk as Jennifer marched in behind him and slid down into the chair across from him.

Jennifer sat down and pressed her hands between her knees watching Hopper open a drawer, shuffle through some papers, and pull out a file. As he got settled, Jennifer glanced around the small room. It was filled with awards and newspaper articles written about him. But Jennifer failed to see any photos of friends or family. Hopper's office was rather...bland.

Rustling of paper made Jennifer curious to what Hopper was searching for. Her eyes wondered back to the sheriff and the air was stuck in her lungs as she read the label of the document he held: Barbra Holland. 

So, that's what Barbra is now. Just some unsolved police case. 

Barbra Holland used to be a girl who was loved by everyone. She used to be Nancy Wheeler and Jennifer Callahan's best friend. She used to be a girl who everyone knew. But now she was summarized into a single case file. It disgusted Jennifer. 

The photo from last year's picture day at school fell out and onto Hopper's desk. Jennifer vividly remembered that day. It was the Monday after New Years weekend. 

Barb, Nancy, and Jennifer spent the weekend partying at Jennifer's house. None of them wanted to go to a party and decided to take advantage of Mr. Callahan being on a work trip and unlimited alcohol cabinet. The girls showed up to school severely hungover and there photos proved that. All three girls got lectures once their parents saw said photos since Jennifer convinced her friends to lie to their parents and say they were crashing at her house this weekend for a few-night sleepover. Which wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth. They were all grounded when the truth came out. 

Although Jennifer felt guilty for getting her friends in trouble, she didn't regret it. That weekend was filled with a ton of amazing memories. They stayed up gossiping, laughing until their stomachs hurt, and danced around the living room until there feet hurt. It was just the three of them but Jennifer couldn't think of a better way to spend her New Years.

"So, what's this new information?" Hopper asked dropping the file on the desk and flipping through to a blank piece of paper that he can write this new data on.

Jennifer jumped out of her thoughts and quickly wiped the tear off her cheek that escaped. "Oh, um, right." She looked up at Hopper who was struggling to find a pen with ink. "So, um, that night, Nancy, Barb, and I went to the Harrington's for a hangout-"

"You already said that in your statement." Hopper narrowed his eyes up at the teenager finally finding a working pen..

"Yes, but-" Jennifer let out a sigh and crossed her arms defensively. "Steve Harrington didn't want anyone to know that-Steve didn't want you to know that he was serving alcohol." She admitted looking back at the sherif.

Hopper's face slacked. "That's it? You're new crucial information is that Steve Harrington was supplying underage drinking?" He scoffed and Jennifer nodded. "You do realize you just confessed to underage drinking, right?" 

"I would never drink underage, Sheriff. Not since I've been trying to be a better daughter." She mused.

"Right. And I am not my fathers son." Hopper sighed closing the file and placing his cupped hands on the table. "Jennifer, if you came all the way here to rot our Steve, my officers and I have bigger things to focus on right now if you haven't noticed. I don't appreciate you coming in here and taking advantage of our time for a petty prank."

"But this isn't a prank!" Jennifer protested with a frown and Hopper shot her a knowing look.

Hopper let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jennifer, I would advise you to get back to school now and I will speak to Mr. Harrington later about this."

Jennifer nodded glancing down at the file on the desk. The information was so close but she needed to cause a distraction. Gathering her thoughts, she rose from her seats with a soft smile on her lips.

"Alright, well I hope you have a great rest of your day, Mr. Hopper." Jennifer stated under her breath.

Hopper shot her a wary look. "It's Sheriff Hopper." He corrected and Jennifer nodded heading to the door. 

Think, Jennifer! Think! 

Her thoughts were running trying to think of a distraction to steal these files and her prayers were answered when she saw who was sitting in the police waiting room, handcuffed and staring down at the mud on his boots.

Hearing footsteps, his head rose and a smirk lifted his lips seeing the brunette glaring at him. "Well, well, well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Jesse Thompson's sweet voice sang as his eyes danced over Jennifer's figure.

"I thought you were in boarding school?" Jennifer spat coldly and crossed her arms feeling anger boiling in his veins by hearing his cocky voice. 

"Got kicked out." Jesse admitted with pride. "Couldn't handle me like Hawkins can."

"And I see that you haven't changed a bit." Her eyes gestured down to the handcuffs on his wrists.

Jesse shrugged. "It was just a bag of chips yet they're acting like I robbed a bank." He rolled his eyes. "It's not like they can keep me long, anyway. Just making a phone call to my dear ol' dad and I should be out of here soon, if you want to-"

Jennifer held up her hand cutting him off. "I would rather get ran over by a bus." She blurted out with disgust.

Jesse laugh filled the room and a chill ran down Jennifer's spine. He licked his lips and fell back in his chair, his blue eyes staring coldly into her brown doe ones. "God, you are just as I remembered." 

Jennifer hates the situation she put herself in. Last time she saw Jesse, he left her with numerous physical and emotional scars that were too unbearable to deal with. She had to stay with the Beyers for a week that was filled with crying, bandages, and antibiotics. All of these past memories began to reemerge and past emotions were beginning to overwhelm her. 

She was uncertain how she managed to act so confident when she felt so vulnerable and timid under his cold dead stare.

But she had a plan; some could say it was a mission. Yet sadly, Jesse became apart of this plan the moment Jennifer laid eyes on him when she walked into the waiting room. 

Jennifer took a heavy breath and glanced around the office, only finding the secretary behind the desk typing away on her computer. The woman hasn't lifted her head for a second too busy switching between her computer and the gossip magazine she failed to be inconspicuous about.

Slowly Jennifer approached Jesse and stood in front of him, blocking the secretary's sight from the culprit. It pained her emotionally to be this close and the smell of his cologne brought back too many horrible memories. Jesse stared up at her with a teasing smile and Jennifer bit down on her cheek to stop her emotions from surfacing, and composed herself to the best of her abilities.

"Give me your wrists." She whispered, unable to say any other words without her voice breaking.

Jesse's smirk widened and obeyed. "Just like ol' times babe." He winked.

Jennifer ignored him and picked a bobby pin out of her hair and pulled the two ends apart. She licked her lips as the two ends of the bobby pin entered the keyhole of the handcuffs and began twisting and tinkering away. 

When Jennifer was eight years old, Mr. Callahan tried to connect with his daughter more. He tried doing hobbies with her that a typical eight year old would like, like roller blading, passing a baseball, or going swimming. Jennifer showed no interest in any of it but she did find interest in her dad's work. 

Mr. Callahan would take his daughter in his cop cruiser with the lights on, show her behind the scenes of the station, and once taught her to pick a lock. Mr. Callahan never knew that the one time he taught her about lock picking, she would use it dozens of time to break the law in the future.

The click of the handcuffs was followed by them falling onto Jesse's lap. Jennifer tucked the bobby pin back in her pocket as Jesse took them off and rubbed out his wrists. His gaze glanced up to Jennifer as he rose from his seat andJennifer had forgotten how tall he was, immediately feeling intimidated by their height difference.

Jennifer took a step back uncomfortably and glanced at the secretary who was still clueless to the scene. Clearing her throat, she glanced back at Jesse who was staring subjectively at her.

"So, you wanna get out of here?" Jesse asked lowly cocking his head aside.

Instead, Jennifer spun to the secretary in fear. "Ma'am! He escaped his cuffs!" She screamed and Jesse's eyes narrowed and his jaw locked realizing what she was doing.

The secretary head shot up from her magazine and bolted up from her seat, "We need officers in here!" The secretary shouted and footsteps were heard running from the back room. 

"What are you doing!?" Jesse hissed under his breath and Jennifer refused to make eye contact. The tone he used brought back to many memories and when an officer touched her shoulder, she involuntarily flinched as she was moved away from the scene. Before Jesse knew it, three cops were on him but he wasn't about to go so easily. "The bitch is lying! She is the one who got me out!" Jesse shouted as he fought against the restraints of the officers.

"Take him to the holding block!" Sheriff Hopper's voice boomed entering the room. 

Jennifer knew Jesse well enough to know he has a short temper. He was the type of person who wouldn't go down without a fight and was an all-or-nothing type of guy. Jennifer knew how this would go and she didn't feel guilty for using Jesse in her plan.

Jennifer caught his cold hateful glare before they dragged him into the back room, followed by Sheriff Hopper and the secretary. In the midst of the chaos, it wasn't hard to slip past all the cops and rush down the hallway to the Sheriff's office. 

The office was exactly like it was before. The file was still on the desk beside his half eaten lunch and Jennifer rushed over to pick it up. As her fingers wrapped around the file, she froze reading Will Beyer's on another file that was among a stack of them on the desk. Without thinking she quickly grabbed the other file along with Barb's and slid them under her shirt, trying to hide the evidence.

Jennifer rushed out of the office and Jesse's shouts were heard coming from the backroom, leaving the waiting room entirely empty from any officers or the secretary. The front door flew open as Jennifer rushed down the stairs where her blue honda was parked at the bottom step and she didn't look back as she hopped in the car.

Before Jennifer knew it, she was speeding down the road with the two files on her passenger seat and heading to the Wheeler's household. If anyone could help her figure out what the heck was in these files it would be the three boys and the strange girl who could help her finally piece together the puzzle pieces in front of her.

Jennifer's grip on the steering wheel tightened and exhaled deeply. It was time to figure out what was happening in Hawkins and it was time to figure out what really happened to Will Beyers.

[mia-watton]

FAS3003

Narrative-

For my project I have decided that I will create a magazine that reflects racing attire/aesthetic. I have chosen this theme because it is something that I’m drawn to and have many ideas about. My initial ideas are inspired by the use of full leather outfits, racing jackets and heavy use of accessories.

Recently there has been a rise in media that portrays racing of some sort and because of this it has become more popular especially amongst the younger generation, some examples are movies such as “Fast X” and “The Ferrari movie” as well as Netflix series “Drive To Survive”. It can be said that these pieces of media may have inspired fashion choices as more are wearing racing inspired pieces such as racing team jackets. Racing jackets have also become popular amongst many celebrities such as Kim Kardashian, Bella Hadid and Travis Scott. The influence of the rise in popularity of motorsports can also be seen in the music industry as ROSALIA used the aesthetic as her creative visuals in her latest album “MOTOMAMI”. W magazine states that this trend is the ‘alignment of high speed and high fashion’ and that there are a notable amount of brands contributing to this trend such as Dior, Givenchy and Celine.

Whilst I do believe that media is the primary source of inspiration for this trend I believe that current issues in society and politics may also have contributed. The current cost of living and climate crises are having a huge impact on day to day life as well as fashion. It can be seen that people are now trying to buy staple pieces that are made to last in order to save money and also be as environmentally friendly as possible. Many of the pieces seen in this trend are made of leather and are therefore durable as they have been made for the purpose of protecting motorcyclists/drivers in the event of an accident. The functionality of these pieces is as valuable as the look.

I feel that my initial attraction to this theme as well as the rise in popularity of motorsport/racing attire fashion makes it a perfect subject for my magazine. I chose to make a magazine as I feel that I will be able to reference and gain inspiration from many brands and will also be able to produce some really exciting imagery whilst also developing my skills in the process. I think that my ideas and magazine will stand out amongst others in this genre because it is going to be a creative mix of motorsports and fashion, I will talk about the history and technicality of the sport but will also bring in fashion. To move forward I will be doing further research into this theme and begin to produce imagery. I will also be looking into magazine layouts and fonts.

References: https://www.wmagazine.com/fashion/motorcyle-racing-jackets-trend-history

Photo reference: https://www.wmagazine.com/fashion/motorcyle-racing-jackets-trend-history

It can be seen that the rise in motorsport inspired fashion has grown as the celebrities pictured here are taking on the style. This cements the idea that this theme is growing in popularity and has also become an influential style that takes on the “rough leather” feel of motorsport mixed with the normality of everyday fashion.