#//i dunno how to make bullets under bullets

[strawberista]

{I'll fix it later. goes to sleep}

Strawberry-barista has a carrd!

[maiiuelle]

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“oh, babygirl. that’s horrible.” jj maybank runs his thick fingers down your back, tsking under his breath at the story you’d just told him. he knew rafe was an idiot, but he never imaged he’d fumble you, no matter how much he dreamed about it. yet, here you are, sitting in his lap with tears streaming down your face as you tell him exactly how rafe had ruined everything. “you doin’ alright after all that?”

“i don’t know.” you sniffle, leaning into his touch and setting your head on his shoulder, peering into the crackling fire in front of the two of you. you came to the chateau looking for sarah, your best friend, to give her the details on how things ended with rafe, but instead you ran into jj. he was always the nicest of sarah’s pogue friends, and turns out he’s a great shoulder to cry on. “i just can’t believe he’d do this to me.”

“yeah, well, dude’s a loser — even i could tell you that.” jj mumbles, holding a joint between his lips as he flicks his lighter open over your shoulder. “trust me, he ain’t worth your time.” he lights it and takes a long drag, turning his head to blow the smoke away from you.

“i guess, but he really didn’t seem that way. maybe i’m too gullible.” you dig the heel of your palms into your eyes, the irritation from crying making them red and raw. the blonde shakes his head as you speak.

“nah, nah nah. you didn’t do nothin’ wrong, cupcake. i bet you he’s cryin’ more than you. shit, i would be.” jj takes another hit, flicking the ash into the fire pit. “he doesn’t deserve a sweet girl like you, clearly can’t treat you right.”

you move your hands to look up at the pogue boy. “you’re such a sweet talker, jj. you know just what to say.”

“s’not that, i just know i’m right. i got no clue how you could even deal with that guy. you couldn’t pay me.” he whistles, offering the joint to you. you accept, brushing your fingers over his as you take it, already giving him heart eyes. “you dodged a bullet, sweetheart. maybe literally. he’s a fuckin’ psycho.”

you laugh, assuming he can’t be serious as you put the joint to your lips. the smoke fills your lungs and sends you into a coughing fit. “sorry, it’s from my cousin’s stash — hydroponic.” jj takes the joint back from between your fingers, starting to rub your back again comfortingly.

he lets you cough it out, looking over your pretty face in thought. “y’know.. you should stick ‘round me. promise he’ll steer clear.”

already getting dizzy from the high, you slump back into your spot against his shoulder. “but, i thought you didn’t like kook girls.” you pout, and he scoffs.

“who told you that?” he takes another hit, cursing sarah for trying to cock block him. “doesn’t matter anyways, i like you.”

“i like you too, jj.” you giggle, rubbing on his arm like a cat. you’re too overwhelmed with emotion to worry about embarrassment, and jj’s making you feel so much better already. “thanks for listening, i dunno what i would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

“it’s my pleasure, cupcake. don’t sweat it.” he smiles that charming smile at you, his eyes flickering between yours and your enticing lips. he clears his throat after a few seconds, his eyes lost in yours. “uh—i could think of a few other things we could do to help get your mind off him. if you uh, catch my drift.”

before the moment can go on for too long, the twinkie pulls up the gravel driveway and parks with a squeak. jj peers over his shoulder, putting the joint to his lips one final time as he smacks the side of your leg. “c’mon, sugar. i got just the thing.” he chats as he helps you to stand, immediately meeting john b’s curious gaze when he hops out of the twinkie.

jj jumps to speak first in hopes of avoiding any uncomfortable questioning, he couldn’t risk anything tarnishing the mood he worked so hard to set. “perfect timing — fire’s already lit, so is a joint, if y’all wanna hop on that.” he points to the set up of lawn chairs around the fire pit lazily, far more focused on leading you across the lawn and up the chateau steps, all the while toying with the hem of your tank top. “poor little lady’s havin’ a bad day, needs some one on one time with papa j.”

“ew, oh my god.” sarah scrunches her nose, having predicted jj would try to get with you. as much as she wants to be angry, seeing you all gooey in jj’s arms rather than her psychotic brother’s is a little refreshing — but she would never tell jj that. she just rolls her eyes and looks the other way. john b gives his best friend a proud look behind her back, flashing a silent thumbs up as he ushers you inside.

the second the screen door slams shut behind you, he’s pulling you back onto his lap on the couch, his big hands sprawling over the back pockets of your jean shorts. you giggle, biting your lip nervously as you climb on top of him. “jj.. right here?”

“gotta take care of you, don’t i?” you can hear his smile in his voice, even with his face buried in your neck as he covers it in gentle kisses. you hum at the feeling of his lips, so sensitive it almost tickles. your little whines only make him want to go further, his hands hooking under your legs to lift you and carry you to the bedroom. “yeah, don’t you worry, m’gonna make you feel all better, pretty baby.”

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[callofdudes]

"Ghost?"

Blood spilled from your mouth. Pooling at the corner of your lips, your face twitching as the nerves bunched under sickly skin. Your eyes blown wide, rubbed red at the corners as blood slowly leaked down your uniform.

Tattered tactical vest and ruined hands. Bullet wounds spilling out from above your collar bones, your eyes centered on him.

"Ghost?"

Your voice washed over him again like a cold gush of water. Sea salt stinging into his eyes and cleaning out his lungs, making him choke before he got a moment of fresh breath.

He looked at you. Giving him a concerning look. Your eyebrows furrowed, soft gaze and warm skin reflecting your image. Your outfit clean and fitted, gloves tight to your knuckles, padded fingers touching his arm.

"You ok?" You ask, tilting your head the opposite, seeing his far off gaze.

You'd come to check on him after he didn't make it for dinner. You'd just come off a mission and you knew he would be starving even if he needed to wind down before properly getting a hearty meal. You'd come into his room on your own accord when he hadn't answered.

The place was strewn about, and he'd at least gotten out of his gear before crashing on his bed and going numb against the sheets.

He shook his head, shrugging off the damned imagery that always passed the realms of his mind and soaked into his brain. Taking over the pit inside his head.

It was getting worse. And off his medication, the flashbacks and the hallucinations were amping up.

He rubbed his temple and hung his head between his arms. Your concern rose and you moved closer and gently touched his shoulder.

"Can't think.... Too loud." He grimaced.

You watched his twitchy behavior. His pupils zoned out as his mind played tricks on him.

Blood gushing out from under his bed and between his feet. His socks are replaced by combat boots and grey sweatpants for cargos.

He breathed heavily and you continued to rub his shoulder. "Ghost..." You said softly in hopes to gently draw him back out. "Focus on me," Your touch sent little numbing shockwaves through his body.

He shuddered and twitched again. His room was dark and cold, ammo crates sloshed around through the rippling waves, blood soaking into every corner of the confining room they flooded faster and faster with cold water.

"I'm going to go get you some water and your medication, ok?"

He huffed, half listening, half not giving a crap. But you stood and moved back, it would only be a minute or two, he'd be fine in that time-

Ghost reached out and grabbed your wrist. You paused and turned to look at him where he twitched around. "Don't... Do that."

You frowned a little and drew yourself back over to him. "Do you want me to stay?"

He didn't look you directly in the eyes, and you could tell he was still half buried deep in his own treacherous thoughts.

"You're here anyway..." He muttered. A dismissive way of telling you not to go. So you didn't. You sat down on the bed next to him and placed your hand in his. He didn't fight it, he allowed you to be touchy.

You gently leaned toward him and rubbed his bicep. "You know you're here, right? Your room."

He grunted and shifted slightly. "dunno.."

You silently rubbed his bicep a bit longer before bringing his knuckles to your cheek. "It's cold in there, isn't it?"

"You're too damn warm..." He muttered. A small smile started on your lips, knowing he was still here.

"Well, I know I don't have to worry about you putting me out. You're like an ice box."

"Can't blame me for runnin' cold sergeant." He mumbled. His body leaned toward you, the fight in his tense body slowly giving in. You eased your arm around his back as you felt him start to give up.

"Well I certainly can't do that. I rather enjoy how cold you run. Makes for a nice ice box on a warm night."

He hummed a little in reply, his hips shifting and his body leaning fully into yours. "Ok... That's ok." You whispered and ran your hand over his head.

"I got you." You whispered again and slowly relaxed him back onto his bed, tugging his weight blanket up onto his shoulder.

"Y/n...." He muttered and slowly looked over at you, but you were there. "Still here," You continued to rub his shoulder reassuringly until his body gave in again. The wild runs of his imagination cut short by his body confronting the lack of sleep.

Before long he was out, eyes drifting closed slowly. The way he trusted you and leaned on you for guidance out of his own mind always touched you in a way you couldn't explain. Of all the people in the world, he loved and trusted you.

You leaned down and gently slid his mask off and laid it on the dresser. Running your hand slowly through his messy hair. He'd need a shower too, but, when he was ready.

You took the opportunity to rush out to the kitchen and get his medication with a glass of water, and lounged on his bed with a book, just in case he woke up, you'd still be there.

(Just a thing I started and never finished. Not entirely sure what it's supposed to be but hey, fluffy at least.)

[webslingingslasher]

ughhhh peter always being so oblivious. can’t even listen to his girlfriend when she’s right in front of him, practically begging him 😡 loved your most recent story 🩷🩷 (still can’t believe there’s finally a pink heart emoji)

was this supposed to be angsty? too bad, it's smutty.

*suggestive behavior and words, no real depictions of sex, sorry kiddos.

‘How do you tell someone you want them?’ No, no, wait… ‘How do you tell your boyfriend you want him?’ 

Wiki-how says to flirt with them, been there done that, message not received. 

Teen Vogue just wants to give you ways to say ‘I love you,’ you’ve tried that too, you just get a declaration back. 

Cosmopolitan says to be bold, ‘I want you inside of me,’ is a direct quote. Bold, sure. But with Peter? You’d think he’d collapse. 

On Quora someone took the bullet, ‘how do I let my boyfriend know I want him to touch me?’ Ah, there it was, someone had to have a good answer. A man in his forties says dirty talk, your nose wrinkles. A young mom says, ‘just like that!’ An anonymous reply said to initiate fist, touch them where you want to be touched, but you can’t exactly squeeze Peter’s boobs. 

You wonder if you told Ned he’d tell Peter, you can imagine that conversation. 

‘Bro, Y/N just told me she wants you to like… use her body as a wonderland.” 

“A what?” 

Yeah, not a good idea either. 

Even with a boyfriend, a super hot, charming, smart boyfriend, you were going to die a virgin. 

Every attempt has fallen short, no matter how close you think you are from him finally getting the hint. Last week you had him between your legs, wrapped tight around his hips as you grinded up towards him, mouths refusing to break. And then, right when he finally, finally, moved his hips with yours and you moaned he pulled away and rolled off of you. That quick too, talk about a cold shower. 

“Do you want me to show you how to do that thing now?” He was panting still, he looked over you flushed out and almost pulled himself back in, too dangerous, he had to use self control. Peter uses what strength he had to get off the bed, he’s already going to his computer, you didn’t get a choice, he chose for you, if he had asked you would’ve asked to ride his thigh. 

“I’d rather you show me what your hands could do,” you mumble under your breath, you want to scream into his pillow and then hump it, does he not feel how frustrated you are? Peter hears you, he gives a chuckle, “they can help you is what, come watch,” he pats his arm rest on the chair. 

You follow his instructions, still grumpy. “I’d rather they help me in a different way,” Peter flashes you a nervous smile, you make him lose his grip on reality. He makes sure you're watching as he clicks around, he’s giving you instruction but all you can think about is his hard thigh underneath you, his grip is tight around your waist, his palm that rests over your shirt radiates heat to the skin underneath. He’s driving you crazy. 

You can’t help it anymore, you have to be blunt, it will be awkward for a second but so, so worth it in the end. “Peter, I want to-” A squeeze, an apology when his phone rings. Only three people call him, Ned, May and you, seeing as you’re on his lap that leaves two options. 

“Hey, May. Oh yeah, no I don’t think so. Um, sure. Well, he didn’t say much but he did want, no, go ahead.” You look at the ceiling and curse, Peter’s thumb brushes your hip, he’s giving teasing touches and doesn’t even know it. “I dunno, hold on let me ask,” he pulls the phone from his ear, “baby?” You look at him, “staying for dinner?” You nod, he grins, “yeah she will… okay, yes ma’am, no problem. Okay, okay, okay, alright, okay, love you too, bye.” 

“Is she at the store?” 

“Yeah, think of anything you need?” 

He clicks at the screen, “yeah, condoms.” 

You jolt at his laugh, his chest pressed tight against your back, Peter snorts, “why would you need those?” 

You stay silent and instead look at the screen and wait for him to continue his lesson, the bubble of want simmering.

—-------------------------------------

“Are you okay?” 

Peter has to literally hold you back by your shoulders, he’s gasping for air, his curls frizzy and pulled around, his shirt unbuttoned three down from the top. You attacked him the second you got into his room, nearly throwing him onto the bed before straddling him and marking your territory. 

You had been at it for a half hour, everytime he tried to stop you’d follow his movements and continue, he had no idea how you were keeping your breath. The only time he remembers you pulling away was to tug your shirt over your head before you immediately unbuttoned his collar and kissed down his neck. 

“‘M great, are you?” you’re just as breathless as him. 

He nods, “‘M good.” 

You smile, “great!” Then go to meet his mouth, Peter turns his head at the last second, you connect with his jaw, you frown but accept any skin, you trail sideways and down, sucking at a spot near his collarbone. One hand grips your hip, one settles on your ribcage. He grunts and you skim your lips back to his mouth, he’s slower this time, like he’s trying to edge you down carefully, you don’t accept the change of rules and open into his mouth, he wont talk the bait. 

You try again, you swipe at his bottom lip, he stays closed. Frustrated you grind down on him, he buckles but refuses to open his own mouth, last resort you bite down on his lip. 

Peter pushes you off, “fuck, you’re insatiable.” 

You look down on him, “why won’t you make out with me?” 

His cheeks are pink, his lips are red and swollen, his pupils are blown out. 

“You’re killin me, smalls.” Peter’s hands come to a rest on his stomach, they rise and fall with his breaths, “no matter what I do you want more.” 

You nod enthusiastically, he’s starting to understand. 

“Yes, so yes. What can you give me?” 

His eyebrows furrow, he doesn’t know what you want. 

“I don’t… what do you want?” 

You grind down on his belt line, his hands shoot to your hips, this was new territory. You’ve just started to grind on him the past week and he still can’t fully process it, he’s never had a feeling like it before and he knows that he’s gonna get a hard on if you keep doing that, and that’s really new territory. 

“Baby,” he groans the word but it’s a warning. 

“This, can I have this?” You try to move again but his hold stops you, he’s using too much strength. 

Peter doesn’t want to rush you, not at all. But these last few weeks have been hard, you’ve been much more open with your words and touches and god it kills him. He’s been thinking about sex, how could he not with you all over him, but he needs to hold out strength for the both of you, and god damn if you don’t make that difficult. 

“If you keep doing that do you know what will happen?” 

Are you okay with this, is what he means, because if you go down this path there’s no coming back, it’s a whole new step, he’s okay with that but are you? 

You tilt your head at him, “I’ll cum?” 

Peter exhales through his nose harshly, his voice pinchy, “jesus christ.” 

“Is it okay if I take my bra off?” Your fingers were already behind your back, he’s been lucky enough to see them a few times but not in a situation like this one where he could get to inspect them and enjoy it. “If you want, but you don’t-” he stops speaking when you toss your bra to the ground. 

“Wanna take your pants off?” 

He looks at you, he’s fully clothed almost while you’re now sitting on top of him with only panties on, how did he get here? No pants means no more barriers, you wanted to feel him, all of him, when you dry humped him. 

“Do you want my pants off?” 

How does he not get it? You’re more than half naked on his lap begging for his touch, what did he think you wanted, a milkshake? 

“Peter, where’s your mind at?” 

“With what?” 

You rub your eyes, frustration would do no good here. “I need to know where you’re at with this, cause i’ve tried everything to make it known you make me really fucking horny.” His eyes widened, it was like he had a revelation of ‘girls can be horny too?’ and yeah, he did know that they could but he never imagined he could make someone horny, even if it was his girlfriend. And maybe he did understand a little of what you wanted but he also thought you were joking, that you were hinting at a hookup teasingly but, no you were serious. 

“I do?” 

Well that didn’t sound good, did he not share the same feelings? 

“I… Peter, do I even turn you on?”

The room spins, you’re on your back in a second, Peter holds your forearms to the bed. You couldn’t even take a breath in, that’s how quick he pinned you. He didn’t want you to think, for even a second, you didn’t turn him on. 

“Don’t ever ask that again, you turn me on more than you could even begin to imagine.” 

You giggle, “oh, do I? How much?” 

He kisses your cheek, “cold shower every time you leave.” 

“Then how come I never feel you get hard?” 

Peter takes his turn kissing down your neck, he nibbles a matching mark to his on your collarbone. “Threw you off before you could.” 

You hum when he nuzzles into your neck, he places a kiss to your cheek, you look at him over you. 

“Does that mean you’ll take off your pants?” 

He laughs, “yeah, baby. I’ll take off my pants.” 

Peter sits back to pull his shirt off, you take a moment to appreciate his body. You always feel like you don’t compliment him enough, “you’re pretty,” the words fall from your lips and he grins shyly, his hands working at pants button, he’s about to shimmy them off but you stop him. 

“Wait!” 

Peter’s hands freeze, you nod at his hands, “can I do it?” 

His hands fall away and you reach forward, tension thick the second you start to undress him. You never knew how heavy a moment could be until you had your hands in your boyfriend's waistline tugging them down, knowing it was so you could sit pretty on top of him and rock on his lap. 

You rope a leg over his waist and take mount, already pressing into him further than you’ve ever been, you give a teasing roll of your hips, your eyes shoot open and Peter throws his head back with a groan. 

You whisper at the same time, minds blown. “Woah.” 

[hansensgirl]

summary. | You make a chilling discovery about your best friend.

prompts. | Steve Rogers + Mob/Mafia + “You ask too many questions. Just relax.” + Corruption, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, lying, corruption kink, mobs/mafia stuff, steve owns a gun, pet names, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics.

Your hands shake when you look deeper into Stevie’s jacket, making sure you saw it right. A gun. The shape and weight are both undeniable, and you wonder why your best friend would have something like this. When you squint, you see an emblem of the city’s most feared mob with his initials.

The discovery makes you feel hollow. Practically betrayed. 

“Honey? I got the popcorn. Did you find a movie yet?” the blond asks, interrupting your train of thought. You quickly move away from your spot and try to play it off cool, all while planning a way to escape. You need time to think, time for yourself.

“N– No, not yet. I haven’t even chosen a genre yet,” you giggle nervously. Steve chuckles and gives you his signature charming smile. This time, however, chills run down your spine.

You don’t know much about the mob, but you do know that you should be scared of each member, no matter the position. 

“Aw, poor baby. You open to any suggestions?” Steve questions, sitting on your couch. He grabs the remote and turns the television on, waiting for your response. “Uh, sure,” you say, sitting on the couch. 

You try to maintain a distance from him, but the larger man grabs you gently and pulls you next to him, hooking you under his heavy arm. 

“How about The Godfather?” he mindlessly offers, and your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “Th– The Godfather? Are you sure?” you repeat, nervous. Does he know about your snooping? What you found? Is he going to hurt you? The questions make you dizzy.

“Yeah, why not? Buck and I have been dyin’ to see it for a while,” he explains. “Heard it’s pretty good. They did a lot of research for that one, y’know.” Steve has already found the film. He presses play and offers you some popcorn.

You refuse him, lacking an appetite. Your mouth is dry, and you find yourself eyeing Steve. He meets your gaze each time, flashing that grin and stroking your bare arm with his thumb. You hate this—you almost hate him. It’s as if he’s messed everything up, and you nearly resent him for it.

“You alright, sweetheart?” your best friend eventually speaks up, not daring to tear his eyes away from the screen. You nod your head. “Y– Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” you scoff, even picking up a piece of popcorn to really convince him.

“I dunno. But you would tell me the truth, right, honey? No matter what?” Steve asks, fully turning his head to look at you. You gulp thickly.

“Of course… You would, too, right, Stevie?” you hum. “‘Course.” A few moments of silence pass.

“Well, not everything. The boss would have my head, y’know?” he chuckles like his profession is something hilarious. You can feel your stomach dropping. “All those bloody nights and bullet wounds…” Steve clicks his tongue and fakes a grimace, trailing off.

“Wh– What do you mean, Stevie? What are you talking about?” you innocently ask him. Steve grabs your chin and turns your head, forcing you to make eye contact with him. You watch as his eyes flick between your features before landing on your lips.

“You ask too many questions. Just relax. I can hear your heart beating through your chest,” he notes. But you can’t relax, not when your best friend turns out to be a man you barely even know. 

Steve watches as tears glass over your eyes, the fear making you shake. You have no reason to be afraid, not when he’ll always be there to protect you. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun ruining you, baby.” 

[2knightt]

the gangs love languages<3

!warnings!

1.GN!reader-mentions of reader being ‘pretty’

2.minor swearing

3.i did NAWT proofread ts. we die like men.

Johnny Cade ;

I’m getting strong physical touch and words of affirmation vibes.

do not even try to lie to me he would TOTALLY be holding your hand 24/7.

with the gang? you guys have your pinkies intertwined! on a walk? holding hands! cuddling? holding both hands, scandalous!

he hugs you so much. he doesn’t get it, you don’t get it, nobody does.

he just, likes hugging for some reason???

but YOU have to hug him first, he will NOT hug first.

absolutely LOVES being the little spoon. may hurt his ego a little bit, but ykw, it’s worth it in the long run🙏.

he’s so touch starved. he doesn’t know what the loving touch of anyone feels like. so PLEASE, treat johnnycake nicely.

he will CONSTANTLY tell you look look gorgeous. constantly.

“you look stunning today. n-not sayin’ you don’t look good everyday! i mean you’re a real looker ya know and-“

he doesn’t know how to function because he thinks he messes up everytime he tries to speak to you :(

homies that whipped fr…

ANYWAYS, back onto track🙏

when you two are alone he’s actually so sweet with his words i can’t.

“dunno how i got this lucky. huh? i didn’t say anything.”

“you look real good in that shirt, babe.”

“love you so much. so, so, so much.”

Dallas Winston ;

it’s physical touch and acts of service. do not play with me right now, i know i’m right.

i don’t really think dally’s good at expressing how he feels in any shape or form.

so he shows you love by having his hand on your hip, kissing you, stealing cute accessories for you, holding the door open etc.

if you’re expecting him to go on rants on how he loves you, you’re in the wrong place. that’s all sodapop but we aren’t on his section, are we?

anywhere and everywhere you guys go he will have his hand on you. not just because he’s protective but i think it gives him a sense of security and calmness.

like, dallas knowing you’re safe, makes him happy.

SPEAKING OF HIM BEING PROTECTIVE— he will intimidate someone by having his arm around your shoulder and staring right into their eyes.

kisses are his favourite thing💆‍♂️ he told me himself.

he steals shit for you. i know he does, we both know.

dally ain’t well off so, he’s gonna do what he does best. steal.

want that necklace? SNATCHED! want cigarettes? ALREADY IN HIS HAND! pepsi? YOURS ALREADY!

“you want some chips, doll? i’ll get ya some. don’t you worry your pretty little head over it, eh?”

“but you’re broke, dall.”

“what did i just say?”

Ponyboy Curtis ;

QUALITY TIME QUALITY TIME QUALITY TIME!!!

words of affirmation too ig.

ponyboy definitely finds so much comfort in just sitting in silence with you.

he thinks it’s a nice break from the loud bumbling idiots in his house.

like you could be napping in his room and he’d come in if the gang got too loud and sit next to your sleeping body and just read.

he reads out loud to you. now, i don’t know which category that falls under but he does. like, a lot.

“ ‘To the soldiers and me it's all worth it. Risking life, dodging or taking bullets, and pulling triggers. It’s all worth it.’ “

“what?! that’s so sad pony!!”

“well, that’s what the book says y/n.”

he’s another one that finds comfort in knowing your safe. actually, most if not all of the gang feels like that.

you’re definitely his first relationship so i can see him being hesitant on physical touch, but he can and will write you a cute lil note with 0 shame.

“dear y/n, i just wanted to let you know that you looked really cute today—well, you look cute everyday. but you get what i mean, right? anyways, meet me at the dingo at 4PM. I’ll treat you this time.”

expect notes like that to just randomly fall out of your locker.

ponyboy quotes corny romance books in those notes. i just KNOW he does.

at the end of your note one day there will be a;

“ ‘so no, he didn’t give me flowers or candy. he gave me the moon and the stars. infinity.’ — reminded me of us.”

Sodapop Curtis ;

HE IS WHIPPED FOR YOU so it’s probably something like, lovesick-ish.

it’s definitely physical touch and words of affirmation to the maximum.

he is ALWAYS bragging about you to EVERYONE and ANYONE.

he talks about you to steve

“i think i’m gonna marry ‘em steve. i can see the wedding now!”

“you said that last tim-“

“SHUT UP!”

and even to customers!!

“they’re just so sweet! they’re the most beautiful person ever!”

“thats great kid. can you ring up my fucking chocolate bar now?”

he’s always smothering you in affection.

he just loves you so much he just needs to squeeze you with love!!

when he sees you just standing around or cooking he’ll come up from behind and hug you. he might pick you up n swing you around a little but ykw that’s what makes it special.

he ain’t afraid to sweet talk you bro.

“there you are! my pretty little lover, huh?”

“you’re so cute, you know that right?…right babe?”

you guys cuddle all the time it’s SICKENING.

you’re always in his arms and he has this grin on his face like he just won the goddamn lottery.

if you guys were to walk around town, he’d have his arm around your waist the whole time. like, the whole time.

he’s so in love it makes me sick just writing about it.

Darry Curtis ;

darry is a simple man dare i say.

he definitely shows love by spending as much time with you as he can.

he works two jobs so he doesn’t have all the time in the world to hang out with you, but when he does? he LIVES for it.

he’ll cook supper with you and teach you a new recipe his mom used to make, he’ll sit on his chair while reading the newspaper as you rant about your day, ANYTHING.

no matter what he’s doing, he will ALWAYS listen to you. it’s like a super power.

“that’s great baby.”

“you aren’t listening are you, darry?”

“yeah i am. you said you got tipped 10$ by one customer.”

you ain’t hear this from me but, sometimes when darrys in a real good mood he’ll give you gifts.

he has a jar separate just for you! it’s got money for dates, anniversary gifts, presents, all of it!

sometimes he’ll go take out some of that money and buy you something sweet<3

darry, also, isn’t one to tell the whole world on how he loves you. but, you do understand how he shows love.

even you cherish the minutes that pass by as you sit next to darry on the couch with your head on his shoulder and his arm around your shoulders, sitting in silence.

silence that speaks a thousand words when it comes to sir darry curtis.

Steve Randle ;

just like his best friend, he’s shouting to the world about you too. just, not as loud.

he respects his own privacy, so i can see his being physical touch and acts of service.

he’s a man of respect, obviously. he is one to throw his arm around you to show you off every once and awhile, but not much.

he’ll mostly hold your hand. when i say mostly, i mean all the time btw.

it’s all he does.

“steve, you can let go now. i’m home and you know you can’t come in!”

“..nah.”

he acts like he’s in debt to you for no fucking reason???

like you need something fixed around the house? DONE. grocery shopping needs to be done? ALREADY BOUGHT AND PUT AWAY.

he holds car doors open for you. he does, i can see it now. i’m just delulu

sometimes he acts annoyed with you when you ask him to do a simple task, while he’s doing it.

“steve, can you get me a water?”

*sighs and gets up*

“you have legs you can do it.”

he says that while he’s pouring the water into a glass cup with a lemon slice on the side with ice cubes already in the drink.

he loves you, he really does.

and he will say it, just not often.

he has too much pride for that….

no he doesnt.

he rants to sodapop about you while he fixes cars like a teenage girl talking about her crush.

Two-Bit Matthews ;

homie just wants to show you off to the world😭😭

he’s so proud of you he goes down the streets yelling that he’s officially dating you not literally…he isn’t that insane LMFAO

he gives off physical touch and..oddly enough quality time.

i feel like two-bit really likes the both of you at the curtis house sitting on the floor, your head on his lap while his hand sits on top of your head as you two watch whatever cartoon is on.

two-bit DEFINITELY wants to spend every waking moment with you.

“c’mon angel, let’s go get beer!”

“two, i don’t drink.”

“well, i do. so, lets go!!”

he will definitely walk everywhere with his arm draped around your shoulder.

instead of you being the trophy wife, HE’S the trophy wife fr.

he’s such a pretty princess and he expects to be treated like one!

he gives you all his time so it’s only faire you give him all of yours.

“what does math have that i don’t y/n?!”

“i need to pass this class, baby. you know i suck at math.”

“well, thats even more of a reason not to do it! why bust your ass over it?! come over here and let me LOVE YOU!! JEEZ.”

all two-bit does is brag about you..like, its all he does.

“yeah, sorry your hamster died. but did you know that i’m dating y/n?-“

author notes;

1.FIRST POST ON THIS ACCOUNT RAHHHH!!!

2.pulled this out of my ass LMFAO

3. hope it aint too bad tho💔💔

may 2nd, 2023. 11:57PM.

[azulsluver]

Hey hi hello!!! I hope you're having a nice day today! If it's not a bother, I'll be leaving a request for your bully!au. Maybe with a reader who's a hot head? Like, the moment they start acting up, readers already in their face asking questions like "why the fuck are you being such a dick?" Normally, reader could conceal this if it was the normal twst, but the moment the twst guys start slipping, reader is already confronting them on why they are being such assholes. You know how narancia from jjba acts like when he's stressed or mad? Yeah exactly like that! Pulling out the knife out too. Reader doesn't care about their reputation, so they wouldn't care less if they were threatened by that. I love your writing too!!! I always look forward to it when I open Tumblr. Thank you for reading, and have a nice day!!

This is not gonna end well…BUT THANK YOU BEST COMPLIMENT OF THE BLOG!!! <333

Buncha rambles, dunno where this was gonna lead so sorry if this isn’t what you wanted 😅

tw. yandere, bully!characters, mentions of stabbing/murder, manipulative!reader for the win 🏆

No one is gonna side with you. The bystanders do absolutely nothing till this point, reputation is very important and they don’t want it being dirty with yours (lmao ironic). Besides people like Lilia, Malleus, and Jade—they find your “hot-headed” personality attractive.

You’ll get picked on more yes, these students are much stronger than you by far, but you wouldn’t go down without them having a piece of your mind. Calling out on their schemes will make some embarrass— Cater, Ace, Epel. Others will be more aggressive or try to turn the situation around and blame you for overreacting.

Pulling a stunt as trying to knife one of them? May be successful if I’m honest. Depends on who you choose to do so, you won’t be alone in a group of two, they’ll always be another watching or tagging along. They’ll keep in mind to not let you be near any sharp or heavy objects, you clearly can’t handle being by yourself.

I can see a hot-headed reader making it far for themselves and not fall too deep into the victim pit. Standing up for yourself is already hard enough, you’re going against people who are training to become said mages. But at the end of the day everyone is still human no matter how cruel they are. They aren’t bullet proof nor emotionless. Get them to hurt, physically or mentally, with their guard down you can successfully have them under your thumb.

Reader who butts in first and steps up, show some respect around here. This will help you gain sympathy from bystanders and a little chance for them to befriend. That’s where Jack comes in. You’ve shown him you were worthy of helping and not just some runt who lets people walk all over them. This won’t be enough to overthrow any housewarden or powerful mage, but it’ll do.

People are not gonna enjoy your pushy and rude attitude for long, the pros and cons don’t weigh as equally. Especially when the cons lead to death.

“Oh but why don’t they get in trouble?”

Because they know how to clean up a scene and fast. Also who would believe you, a strange person who came out of the coffin when you weren’t supposed to be there. No one trusts you and won’t take your side, and since this is a bully!AU people tend to look the other way if murder is convicted. You aren’t all that important with little to no background, the perfect victim to get rid of.

And Idia gets rid of the evidence if there’s any camera involved.

You can’t just go around and stab people at random, let alone pick a fight. What you need is strategy. Be more self aware and focused, as difficult it is to talk to a brick wall, it’ll crumble if you stay long enough to experience it’s downfall. For those interested in knowing who can actually lose to a let’s say…neutral reader (fairly strong enough and a good amount of willpower), my take is on Riddle, Deuce, Ace, Azul, Jack, Epel, Rook, Vil, Idia, Malleus, and surprisingly last Sebek.

Should’ve switched the surprisingly for Rook because wow. Show them who’s boss babe, besides your cowardly counter part they are doomed if you’re more dominant. Not in a weird way lol, take the wheel of your life outta their greasy hands!

[zan0tix]

Pleaseeee tell me more about that homescryption au

A little something between you and me and everyone else who happens to look at this post. Im working on a lineup for the four scrybes :D

Roxys design is subject to change and you guys have already seen D1rk. Jane and Jake are in progress!!! (Also D1rk and Harley are the names for dirk and jake but weve been struggling to come up with appropriately fantasical/magical names for Jane and Roxy that align with magnificus and grimora😞 Harley feels old-manish enough that it fits in well… im sure well get there but if anybody has ideas feel free to comment ✌️)

But yes i can tell you more!!! ILL PUT IT ALL UNDER THE CUT THIS POST IS GOING TO BE LONG o7

Working with cyrus repliiku to flesh it out x3 he was the one who got me into the game and im CRAZY NOW!!!!

The four alpha scrybes methods of inscribing cards are that Harley uses his magic blunderbuss and the things he shoots become cards, Roxys cards are the fantasical characters she creates in her stories, Jane will be a detective of death, uncovering how cards die and writing up a casefile in her detective agency about them (might give her a magic magnifying glass. Well see), and D1rk were trying to figure out something with Sburbs captcha card + ghost captcha system like how Po3’s cards are printed from real robots

The students/the scrybes underlings are going to be other homestuck characters or splinters!

D1rks will be the robots (aradiabot, arquius (wanted him to me more unique than just brobot + hal so he gets to be a robot) and jadebot.

Harleys will be jake-ish splinters rather than new characters. Thered be the Adventurer (prospector), the Hunter (trapper/trader), the Sailor (angler), the Ectobiologist (mycologists), and the Actor (woodcarver) and his campaigns would be more Action packed like jakes action movies type stuff hehe

Janes will be the dead trolls, nepeta, equius and feferi. Not much to say besides them being dead lol 😭

And roxys were still figuring out but nerm. Viceroy/Casey, Rose (maybe goobert but they are actually nice and kind to her) and Eridan….(lonely wizard he was banished to the shadow realm for being annoying 😁👍)

Luke Carter is going to be Calliope and Satan in the greater scheme of the daniel mullins-verse will be Caliborn/Lord English because i think itd be very funny for him to just. Be making video games and thats his evil plot. LOL and Sado would be Gamzee. (Will not expand to pony island or the hex this is just clearing up the ending of inscryption)

Kaycee would probably be Aranea but like just some normal girl. Not all that sure abt the OLD_DATA tho ??? Maybe just all the wrong doings Lord English has committed and influenced culminated into the files or the code that brought him into the universe I DUNNO.

Retconning the drawing i did when i first scribbled this AU, i believe when harley turns the other scrybes into preexisting cards d1rk would become a seagull (kingfisher replacement) roxy would become a jaguar (wolf replacement) and jane would become a jackalope (pronghorn replacement) 😁

And the way harley would be defeated would be using his blunderbuss on him with a special bullet instead of film. Po3’s decapitation fulfilled the Dirk prophecy too LOL

I think that of the gameplay/card gimmicks themselves would work basically the same but i might try and come up with more creative homestucky twists on them

Im planning on finishing the designs and making sprites and more mockup screenshots :3

I might write up or draw a comprehensive ref sheet for this au someday but for now heres what weve jotted down 👍

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hotel Room

PAIRING: Tangerine x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2392

SUMMARY: changing plans midway into a mission in Tokyo- you, Tangerine and Lemon decide to stay in a hotel instead of taking the bullet train.

TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+ only. dry humping, pinv, unprotected sex, pull out. no use of y/n MINORS DNI.

A/N: this is my first post and im a little scared to post it, so please plz be kind. I tried to keep it as accurate as possible, however I accidentally made Tangerine kinder than I had originally planned and changed some things about the film plot so it doesn’t create a domino effect in this- aka Tan dying

rewritten 09/12/23 - no change to the plot, just made it less crap

"I don't think we should be getting this train," you mutter like you were talking to yourself, eyes darting across the busy platform of the station. "Guys?" you repeat, turning to see only Lemon behind you. "I don't think we should get this train."

"Yeah?" Lemon hums, sounding distracted.  

"I have a bad feeling. The next one is in thirty minutes. I say we wait," you respond, wary eyes glancing around.

Tangerine joins you both, looking over the tickets he just collected. "What's that now?" he questions, brows furrowed.

"I got intel someone I used to know might be on here," you murmur, avoiding the Twins' focused gaze.

"Like an ex?" Tangerine prods, his tone slightly cautious.

"No— stop it. I'm being serious," you emphasise, eyes squinting to show your annoyance.

Usually, when others act possessive around you, you'd turn the other way - having no interest in games. But when you talk about other guys in front of Tangerine, you'd often notice how his forehead vein would subtly protrude, like he was bubbling with rage from the inside - keeping it hidden. Though you'd always notice. It wasn't hard to tell when he was jealous. His quick, snappy comments are often the main giveaway.

"Alright, alright. Keep'ya knickers on, bellend," he scoffs, crossing his arms and widening his stance as if he was trying to intimidate you - which it doesn't.

"Okay, so, you remember Johannesburg? When we saw that guy— dirty blonde, mid-length hair? Facial hair? Yellow outfit. Looked like a prisoner? That one?" 

"No, not really," Lemon adds, shaking his head - looking clueless.

"Lemon. You shot him— a few times."

"No, not ringing a bell," he continues, just as clueless as before. "Oh, you mean Joburg?"

Tangerine pipes in, sighing. "Yes, you daft fuck."

"Well, I was just checking."

"Yeah, but it ain't important now, is it?" the twins bicker, overlapping each other.

"Oh my god," you mutter, rubbing the bridge of your nose. "Right, anyway, none of that's important. I used to work with him— Ladybug, like way way way back. I got a tip-off he's gonna be getting this train, and he's clearly been assigned to snatch that case," you nod to the silver briefcase tucked under Lemon's arm. 

"We can keep the case safe. We got hired for that reason," Tangerine adds, subtly reassuring you. 

"No, no. That doesn't matter. He's seeing a new therapist, and he's got some weird fate, destiny thing protecting him— like everyone except him gets hurt. I dunno about you, but I don't really feel like getting shot at again today."

You look between the brothers, eyes softening like you are talking without words - telling them things to make them take your side, to make them see that you're trying to protect them. You find it harder to pull away from Tan's fixed blue gaze, feeling strangely hypnotised under his attention.

"Okay," Tangerine agrees simply. "We'll wait," he nods, extending his hands towards you, resting them on your shoulder as if he's comforting you - telling you in his own way that everything will be okay. He rips his hands away when he hears a cough from beside him - Lemon suspicious at the placement.

The kind gesture wasn't long-lived, but it helped. A lot.

You suggest staying in a nearby hotel for the night, offering to try again in the early hours of the morning. The case would be safe, and that's what mattered.

————

You and the twins walk into the quiet hotel lobby, asking for three rooms - preferably all next door to each other. Once collecting the key cards, you make your way up to your floor, letting yourselves into your rooms with a quick nod to one another, silently saying goodnight.

After the nonstop events of today, all you wanted was to shower. To wash away the grime of the day, literally.

You throw your overnight bag on the floor and do a quick sweep of the room to check it's safe, then head into the bathroom, stepping into the shower to begin a lengthy wash.

Afterwards, you pat yourself dry with a fluffy hotel towel, dressing in an oversized tee when you hear a few rhythmic knocks at the door. You look through the peephole to see a wet, curly-haired, ‘stached man - there was only one person that could be.

You tug on the hem of your t-shirt, covering your exposed thighs as you open the door, greeted by Tangerine on the other side wearing a baggy tee and a pair of boxers.

His eyes leisurely travel over you, slowly pulling away from your thighs that you subtly tried to hide. He coughs, clearing his throat like he's refocusing, diverting his attention from your lower half back to your fresh face.

"Just doing bed check. And you are... ahem," he masks the pause in another cough. "You are accounted for. So that's. That's good."

"Right, okay," you murmur, purposely keeping your gaze fixed on his face - stopping your eyes from glancing lower.

He hesitates, lingering like that wasn't all he knocked for. You wanted to invite him in. To hang out for a bit. But you get all finicky and squirrely when it's just the two of you, and you never know what to say or do. It was like you couldn't think straight, his aftershave and biceps acting like a barrier in your brain. Besides, it's not like anything can happen between you anyway - he didn't like you in that way.

He clears his throat once more, scratching the back of his neck. "My tv ain't working. I don't wanna watch Lem's shit, so can I watch some in your room?"

Letting out a small puff of a sigh, you agree and move aside, allowing him to walk past. He settles in almost instantly, shimmying himself under the covers and flicking through the channels, trying to find something good to watch.

You sit down awkwardly beside him, leaving a safe and comfortable gap between you, subtly scootching away when he moves closer to you.

"What's up with you? You're being well weird," he asks, diverting his attention from the Japanese game show to you, looking over you with furrowed brows.

"I'm not being weird. You're being weird," you divert, crossing your arms over yourself, trying to minimise space. "Just trying to get comfy."

"That's cos'ya hanging off the bed, knobhead. Get closer, then."

He swiftly pulls you closer, gently dragging you towards him so that both of you are leaning against the headboard, his arm draped over your shoulder.

It was the complete opposite of what you were trying to accomplish - now smushed up close to his side, forced to smell his masculine shower gel. You had no idea what to do with yourself.

You have only been this close in proximity a few times. And on those occasions, one of you would always be drunk - never to be brought up again. But when you're sitting so close to him, both completely sober, your brain can't help but stir up those feelings you've been trying to suppress.

Lewd and vulgar thoughts spiralled around when you feel the steady sound of his heartbeat against your arm, everything so casual and natural - like everything was a breeze with him. Your mind begins to wander when you feel him shift beside you, legs spreading, groin adjusting like he was making himself comfortable - like he was situating himself in your bed for the night.

In your line of work, you don't often experience genuine human interactions - ones that are soft and gentle, ones filled with tender love and care. Every encounter lately has ended in a blood bath - literally. 

So when you feel Tangerine's hand slip into yours, you can't help but overthink it. It was so unlike him to physically show how he felt, so it was tricky not to question his motives.

His thumb swipes over your hand, softly squeezing yours, so you decide to look up at him, but he is already focused on you - the tv a mere thought away. The way he looked at you was so unexpected, so different to all the other times. 

All you could offer under his concentrated attention was a faint and gentle smile, nose softly scrunching as you held his gaze. He returns with a boyish grin, tache twitching with the movement.

You momentarily break eye contact, quickly glancing down at his lips. You thought you were sneaky, but the way his breathing ever so slightly faltered told you otherwise. 

He slowly leans towards you, his movements articulate and calculated as he pulls you in for a kiss, working over your lips carefully and considerately. His large palms nestling on the side of your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss - everything turning somewhat desperate. Hasty.

His mouth travels away from your slightly bruised lips, now working along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Muttering faint groans into your skin as you tug on the damp curls at the back of his head - holding him close to you.

Tangerine's movements remain dominant. In charge. Guiding you and bringing you down the bed, laying you flat on your back so he can situate himself between your spread legs - hovering atop of you with his chest pressed to yours.

His cock feels firm against you, tucked and slotted perfectly between your thighs, nudging and brushing your clit with every subtle move he makes. 

It wasn't long before you found yourself whimpering into his mouth and toying with your hips, the dry humping working you up more than you had thought.

He parts from your lips, looking into your hazy, blissed-out eyes -ones that mirror his own- and begins to lazily push up your tee, stroking up your stomach, exposing just what he wanted to see; plushy tits and cute soft tummy. 

You help him out of his t-shirt, wanting to see more. Eager fingers trailing over the contours of his stomach before pulling him back to you, his happy trail brushing against your abdomen - chests sandwiched together. 

He trails a faint line of kisses down your neck and along your collarbone as he slips himself from your grasp, sitting on his knees between your thighs. He picks up your hand, sliding his gold rings onto your fingers. "Look after these for me, would'ya?" he whispers, kissing the back of your hand.

It's then that he finally slips a hand between your legs, faintly trailing up and down your slit, teasing you as he palms his cock through his tented boxers, circling over the wet patch of fabric - right by his head.

His gaze remains lidded, lazily looking over you as he dips his hand into the waistband, rolling over his aching cock a couple of times. Your eyes respond pleadingly, silently begging him to hurry up.

Your keen fingers make haste movements, brushing over his boxers like you were trying to strip them from him - doing his job for him. 

He answers your prayers and tugs down the fabric, flinging his briefs to the edge of the bed, letting his thick, hard cock spring free. He grips himself at the base, guiding his head towards your slick hole - rimming his tip around before slowly easing in. 

He goes slow, steady. Like he has all the time in the world. Letting you adjust and accustom his size, deeply filling you. Bottoming out.

With his cock stuffed inside, he leans over you once more, hovering over you and caging you to the mattress - your arms and legs clinging onto him, wrapping around him like a monkey on a tree. 

"Fuck me," Tangerine blabbers, voice hoarse and incoherent. Hot grunts against your throat as he winds into you, cock grinding inside you. "Christ."

He brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks, holding you still so he can lap over your lips, swallowing your whimpers - your sweet pretty sounds muffling against his tongue. 

Your touch mirrors his, moving your hands from his back to hold either side of his face, pushing away a stray curl that fell. Holding him close. Keeping him there.

Tangerine quickens the pace, fucking into you a little better. More deliberatly. The curve of his cock rubbing against your gummy walls in the most sinful way.

He chases your release, wanting to feel you shudder and tighten around him - wanting to feel you cum on his cock. So, he parts from your lips and trails messy open kisses over your cheek, halting when he reaches under your ear. 

"You feel so perfect wrapped around me—  you're so perfect," he hazily whispers, talking low. "God— yeah, that's it," he nods slowly, encouraging you. "You're right there, pretty girl. I can feel it."

With his soft praise, you find yourself gripping onto his dick, tightly clamping around him as you cum. Moaning sweet cries senselessly into the crook of his neck.

Your release triggers his own, pumping his thick, warm load onto your stomach, biting back broken groans as he milks the rest of his cum onto your jittering tummy. 

He leans back over you once more, placing a lingering kiss on your lips before pushing himself off the bed, heading for the bathroom.

Returning with a lusty smile and a wet washcloth, he sits on the edge of the bed beside you, gently wiping it over your stomach before doing the same with his cock, rubbing the fabric over his leaking, messy tip.

"We should've done that years ago," you whisper, flattening your tee down your stomach.

"Fuckin' years ago," he coyly grins, raking back his now-dried curls.

Your smile widens, meeting his eyes. "You, uh... you can stay over? If you want... so you— you can watch tv?" you offer, trying to persuade him - finding a reason for him to stay.

"For the tv," he chuckles, nodding. Playing along

He slips into the bed beside you, tugging the covers up and settling himself next to you. His large, warm arms find you under the sheets, holding you to his side.

"We got an early start. Get some sleep, love," he whispers, placing a delicate kiss on your temple. "Goodnight."

[jesterwriting]

(for that timeloop post,, uhm this relates to the whole body horror thing ((not too much just a brief mention)) so if rn u don't wanna see that SCROLL AWAY!!! OR DELETE ME!! OK disclaimer ends here)

oh man but what if Law did say room anyway and there were impossible scars on your insides... like littered everywhere, they're not fresh but old, almost phantoms that make no sense, because if they were real you would've died. how would he react to that? maybe not when he noticed them crying but after weeks or months, dunno, where they keep skipping his more thorough check-ups (where he uses his devil fruit) since they're anxious about the pains? and think that somehow there are signs of their previous deaths and the mention of them makes it hurt more and more and they just can't do it. but they can't bring themselves to say it because who could possibly believe them? if Law doesn't, it would just feel even worse, won't it? even if they understand his point of view. maybe they even die in front of him and it gets harder to just hold all of that in,,, oh boy. if you think about continuing your oneshot i'll eat it like a starving animal!

pairing: law x gn!reader

contents: slight body horror, slight gore, timeloops, suicide done to restart the loop, hurt/comfort, happy ending,

word count: 1.6k words

note: OHHHHH I LOVED THIS IDEA OH MY GOD. absolutely so smart. anon your mind is huge and i had so much fun doing this request. <33 i really hope you enjoy :33

playlist: caribou - tanya tagaq

a sister fic to this

This had never happened before. You had experienced hundreds of loops, maybe even thousands, and this was the first time Law saw fit to scan you with his Devil Fruit.

Maybe you were getting sloppy. You had a strong immune system so you never got sick, and the first time Law scanned you for your general checkup upon joining the crew, there was nothing of note. You wondered what changed, as if you hadn’t died more times since you joined his crew than you had in your entire life. Maybe it was because the more you suffered, the more reckless you became, throwing yourself into the fray with little regard for yourself. You could take a bullet for your crewmates, so you would. It was as simple as that.

There was a first time for everything, you supposed. A first death, a first breath, a first kill; there were uncountable firsts that one could experience, and you had experienced most of them.

Not this one, though.

You had tried to avoid it for as long as possible. Your captain was a man who carried burdens, ones almost as heavy as the ones on your shoulders. If he knew how many times he failed you — or how many times you failed him — you knew he would take all the blame for himself. As if you hadn’t been the one lying, and fighting, and dying over the course of countless lifetimes.

Law blinked a few times before his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. You fidgeted under his stare. If his reaction was anything to go by, he found something horribly wrong with you. While you had experienced slow deaths before, you had never experienced what it felt like to waste away from disease. Maybe you’d find out this loop, you thought, trying to feel nonchalant about the idea and not like you were about to throw up.

“Um. What’s wrong,” You tried.

Law shushed you, the blue glow from his room still surrounding you. You bit your tongue, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt to try and take your mind off of whatever he could have found.

“This can’t be right,” He muttered, one hand cradling his chin. He pointed to your chest. “There’s a scar inside of you, it looks like a puncture wound through your lungs. When did that happen?”

Three loops ago when you fell off a building and onto some rebar. That was a particularly awful death. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was Law’s panicked expression as he tried to put you back together again. There was terror in his eyes. You tried not to think about that part.

“And here,” Law continued, pointing to your abdomen. “There’s a scar running across the length of your stomach. It almost looks as if you were previously disemboweled.”

You had been. Multiple times. It was a common and very disturbing loop ender that you tried to avoid if you could. Watching your organs fall out of you in a steaming heap was never something you liked to experience, but for some reason, your opponents kept aiming for the gut. You wished they’d aim for the heart or the head more often. At least then it’d be quick.

He didn’t stop there, jaw falling open when he stared directly where your heart was. “When were you stabbed, Y/N-ya, this looks recent.” Law blinked a few times before realization dawned on his features. His eyes shot to your face, expression going from open to unreadable in seconds. “How did you survive without my intervention?”

Your mouth was dry. How were you supposed to respond? There was no way you could tell him that you had died on his watch more times than you could count. Law didn’t deserve that. Your captain was a good man, one you loved admired far too much to allow this to weigh him down. He would take your failures to heart, completely discounting the amount of times that he had saved you from having to start anew.

You must have been quiet for too long because Law was speaking again. “Answer me.”

“It’s from a long time ago,” You said.

That was a lie. It was from the previous loop. A quick death by your own hand over the cold corpse of your captain. If Law didn’t survive, there was no point in continuing, and if there was one thing you had grown accustomed to, it was taking your own life after one loss too many. You knew how to make it quick, no suffering. So with a precise hand, you drove your knife into your chest and let the timeline begin anew.

When you saw Law again, whole and alive, you vomited. You were under the impression that he believed that you simply ate some bad seafood, but from the concern that was slowly etching its way onto his features, you weren’t so sure of that now.

“Don’t lie to me.” Law’s eyes flashed, barely contained frustration needling at the corners of him. “None of this makes any sense, half of these injuries should have killed you. The other half would have needed to be treated.”

The truth sat on the tip of your tongue. You felt selfish and needlessly cruel for your desire to tell Law what was really happening. Your eyes burned, and their glassy sheen didn’t go unnoticed. Law handed you a tissue, expression softening.

“I- um.” You hated how your voice cracked. It had been a long time since you told someone about your Devil Fruit. You always died, and they always forgot. For a long time, you thought it was better that way, carrying this weight on your own. The way Law looked at you, though, it made you want to pour your soul out to him. Every pain, every loss, every death lain at his feet, and for once, you could stand unburdened. “It’d be wrong of me to tell you.”

Law’s eyebrows knit together. “Now you’re being stupid.”

“No, I’m not. You’ll regret asking once you know. Don’t pretend like you don’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you don’t deserve my troubles on top of that. It’s better for both of us if you just forget what you saw.”

With that, you stood and made to brush past Law and out of the room. He grabbed you by the shoulder, not allowing you to go any farther. Though his grip was firm, it didn’t hurt. If you really wanted to, you could wrench yourself away from him.

“You’re trembling.”

Your lower lip wobbled, your resolve ebbing away by the second. “It’s complicated.”

“So tell me.” Law’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “Doctor’s orders.”

You let out a small huff. He didn’t deserve this, but there would always be another loop. This current one hadn’t been going so well, and by your estimation, it would take at least three more before you managed to reach your next checkpoint. It wouldn’t hurt to tell Law what he inevitably wouldn’t remember. You steadied yourself with a deep breath and turned to face him, his eyes met yours with a mix of concern and exasperation.

“It’s my Devil Fruit,” You started. Law leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, attention solely on you. Your heart thundered in your chest. “I’ve died so many times.” Without your permission, your breath hitched. Law’s hand encircled your own with a small squeeze, encouraging you to continue. “It, um, brings me back, I guess. I’ll die, and then wake up in the bunkhouse days earlier, and I’ll be the only one who remembers what happened. All those scars you saw were what killed me in a previous loop.”

He was silent while he chewed on his words.

“How many times have you died since you joined my crew,” Law finally asked.

Your hand was still in his and you gave it a squeeze. “That’s not fair. I know what you’re doing and I won’t let you do it.”

Law’s shoulders slumped as he brought his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I believe you. It explains a lot. I noticed you cry in your sleep sometimes.”

“You watch me sleep?” The tips of Law’s ears were tinged pink while you laughed.

“I was worried so I checked on you.” With a sigh, he began to lead you out of the clinic to his office. “Come on, you’re telling me everything you can remember. We’re going to come up with a plan.”

Humoring him, you followed close on his heels. It didn’t matter how long or how hard you planned, there was no accounting for the unpredictability of the universe. This comfort wouldn’t last long. Soon, you would be dead again and the cycle would start anew. That didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy sharing a space with your captain, listening to him meticulously craft tactics to keep you, and everyone else, alive.

It wasn’t until four days later you found yourself breathing, though covered head to toe in blood, with the rest of the crew. Everyone was safe and sound, and Law wouldn’t stop looking at you with a smirk on his face. When you found yourself next to him, he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“I told you my plan would work.”

Just like that, for the first time in your life, you were no longer alone.

[zofi-persson-quotes]

More under cut

Dark: washing his hands, turns around to grab a towel, but sees a babyfied Second with a gun in hand

Second, who drank a potion that made him physically a baby just to make the prank: ah! :D

Dark: ... that's a baby with a gun. A BABY. WITH A GUN.

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

Dark: I'm calling the others. They hung up.

Dark: inhale IT'S A BABY WITH A GUN.

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Dark: comfort eating eats a donut, then spits it out that's just sugar-

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Dark: awww, it's a baby with a gun!

Second: trying not to laugh out loud

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Dark: BABY WITH A GUN- throws an empty bowl

Second: O-O

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Dark: WHO SENT YOU?! WAS IT CHOSEN?! FINE I'LL BUY HIM A NEW BOOK-

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Dark, checking his phone: my insurance covers babies with guns? Surprised oh, really?

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Dark, perched on the kitchen's counter: GET OUT.

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Dark: takes out Second's pen how about we trade?? Gives Second the pen and takes the gun I'll give you this, and you'll give me that. Now isn't that bet-

Second: uses the pen to draw another, albeit more cartoonish, gun

Dark: oh.

Dark: I'm really stupid.

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

Dark: points the gun at Second OH. NOT SO NICE, ISN’T IT? NO, UH?! I'M A MAN WITH A GUN, WHAT ARE YOU!? YOU'RE A BABY WITH A GUN, YOU'RE NOTHING!

Second: fake tears intensifies

Dark: h-

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Dark: I'm sorry, that was mean. You don't deserve that, you're young. Gives his gun back to Second just take mine-

Dark:

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

Dark: cover his face with his hands oh, now it's a baby with two guns.

Second: :)

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

Dark: WHERE’S THE BABY?? THERE'S THE BABY! WHY DON'T YOU LEAVE??

Dark, perched once again on the counter while sobbing: GET OUT OF THE HOUSEEEE!

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Dark, hiding inside the fridge: I'm hiding in the fridge now!

Second: concerned

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Dark, after getting out of the fridge and speaking sarcastically: Y'know, I kinda want you to shoot me, so when God's like, "Hey Dark, how did you die?" I can be like "I dunno God, maybe I was shot by A BABY WITH A GUN!"

Second: laughs at Dark's misery

Dark, now crying: don't laugh at me! You're a sick... you're a sick baby woth a gun!

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Dark: moves around erratically YEAH! Not easy, is it?! NOT EASY SHOOTING A MOVING TARGET!-

Second: aims

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Dark, with a bandaged arm after being grazed by the bullet: ... you need to leave.

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

Second is outside the door

Dark: sits against said door, exhausted

Vic: awww, looks at this little baby!

Green, alarmed: OH GODS HE'S GOT A GUN! AAAAAAH!-

Gunshots

Dark, holding himself against both door and wall: ... I have to move- O_O

────────⊹⊱ꕥ⊰⊹────────

Meanwhile

Sec, after drinking some milk so that the potion wears off: revenge has been made!

Chosen, chuckling: good! He deserved it after the last prank!

Blue: yeah, that Virus was almost as bad as the ViraBot- and didn't even help us getting rid of it!

[cotl-flower-crown]

What will happen to the bishops in this AU? Will they simply get arrested? Or will they die horrific and ironic/poetic deaths?

P.S: Either way, please go easy on my boy Leshy please!

The police in the city they live in is so corrupted, that the bishops could just pay the police chief to be let go. It's also the matter of the sheer size of their gangs, if they wished so, they could just wipe the police department and serve justice on their own terms. So no, getting them arrested is not enough.

Forcing the Bishops to quit isn't great either, since who's to say that they won't just strike back under the pretence that they are gone?

Nari made mistakes before which he was never forgiven for, so the Bishops don't get to have their second chance either.

When Narinder came back from prison, he realised that his siblings wanted him gone, erased from their lives, their legacy. After everything they've been through they decided to abandon him and remove him from history. They moved on. It was like he never existed to begin with. And he wanted to do the same thing to them.

I don't know the details of most of the Bishop's deaths, but I do know that they all die from Lambert's hand in some way. For Leshy it's in self defense, Heket dies in a freak accident, Kal is straight up mercilessly shot with a gun (because Lambert feels no sympathy for him) and Shamura... I dunno. Still figuring those out.

I do have a rough idea on how Leshy dies, so I'm gonna write it down below. [cw: vore???? (Leshy eating the enemy), death scene, showing off the body like a decoration]

Leshy does this thing to the smaller enemies where he burrows himself underground and then attacks the target from bellow, either biting them or swallowing them whole. Usually it ends with them being stabbed to death with the razor sharp teeth placed down his throat. He doesn't do that often though, because he becomes vulnerable, from eating too much at once.

Leshy is killed after he attacks Lambert from below the ground and swallows him. Lambert managed to survive with the help of a bullet proof vest that he found in the warehouse that they were in at the time. Lambert, panicking and not being able to breathe or see and being pushed down to Leshy's stomach, he remembers about his emergency gun and shoots Leshy from the inside. Injured Leshy wails for a little bit, trying to throw up Lambert, until he finally falls to the ground. And Narinder saw it happen. Possibly because he expected Leshy to devour Lambert so he could take that chance to strike Leshy himself. He didn't expect that Lambert would do that before him.

After a moment of shock he notices that Lambert is still alive inside trying to get out, so he approaches the corpse of Leshy and pulls Lambert out, whom gasps for air and throws up.

After that Narinder makes an announcement to everyone in the building that their leader is dead and they will be spared if they surrender. Having no other choice they either surrender, run away or die trying. Heket and Kal soon enough arrive and they see that Leshy's corpse is hanged in front of the warehouse on a hook, face down. Narinder stands above and the siblings greet each other. They make a deal: Heket and Kallamar will retreat their forces for now if Narinder gives Leshy back to them. He agrees and cuts down the rope that was tied to Leshy's hook. He falls down and their siblings take the body. They leave. The battle was victorious to the Red Crowns and people cheer. Narinder approaches Lambert and gives him Leshy's monocle saying "You can have it. Good job".

[divinelolita]

Can you do a fanfic of tom x male reader were reader is the older brother of Britney Spears but tom or the band doesn't know that and they go to an awards show (whatever there called) and Britney keeps hugging and clinging on to us and tom gets extremely jealous because he thinks there dateing so he glares at reader and ignores them wean ever we try to talk or get close to him. And Britney comes to visit reader as a surprise for ur birthday but can find us and goes to tom and ask "have you seen my brother?" I'll give you my left kidney if you write this

TOM KAULITZ X BROTHER OF BRITNEY SPEARS

this was definitely hard to write but I really liked the plot-sorry if my writing isn't good I'm better at bullet pointing lol

"How much longer 'til we are there?"

Georg asked Tom, lazily slung on one of the couches in the tour bus. Tom took a few seconds before responding.

"Uhh I dunno...ask Bill."

Georg rolled his eyes, muttering a small "Asshole.." under his breath before turning to Bill and asking the question. Tom didn't respond to Georg calling him names though, as his mind was already preoccupied. They were going to an awards show (bb idk what it's called either LMFAO) and Tom didn't know how to react. I mean sure, he was excited and hopeful but also scared shitless. I mean, BIG stars were going to be here and he hated to admit it, but would feel small near these stars.

His leg shook up and down as he played with his lip ring, moving it in small circles as he got slightly worked up about the thought of having to go to this whole show thing.

"Tom..? You alright?" He heard Bill's voice ask faintly, but his heart rate increased as he thought about how many people will be there. What if he somehow embarrasses himself there? What if something happens to the band? What if he gets lost? What if he..

"TOM." A punch on his shoulder almost made him jump, his head whipping up so quickly he almost got whiplash. He winced at the pain in his shoulder before apologizing to his brother.

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I'm cool." He replied nonchalantly, although he was everything from it. When Bill raised a pierced eyebrow he continued. "Seriously, Bill. I'm fine." he gulped lowly, his palms becoming sweaty. "You're not scared about the show, right?" Georg asked from the couch, propping himself up on his shoulders. Before Tom could answer, Bill patted him firmly on the back "You got nothin' to worry about, silly. Everything is gonna be okay, yeah?" Somehow, his tone of voice brought Tom back to reality as he let out a sigh, smiling softly at the two band members. "Mhm. I know."

Before Bill could say something else, the bus came to a screeching halt, making Tom grimace due to the loud noise. "Alright, let's get moving, hm?" Jost said, opening up the door. Gustav came groggily out of the bathroom, having just woken up not even 20 minutes ago. "God man, I just got up.."

Bil giggled lightly, following Jost out the door "C'mon, 'lesgo!"

(AT THE AWARD THINGY MA-JIG 😋)

Tom shuffled, standing next to Gustav and Bill, Georg on the right of Gustav. His eyes scanned the crowd, trying to find a hot girl. Hey, if he has to stay here in this place full of people there has to be at least one hot chick, right? But his eyes scanned over somebody so beautiful, he had to do a double take. A gorgeous man with beautiful hair stood tall and confident, chatting with a blonde on his side. Tom's attention wasn't on her though, no, but on the boy.

The boy was.. exactly his type? I mean, he had been questioning if he was into men or not but always pushed it to the side, afraid of accepting himself. But looking at this boy made his stomach curl into knots and made his face slightly hotter than it was before.

Tom's fascination was cut short though, As he got to see the girls face more Cleary and saw it was none other than Britney. Britney Spears. His heart rate increased for the second time of the day as he noticed this. Britney was a fabulous, gorgeous girl. No wonder she was talking to this dude. He nipped his lip ring anxiously as he watched, to his horror, as she hugged the boy tightly and laid her head on his shoulder, laughing as he whispered something to her.

"Tom! Tom, are you even listening?!"

A pinch on his arm made him whimper in pain as he turned to Gustav, the blonde raising his eyebrows at him. "Huh? Sorry man... was'up?" Tom mumbled, his usual cherry and cocky self turned into a quiet, almost miserable boy as he replayed the memory of Britney wrapping her hands around the boy he had just seen. How has a stranger he never talked to made him feel this way?

"I was asking if you wanted to scout out some girls with Georg and me, yeah?" He asked, Georg smirking at Tom as he pointed in the direction of some pretty girls. "Seriously, the girls here are BEAUTIFUL, man!" Georg chortled, looking at Tom expecting a yes.

"Erm..No thanks. Not tonight.." Bill looked at Tom out of the corner of his eye. "... I'll go with you guys." Bill said quietly, smiling at the G's. They were surprised by both of the twin's answers, but nodded to Bill while smiling "Alright, let's go! Hey Tom, we are gonna be over there, kay?" A voice said, Tom not being able to make out who it was. All he could do was nod as he looked over at the boy again, Britney holding his hand and ruffling his hair. Tom felt pangs of jealously coursing through him, wishing that he could take the blonde's place. He watched how the boy smiled whenever Britney said something, or how he would laugh when Britney said something funny.

Tom's never felt like this before. He wanted to make this boy from heaven laugh, smile, and touch Tom's dreads. Although they were a good 50 feet apart, he could feel himself freeze as his blood went cold when the boy locked eyes with him. He could make out a faint smile and watched as the boys hand went to wave at him. He felt frozen in place as the boy walked over to him, still keeping that warm smile on his face. Tom felt the air leave his lungs as he properly saw how damn gorgeous he was. "Hey.. Your uh, Tom right? The guitarist from Tokio Hotel!" the boy spoke with a voice full of confidence. His voice was so beautiful Tom swore he could've heard angels singing in the background.

Tom let jealously get the best of him, as he found himself slightly glaring at the boy. He nodded slowly, muttering out a soft "Yes." although his nervousness made it seem more like a question. Even with his tone, the boy kept that dammed beautiful smile on. "Ah. My names M/N. It's nice to meet you!" Tom's eyes flickered back and forth between the boys two beautiful (colored) ones, feeling himself get more nervous and barley being able to keep upright. If he stayed here he knew he would die of nervousness.

"Oh.Erm.. I have to get back to my band." he grumbled out, trying to make himself seem confident but failing to do so. Tom's heart twisted as he saw the beautiful mans smile falter for a moment, before speaking in a slightly smaller voice. "Oh.. I'm sorry for keeping you up. See you around then, Tom." Tom hummed, almost falling on his heels as he darted to the band. As soon as he got there, a pretty brunette came up to him. "Hey.. I'm Abbi." *she said, smirking at him. He cleared his throat, not wanting his reputation to get ruined. "Oh? Is that so?" He held back a grimace as she threw herself on him, leaving light kisses on his jaw and neck.

His eyes stayed on one person though, and that was the boy. He felt really bad about just leaving him, but he really didn't know what else to do. He wanted to push this girl off him, go to the boy, and talk again. These thoughts left as quickly as they appeared as he saw the boy talk to Britney again, rubbing his arm. His stomach twisted as he detached his eyes from him quickly, trying to focus on the girl. But for some reason, it wasn't feeling good. It felt like a ghost lingered on his skin as she kissed him, feeling nothing but emptiness.

The girl picked her head up as someone called her name, another girl. She smiled, apologizing as she nipped Tom's neck one last time before going over to her friend. Tom groaned in relief but couldn't help but glance again at Britney and the mystery guy. What a mistake. She clung to his waist, head rested on his chest. He wanted to throw up as his chest curled and he felt jealously surge throughout his veins. Yes, this was going to be a longggg night.

Thirty minutes later, Tom found himself around a bar, his bandmates close to him. Georg burped rather loudly as he finished another bottle. " Alright Geo, that's your last." Bill scolded, taking away the empty bottle. "What do you mean? We are at a show!" Georg hissed, eyeing another bottle of beer. Gustav chuckled, patting Georg on the back "Georg, you're not even 21 yet. Relax, man." Georg grumbled as he laid back in his seat. "Tomi, go put this away for me, please?" Bill asked, smiling at his older brother. Tom rolled his eyes but took it. Stupid bar, why can't the employees go take the shit?

As he was going to put it back, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that dammed boy again. As he put the bottle on the counter, the man came beside him, smiling once more. He opened his mouth before Tom cleared his throat and walked away, leaving the boy confused and sad.

(when they announce Tokio Hotel wins cuz I'm not writing all that)

Tom felt like he had frozen, but was cut back to reality as everybody around them screamed and applauded. Bill brought Tom into a tight hug which Tom gave back, hugging his little brother like it was his last day on earth. Tom felt as if he was on cloud nine.

They went up to the stage, Bill being the singer holding the award. He gave s beautiful speech as he thanked everybody for the opportunity to receive this. Everybody applauded once again as all the band members hugged, feeling proud of themselves.

(like 20 minutes later idfk LOL)

Tom felt happy with himself as he leaned up against the wall talking to the band, two girls plastered near the G's. He had completely forgotten about the boy and was happy that way. They all laughed, having great conversation. Georg and Gustav were slightly drunk...okay maybe very drunk but that made it feel even better to be there and hang out with them. Bill only had one drink so although feeling fuzzy he was still fine. Tom felt that way too, as long as Bill was okay he was okay. He believed that for 18 years. 18 years he spent thinking that twin emotions were shared. That was shattered as he saw Britney approach him, looking all around her as she called out someone's name, the band and music being too loud for Tom to hear. When she came closer he felt his heart drop, eyes squinting at her slightly as he still felt mad and jealous about the boy. God dammit, now he was thinking of the boy again!

The rest of the band fixed their posture, looking at her with admiration and a little bit of something else. She was drop dead gorgeous, so Tom understood wh they looked at her dumbfounded. He glared at her, raising an eyebrow. "Hello! I just wanted to say congrats on winning the ____ Award! You guys deserved it!" She smiled happily, making the G's flustered. Before anybody else could say anything, She turned back to Tom, his eyes filled with jealously. "I was just wondering if you knew where my brother, M/N, was.. It's his birthday and I wanted to do something for him." Tom felt himself freeze as his eyes widened, jaw dropping slightly. "M-M/N...?" He asked weakly, not being able to process what he just heard. She smiled softly at him, nodding "Yeah! The boy you talked to earlier. The one with (colored) hair?"

I MIGHTMAKE A PART TWO LATER IT'S MIDNIGHT AND I'M TIRED AF LMAO

[sfblah]

The Cleanup Crew - Chapter 5

[Previous Chapter]

Wanted to try a slightly spoopy chapter for spoopy month. I feel like this came out pretty ridiculous, but that's kinda the whole point of it all lol. Hopefully it still makes some modicum of sense.

Female sneezes - Various causes

cw: Guns, Violence

Operation "Slinky"

To be perfectly honest, Bucket had hoped beyond hope that the cafe being under repair would mean some time off from work. And for a while it did. But, just as she was enjoying another day of sleeping in and not doing much of anything, she found herself with new orders and a reason to set an alarm.

The van pulls into the parking lot behind Club Liminal. Kerchief and Duster set about unloading supplies from the back, Mop surveys the area, and Bucket stands off to the side, meticulously trying to work the tips of her thumb and forefinger into her left nostril. Almost got it…

“Please, Miss Bucket,” Kerchief says in a half whisper. “A maid mustn’t pick her nose in public.”

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t,” Bucket replies, still not giving up. “I’ve got a really long nose hair or something and it’s bugging me.”

“Ugh, hate it when that happens,” interjects Duster, giving her own nose a quick rub in sympathy.

“You’re both vile,” Mop mutters in passing.

Kerchief closes her eyes and sighs.

“At least wait until we’re inside. Then you can find your way to the restroom and take care of it privately.”

Bucket makes one last attempt to pluck out the offending hair, after which she finally relents. She lets out a little moan of defeat, then gives her big, squishy nose a big, squishy rub. Still tickles. Not wanting to look like she hasn’t helped at all, she grabs a single ammo can out of the van and places it with the others.

What in the world does some random nightclub need this many bullets for? As far as Bucket is aware, they’re just there to provide security for some kind of event. Although, after a week or so on the job, she’s seen firsthand plenty of times that nothing ever goes according to plan. Kerchief and Duster head inside with an armful of supplies each, at which point Bucket resumes trying to get at that pesky nose hair. She then freezes in place when she notices Mop staring at her, or at least so she assumes. Still not entirely sure if Mop even has eyes.

“Relax, Bucket. I’m not gonna tell on you.”

Too embarrassed to continue, Bucket returns to rubbing her nose again instead. She takes a deep sniff and scrunches up her face, satisfaction still out of reach. Her eyes briefly flit to the club’s staff entrance.

“What’s taking them so long?” Bucket wonders aloud, fingers still pressed up against the underside of her nose. Mop also glances at the door, and she shrugs with a little “eh.”

“I dunno. I usually leave the business stuff to Kerchief,” she says, folding her arms and cocking her hips. Bucket is a bit taken aback. Most of the time she’s the one least willing to take the initiative. Kerchief and Duster haven’t even been gone for all that long, but something just feels… Off. With another sniff and a shake of her head, Bucket gives a hard rub back and forth under her nose before heading toward the building.

“Well, uh, I’m gonna go find the little maid’s room. I’ll let you know if I run into the others.”

Mop stiffly raises a hand and flaps her fingers up and down in what could perhaps charitably be described as a wave. Not sure how to respond, Bucket presses on and nudges her way through the door. The hallway is dimly illuminated by a single flickering light. Chipped black paint covers the walls, and the carpet is made up of inscrutable patterns in a displeasing mix of purple and brown. Every surface looks like the floor of an arcade. Bucket continues after a quick shake of her head, soon arriving at another set of doors.

A piece of paper is taped to one of the doors, though Bucket mostly ignores it. It’s covered in too much text to simply say “do not enter,” and besides, there’s nowhere else to go. Bucket grips the handle and gives it a downward turn, and suddenly the floor beneath her is gone. The door handle slips through her fingers, and she gives a piercing “EEE-YAAAAHHH!!!” as she tumbles down a previously unseen staircase into the darkness below.

Bucket lands hard on her back, beating a cloud of dust from the stale carpet. She sits up, briefly stares at the new, even darker corridor she finds herself in, and - “ah-ahh-CHOOO!” - she sneezes. The maid takes a moment to rub back and forth under her nose before rising to her feet.

This godforsaken tunnel doesn’t even have the courtesy to give her a flickering light on the ceiling. The only illumination comes from a series of dim purple tube lights on the floor, themselves providing barely enough light to indicate that this hallway does in fact have walls. Beyond that, nothing. Just dust and echoes.

“ah-CHOO!!”

Bucket sneezes again as she tries to get her bearings. She turns around, and the staircase she fell down seems to have disappeared. The floor lights simply end at a solid wall blocking the way. It’s too dark for Bucket to even tell if there is a ceiling, but she can’t see any trace of the crappy lightbulb from the hallway above.

“Uh. Hello?”

The maid’s mumbled greeting goes unanswered.

“Kerchief? Duster?”

Silence.

“Anybody!?”

Her hair stands on end when she finally hears a response. A distant… Growl? And footsteps, muffled somewhat by the matted carpet, but slowly drawing closer. Bucket rolls her eyes once she’s had a moment to process.

“Okay, ha ha, funny joke. I’m so scared. Come on, guys.”

The footsteps quicken. Whoever is there still doesn’t speak, and the hallway is too dark for Bucket to see more than a few feet ahead. The invisible figure continues to accelerate, and it emits another growl. But this time, it’s more of an inhuman gurgle, and much closer than the sound of its footfalls would suggest. Bucket’s eyes go wide and her throat makes a terrified squeak. She draws her pistol with all the haste she can muster and fires three shots into the darkness.

Once the echo of the gunshots fades, the hall is silent once again. No more footsteps, no groans of pain, no thud of a body hitting the ground, nothing. Bucket lowers her weapon, then she shivers reflexively and gives a nonsequitur “ah-CHOOO!” She’s hardly had the chance to recover from her sneeze before she whirls around, runs to the end of the hallway, and pounds her fist on the wall.

“Mop! Mop get me out of here!” she pleads, voice cracking. “Duster!? Kerchief!? Open the wall! Put the stairs back! Something!”

A soreness in her hand eventually urges her to stop and she slumps forward against the concrete. Another much farther off growl jolts her upright and she spins about, her back to the wall.

“D-don’t mess with me! I’m… I… ah… ah-ahh-CHOO!!”

Bucket doubles over with yet another dusty sneeze. Without continuing her nebulous threat, she reaches behind her back and retrieves her rifle from under her skirt. Extend the stock, slap in a magazine, pull back the charging handle. The maid brings her weapon up to her shoulder, flicks the selector to full auto, and points it down the corridor.

“Okay, now would be a really good time to bust through the wall! Or something!”

No one comes to save her, nor does anything come to attack. Bucket loses track of time as she stands at the ready, and she has no idea how long has passed when she finally relaxes. She lets her weapon fall to her hip, and after a second she sighs and glances down at it.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Honey Badger.”

Bucket continues to stare at the rifle for a second too long, as if actually expecting some sort of reply. She lifts her gaze and peers out at the nothingness.

“I’m going fuckin’ crazy!”

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, the maid presses forward. With her adrenaline dying down, she starts feeling that prickly nose hair again. Bucket takes one hand off her weapon and begins frantically rubbing her nose, squinting and scrunching up her face.

“Oh my god…” she grumbles to herself, mashing her nose upward with her palm. Her nostrils flare out and then suck in as she sniffs as hard as she can. Then, her foot again fails to meet the floor. Too startled to even scream properly, Bucket emits a high-pitched squeak as she rolls down yet another staircase that she would swear wasn’t there before.

Just like the first time, Bucket lands in a cloud of dust, sits up, and - “a-CHOOOO!!” - sneezes. She checks her weapon and herself, but aside from being increasingly annoyed, she seems fine.

This hallway is aesthetically the same as the last, as far as she can tell. Still the same grubby carpet, and the same purple floor lights. But, this time there is again a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, revealing a single section of the passage. Bucket jogs up to the light, and she notices the wall on one side is adorned with a floor to ceiling mirror. With her priorities in perfect order, she breathes a sigh of relief and leans toward the reflective surface.

“Jeez, finally,” Bucket mumbles, letting her rifle hang by its sling and bringing a finger to her face to lift the soft tip of her nose. Even among the plethora of hairs that line her big, stretched-out nostrils, she’s able to rapidly identify the one that’s been bothering her.

“Alright, c’mere you little bastard…”

She pinches the hair between her fingernails and gives it a sharp tug. First try. Bucket wrinkles her nose slightly at the twinge, and she scrunches up even tighter as she looks down at the long, scraggly hair. She flicks it away into the darkness, but before she can get back on track…

“ah… aahhh… aaaah-CHOOO!!!!”

It was as if removing that nose hair unleashed a sneeze that had been building all day. Bucket doubles over so far that her forehead smacks against the mirror. She screams and stumbles back, at which point she screams again as she bumps into something, and then she screams a third time when she opens her eyes and sees the reflection of a figure over her shoulder. Her hands fly to her weapon and she unloads a frantic burst of gunfire into the mirror. The glass splinters, but she notices Mop’s curtained visage around the cracks.

“Hey, Bucket.”

“Mop, you scared me!” Bucket sobs as she turns to face her colleague. She slumps forward, letting her sore forehead fall onto Mop’s shoulder.

“Don’t lean on me.”

Bucket immediately straightens.

“So, uh… What the heck is this place?” she asks, giving a long, slow rub back and forth under her nose. Damn that feels good. She almost forgets to listen when Mop answers.

“It would seem Club Liminal has some kind of haunted funhouse basement.”

Bucket gives Mop a half-lidded stare.

“Cool, so you have no idea either.”

“Nope. All I know is it’s disgusting and I’d like to leave.”

“Same. Just, uh. How do we go about doing that?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t build this place. Why do you keep asking me?”

“Okay, okay! I just don’t know what to do. Um. How did you get down here?”

“Stairs.”

“Oh my god, same. Stairs keep just appearing under me, I fell down like three floors to get here.”

“No, I mean… I just walked down.”

Bucket’s jaw clenches. Her eye twitches, and then she turns to face the direction she’d been going before stopping at the mirror.

“Alright. Well then. Let’s just see if we can find aaAAA-!”

The maid takes a single step and immediately begins tumbling all over again. She lands face down in another cloud of dust, and a moment later Mop calmly descends the stairs beside her. Bucket silently lays in a heap for a second before rolling over and staring up at the obscured ceiling, at least until…

“ah-ahh-ahhh…! ahh-CHOOO!!”

“Bless you,” says Mop as Bucket sneezes herself upright.

“I hate stairs.”

Bucket slowly pushes herself back to her feet. The moment she settles, bright lights all around switch on with an explosive popping sound, revealing not another cramped hallway, but some kind of massive stadium-like chamber. A tiered pyramid structure rises above up ahead, and Bucket can just see what appears to be a pedestal at the top.

“ch! hih-ch! ah-ch!”

A trio of tiny, rapid sneezes startle Bucket half to death. She turns her head to find Mop gently nudging a knuckle up under the tip of her nose.

“Gesundheit,” Bucket squeaks. Mop squares her shoulders and gives no response of any kind. Before either of them can suggest approaching the pyramid, confetti bursts from every inch of the ceiling and rains down around them as multicolored lights begin to strobe in time with decades-old and extremely bass-heavy party music. Bucket shields her eyes with one hand, but Mop launches into another fit of minuscule sneezes.

“he-ch! ha-ch! hh’ch! hih-ch! ah-ch!”

“Jeez, Mop. You okay?” Bucket inquires, but Mop shows no sign of stopping. Then, a distinct rumbling draws Bucket’s concern elsewhere. She looks over her shoulder and sees the wall behind them slowly rising, and the same growling she’d heard on the first floor of this hellscape begins to filter in alongside the music.

“Uh, Mop? Mop, we need to go,” stammers Bucket, her voice fully drowned out by the cacophony. She grabs her companion by the arm and begins to pull her forward, but their pace is worryingly slow. Bucket glances back again, and a chill runs up her spine at the sight of what she can only assume are dozens of… Zombies? What else could they be but zombies? Pouring out of the open passageway and charging straight for them.

“Mop! Holy shit!” Bucket screams. She shoves Mop past her, then she turns, raises her rifle, and opens fire. Some of the zombies fall, a few even tripping those behind them, but there are simply too many. Bucket flicks the empty magazine out of her weapon, slides a new one in, and slaps the bolt release before spraying down another layer of runners, then she looks to see if Mop has made any progress.

Hardly.

Mop has managed to stagger maybe five paces toward the pyramid as she continues to sneeze herself silly. With too many foes to defeat and not enough time for any sort of plan, Bucket grabs Mop by the arm again, wraps it around her shoulders, and hefts her up as best she can. With the horde drawing ever nearer, Bucket charges at the structure in the center of the stadium, legs and lungs burning.

“I! Hate! Stairs!” she screams, heaving Mop onto the platform at the top of the pyramid. Bucket drags herself up to the podium, which sports a large, red button at its center. Pondering what it might do is a luxury she can’t enjoy, and she presses it immediately. Nothing happens. Bucket emits a feral shriek and begins to pound the button with her fist over and over and over.

Just when she’s about to give up and start shooting the damn thing, a deafening THUNK shakes the entire chamber. Bucket falls to the floor, and then she keeps falling. Again. The platform at the summit disappeared, dumping her and Mop onto a long, twisting slide. At least it isn’t another bumpy staircase this time. The maids crash through a door at the end of the slope, landing not on another decrepit carpet, but a hard tile floor.

Bucket leaps to her feet, and… And…

Kerchief and Duster stare at her in stunned silence. Bucket staggers forward, breathing heavily and loosely gripping her rifle with one hand.

“Kerchief, Duster, holy shit. I’m glad we found you. The… There’s zombies… And Mop is…”

Bucket points at her partner, who continues to lay face down on the floor as though she were dead. When she looks back to Kerchief and Duster, she finally notices that they’re sitting at a high bar table, each enjoying a strawberry daiquiri.

“Zombies?” Duster inquires, straw in her mouth. Bucket takes another look around the room. It looks like a perfectly normal nightclub, and a fairly posh one at that. Smooth black surfaces and chrome trim everywhere, with no sign of the nasty arcade decor anywhere to be seen. Bucket’s eye twitches again when she spies the street outside through the tinted window behind the bar.

“But we… How did we… Stairs. We fell down like five floors. Down. All down. Only down. How are we…”

Kerchief suddenly holds up a finger.

“Oh, you two must have ended up in The Gauntlet.”

“The what?”

“Did you read the note?”

Bucket blinks, her panting breaths only just starting to slow.

“The note on the door. It said ‘Please use the right side door for club entry. Left side door leads to The Gauntlet, under renovation.’”

Duster sets her daiquiri on the table after another sip. Bucket immediately snatches it up and chugs it in its entirety.

“Oh shit, brain freeze, ow.”

She stumbles back the way she came, stepping over Mop’s body to reach the door they’d just fallen through. Bucket tears it open, not much caring if she unleashes a torrent of the undead, but she finds nothing more than a mundane bathroom. A remarkably clean one at that. She closes the door and opens it again. Still just a bathroom. Letting go of the handle, Bucket steps aside to the corner and slumps face-first against the wall.

“Alright Mop, you wanna tell us what happened?” asks Duster. The comatose maid finally stirs, giving a subtle twitch.

“I hate stairs.”

[nat-20s]

For the ask meme: pov?

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

MARTHA TIME BABEY!! this is set in season 3!! also this got longer than i was anticipating so uh readmore time <3

Martha knew about the (in her opinion, a bit on the nose) rosebush that resided splayed across The Doctor’s ribs, and how it didn’t used to have thorns wrapped around it. She obviously knew of and thought fondly about the caduceus snuggled to his clavicle that matched her own. (and oh, how she remembered that day, him and his confusing heartbeat and his eccentricities, including pulling down the collar of his shirt with an enthusiastic “This one is you, isn’t it!”.) She was even aware of the swirling vortex wrapped around his wrist that faded in and out, belonging to one Captain Jack Harkness. That one was..interesting, to say the least.

But The Doctor tended to stay rather bundled up. Logically speaking, it was entirely possible that he had several more marks that she would never bare witness to. She just kind of assumed otherwise, though. The Doctor hardly seemed the type to accumulate soul marks willy nilly, and even when he did, they didn’t seem like they would be all that private. Definitely not a soul mark on the upper thigh type bloke, by any means.

Then he had to go and get himself shot. Sure, she wasn’t an expert in xenobiology (yet- she had some plans), but generally speaking, large wound treatment was the same regardless of species. Step 1: get them into a position where you can accurately assess the wound, for the love of god, Doctor, stop being a baby, take off your shirt, and stay STILL. Step 2: Stop the bleeding. Luckily the shot through the shoulder had been from laser fire rather than a bullet, cauterizing the wound. Clearly meant to injure rather than kill, thank god. Step 3: If bleeding is under control, clean the wound. She didn’t have all the resources she’d like, but the Tardis did provide a fairly extensive first aid kit, including sterilizing wipes that The Doctor, uh, probably wouldn’t have a bad reaction to. Hopefully. Step 4: Make the open wound no longer open: aka bandage it up and threaten to put a cone on him if he starts messing with it.

The final step, which was really only in this specific case, was stop focusing on the wound and see a large dark spot out of the corner of her eye. Curious, and just a tad worried that there was some Other thing going on, Martha actually studies the blotch between his shoulder blades. It’s not a blotch, or a wound, or a rash, but rather the spitting image of a beetle. Oh, interesting. Clearly a soulmark, though the color is slightly faded, and she couldn’t think of who it might go to. Swallowing down just the ever so slightest twinge of jealousy over The Doctor being connected to yet another someone, she couldn’t help but ask, “So who’s this one then?”

She even threw in a slightly cheeky grin, because she genuinely was more curious than anything. Instead of direct response, of course, The Doctor only replied with a “Huh?”

“The beetle? Smack dab in the middle of your back? You know the one!”

With a scoff, The Doctor hastily puts his (first) shirt back on, and sucks in a breath through his teeth as he pulls on the brand new bandaging. “I most certainly do not know the one. I don’t have a mark on my back!”

Martha rolls her eyes at him. “Do you really not know? It’s not exactly subtle.”

The Doctor turns to face her, stares for a moment, then...sonics his own back. Apparently that does something for him, because as he squints down to the readout? he lets out a classic, “What?”

“I mean, it’s not that odd of a mark, is it? Almost terrestrial, for you.”

“No, that’s not. It’s not the mark itself, it’s, well, I don’t know who it belongs to.”

“Wait, I thought you had this sort of thing all, I dunno, cataloged out? Filed and color coded and everything.”

“Yeah, I mean, it could be her-”

Martha’s eyebrows raise and she covers up another of the littlest, ittiest, bittiest pang with a teasing, “Oh her? You’ve got a mystery woman out there? Or should I say another one?”

“No, no, no, not like that, just someone I ran into-”

“Yeah, right, someone you ‘just ran into’ is someone you have a soulmark with.”

He grimaces ever so slightly, at it’s not from that stupid shoulder of his. “Yeah, you’re right. Can’t be...Well, should be interesting to find out, anyway. Now, where were we? Trensalor, right?”

He’s dashing off to the Tardis console before she can respond, and she lets out a sigh. She knows full well this conversation isn’t getting anywhere any time soon, so might as well go with it. Privately, she hopes that whomever this mystery person is that is now written on The Doctor’s skin is decent. Maybe even someone she could get on with, ideally.

She hasn’t yet discovered the beetle wing on her back.

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Covetous | Chapter 11

Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which (I feel like it's obvious which)

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7] [chapter 8] [chapter 9] [chapter 10]

[read on ao3]

tws: alcoholism, homelessness. FOR THIS CHAPTER: references to self-harm, suicidal ideation.

------------------------

Belle drove to her flat in silence. She didn’t know what to say to Nosty, and he didn’t seem up for talking, so she handed him her purse with a vague gesture toward the water and food, buckled herself in, and drove.

Every time she glanced at him, he was sipping the water or eating a new snack, and that gave her some peace. She didn’t know how much they fed prisoners in the holding cell, but Nosty looked thinner than usual. Instead of a shirt, his torso was bandaged under his leather jacket. 

She wanted to ask. She wanted to ask everything. But he’d barely spoken a word to her since saying her name, and she wouldn’t push. The time for pushing, for answers, would come eventually.

At least she’d gotten hold of one of the uni students who worked the weekends to come relieve Joseph. She didn’t know how he would get home, but he was sober now. He could figure it out.

She parked in front of her building, and Nosty hissed getting out of the car. What did the bandages hide? Later. She’d find out later.

His hand touching her elbow stopped her at the front door. She licked her lips, then turned to him. She had always felt so much smaller than him, but standing before him in his dirty bandages with a circle of blood that she hoped didn’t cover a bullet wound, she dwarfed him. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice a barely-audible rumble. It wasn’t what she needed to hear, but it was a start. She touched his hand, then turned to the door.

“Of course,” she said. “I would never leave you.”

She didn’t want to see his reaction to this, so she busied herself unlocking the door. They climbed the stairs, Nosty lagging behind, and when she checked on him, his jaw was clenched in pain. What had happened?

“Almost there,” she said. “And then you can clean up and I’ll make some tea.”

If she focused on caring for him, she wouldn’t have to focus on anything else. And more than either herself or Joseph, Nosty needed to be cared for.

“I don’t need tea,” he said. He sounded so dull, like he’d taken sleeping pills and never quite woken up. Maybe he was on some sort of pain medication?

When Belle finally got inside, Nosty stopped in the doorway, looking around. She tried to see it from his point of view—his book still on the end table, two coffee mugs and two breakfast plates just visible through the kitchen doorway, two blankets tossed over the couch. 

He shut the door behind him and stepped toward the living room. Nosty was hypervigilant and observant—there was no way he wasn’t connecting the dots.

“I don’t know where my shirt is,” was all he said when he opened his mouth.

“I have shirts.” She had to look at his bandage now. “How often are you supposed to change your dressing?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Doctors didn’t tell me fuck-all before sending me off to sleep in the fucking dirt.” 

She wanted to pull him to her, wrap him in her arms and tell him that she’d go to every doctor who ever wronged him and personally set them straight, but instead, she held out her hand for his. She feared he wouldn’t take it, that he would again leave her waiting for him, but he closed his fingers around hers and allowed her to lead him to the bathroom.

It was a small blessing that Joseph’s towel was already in the hamper, leaving no evidence that he’d ever showered there. Nosty ran a finger along the counter edge, still holding her hand in his other. 

“Your flat’s so clean.” He breathed deeply, and then winced in pain.

“I’ll go get bandages and tape while you shower,” she said. 

He squeezed her hand, watching her carefully, and she thought he might ask her to stay. She wanted to stay, but how else was she going to get supplies?  Joseph couldn’t bring them—he didn’t have a car.

“Fine.” He didn’t let go of her hand, and she looked up at him. Was he going to kiss her? 

More importantly, if he did, would she stop him?

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

He dropped her hand, letting his knuckles linger by hers. “I’m not okay,” he said. “I’ve never been okay.”

If he did kiss her right then, she would forgive him, and then they’d be right back to where they started. She couldn’t trust him yet.

“You’re safe here, at least,” she said. “I’ll take care of you.”

He nodded and walked past her, careful not to brush her arm with his injury, then shrugged out of his jacket. She took it for him so it wouldn’t steam in the bathroom, and she still couldn’t get a good look at what was under the bandage. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Belle?” he called as she left.

“Nosty?”

He swallowed, jaw pulsing around his clenched teeth. She wanted to hold him until his jaw relaxed, but all she did was stand and watch. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

****

Belle waited to cry until she was in the car, though she didn’t intend to drive anywhere. The drugstore was around the corner and she’d walk there, but she needed privacy to sob.

After a minute or so, she fumbled for her phone to check on Joseph. She had several missed calls from him and a few texts and voicemails. Not wanting to hear whatever it was he had to say, she sent him a quick text to let him know they were home safe, put her phone away, and got out of the car.

She didn’t know exactly what Nosty needed, so she filled her basket with any first aid item she thought might come in handy as well as some more gummies, sour candies, and a bag of assorted mini chocolate bars. Nosty had a sweet tooth like her, but she didn’t know what he liked specifically. She’d never asked.

When she got home, the shower was still going, so she set about taking his clothes out of where she’d shoved them and shoving Joseph’s clothes in their place. 

Then, a horrible thought struck her. What if Joseph came here? He’d left all his toiletries and clothes, and though he still had some things at the church, she could see him using this as an excuse to check on them. As much as she feared making a bad decision while alone with Nosty, she also didn’t want anyone else to be there. She wanted freedom to watch him move and know that he was alive and safe. Damaged, but not beyond repair. In her home. 

The shower turned off and Belle slammed the closet door shut, grabbing a pair of sweats and boxers on her way to the bathroom. 

“Nosty, I have clothes!” she called. She half expected a quip, some attempt to make her laugh, but all she got was silence until the door opened to Nosty in a towel, holding his hand out for the sweats. He’d taken off whatever they’d wrapped around his torso to hold the dressing on, but the bloody square of gauze remained.

“I’ll clean that for you when you’re dressed,” she said.

He nodded and shut the door, so to keep herself busy, she filled the electric kettle and set out two mugs. When she turned to go back to the bathroom, Nosty was standing behind her, watching, and she yelped. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“You’re so quiet,” she said. 

“You don’t listen hard enough for danger.” He loped toward the table, no less powerful for how gaunt he was, and took his seat.

By the time she’d gathered her first aid supplies and washcloth and added bags to the mugs, the kettle was done, so she poured them each a cup and brought them to the table. 

Nosty had already pulled her chair close to his, and their knees touched when she sat down. She ignored the sparks that raced up and down her legs. If she fell back into Nosty, who knew what would happen? He didn’t seem to want her as urgently as before anyway. 

They had shaved the fine hairs along Nosty’s chest, but he still sucked in air when she peeled the tape off, and then it was her turn. The gauze revealed a barely-scabbed over circle of thick marks. What did that mean? It wasn’t a bullet hole, and if it was a series of stab wounds, it meant that someone had held him down and spent time on it. From her amateur view, the wounds looked deep.

She traced each slash with the tip of her finger, barely resisting the urge to press her lips to his wounds. Nosty grabbed her hand. 

“Am I hurting you?” 

“No.” He curled her fingers to his chest, holding them there. “You would never.” 

You would, she wanted to say, except she didn’t want to say it at all. She wanted Nosty to be himself, to be the man who left her to kick around a football without a care so she could rage and scream and cry. She wanted him to be quiet because he wanted to be, not because he’d had the volume beaten out of him. She wanted him to be okay.

“Who did this to you?” she asked. 

“You’re looking at him.”

When she looked up, their faces were so close, she could have kissed his chin. “Why?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed near her lips, and she wanted to kiss that too. “Looking for a wee section two holiday.”

She frowned, pulling away enough that her lips had to behave. A mandatory mental health hospitalization for a break from his life? He bared his teeth at her, but she thought he was trying to sneer, to be jaunty. He couldn’t quite manage.

“You knew you could have come here,” she said. “You could have stayed here.”

He squeezed her hand closer to his chest. “I know.” His other hand whispered along her cheek, gently, like he didn’t want to scare her away. “The truth is, I wanted to fucking die.”

She met his eyes, willing hers not to mist over. If she cried and Nosty tried to comfort her, she’d be done for. “Why’d they send you home if you—if you’d really—hurt yourself.”

“They wanted me to fucking die too,” he said. “Been there so many times, they’re sick of me.”

When Joseph had spoken to the hospital, is that what they’d meant? Nosty came in regularly for self-harm? Her stomach roiled. It didn’t matter now—he was here, and she wouldn’t let anything happen to him. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive, Nosty.” She blinked tears away. Nosty didn’t move to wipe them.

“I’m a fucking survivor,” he said, voice hard. “Can’t even kill meself.”

“Good.” She turned her face to kiss one of his fingers. Just a little kiss would be fine. “I want you to live.”

“Aye?” He bowed his head toward her, eyes closed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. No one else does.”

She kissed his forehead, and his hands relaxed beneath her. She didn’t know about anyone else—for all she knew, they did want him dead. But she knew that she didn’t, and even if she didn’t trust him with her heart again yet, she wanted him to feel safe.

“Let me dress this,” she said. “And then we’ll find dinner, okay?”

“I’m starving,” he said. 

She pulled away from him so she could work, and he might have, for just a second, looked agonized. She had to bandage him up though—the scabs didn’t look as secure as she’d like them to be. 

The washcloth had cooled, so she stood to re-wet it, pushing Nosty’s tea toward him. Obedient, he wrapped his hands around it, and she caught him breathing in the steam when her back was turned. She’d forgotten to put out the sugar, but Nosty took a sip anyway, and she wondered if anyone had given him anything comforting or even fed him at all. Had they just released him from the hospital with a bandage and nothing else?

“When did this happen?” She sat, scooting her chair around so she could reach him better.

“Couple days ago, I think.”

She sponged at his chest, pleased to hear his quiet sigh at her touch. “Did they give you anything for the pain?”

“Didn’t even give me fucking stitches and you think they gave me summat for pain?” 

She shrugged. “They might have given you something to take the edge off.”

He laughed darkly, sending a shiver down her neck. She switched sides of the cloth so she could dry him. 

“Belle, I know you’re brilliant. Use your fucking head.”

She swallowed, cheeks flushing. “I would think—”

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Do I look like a bloke they’re gonna give oxies to? Do you think they look at me and think ‘och, that’s a fellow we can trust not to be in pain?’”

Belle wanted to look away, but she was brave enough to hold his gaze, even as what he said sank in and she wanted to pretend she’d never heard it.

He released her chin and ran a hand through her hair.

“People as kind as you?” He tugged gently on a curl. “They don’t work in hospitals.”

She hated that idea. “Does it hurt now?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. How’s it look?”

She took a deep breath to gather herself, then shrugged. “I’m not sure how it looked before, so I can’t really say. It doesn’t smell infected.” Before she could change her mind, she pressed her lips to the wound the same way her dad used to kiss her forehead to check for fever. “Doesn’t feel warm either.”

“If a nurse fucking checked me like that, hospital might not be so bad, hey?” 

She thought it was a real smile on his face now, not just an approximation for her benefit, and she bit her lip in return. “Hand me that gauze, would you?”

****

MacAvoy was not unaccustomed to anxiety, but this was a whole new level. This time, he knew for a fact that Belle had put herself in a compromising situation, and every minute that she didn’t respond to his texts and calls was a minute that she could have been in danger.

At the very least, she was in danger of falling under Nosty’s spell again. 

He considered going to her flat, figuring his presence would be enough to stop any budding romance, but what if he was on his way there while she was on her way to the church and they missed each other? And what if they just pinged back and forth like that until Nosty took Belle in his arms and made her forget why she’d ever been sad?

If she would just answer her phone or text anything other than “we’re home,” he could have planned.

Instead, he took a taxi home from the library as soon as the replacement arrived, then sat in a pew and waited. If he went to the rectory, he might not hear them, and Belle might have forgotten her phone.

His stomach wasn’t happy with any of this, and it took him an hour of sitting and staring at his phone to realize he could put a note on the sanctuary door. 

With that taken care of, MacAvoy hauled himself up to the rectory kitchen and poured himself a soda. It was a good thing Belle had tossed all his alcohol because there was no way he’d resist temptation tonight. His skin buzzed, his heart pounded, and his stomach took all of this as a declaration of war. If he wasn’t worried he’d miss Belle, he’d have taken a sleeping pill and tried to be unconscious through it.

“Oh god.” He pressed his forehead into his hand. He needed a drink. He deserved a drink for working as hard as he had, suffering so much.

But he couldn’t have a drink, because if he did, he’d have to do it again.

How could he have expected Nosty to come back? He’d thought they were done with him, that he and Belle could move on together. She’d made it clear that there was nothing romantic between them, but that was fine. He didn’t need romance. He just needed her here in his church or to be there in her flat. 

He fumbled for his phone and glanced at the time. It was barely six.

“Fuck.” He scrambled up, dialing Belle again. Surely she wouldn’t just leave Nosty at her flat while she went on her date?

She didn’t answer, so MacAvoy sent her a text about it, reminding her that she could bring Nosty there even though he didn’t want her to. Being alone with Nosty sounded almost as torturous as detoxing from alcohol.

He set the phone on the table, then gulped down his soda. It was going to be a long night.

****

Cleaned, fed, and wearing pajamas, they both sat on opposite ends of the couch, tucked into separate blankets. Belle wanted nothing more than to be in Nosty’s arms, but she wouldn’t allow herself. Besides, Nosty hadn’t given her any of his usual signals. He’d stayed to his side, curled up in the old uni sweatshirt of hers that he liked. 

While he’d been shirtless, the gauze had remained clean, and she was hopeful that his wound hadn’t and wouldn’t reopen. That meant they could focus on everything else.

She didn’t want to.

Instead, she made hot chocolate and deposited her assortment of candy between them on the couch, and then they sat in silence.

“So.” Nosty picked up a miniature Mars bar. “Where is he, then?”

“Where’s who?”

He gestured to their blankets. “Your new boyfriend.”

She couldn’t help laughing. He had to know how miserable she’d been, didn’t he? She had opened up her soul to him, spilled her guts on the floor, and he’d chosen to leave her like that. He had to know.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Joseph was here.” 

“Joseph? The fucking priest?”

Part of her was glad to hear the fire in his voice, but a bigger part was furious. “Yes, the priest. Do you have a problem with that?” 

“Aye, I’ve got a problem with it, it’s fucking weird!” He flung the blanket to the floor. “A fucking priest cozying up on your couch?”

Too many things fought for Belle to retaliate with, so all that came out was a strangled scream. For his part, Nosty shrank back at this, and she calmed just enough to snatch his blanket back up and throw it onto him.

“You—” She jabbed a finger toward him. “You left me! You can’t be mad that Joseph was the one here to pick up the pieces.” 

He draped the blanket over his knees, watching her like she might erupt. “The pieces?”

She stared at him. What did he mean the pieces? What did he think she did when he left—came home and immediately forgot him?

She had so many things to say, so many thoughts racing through her head, but they all just jumbled and spun, so instead of speaking, she slammed her mug onto the end table, stalked into her bedroom, and shut the door.

****

Belle didn’t know how long she lay in bed, crying into her pillow. She was paralyzed, unable to even turn toward the clock. Even worse, she feared that Nosty would take this as a cue to leave. If he left her again, maybe she’d just start over in another town. Maybe she’d move to France and live on patisserie.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and then the handle turned. Nosty pushed it open with his knee, holding a steaming mug in each hand.

“I made tea,” he said. 

She looked at him, eyes red, then turned her face into her pillow. He hadn’t left. He’d made tea. 

“Belle, I’m trying.” 

She waved a hand toward her nightstand and was rewarded with the sound of him walking over and setting the mug there. More steps, another clink from the other table, and then he was climbing into his side of the bed.

“Thank you,” she said. 

She wondered if he’d spoon up behind her like he liked to, and if he did, would she move? She didn’t think so. She wanted to feel the solid weight of his arms around her, the rise and fall of his too-thin chest as he breathed, alive. 

The headboard moved, she felt his hip near her shoulder, and then he laid his palm on her back. 

“I shouldn’t yell at you,” he said. 

“I don’t care.”

“Och, right, I always fucking slam doors and cry over shite I don’t care about.”

She wanted to glare at him, but she still didn’t feel like moving. His hand on her back was nice. “I don’t care about the yelling,” she said.

“What do you care about then?” He traced his thumb along her shoulderblade, and she closed her eyes.

“What did you think would happen when you left?”

His hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

“When I said Joseph picked up the pieces, you said ‘the pieces?’ Like you were surprised.” She squeezed her comforter. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Of course, she should have expected that he wouldn’t answer. Answering would mean acknowledging that he’d hurt her, and he hadn’t done that all day. Why would she expect it now?

After a full minute of silence, she struggled to sit up, then leaned against the headboard next to him. He stared into his tea the whole time, watching it like a crystal ball. She picked up her own mug and held it in front of her, and the surface was oddly captivating when one did not want to look at the person next to them.

“You thought it wouldn’t matter,” she said to her tea. “You thought, after everything I told you, that I would still throw you away. You didn’t believe that I could love you.”

“I had to leave.” He thrust the hand that had been on her back into his pocket. “I had to.”

“Why?” She finally looked at him. “Tell me why.”

“I wanted to stay too badly.” His voice was so soft, she wouldn’t have been able to hear save for the absolute silence in the bedroom. “I want to stay now.”

Her throat felt hot and sick, and she wanted to lay back down and cry, but she forced herself not to move. “I can’t trust you now,” she said. “I can’t trust that you won’t break my heart again.”

He tensed, fist clenching around his mug. “So what now, then?” His voice broke, and he clenched the mug harder. “You’ll send me back tomorrow?”

“No, of course not,” she said, but he didn’t relax. More than anything, she wanted to say I’ll take you back right now, we’ll work on it together, but she couldn’t do that because she couldn’t trust him. 

“When, then? When this heals?” He slapped his injury, and she winced.

“I’ll take you to the church tomorrow,” she said. “There are plenty of spare rooms in the rectory.” 

“The church? Are you fucking with me?” 

She shook her head, chancing a look at him. He was watching her now, face set in a grimace, teeth bared. 

“You can’t stay here.”

“What, so it’s either your priest boyfriend’s church or the fucking streets? Jesus fuck, what did you even bother me for?”

She swallowed. “No.” 

“No?”

“Nosty—”

“Fucking look at me.” Despite his tone, his finger was gentle when he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. They were bright, feverish. She’d seen this look before, but never directed at her. She didn’t even know if it was directed at her now, or just in her direction.

Belle shook her head. “No. If you really, really don’t want to go to the church, you can stay here in the other room.” 

He tilted her face back and forth with gentle pressure, watching her eyes move. Before he let go, he brushed his fingers along her jaw. She wanted to close her eyes, lean into it, but she held his gaze instead. 

“You would let me stay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “It might break my heart, but I won’t let you go back.”

He watched her for a second, then, inexplicably, put his palm over her eyes. 

“Nosty, what—”

“I’ll go to the church tomorrow.”

A laugh bubbled out of her. Had he covered her eyes because he didn’t want to say it to her face? Maybe he was a coward, but he was a coward with technique.

“Thank you, Nosty. Can I look at you again?”

“No. Your eyes’re too blue. Hurts mine to stare too long.” 

She bit her lip, but she knew she looked amused anyway. “Maybe you should be the one covering up then.” 

“Don’t blame me, hey? I’m the victim here.”

God, she wanted to kiss him right then more than she had all day. Instead, she raised her cup, only bumbling a bit before she found her mouth. 

Nosty’s fingers flexed around her eyes. “Belle?”

“What now? Is my hair your next aggressor?”

Briefly, his hand drifted to stroke her hair from her temple, but then it was back over her eyes. “Can I hold you?”

It was probably a bad idea to say yes. This was how people fell back into bad habits and got hurt again. But he’d already agreed to go to Joseph’s in the morning, and she was not going to fuck that up.

“Yes.”

Because of his injury, he couldn’t spoon up behind her, so they kicked the covers out from under them and pressed their legs together while Nosty slid an arm behind Belle and tucked her against the good side of his chest. 

He rested his cheek on her head, and she closed her eyes. She could easily drift off in the warmth of his embrace, but she didn’t want to sleep before Nosty. She may have been put through the emotional ringer the past few weeks, but Nosty had been brutalized. She didn’t want him to have to be alone.

“How did you find me?” he murmured into her hair.

“It wasn’t easy.” She laid her hands over his, and he laced their fingers together. “I would have called every hospital and police station in London, but I got lucky on the fifteenth or so, and Constable Butler said he would let me know if he saw you.”

“Who?”

Right, why should Nosty know baby officer Cliff Butler? “The kid who let me into your cell.” 

“You called fifteen stations?”

She shrugged. “At least. Joseph called hospitals and told them he was your chaplain.”

“Can’t believe you did that.”

If she could have known that moving wouldn’t jostle him painfully, she’d have twisted to glare at him. Since she couldn’t, she settled for pinching him lightly on the hand. 

“I was worried sick. I could barely eat or sleep. I thought you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and then you—” Her voice caught, eyes filling. She hadn’t expected to cry over this now that he was here.

“Then?” 

She sucked in a shuddering breath. “The first time Constable Butler called me was to tell me how well you were doing. He saw you—” It was stupid to be so upset, so upset about a football when clearly, Nosty had had issues. “Playing a game.”

Nosty’s arms tightened around her, and her shoulders shook while she tried stifling her tears. 

“Anyway, that was when I decided I should move on, because if you cared about me, you’d have come back.”

Nosty’s arms tightened again, and then he groaned and loosened them, flexing the shoulder near his injury. “So why did you come back for me?”

She almost slapped him on the hand but was afraid of startling him into hurting himself. “Nosty, I know you’re brilliant. Use your fucking head.”

He snorted. “‘Spose I had that one coming.”

She snuggled into him, having a hard time remaining vigilant about boundaries and not trusting him when truly, aside from the injury, this was everything she wanted. 

“Fuck, Belle, you’ve got work tomorrow.” His arms loosened, and she wanted to scream.

“What? So?”

“You’re falling asleep already, mad woman. It’s bedtime.” 

He let go and climbed out of bed, but all he did was turn the lights out before lying flat and holding his arm out for her to lay on his chest. It was much more boyfriend-y than was probably smart, but Belle fit herself against him anyway. Now she’d know if he left.

“I promise,” he whispered, resting a hand in her hair. “I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.”

“If you’re not, the next time I hunt you down, I’m throwing you off the Tower.” 

His chest shook with laughter, and she smiled, eyes already closing.

“Goodnight, Belle,” he said. 

“Goodnight, Nosty.”

He played with her hair, fingers rubbing along her scalp. It lulled her almost to sleep before he whispered, “Belle?”

“Mm?”

“Can I bring books with me to the church?”

She wanted to look at him but couldn’t quite pry her eyelids open. “‘Course,” she said. “However many you like.”

He kissed her on the head and she smiled, but even that was fleeting as she fell into the deepest sleep she’d had for two weeks.