“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry
“I really beg your pardon!” said my companion,
who had ruffled the little man’s temper by bursting
into an explosion of laughter.
Holmes laughed and threw his card across the
table to the constable.
The instant he entered
I saw by his face that he had not been successful.
Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling
for the mastery, until the former suddenly carried
the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh.
“Didn’t I tell you so when we started?” cried
Sherlock Holmes with a laugh.
“Oh, didn’t you know?” he cried, laughing.
“You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still
one of the scientific professions open to me,” said
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each
other, and then burst simultaneously into an uncontrollable
fit of laughter.
“Here it is,” said he, laughing, and pointing to
an open newspaper.
As I exhibited
the empty box he leaned back in his chair and
Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out
his legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily for
“Well, really!” he cried, and then he choked and
laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, limp
and helpless, in the chair.
“I do not wish to make a mystery,” said he,
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement
and the rueful face behind it, until the
comical side of the affair so completely overtopped
every other consideration that we both burst out
into a roar of laughter.
“Never mind,” said Holmes, laughing; “it is my
business to know things. Perhaps I have trained
myself to see what others overlook. If not, why
should you come to consult me?”
“There’s a cold-blooded scoundrel!” said
Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down into
his chair once more.
“There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious
fact,” he answered, laughing.
Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched
himself out upon the cushioned seat.
“Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,”
said Holmes, laughing.
Then, glancing quickly round, he
straightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit
“No, no. No crime,” said Sherlock Holmes,
Sherlock Holmes laughed.
few yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and
laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was
peculiar to him
“He seems a very amiable person,” said Holmes,
Then he broke into a low laugh and put his
lips to my ear.
“Experience,” said Holmes, laughing.
“It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my
head by putting it on a level with his own,” said
Sherlock Holmes, laughing.
Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and
“Very good, Lestrade,” said Holmes, laughing.
Holmes thought a little and then burst out
Sherlock Holmes laughed.
Holmes, with a laugh, passed his
hand behind the child’s ear, a mask peeled off from
her countenance, an there was a little coal black
negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement
at our amazed faces.
“The fates are against you, Watson,” said he,
Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily
“I could see that you were commiserating with
me over my weakness,” said Holmes, laughing.
laughed at my suggestion.
“With all our precautions, you see that we have
cut it rather fine,” said Holmes, laughing.
He was quivering with silent laughter.
“The old shikari’s nerves have not lost their
steadiness nor his eyes their keenness,” said he,
with a laugh, as he inspected the shattered forehead
of his bust.
Something in his tone caught my ear, and I
turned to look at him. An extraordinary change
had come over his face. It was writhing with inward
merriment. His two eyes were shining like stars. It
seemed to me that he was making desperate efforts
to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter.
was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and
laughed heartily as he recounted them.
Holmes laughed good-naturedly.
Holmes raised the hind
leg of one of them and laughed aloud.
He snatched one of them up, opened it, and
burst out into a triumphant chuckle of laughter.
At last, however, on a wild, tempestuous evening,
when the wind screamed and rattled against the
windows, he returned from his last expedition, and
having removed his disguise he sat before the fire
and laughed heartily in his silent inward fashion.
Holmes laughed at the young giant’s naive astonishment.
Holmes burst out laughing.
laughed at my expression of dismay, and laid it
upon the table.
Holmes put his finger on his lips, replaced
his hand in his breast-pocket, and burst out
laughing as we turned down the street.
He laughed at my bewildered expression.
Then he burst
into a hearty laugh.
He burst into
one of his rare fits of laughter as he turned away
from the picture. I have not heard him laugh often,
and it has always boded ill to somebody. (This line is so fucking funny when you’ve been sitting for an hour counting the number of times Holmes has laughed)
“Come, come, sir,” said Holmes, laughing.
tossed it across with a laugh.
Holmes laughed good-humoredly.
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
Holmes tore it
open and burst out laughing.
“It won’t do, Watson!” said he with a laugh.
Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it
as his old friend Watson could remember. (Yeah ok Watson)
the dry chuckle which was his nearest approach
to a laugh, he tossed it over to me.
“I am a bit of an archaeologist myself when it
comes to houses,” said Holmes, laughing.
Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared
to be about to make some remark, when
Lestrade, who had been in the front room while
we were holding this conversation in the hall, reappeared
upon the scene, rubbing his hands in a
pompous and self-satisfied manner.
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long,
nervous hands together.
Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as
was his habit when in high spirits.
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together
He chuckled to himself as he spoke,
his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man
to the sombre thinker of the previous night.
Holmes chuckled heartily.
I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased,
for he chuckled and rubbed his hands together.
Holmes chuckled to himself.
Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands.
Holmes struck a match and held
it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the
light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre.
He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.
Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker
Street. He snatched one of them up, opened it, and
burst out into a triumphant chuckle of laughter.
Once or twice he chuckled.
He held them on his nose, endeavoured
to read through them, went to the window and
stared up the street with them, looked at them
most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and
finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table
and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which
he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins.
chuckled and rubbed his hands when we found
ourselves in the street once more.
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands.
with a chuckle to one of these, a row of residential
flats, which projected so that they could not fail to
catch the eye.
My companion gave a sudden chuckle of comprehension.
“And you might add of the attempted murder
of one Sherlock Holmes,” remarked my friend with
Holmes knocked out the ashes of his pipe with a
quiet chuckle.I heard his dry chuckle as he
Summery: When Arkham starts assigning patients to specif doctors Jerome isn’t happy to find he has to share his favorite doctor with Aaron Helzinger. Naturally Jerome has just the plan to fix his problem.
You slowly opened the file and found picture after picture
of Jerome’s room, more specifically under his mattress. Some of the pictures
were Jerome’s drawings while others were his scrawled writings, all of them
were about you, and all of them were unpleasant.
“(Y/N), do you know where he is?” Jim asked and you looked
past him to where Jerome had last been.
“I…” you whispered and Jim frowned, tilting his head behind
him as if asking if Jerome was there.
“(Y/N) you understand what he wanted to do to you don’t you?” Jim asked and you
nodded. “Go outside and tell Harvey to come in, there’s a car outside, we’ll
get you somewhere safe to stay.”
“Thank you.” You whispered and hurried down to Harvey who
shrugged off his jacket and let you put it on before hurrying up.
**Warning:This fic touches on the subject of kidnapping and being held at gunpoint. Although it is not graphic, it still might be a sensitive subject for certain readers.**
A/N: I’m adding a “keep reading” cut because this fic is pretty long so if you’re on mobile, it won’t show you the whole story.
Jughead pushed his way through the low-hanging branches and overgrown bushes that took up the majority of the woods, frantically searching behind tree after tree for anything that might lead him back to Betty.
“Betty, are you there!?” His voice rang out in the silence of the night, echoing off dark skies and still wildlife.
“Jughead, we’ve been looking for over two hours,” Veronica pointed out, tightening her jacket around herself as a violent chill overtook her body. “She’s not here.”
“We have to keep looking,” Jughead insisted, kicking through the dead leaves coating the forest floor as he stepped in front of Veronica. “She can’t just be gone, she has to be here somewhere.”
“I know, and we will keep looking,” Veronica promised, pulling lightly of Jughead’s arm to stop him from going any further. “But I think that we need to take a break, regroup, and come up with a new plan.”
“She’s been gone for too long,” Jughead muttered, rubbing his hand across his forehead as if to get rid of a massive headache that was causing him immense pain. “Anything could have happened to her. She could be hurt, she could - I swear to god if that son of a bitch touched a hair on her head-”
“We can’t go there,” Veronica reminded him. “We have to keep thinking that everything’s going to be okay, we can’t go to that dark place or we’ll never come out of it.”
“I can’t lose her, Veronica, I can’t-” Jughead’s voice broke as he turned away from Veronica. He hadn’t let himself feel this vulnerable in front of anyone but Betty before, and now that she was the reason for his tears, he felt like he had no other choice but to let them fall.
“Hey,” Veronica looped around Jughead to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. She’s coming home. I promised you that much, and Veronica Lodge always keeps her promises.”
“But we’ve looked everywhere,” Jughead reminded her, already feeling defeat prickling at the back of his mind. “The woods, the school, the park, every place she could have possibly gone that was within a walking distance from Pop’s and we haven’t found a thing.”
Veronica’s phone buzzed in her back pocket and she slid it out to read the text that just popped up on the screen.
“Maybe we haven’t found anything because we were looking for places she could have been instead of Pop’s,” Veronica suggested, letting the words she had just read on her phone inspire her to find a clue that would lead them back to her best friend.
“You’re saying she might have been taken outside of Pop’s?” Jughead put two and two together, furrowing his brows in confusion as he tried to understand what she was saying. “But how is that possible? We were all inside, right by the window. We would have seen something.”
“Not if she was taken in the alleyway,” Veronica pointed out, the thought of this sending another chill down her spine.
“But why would Betty go through the alley?” Jughead asked. “Her house is a straight shot to the diner, right down the block. She wouldn’t have needed to take a shortcut.”
“Maybe she wasn’t trying to take a shortcut,” Veronica guessed. “You and I both know that Betty is way too smart to cut through a dark alley alone, at night, especially when there’s still a murderer on the loose. So she had to have seen someone, or something, that concerned her enough to investigate. Maybe a friend in danger, perhaps?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I just got this text from Josie,” Veronica explained, holding the phone out for him to see. “Apparently she saw Betty around 7:00pm, right outside of Pop’s. She was waiting for Val’s brother to pick her up for pussycats rehearsal when she saw Betty about to head inside the diner.”
“What?” Jughead’s heart lurched at the sound of Betty’s name and the fact that someone had seen her right before she disappeared. “What did she say to her? Did she see Betty get taken?”
“She got into the car just as Betty reached the door,” Veronica explained, causing Jughead’s face to fall in defeat. “But she realized she dropped her lipgloss on the sidewalk, so she got out back to grab it. That’s when she saw Betty heading for the alley, calling out someone’s name.”
“Who’s name?” Jughead pressed, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. “Who did she see?”
Veronica tucked her phone back into her pocket before turning back around to raise a curious eyebrow in his direction.
Betty wriggled uncomfortably in the cold metal chair that her kidnapper had strapped her to almost five hours ago.
“My friends are going to find me you know,” Betty spat, wishing desperately that she could check the bruise she could feel forming at the corner of her eye in a mirror. “They’re just as good at sleuthing as I am, if not better. They’ll figure out where you’re keeping me, and then Sheriff Keller will get to lock you up for good.”
“No one’s coming for you,” her kidnapper taunted, their voice low and menacing as they paced along the dusty floor of the warehouse in front of her. “You know why? Because this whole town is too damn self-absorbed to notice anyone but themselves. They’re consumed by power and wealth and status, but when someone else is in trouble, they turn a blind eye, completely unaware that anyone else even exists.”
“It’s funny,” Betty scoffed, her laugh coming out dark and humorless. “You didn’t just describe the whole town. You just described the Blossoms.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” her kidnapper shot back. “The Blossoms are Riverdale. They always have been.”
“So you kill their only son? And for what?” Betty demanded to know. “To teach his parents a lesson?”
“You’re the grade-A super sleuth, Betty Cooper. You should know that there’s always more to a person’s story than what’s just on the surface.”
“You wanted revenge,” Betty answered, her eyes glaring at Jason’s killer like they were nothing more than a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of her shoe. “And you got it. That’s all I need to know to understand that you’re a monster.”
“I’m not the monster here, Ms. Cooper,” they reminded her, taking a step closer to Betty and kneeling down right in front of her. “This town, and everything it stands for - that’s the enemy here, not me.”
“My friends are coming for me because they’re nothing like the people you’ve chosen to hate,” Betty pointed out, her voice sounding strong and confident while everything inside of her was screaming at her to give up. “They have good hearts and they care about me. And they’re smarter than you and your little goons could ever be.”
Jason’s killer placed either hand on the armrests of Betty’s chair, leaning in so close that Betty could feel their hot breath on her cheek. “And I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you figure that out.”
“Reggie, open the door!”
Veronica pounded on the front door to the Mantle’s luxurious home at the edge of town, grateful to find out that his parents were out of town for the weekend.
“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” Reggie yelled through the door. “Go away.”
“Would you just-” Veronica jiggled the door knob as hard as she could, hoping that by shaking it enough, it would miraculously unlock. “Reggie, I swear to you on my favorite Dolce and Gabbana silk dress that if you don’t open this door right now I’ll tell the whole school about the time I saw you naked in the locker room and when I looked down you-”
“Okay!” Reggie conceded, quickly undoing the latch from the door and swinging it open. “Okay, jeez, did you really have to bring that up again?”
“Desperate times, Reggie dear,” Veronica smirked as she pushed her way past Reggie to enter his house.
“What’s he doing here?” Reggie peeked around Veronica to watch Jughead file in behind her, his jaw firmly set as he snapped his head up to meet Reggie’s gaze.
“Where is she?” Jughead demanded, his eyes ablaze with fury as he took a step closer to Reggie.
“Reggie, I’m not playing games with you, tell me where she is!” Jughead used every bit of strength he had to slam Reggie into the front door, his head snapping backwards as it hit the door frame with a bang.
“Whoa!” Veronica dove between the two before Reggie could retaliate, placing her hands on either of their chests in an attempt to keep them separated. “Okay, let’s take the testosterone down like sixty notches, we’re all a little stressed here.”
Jughead stepped away from Reggie, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made the effort to distance himself from him as much as possible.
“Now, that we’re calm,” Veronica started, turning to Reggie with serious eyes. “Reggie, we need to know if you saw Betty tonight. It’s important that you tell us everything.”
“I swear, I haven’t seen Betty,” Reggie admitted. “I was at Chuck’s house all night, watching the game. You can ask him, he’ll tell you.”
“I swore to myself that I wouldn’t utter another word to that foul beast of a teenage boy if my life depended on it,” Veronica muttered, pushing her hair away from her face and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “So we’re going to have to take your word for it.”
“But Josie said she heard Betty call your name as she headed into the alley next to Pop’s,” Jughead informed him. “She said she saw your letterman jacket.”
“I knew someone stole that thing!” Reggie exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for it all day.”
“When’s the last time you saw it?” Veronica asked, turning back to give Jughead a quizzical look as they tried to piece together what was happening.
“Uh, practice yesterday I guess,” Reggie shrugged, his eyebrows drawing together as he thought back to the events from the previous day. “I left it on the bench in the locker room and I haven’t seen it since.”
“Whoever took her wanted her to think that it was Reggie walking into that alley,” Veronica pieced together the information, her forehead wrinkling in confusion as a few key details still remained unsolved. “But why would they think she would have followed him? No offense, but I didn’t even know you guys were friends.”
“I might not have seen her tonight,” Reggie admitted, a look of guilt washing over his face has his head tilted down to meet Veronica’s eyes. “But I did see her yesterday.”
“Why?” Jughead wanted to know, his temper calm enough to take a step closer to Reggie.
“She was asking around about Jason’s murder,” Reggie explained. “I told her something that I didn’t tell the police - something that I didn’t think was important at the time. Turns out, she thought it was pretty meaningful because she threw her arms around me and ran out of the room all giddy or whatever.”
“She thought that whatever you told her was going to lead her straight to the killer,” Jughead concluded, another wave of anger and guilt taking over as he thought of all the ways he should have been there to stop all of this from happening. “God, I should have known she was doing all this, I should have been there to help her.”
“Why weren’t you?” Reggie asked, not unkindly. “Not that I care, but I thought you guys were into the whole investigation thing together?”
“I was helping my dad,” Jughead explained, a dark shadow crossing over his face, but completely disappearing before anyone could notice. “He needed me to… Never mind. It’s not important. What’s important now is finding Betty. And that means that Reggie, you have to tell Sheriff Keller everything you just told us - including what you told Betty yesterday.”
Just then, a memory of an entry that Betty wrote in her journal crossed her mind, directly connected to what Reggie had just told them. A phone call that Jason made right before Cheryl and Jason’s boat ride from hell, seemingly unimportant on its own, happened to be the key to everything when coupled with all the other evidence. It was like a light clicked on in Jughead’s brain, and he suddenly understood. He now knew what Betty had known before she was taken.
“Okay,” Veronica began, taking a step backwards to meet Jughead’s gaze. “Then what? It might take them hours to figure out where she might be based on this information. ”
“It won’t matter,” Jughead admitted, crossing the foyer to place a hand on the front door handle. “Because I know exactly where she is.”
“How?” Reggie asked, confusion written all over his face.
“Because I know who killed Jason Blossom.”
All she could see was darkness. There was nothing in front of her, but she knew that there was someone around her, watching. She was losing hope. She would never admit it out loud, but she was terrified that no one was coming to find her. She was alone. She would always be alone. And she had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was never going to make it out of this dark place alive.
“She has to be here!” Jughead sprinted through the empty warehouse, his eyes darting from one end to the next as he searched for Betty. “I know she’s here, I know it!”
“Jughead, it’s an empty factory!” Archie, who had joined back up with the rest of the group after Jughead and Veronica left Reggie’s house, pointed out as he took a look around the room himself. “No one’s been here for years!”
“This isn’t happening,” Jughead muttered, his voice barely coming out above a whisper. “She can’t be gone, she’s here!”
“Jughead, you must not have gotten the right place,” Veronica suggested, her voice calm and soothing as she tried to make Jughead feel like all hope was not lost. “Let’s go back to Sheriff Keller and-”
“Shhh!” Jughead cut Veronica off, his heart beating loudly in his chest as he concentrated on listening to everything around him. He wasn’t sure if he was hearing things, or if his head was playing tricks on him, but he swore he could hear a faint struggle on the other side of the wall at the edge of the warehouse.
And then he did hear it. His name. Her voice. It was all he could think about ever since they determined that she had been kidnapped almost seven hours ago, and it was actually happening.
“Jughead!” Betty’s voice called out to him, faint, but still there, and Jughead bolted to the other end of the warehouse without a second thought.
“Betty!” Jughead breathed, banging on the wall with his fist and looking for an opening that would lead him right to her. “That’s her! That’s her, I can hear her!”
“There’s no one here, Jughead,” Archie told him, his brows drawing together as he watched his friend frantically searching the wall for some sort of handle that would slide open to reveal a hidden room.
“It was on the other side of this wall,” Jughead explained. “I could hear her right there!”
“Well if she was here, she’s gone now,” Archie said solemnly, pulling lightly on Jughead’s shoulder to guide him away from the wall.
“I’m calling the Sheriff,” Veronica informed them, already pulling her phone from her pocket and dialing the number. “Maybe he can track them down if he knows where they were keeping her.”
“She was here,” Jughead sunk to the ground in defeat, tears stinging his eyes at the thought of being so close to finding her and coming up short. “God, she was so close and I lost her. I never got to tell her. I never got to tell her and now she’ll never know.”
Slowly, Jughead pulled off his beanie and buried his head in his hands. He had lost all hope, and he had no idea where to go from there.
“I know, Jughead.”
A voice coming from the other side of the warehouse caused Jughead spring to his feet, spinning around to find Betty walking slowly towards him.
“Believe me, I know,” she breathed, tears filling her eyes as her gaze locked on Jughead’s and never wavered.
“How sweet.” Another voice coming from behind Betty made Jughead’s head snap up in concern, reminding him that they were in danger. “Lovers reunited. Too bad this isn’t some fairytale romance with a happy ending.”
In one quick motion, Betty’s kidnapper took hold of her neck from behind and quickly pointed his gun to her temple.
“It was you,” Jughead muttered in a low voice, his anger flaring up again as he made a break for the gun. “You son-of-a-bitch, let her go!”
“Take a step closer and I pull the trigger,” the kidnapper warned. “I killed one spoiled teenager in this town, I can kill another one.”
“Please,” Jughead begged. “Take me - just let her go and take me. I was a part of this investigation too. I’ll do anything, just - don’t hurt her.”
“Interesting,” the kidnapper whispered. “I didn’t peg FP Jones’ son to be the selfless type. Guess everyone in this town isn’t as predictable as I thought.”
There was a moment of silence in which Betty closed her eyes, breathing and hoping that she could have one last chance to feel what it was like to have Jughead’s arms wrapped around her.
“You want her back?” the kidnapper growled, lowering the gun and shoving Betty towards Jughead. “Fine. You can have her.”
Betty stumbled forward, nearly falling to the warehouse floor until Jughead rushed to catch her in his arms.
“Are you okay?” Jughead breathed, brushing her hair out of the way so he could inspect every inch of her beautiful face.
“I am now,” Betty whispered, clutching onto Jughead’s arms, too afraid to let go.
“You want to compare yourselves to Romeo and Juliet,” the kidnapper taunted, holding up the gun so that it was perfectly positioned to hit both targets. “Then you deserve an ending like theirs.”
“I love you,” Jughead mouthed, his gaze focused on Betty and only Betty as they waited for Betty’s kidnapper, Jason’s murderer, and the person who they thought they could trust only a few weeks ago, to pull the trigger.
The door swung open and Sheriff Keller came charging forward with a dozen police officers as backup, shuffling in behind him to fill the room. Time stood still for Betty as she watched the kidnapper’s finger press on the trigger and let go. Before she could think, breathe, move, the shot rang out and Betty froze, sliding her hand into Jughead’s at the last second before facing what might be the last moment she would ever have, beside the boy she loved with all of heart.
Babysitting. Apparently, that’s something you do now. But not just anyone. Nope, today you’re babysitting Satan himself.
You pull open the heavy metal door, sighing at knowing what’s about to come. “Y/N, it’s been too long!” Lucifer grins. You roll your eyes, “It sure as hell hasn’t been long enough.” The archangel’s body shakes with fake laughter, “I forgot how funny you are.”
Why the hell did you agree to this? Oh right, you didn’t. Crowley practically forced it on you, saying you’re the only one he can trust. ‘Only one he can trust’ my ass, you think to yourself.
You stand in front of the fallen angel, making sure to keep your distance. “How’re you liking those chains, Luci?” Lucifer smirks at you in response, wriggling in his chair. “Wouldn’t you like to know? I also forgot how kinky you are.”
“And I forgot how fricken annoying you are,” You scoff. You glance at your watch. It hasn’t even been five minutes and you’re already starting to get a headache. You’re supposed to watch over Satan for five more hours? You really need to talk to Crowley about your paygrade because this…this is way above it.
“Oh, somebody is having a bad day,” Lucifer says in a sing-song voice. “Really? I had no idea. Thanks for pointing that out for me, Mr. Obvious,” You say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lucifer scrunches his nose at you, “All that fire and feistiness. I love that about you! Y/N, why are you still working for Crowley when you can work for me?”
Your brows knit together. Did Satan just give you a compliment and ask you to work for him?
You fold your arms over your chest. “I work with whoever is in charge. I’m not big on Hell’s politics.” Lucifer pouts. “So, you’re not going to help me out of these chains and reclaim the throne?”
You shrug. “Nope. But, if you do reclaim the throne, I’ll make sure to save you some ‘fire and feistiness’.” The corner of Lucifer’s lips turn up at hearing this and he raises a brow at you. “What makes you think I would let you survive after refusing to help me?”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Well, would you?” Lucifer purses his lips as he looks away before looking back at you and shrugging. “Okay, you got me, I would.”
He smirks at you darkly, leaning forward. “But, you’d have to spend some time in chains. You know, to set an example and everything.”
A corner of your lip turns up, “Well, like you said, ‘kinky’.”
Dylan would probably be all laid-back and bored in class until you’d walk in with a mini skirt and sit beside him. He’d sit up straight and would try to concentrate on the teacher but wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes away from your long smooth legs and how the skirt framed your hips.
The teacher would ask him why he is so absent-minded and he’d just mumble something, forcing himself to look away but that wouldn’t prevent his face from turning red and the shifting of his legs.
He would imagine how your skin would feel and whether you would let him touch that bit of naked skin anyway. His thoughts would always circle around you until he’d feel his blood leaving his other body regions and shooting in his brain and crotch.
To his horror, he’d get a hard on.
You’d lean over to ask him for a pencil and he’d get a short chance to smell your perfume and a slight glance into your cleavage, that wouldn’t make his situation any better. He’d practically throw the pencil at you…
The teacher would warn Dylan to pay attention a second time when he wouldn’t stop wriggling about on his chair, awkwardly trying to hide his boner. By now dylan would be a sweating mess.
After class he would wait until everyone left.
You’d ask him to come with you but he’d politely decline, telling you he had business to take care of and that would be exactly what he’d do after getting in the boys restroom.
Can I say this little summary by stating that it gives me life when Holmes says “my dear Watson”? Okay, on with the rest.
“You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures.” (This is the beginning of the little squabble that follows. And I love it. Jabez Wilson be damned, we’ll b bickering about this here an now ;))
“Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits.” (I’m sorry, but that’s adorable)
“Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst into a roar of laughter.” (I love this scene!)
“He curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.” (Watson is outdoing himself with his descriptions in this one)
“I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing.” (someone help me with the English here. Does that mean his practice isn’t very busy? or not very interesting?)
“I have known something of him before.” “Evidently,” said I, “Mr Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal in this mystery of the Red-Headed League. I am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him.” (whoever decided to portray Watson as a dim-witted idiot was clearly an idiot himself)
“My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes ere as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in his arm-chair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions.” (another great description)
“To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold, dank air of the vault.” (Just made me wonder if lying in wait there brought back memories from lying in wait as a soldier)
“It saved me from ennui,” he answered, yawning. “Alas!I already feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape the commonplaces of existence.” (This is easily my favourite Holmes quote. Maybe because I can relate to it so well.)
More questions about Watson’s practice brought up here. Going back to the line quoted above. If his work isn’t interesting, why is he doing it? It doesn’t sound like a “Oh it’s a bit slow at the moment” kinda comment. If it means that work doesn’t keep him busy then how can he afford a house in Kensington? (provide Kensington was a posh area to live in then too?) Any comments, thoughts, knowledge etc. would be hugely appreciated! :)
“Where’s my taser?” you muttered to yourself, rummaging
through your bedside drawer. Just because you agreed to meet your crazy
stalker, did not mean you were going to turn unprotected. It was crazy to even
agree to see Park Chanyeol but you couldn’t help yourself.
It was as if something was pulling you towards him.
Finding your taser hidden under your bed, you checked the
battery and threw it into your bag. It crossed your mind to write a note to
Talia in case your stalker kidnapped you, but you just laughed at how paranoid
you were. Instead you grabbed your bag and keys and headed out the door,
keeping your hand on your taser at all times as you jogged down the stairs of
your apartment building and crossed the street.
When you walked into the café, your eyes immediately found
his and an uncontrollably smile crept up onto your face. Why were you smiling
at your stalker? Mentally scolding yourself, you ordered an orange juice and
weaved through the chairs to the little table by the window he had chosen. You hooked
your bag around the back of the chair, within reach, and then sat down to face
imagine reader finding out Negan is ticklish, and a massive tickle fight between them breaking out, But like it turns into a war so it turns into them getting each other back through out the week. - @bisexual-watermelons
this is all fluff <3
When you’d found out he was ticklish, he’d threatened you not to tell anyone, “Seriously, (Y/N), if Dwight or Simon hears about this shit i will make you stop” He’d tried to sound angry but when a minute before he was crying on the floor clutching his stomach you couldn’t really take it seriously.
“I promise” You’d lied with an eye roll. That’s when the war had started. An all out tickle war between you and him. You were never safe. Before, he’d even hidden round corners to ambush you.
It had been three days sine you’d last won. Spying him drinking his coffee in the cafeteria, you had lurked behind a concrete wall. It had become so competitive that if one of Negans men saw you even somewhat close to him your surprise tactic would be lost. He quite literally had people reporting on when you looked “tickle ready” as they called it. Some people even placed bets.
“Dwight ! Dont be such a fucking pussy, everyone here knows you did not kill a racoon with your bare hands.” You could hear where he sat in his leather chair, the back to you, his men in a half circle in front of him.
“You werent even there, I throttled that racoon, not even lying.” Dwight was arguing back, confused as to why no one believed him.
“That racoon probably throttled you, Dwight, you big tart” Negan roared with laughter. You loved seeing him like this, playful and down to earth… shame you had to revenge tickle him.
Preparing yourself you smirked to yourself at how it all happened. Negan was on a raised platform in the cafeteria, giving out commands and so on.
“And that is precisely why, my little fucking strawberries, why we need to take double the amount of shit. No questions asked this time, Negan has had enough. Negan wants more shit, all you Negans will help the other Negans and their girlfriend Negans get more shit, all to feed the little fucking baby Negans, fucking simple right ?” He was riling up the crowd, people were cheering. What did that even mean ? You grinned to yourself in the wings of the makeshift stage.
“Hey ! (Y/N), pass me that drink real fast ?” He’d asked from the podium, pointing at a plastic cup of water behind you.
A little nervous to be in front of people you cautiously gripped it and walked over to him. It was surprisingly full. He extended his arm to receive it but you weren’t exactly looking and you spilt it over his leather jacket… in front of a very VERY large audience. You felt you might cry so you did your best to pat away the dampness of your sleeve hurriedly
“Shit. Im so sorry “ You remember apologising, dabbing down his sleeves as he squirmed and turned away, his cocky grin turning to laughter. “Hold still or i wont be able to get it !”
“Shit. (Y/N) fuck off that tickles !” He’d cried more hostile than he’d perhaps intended. He saw he’d upset you with his sudden outburst, and so he taken the mic in his hands. “That’s right, i’m fucking ticklish”
Giggling as you walked away you heard a mumble over your shoulder off, “ Good luck” From then on it had begun, a flirty 24/7 tickle fight that would seemingly never end.
You pulled on your glove for maximum effect, a cold black leather intended to make him shiver and then eventually cry. From where he was seated, Dwight and Simon could both see you eyeing up your unsuspecting target as he sat and sassed them. He kindve deserved it at least.
You nodded to them in confirmation they would keep quiet. Then you sprinted, dived at him and tickled him so hard you got finger cramp. He went from his cool hard big boy persona to a curled up in a ball, sweary little wuss and you loved it. Climbing up onto his lap you didnt stop as he whined and wriggled in his chair. he couldve pushed you off if he wanted but he secretly enjoyed it, he knew.
“Fuckkkk” He was laughing strings of pure obscenities. Swatting at you lightly and trying to tickle you back. “ Fuckk you ! You fucking fuckity fucker” He was purring and hollering.
“(Y/N) wins again” Dwight mocked with a grin, watching Negan as he flopped onto the floor with a grin and an exhausted blush.
Leonard raised his head from his welcome sheet to see the bright-eyed blond who had sat next to him on the shuttle. He tried not to grimace, but couldn’t help the unpleasantness that seeped in with the memory.
“McCoy, right?” the blond looked unsure, holding out his hand.
“Leonard McCoy,” he nodded, taking the offered hand and shaking it, “And sorry, your name again?”
“Jim Kirk,” said man smiled brightly, raising his own sheet, “and your new roommate apparently.”
“Oh,” Leonard blinked, looking down to the ’James Tiberius Kirk’ on the paper in his hand and back up again, sheepish, “Sorry ‘bout your shoes.”
Jim chuckled, waving him off, “As if that’s the first time they’ve been thrown up on.” He pointed down the hall he’d come from, “And our room is that way, if you’re wondering. Some freshmen thought it’d be a good idea to switch some of the numbers around.” He laughed, loud and bright, “Who manages to get demerits on their first day?”
Leonard blinked wide-eyed at the laugh, then looked at his sheet again and scowled, “This is gonna be a hell of a time, isn’t it?” He looked up with a sigh, “I dunno if my old bones can take it.”
To his surprise, Jim Kirk just smiled wider, hitting him on the shoulder jovially before leading him towards their new lodgings, “Don’t worry, ’Bones’, we’ll get through it.” He raised up the card key for their room and kissed it, winking, “For good luck.”
Garrus looked up from his plate. Dinner was quiet. Too quiet. His eyes danced between his wife and his son. Something wrong happened. And he was going to find out. Who would crack first, he wondered.
“So, Mordin? How was school today?” Garrus continued to cut into his turian-friendly steak. As the black crispiness of slightly burnt meat hit his tongue, the turian struggled to keep a straight face. His wife’s cooking was getting better, but not by much.
The tiny krogan swallowed hard. His green eyes darted towards his mother and then back to his father. His brow plated furrowed. “Uh not much. Another boring day.” His chuckle was too giddy and high pitched.
Imagine Steve being voted Sexiest Man Alive and being really embarrassed about it
He tries to forget about it, and succeeds, until Clint brings home a magazine and drops it onto the table in front of Steve.
“Why didn’t you tell any of us?” he asks as the others scramble to see what it is.
“Come on, really?” Steve replies. “It’s so embarrassing! Look at me, why did I have to be wet?”
Not so discreetly, Bucky tears out that page and folds it up. Clint slaps him on the back as he tucks it into his pocket. Steve shrinks into his seat, covering his face with his hands. “I wish you guys hadn’t seen that,” he mutters.
“Too bad,” Clint says. “I was picking up some Whoppers, and you’re on the cover. I had to get one.”
“I think we need more than one,” Tony comments thoughtfully. “I think we need to frame a couple.”
Nat jogs over to the phone and yanks a Sharpie from the pen cup. “Hey, Cap, I think you need to sign this.”
“Absolutely not,” Steve says, and makes to get out of his seat. Bucky rushes over and drops into his lap. “Buck! Come on, you guys are killing me here! I hate this!”
Bucky wriggles in his lap. He lets his head fall back against the chair, exasperated. When he feels Nat grab his wrist to try and shove the pen into his hand, he grabs on to the chair’s arm. They’re going to have to break the chair to get his grip off.
They bother him for a while later, but when Tony tears out one of his pictures and rubs it all over his body, Bucky has had enough.
“Okay, okay, I’m calling it,” Bucky says, getting up and pulling Steve up with him. “We’re going to go, because I want to renew my claim on the Sexiest Man Alive.”
He collects up several of the pages scattered across the table, grabs Steve’s hand, and pulls him out the door.
was no time of the year that Harry enjoyed more than the holidays. Growing up,
he had always loved the anticipation that the month of December brought along. Writing
letters to Santa, Christmas baking with his mother and specials on the
television were just a handful of the many things Harry adored about the
holidays. However, there was one thing he looked forward to doing more than all
of the previously listed and that was decorating the Christmas tree. Every
single year for as long as he could remember, his mother, his sister and him
would gather on the first night of December and decorate the tree together. Even
now, much older and with a few children of his own, the tradition never
stopped. The only difference was that instead of assembling and decorating the
tree with his mum and sister, he was doing it with his wife and four kids.
Harry never thought that Christmas could be better than it was when he was a
child, but that was before he became a father. If there’s one thing that’s
better than being a kid at Christmas time it’s being a parent at Christmas
time. Watching them buzz around with excitement reignited the magic of
Christmas for both Harry and you and you found yourselves enjoying the festivities
more than you ever had. So when December first rolled around, the whole Styles
household was more than ready to put on their festive pyjamas and decorate the
Christmas tree in the family room.
when are we gonna put the tree up?” Oliver’s excited and impatient voice caught
Harry’s attention at the dinner table, prompting him to turn his head from the
twins to his oldest son.
dinner, bud. You have to finish your pizza first.” Harry couldn’t help but
chuckle when he noticed the tomato sauce smudged at the corners of the boy’s
mouth. You’d decided that pizza was the best choice for that night’s supper,
not in the mood to deal with a mess of dirty pots and pans. The last thing you
wanted was to miss out on decorating the tree because you had to do the dishes.
we decorate the tree?” Oliver wriggled around in his chair, incapable of
staying still when he was feeling so much excitement. At five years old, he was
at the perfect age to enjoy all the wonderful things that Christmas had to
offer. He was more than eager to visit Santa in his village, which was also
known as the mall, and to help you make the gingerbread cookies your mother had
made with you as a kid. You had never met a child that loved Christmas more
than Oliver. Amelia being three years old was starting to participate much more
in the traditions Harry and you had created over the years together unlike
Ellie and Charlie who were far too young to understand any of what was going
we decorate the tree.” Harry confirmed with a smile, turning his gaze to you
when you giggled at your son’s excitement. He smirked at you, watching as you
fed a blend of puree to the twins, most of it escaping their mouths and
dribbling down onto their bibs. Harry got up from his chair and placed himself
behind yours in the middle of the two high chairs belonging to the 10 month
olds. His hands rested on your shoulders, squeezing them gently before he
Author’s note : Ok so that request came recently but it got me literaly super inspired! There you go all my lovely Michael girls! You can take a moment to watch this video before reading the smut so you’ll have a better idea, it’s worth it :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEqwcMn1P0s
I sighed heavily fastening my glitery corset and readjusting my boobs nonchalantly.
La Goulue wasn’t the dirty kind of place you’d picture when you hear “stripper” and after all I was not a stripper. I was a burlesque artist, uneeffeilleuse.
Kurt has everyone arranged at the little table just right: Sundance, a floppy-eared puppy he got for Christmas, Brown Bear who is worn and lumpy and needs a better name but Kurt can’t really think of anything that’s quite right, and Princess Penelope The Frog that Kurt’s dad won at the county fair. She’s missing one eye, but she makes it work.
It’s the second weekend after the start of school, still hot and muggy outside, but there’s a breeze that makes the leaves swish and flutter, shadows dancing across Kurt’s upturned face and the surface of the wicker table where his tea party is still waiting for tea.
Not juice or water. Real tea. So Mom had gone back into the kitchen with a sigh and a smile and Kurt had wriggled in his chair. Real tea. Like the Queen.
He could have had friends over, but Kurt had thought about it and rubbed at his nose and said that he didn’t want anyone to come. But no matter, Mom and Sundance and Brown Bear and Princess Penelope The Frog are wonderful company; polite and well-mannered and they never call him names or push him in the dirt.
Kurt watches the leaves twirl and twist, squints his eyes against the sunlight and kicks a table leg. Mom is taking a million years with that tea.
Okay but actually if we could have an adrenaline packed thor who hunts down loki for a good romp that would be A+
Quick ‘n Dirrrrty. ~1200 words
Thor walked down the hall with purpose, brushing back the locks of sweat soaked hair from his face as he passed the the baths without so much as a backward glance, his tunic clutched tightly in his fist.
Every muscle in his body sang, practically buzzing with energy. He felt like a storm, the clomping of his boots echoing off the high ceilings sounding like thunder. He brushed off the interested glances from the maids he passed, solely interested in the company of one person in particular right now.