#stepping on the toilet seat to climb over the wall but my foot broke right through it

[icequeenlila]

If I would get a dollar every time I broke a toilet seat, I would have two dollars. Which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice.

[jobean12-blog]

Hello my love 💕 I have another little request for you if that’s alright ❤️ you and Bucky were in a serious relationship years ago, so serious that you actually had children together but you broke up and remained friends. He visits one weekend and notices you’re stressed, and your friend tells him you haven’t relaxed since your kids were born and no sex. Bucky sends the kids to uncle Steve’s for the night and he makes your evening special with lots of care and love and fluffy smut? I love you💕

Forever My Girl

Pairing: Bucky x reader (dad!bucky)

Word Count: 1,286

Summary: You and Bucky have been with each other since you were young. You had two beautiful girls but things got tough and you’ve since broken up. The love was always there and what happens when one day he comes to take the girls out and finds you overwhelmed and stressed. 

Author’s Note: Thank you my sweetest @aesthetical-bucky for this lovely request! I hope I did it justice! I didn’t send the kids to Uncle Steve’s (which was an excellent idea) but I think it works out nicely still. I hope you enjoy this! Love you! Thank you all for reading and much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: tiny angst in the beginning, fluff, dad!bucky being adorable with this girls, fluffersmut, soft smut (18+ eyes only please :)

It isn’t until you hear the knock at the door that you finally exhale, your shoulders slumping and your feet dragging as you trudge toward the sound. Bucky opens the door and smiles but it quickly turns into a frown when he takes in your current state. “Hey doll, are you doing ok?” You stare at him as you feel the tears begin to well up, your lower lip trembling.

His eyebrows draw in and he holds his arms open wide and you rush into them. Instead of asking questions he just holds you close, pressing his mouth to the top of your head and carding his hands through your hair. The loud screams of your two girls tear through the moment and Bucky looks up to catch them flying toward him at top speed.

“Look out mama, here they come,” he chuckles, bringing you into his side when the girls throw themselves at him. “How are my beautiful girls today? Ready to go for ice cream?!” They scream in excitement and you can’t help but smile, their happy blue eyes so much like Bucky’s.

“Why don’t you take a bath and relax a bit doll. I’ll take them to the park too, so you have some extra time.” You give him a small nod and squeeze his hand before saying goodbye to the girls. Bucky heads out, his daughters a few steps ahead bouncing with happiness.

Your neighbor and close friend is out on the stoop enjoying the sun and Bucky waves. “Hey Wanda, how is everything?” She gets up and walks toward him, saying hi to the girls on the way. “Not bad, thanks Bucky. How are you?” He frowns, “I’m doing alright, but I’m worried about y/n. She seems a bit tense.” Wanda remains silent for a few moments before deciding to speak. “She would most likely kill me for telling you this, but she confessed to me recently that she has been feeling extremely stressed and having no outlet has been making it extra difficult.”

Bucky stares in confusion, waiting for Wanda to elaborate. When all she does it raise her eyebrows and sigh, Bucky opens his mouth in an “ohhhh.” “Right, I see,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. “Thanks for the info, I won’t say anything to her. It was good to see you Wanda, take care.” He turns to leave but not before hearing Wanda say, “you know, you could help her out.”

He turns and gives her a lopsided grin, ushering the girls toward the car. “Let’s go! Say bye to Wanda!” They wave as they climb into the backseat and get strapped in, Bucky’s mind elsewhere as he clicks them into their car seats. “Uh, daddy. My arm isn’t in the strap,” his youngest says, smirking. “Oh, sorry baby doll. Here you go, all fixed.”

After ice cream and some much-needed energy release at the park, Buck takes the girls back home, finding you looking refreshed and happier. “Hey babe, did you get to relax some?” You nod, hugging the girls tightly and telling them you missed them. “Why don’t you two go get ready for bath and I’ll be right in. Say bye to daddy first.”

They rush at Bucky, squeezing his legs. “, y/n, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if I stayed for bath? I would be happy to help with bedtime too.” The girls scream in delight and turn to beg you to let him stay. With a simple shrug you agree, smiling at the three of them and ushering them to the bathroom.

Bath is fun and you enjoy watching Bucky play with the bath toys while you relax on toilet seat. He dresses them in their pajamas while you go switch the laundry and when you return you see him in bed with one daughter on either side of him, reading a book. Your heart warms at the sight, the girls tucked in close with happy little smiles. “This is the best day ever, daddy,” your youngest whispers as your older one cuddles in closer and says, “I love you, daddy.”

You must blink to stop the tears from falling, Bucky looking up at the sound of your sniffle. He gives you a soft smile, kissing both the girls before finishing the book and tucking them into their respective beds. He meets you in the hallway, cradling your face in his hands. “This was really nice. I miss you. All three of you.”

“Me too, Bucky.” You can feel that he wants to say more, his eyes searching yours for some sign. Instead of speaking you simply stand on your tippy toes and place a chaste kiss to his lips, whispering, “thanks,” before starting to turn away. He stops you, caging you against the wall, “do it again.”

That’s all it takes. Your mouth crashes to his and he grabs your ass, lifting you so your legs wrap around his waist. He walks you toward the bedroom, shutting the door with his foot. Dropping you to the bed he slowly crawls over you, his gaze heated as he takes in your kiss swollen lips and heaving chest.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, breathlessly. You nod, running your hand along his jaw before whispering, “I always have. No one has ever been you.” Brushing his nose to yours he closes the gap, kissing you soundly. “It’s only ever been you, y/n. I love you.” His honest words give you the all the reassurance you need.

Bucky takes his time with you, his fingers tracing over your soft skin as he slowly undresses you. His lips feel like silk against your inner thighs as he settles between them. “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes out, before running this tongue through your folds. You try hold back your cries of pleasure, so you don’t wake the girls, but you find it extremely difficult as he expertly works you over with his tongue.

You tug on his hair to pull him closer, his moan vibrating through your core at the action. His hand snakes up your leg and he slowly pushes two fingers into you. The combined feeling of his mouth and fingers sends you over the edge quickly, your lips parted in a silent scream.

He leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses along your stomach before reaching your lips, the taste of you still fresh on his tongue. “I need you, Bucky. Please,” you whisper against his ear. His eyes settle on yours as he slowly pushes in, your body wrapping around him like a glove.  Giving his ass a little nudge, he throws you a smirk as he starts pumping his hips, his movements deliberate as he draws out your pleasure.

You can already feel the coil in your stomach tighten. It’s been too long, and he feels too good. A quiet moan of his name is all you get out before you feel yourself nearing the edge, your walls squeezing around him as you finish. His hips rock against yours as he follows you, his low moans muffled by his lips on yours.

Once you’ve both come down from the high, Bucky rolls onto his back and pulls you against his chest, gently brushing the hair from your face. “Why did we ever break up?” he asks as he peppers your face with kisses. “We were young and stupid.” He nods, “very stupid. I’m sorry for all the time I’ve lost with the three of you. But I’m ready to make up for it. If you’ll have me?” You sit up on your elbow and trace his lips with your finger, “I’d love nothing more.”  

@auro-ora @azurika-writes @bugsbucky @buckys-broody-muffin @book-dragon-13 @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @loricameback @littleredstarfish @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @mushyjellybeans @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @imgaril-lindru @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @scarletsoldierrr @the-wayward-robot @when-the-hell-is-bucky 

[fluffykitty1999-blog]

Burned Chapter 19

Ed stumbled into the hallway, Elicia held tightly in his arms, with the fire sequestered for a moment in the room behind them. The bedroom down the hall was starting to go up in flames, they had to get out...

Ed ran down the hall for the stairs, only to come face-to-face with an inferno. The first floor of the house was being consumed by flames- it was already halfway up the stairs, and there wasn't an inch of the first floor that hadn't been ignited. There was no way they were getting through that.

The fire from the second bedroom had engulfed the shut door, now, and it threatened to cut off any hope of escape back to the second floor they had.

They were going to be cornered. Elicia whimpered in his arms, and Ed made a split second decision, turning and running back down the hall. He shielded Elicia with his body from the flames as he raced past the second bedroom, feeling the heat and smelling burned hair as his braid was singed.

He ducked into the bathroom across the hall, slamming the door behind him.

There was the large, clawfooted bathtub he dropped Elicia into.

He could feel the sweat on his skin heating up... God, when had it gotten so hot in here? The heat was going to kill them if the smoke and flames didn't...

The fire was going to consume them all. Unless he could stop it, hold it back somehow. But what did he have to work with? All he had was wood, he was trapped in a bathroom, what could his alchemy do?

He turned, pacing the small room like a caged animal... and paused when he heard a squeak. He'd stepped on a rubber ducky.

An idea ignited in his brain faster than the flames, and he clapped his hands, turning and slamming them against the wall. Destroy the drywall. Plaster transmuted to dust. The pipes themselves- copper, he assumed...

A large spray of water shot out of the broken pipes, thoroughly drenching the bathroom and everything in it.

Elicia gasped in surprise, and Ed quickly did the same with the opposing wall- they were both absolutely soaked to the skin, Ed's clothes sticking to his body.

Elicia stared up at Ed from where she sat in the empty bathtub, eyes wide, strawberry blonde hair wet and clinging to her face as her soaked PJ's clung to her skin.

Despite the growing heat, Ed managed a smile. "Guess I'm gonna have to make a mess of this place, huh, Elicia?" he had no idea how he'd kept the terror from his voice. But Elicia smiled.

Ed grabbed the bathroom trashcan, turning on the bathtub faucet and filling it, before attempting to put out the flames just outside the door. He decided it was a lost cause as soon as he'd opened the door- the flames were too much- but maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to soak the door and keep their wet room from burning...

The heat was uncomfortable, but not unbearable, and Ed took a brief moment to think. They were safe from the flames- for now. But who knew how long that would last? Ed could feel the heat from the inferno on the first floor below him- the bathroom floor was unnaturally hot beneath his feet, and he found himself stepping into the empty bathtub with Elicia as water continued to spray from the pipes he'd broken, trying to think.

Even if they were safe from the fire upstairs, it was only a matter of time before the floor below them gave way, dropping them into the hellish fire below them. Unless they could manage to put it out...

Ed turned on the water in the tub, crawling out and placing himself on the floor.

He turned to look at Elicia, trying to force himself to stay calm. "Alright, Elicia, I really hope you don't have to go to the bathroom." He clapped his hands, placing both of them on the toilet seat- he transmuted the porcelain to a fine dust- he didn't need it. Water immediately began flowing out of the piped that'd been connected to the toilet, and Ed transumeted a small, toilet shaped hole in the floor, a blast of hot air immediately coming up from the ground below them. The water from the pipes poured downstairs, sizzling and steaming... It wasn't much, but it was something.

Over the crackling of the flames, Ed looked over to see Elicia laughing.

"Big brother! You broke the toilet!"

Ed managed a wane smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Elicia was still in the bathtub, fully clothed, and the tub was nearly overflowing. That was good- let the water soak the studs and overflow onto the bathroom floor, maybe even drench some of the inferno below them... He didn't need to put out the whole fire. He just needed to keep the room they were in and the room below them from going up in flames.

With that in mind, he deconstructed the sink, letting the water flow from those open pipes as well, joining in drenching the bathroom floor and the first floor below them.

He climbed back into the now overflowing bathtub with Elicia, trying to think and stay calm.

He could smell the smoke- burning wood and acrid smoke- all around them. But it hung high in the air, away from them, for now. The heat was all around them, but the fire hadn't managed to invade their little sanctuary of overflowing pipes- yet.

A beam of wood from the roof above them clattered to the ground, sluggishly smoking, and Elicia looked alarmed. Ed swallowed.

"It's okay, Elicia. I know things are kind of scary right now- but I need you to listen to me, okay?"

Elicia looked up from where she clung to him in the bathtub with wide eyes.

"The floor below us in going to collapse at some point. Most of the house is, probably. It will be a little scary and we'll fall- but only for a minute. If we stay in this bathtub full of water, we won't get hurt."

"But is there fire downstairs?" Elicia asked, clinging to him tightly.

"Yes, there is fire downstairs. But not right below us- see- cause I broke the toilet." Ed pointed to the streams of water from the broken sink and toilet that flowed through the holes he'd made in the floor.

"So- we're going to fall downstairs to the first floor, probably. And the fire will be all around us. On all sides. And it will be scary, but it won't be bad, because we'll be in this bathtub and the ground below us won't be on fire..."

"But what are we going to do!?" Elicia asked, looking up at him with teary eyes.

"We're going to burrow underground. Once we fall through to the first floor- I'll use my alchemy to get through the floorboards to the ground. From there- I can make a little dirt cave all around us. We'll be safe from the fire. Most of the house will fall over- and it will be scary, and we'll have to wait awhile for help- but it's going to be okay. Because your dad and my... Mustang is going to come and find us."

There was another crack, and another plank fell from the ceiling. The house was starting to come apart. Something shifted beneath them- Ed felt the floorboards shudder beneath them and pulled Elicia into his lap.

"I don't wanna fall!" Elicia clung to him, and he squeezed her right back.

"I know. Just hold onto me- we'll be alright."

They waited in tense silence- minutes felt like hours- there was a pop, and the floor beneath them shifted. Elicia gasped.

"I'm scared!" she wailed.

"I know." Ed's own heart was hammering in his chest. He was scared, too. "But when I get scared, someone who cares about me a lot will sit with me. And they talk to me. And they give me a hug until I feel better. I can't make it go away, Elicia-" In the distance, he heard the sound of wood collapsing and boards clattering down as their charred remains gave out.

"But I'm right here. And I'm gonna hold onto you until it's okay again."

The fire was right outside the bathroom door. Ed had to raise his voice to be heard over the crackling of the flames and the sound on running water.

Ed Held Elicia to him tightly with one hand and ran his fingers through her wet hair. That was what Mustang usually did to calm him down, right?

"It's scary right now." he licked his chapped lips nervously, feeling the heat in the room despite the water. "But it's going to be alright."

The floor gave way beneath them.

A bottle of milk shattered on the sidewalk outside, spilling chocolate milk all over the asphalt. A suit of armor stood, horrified, looking at the scene before him.

"Brother!" Alphonse clanked forward, coming face to face with the Hughes, Colonel Mustang, and a black figure hogtied on the ground. In the distance, sirens sounded.

Roy and Hughes turned to look at Alphonse, shocked.

"Alphonse!" Hughes came running over, with Mustang not far behind. "Alphonse, is Edward and Elicia with you?"

"No- my brother- he and Elicia are still inside!"

Hughes sagged to the ground, looking near faint.

"I have to go in there- I have to find them!"

"Alphonse, you can't." Roy said forlornly.

"I don't have a body! I can't get burned! I can save them!" Al spoke hurriedly, his voice rising an octave with desperation.

"Alphonse- a house fire burns at over 1,000 degrees Fahrenheit. You might be able to go in- but even if you do, your metal body will become burning- no, red-hot even- to touch. You can walk through the flames- but Ed and Elicia can't. You'll end up trapped inside and not able to help anyone. And if the heat were to burn hot enough, it might vaporize your blood seal, and you'd be gone..."

Alphonse seemed to lose his vigor all at once. "I see. Maybe there's some other way we can help... Garden hoses, maybe?"

A sputtering laugh rose from the ground nearby. Xavier, still dressed in back, rolled over to look at them and spat through bloody lips.

"Don't flatter yourself! They're both dead! No garden hose can put out my masterpie-ack!" Xavier's deranged rant was cut off by a large metal foot being placed on his windpipe. Alphonse didn't apply enough pressure to cause damage- only enough to silence the maniac. Al's soulfire eyes narrowed, if that was possible.

"My brother is alive, and so is Elicia. We've faced people far more dangerous and much smarter than you, so don't flatter yourself. You're in enough trouble as it is, so you'd better shut up. It takes more than fire to kill my brother."

Roy and Hughes simply stared. It was easy to forget that Alphonse was powerful due to his gentle nature- but with Edward being threatened, it no longer seemed to matter that Al was a suit of armor, or that he was eleven years old- he was every bit as intimidating and skilled as Edward.

"And if by some miracle you got lucky, and my brother is dead, well, then I'm going to make you wish you were dead too." Alphonse finished, lifting his foot from Xavier's throat.

Xavier stared up at the sky, unnerved and shocked by the exchange, and Roy himself had to blink.

Fire trucks were pulling up at the sidewalk now, and Roy nodded to Alphonse. "Let's go see if we can help."

The sound of splintering wood and clawed feet of the tub hit the ground below it with an almighty bang and a splash.

The twenty foot fall from the floor above was jarring- the water that splashed out of the tub sizzled with an almighty heat. Ed looked up from where he was clinging to Elicia in the tub, brushing his soggy bangs from his face and taking in the scene around them. They were surrounded by walls of fire on every side. His skin was starting to burn in the heat.

He scrambled out of the tub, Elicia still clutched tightly to his side, and fell onto the charred, soggy smoking floor below him. He was on his hands and knees- he needed to get to the ground beneath the house so he could begin to use his alchemy to tunnel out...

He didn't even hear the beam falling over the roar of the flames. But a moment later, he was sprawled on his back, gasping for air as black spots danced before his vision. It hurt...

Ashes and cinders rained down on his skin like snowflakes. The red hot cinders burned when they touched his skin...

He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to give up.

"Big brother!"

He looked up, eyes wide, to see Elicia, still barefoot in her pjs, staring down at him, tears still streaming down her face and wide-eyed with fear.

If he gave up, she would die. She needed him- everyone needed him... His lungs burned at the effort to draw breath against the beam holding him down, but he clapped his hands, pressing them to the heavy wood and transmuting it to the first thing that came to mind.

The beam burst into red flower petals, that were swept to the side and off of him as he sat up, gasping for breath.

Elicia gasped, looking shocked, but he didn't have time to explain. The flames around them were uncomfortably hot- the roof and walls around them could cave in at any moment.

He clawed his way through the charred wood floorboards, too dazed and exhausted to consider using alchemy. Once he'd made a sufficient hole, he grabbed Elicia, stuffing her through.

He climbed in after her, finding himself still a victim of the cruel heat, but now in the crawl space of the home.

He was no longer in his body. He was floating above- he felt so dizzy, sick, even. He knew he'd needed to get here. To the ground. To the dirt. But why? He couldn't think straight- the heat, the heat was unbearable. They needed to escape it. But he was so, so woozy and tired.

He managed to bring his hands together and clap- his arms felt like they were made of lead. He pressed them to the floor, focusing all his remaining consciousness on the transmutation, even though he felt the energy leaving his body as he did so.

Blue light split the darkness, and the earth around them rose up to form dirt walls- a small, dirt igloo of sorts formed above them, thick walls rebuffing the cursed heat and sheltering them from any fallen debris.

The last thing he remembered was the darkness once the little dirt igloo had covered them- they were no longer illuminated by the light of the flames. But maybe the darkness was actually his eyelids- because he couldn't hear anything other than the static that filled his head.

It took the fire crews an hour and a half to battle the blaze. It would've taken much longer, but Alphonse and Mustang had strategically placed arrays around the house and activated the water lines buried within the dirt, channeling the water into the blaze.

Hughes and Gracia held one another on the lawn- and when the last lick of flame melted to embers, they were left once again in the darkness, with only the lanterns of the fire crew to illuminate the grim scene.

The firemen said it would be too hot to sift through the rubble- but in response, Alphonse simply drew an array and knelt in the dirt, activating it. The blue alchemical light drew energy from the hydrogen bonds between the air and the water they'd poured into the rubble, using that energy to cool the water and freeze it, cooling the rubble to bearable temperatures.

Roy was already ankle deep in rubble, searching, before the blue alchemical light had completely faded.

As always, coffee is appreciated! https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

[the-drakeboys]

Come Back to Me - Part 4

Summary: As you rush through the jungle and over the wall to get to Sam, memories of a heart-pounding night in Moscow flood your mind. And when you get to Sam and find that he’s not alone, it’ll take everything you have to save him. 

Pairing: Sam Drake x Reader

Word Count: 2,451

Warnings: Violence, gore. 

A/N: My god, this one took… SO LONG. I so, so hope you all enjoy it! And there...may or may not be a part 5 comin’ just around the corner… Love you guys so much! 

And special shoutouts to these beautiful folks for their amazing comments!! 

@cassieseraphim @archesa @s4mdrake @qwertybubbler 

This is a series! You can find the masterlist here.

---

The first time you saw Sam go down, every bone in your body turned to dust. With your feet launching you forward, your arms grabbing at him, you could feel yourself moving - but it was all as if underwater. You'd only been on a few jobs with these boys by then - a hunt in Peru that went strangely smooth, and a dig in Alaska that proved all but useless; but here, with your boots crunching through the Moscow snow, dozens of heavily armed men pursuing you around every corner; this was the first time it really clicked for you. The reason they'd called you - the reason they thought they might need a medic. 

You remembered it so well - every moment of it. The dark alley, the flurry of snow fluttering past each of you, the freezing cold... and the sound of Sam's shout of pain as the knife broke his skin. 

"Sam!" Nate's voice echoed in your head, his guttural shout striking you as he leapt toward his brother. The man whose knife was burrowed into Sam stood over him, breathless and ready to finish the kill. He didn't expect the young man he'd sent flying just a moment before to bring him to the ground with a heavy tackle, nor was he prepared for the fists flying into his face. Nathan had him down and out in seconds. With your med pack weighing heavily on your back and your gloves on shaking hands, you were next to Sam in an instant. 

"Ah, fuck," he groaned through gritted teeth, his head rolling from side to side in the ice as blood spread slowly from the wound. You breathed finally as your eyes landed on it - a large hunting knife, embedded in his shoulder, just inches from his carotid. Your hands were rapidly pulling gauze from your pack then, every part of you fully focused. 

"We gotta get outta here," Nate called as he shakily stood up and away from the bloodied man on the ground, "I can hear more coming." 

"Alright," Sam grunted, slowly trying to lift himself up. 

You shoved him back down by his opposite shoulder, "Hey! Hey, no, just wait one second-" 

"W-We don't have a second," he argued, setting your nerves on fire as he shifted to get up again, "I'm goin'. Now-" 

You set your knee forcefully onto his chest and stared him down, earning a gasp from his lips. "Don't. Move. Give me twenty seconds." His eyes sent a glare up at you that at any other time would've set you back on your heels - but right now, you had work to do. 

"Y/N! Hurry up!" Nate called, picking up a shotgun from a nearby body and aiming it at the end of the alley, where loud shouts of impending gunmen bounced off every brick wall from around the corner. You worked quicker than you ever had before, wrapping the gauze over his shoulder and around the knife, again and again until it was secure. 

"This is gonna suck," you warned Sam, watching him nod his head as you put pressure down on the wound around the knife. He hissed loudly in pain, clenching his jaw and letting his head loll back against the pavement. "Alright, on your feet." He nodded, and began to pick himself up. With one of your hands holding his arm in place and the other keeping pressure on the wound, you slowly stood with him, Nate reaching out to give him a hand. 

That's when the men made it around the corner. 

"Go, go, go!" Nate called, shooting off one shotgun blast after another in their direction. The three of you scrambled from the alleyway, Sam leaning on you with all of his weight. Bullets shattered at bricks just near your face, as you slipped around another corner and disappeared into the growing blizzard.

The memories were flashing through your mind, the colors blurring together, as your feet carried you through the trees and heavy brush as fast as they could go. You were already out of breath, but the wall was in sight, and all you could think about was finding him, getting to him before they did. All you could think about was whether or not he’d be breathing; whether or not there’d be time. 

You pushed those thoughts away as you reached the wall, the gunfire fading behind you. You listened for other voices, scanned the area ahead for guards - but couldn’t find a thing. 

With a quick adjustment of the pack on your back, you took a breath and lifted yourself onto the edge of the wall, easily climbing over it and rolling forward. You stayed still, running your eyes over the rooftops and buildings of the prison; none of the guards had come back this way yet. Most of them were probably still on Nate - the thought of which twisted your gut. 

He had to make it out. He had to. 

With no time to overthink it, you crawled quickly to the opposite edge of the wall and looked down the thirty or so foot drop. Just as Nate and Rafe had said, a metal awning straight below had been ripped apart, leaving a gaping hole where Sam must’ve fallen through. Sam was there. 

You scrambled across the cement to the part of the railing that seemed the strongest, just around the corner from where Sam had fallen. It was the side of the wall that met with the jungle, and was the shortest distance down to the ground. With a few quick moves, you unraveled the rope from your hip and hooked your grapple to the railing. 

“Here goes nothin’,” you muttered to yourself, lifting over the rail and sliding slowly down the rope. 

“Tomas sus piernas, yo tengo su cabeza.” Oh, shit. The two voices hit your ears and you immediately crouched down against the wall, just daring to peer around the corner to see what you were up against. 

The sight in front of you sent you reeling, your stomach dropping to your feet and your heart breaking into pieces. 

The two guards - big, burly men with pistols at their hips and AK-47s slung over their backs - were huffing with heavy breaths as they carried a body between them. A motionless body, his skin pale, his shirt soaked through with dark, crimson red blood, his arms hanging on either side of him. Had you been standing, your knees would’ve buckled underneath you. 

Sam.

Minutes later, your three tired, damaged bodies shambled up to the motel room door, your faces nearly frozen and Sam's weight swaying from side to side. The pressure you were keeping on the wound felt like pins and needles. "Would you fuckin' let go?" he grumbled, "Jesus Christ, I'm fine." 

You rolled your eyes as Nate fussed with the keys, trying to unlock the door for you both to get inside. "I can't 'let go', I have to hold it in place," you shot back for the fiftieth time, "Now quit moving so much." 

"O-Oh, I'm sorry, is this inconvenient for you?" he griped, his eyes squeezing together with another throbbing wave of pain. “Isn’t this your whole job?” You wanted to punch him. First, you had to patch him up - and then you were gonna punch him. 

"Yeah, it's my goddamn job, so let me do it, would you?" You sent him another death glare and took a deep breath, thanking the universe as Nate finally got the door open and ushered you both inside. 

"Nate, can you grab me some towels? And the brandy from the fridge," you asked through your chattering teeth, the warmth of the room hitting each of your bodies and forcing your nerves back to life. 

"On it," Nate mumbled, striding across the room to the mini fridge. 

"In here," you directed Sam, feeling his body trudge into the bathroom behind you. With your hands still supporting his arm and shoulder, you used your boot to flip the toilet lid down. "Have a seat," you muttered absentmindedly, trying to think of whether or not you had everything you needed in your pack. 

"Bossy," he breathed, his attitude shining through despite the pain he was in as he sat himself down. 

You just shook your head at him. "Can you hold here? Just - right here," you gently let go of his arm, setting his elbow to rest on the edge of the counter, and instead reaching for his opposite hand so he could take over holding pressure. 

He raised a brow at you, the stubborn glint in his eyes driving you crazy. "Seriously?" 

You had had about enough with this man. You grabbed at his hand and pushed it against the wound, eliciting a sharp "Shit!" from him as you finally stepped back. "God, you're a pain in my ass," you huffed, shaking your head and dumping your med pack on the counter. The worry floating through your veins at the way he swayed to the side remained unspoken, your hands shuffling quickly through your pack to get to the sutures and thread. Nate stepped in, handing you the towels and brandy. "Is he always this difficult?" you shot Nathan a look, your hands tugging a large needle and vial from the gear bag. 

"Are you really askin' me that?" he scoffed, crossing his arms tightly around his trembling body. You furrowed your brows, one of your hands going to Sam's good shoulder to steady him. You eyed Nate, his skin pale and eyes rung with dark blue. 

"Alright, well. I got this for now. Go get changed, warm up. I might need you later." Sam watched as you sent his brother out, feeling the concern in your voice at the way he shook. Something in his stomach turned. Nate offered a small, grateful smile, checking on Sam with his eyes before turning and heading back into the room. But Sam didn’t notice; he couldn’t tear his eyes from you.

You struggled to pull yourself together, your shaking hands going for your gun and your mind pushing away the realization that this was it - that Sam could not have survived this. It was becoming more and more real by the minute. 

You raised your revolver, aiming at the guard holding Sam’s feet. 

You pulled the trigger. A single shot into his back. He went down like a bull, landing with a heavy thud as Sam’s legs dropped with him.

“Carajo!” the other guard spat, letting Sam’s arms go and quickly reaching for his own gun. You shot another round from your revolver, but fuck, it missed. The guard shot back, his aim much better than yours, one of three shots connecting with your skin.

“Ah!” you screamed, falling back around the corner. Your hand went to the searing skin of your upper arm, grasping tightly around it as it bled. “Fuck,” you whispered, feeling where the bullet had grazed a slice into your flesh. 

You rolled the revolver’s chamber open - one bullet left. You were trembling as you snapped it shut, willing yourself to get to your feet. But you didn’t have the time. The guard came hurtling at you from around the corner, the barrel of his AK swinging around to face you, and before you could react, your finger pulled the trigger, sending a shot through his heart and forcing his body to the ground in a heap. 

"Okay," you started, eyeing the knife and grabbing at your scissors. “Hold still a sec, I don’t wanna slice you.” You reached for the bottom of Sam’s shirt and started to lift it, bringing your scissors near its hem-

"Woah, woah," he stopped you, causing confusion to envelope your face. "...at least buy me d-dinner first." He cracked a shaky, exhausted grin, and your eye roll could be felt for miles. 

"Would you shut up?" you whispered, fighting the butterflies in your belly and quickly cutting through the thick fabric of his grey henley. As you peeled the shirt from his skin and let it flop to the ground in a pile, Sam gave a small, but noticeable shiver. You softened, knowing how completely shitty this was for him. How much it hurt, how cold and miserable he was. You just wanted this to be over for him. As much of an ass as he was, and as much as he drove you crazy, you just wanted him to be okay.

Your hands draped one of the towels over him, tucking it in warmly around him and rubbing over it at his arm to try to give him some heat. He looked up at you, jostling a little from side to side with your movement. The way you were with him made him crazy. 

“You’ll warm up in a few,” you promised softly. 

“Can I at least get a cigarette?” he croaked with a grin, aching for some nicotine to soothe his nerves.

His request coaxed a small smile out of you, your head shaking as you gently gave his good arm a squeeze. “No. Definitely not.”

You jolted forward, running to Sam’s side and collapsing beside him. Your revolver was forgotten on the ground as you grabbed at him, tears welling up in your eyes. “Baby!” you called, pressing your palms to his cheeks. “Sam, baby, can you hear me?!” 

His skin was clammy, pale, and cool against your touch, his body completely motionless beneath you. You leaned down, resting your forehead against his. “Please… Please…” Your fingers went to the side of his neck, and pressed. They pressed, and felt nothing. You waited, praying, begging. Begging for your Sam to still have a chance, to still be there with you. “Please, Sam. You promised. You promised.”

You slowly burrowed your face into his neck, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you shook. “I can’t….I can’t d-do this…” you whimpered, your fingers slowly starting to slide back. “I need y-you.” 

And then… a thump. 

A little, quiet thump beneath your fingers. “Oh my god,” you stammered, sitting up. You weren’t sure you felt it. You leaned down, placing your ear over his mouth, your other hand moving to feel his chest and your fingers pressing once again to that spot on his neck.

There it was again - a beat of his pulse under your fingers, and… oh my god. His chest just rose. 

“Sam!” you bumbled tearfully, straightening up and quickly wiping the wetness from your cheeks. Your heart started pumping again with him, your lungs finally filling with air as relief flooded every part of you. “Okay,” you spoke, feeling yourself switch on. “Okay, okay, okay, here we go.”

---

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[venactricisfics]

Good as Hell

Negan x OC SL

@negans-network @neganmorgan @mypapawinchesterjeffreynegan @ask-kakashihatake   @haleyea@collette04  

Masterlist

I stand in the yard, looking through the opening in the walls to the Hilltop then back to our enclosure.  Now was the moment I had to choose.  I needed to see if what Simon said was true but I was terrified at that moment that he spoke the truth.  My gut told me that Simon was full of shit. All the time I’d spent with Negan meant something.  To both of us. At least so much that he didn’t want to see me dead. 

“You can’t go,” Alden shouted at me as I start toward the open fence. 

“I can’t stay,” I look back to the house, “I have to find out for sure.” 

“Run,” Alden pushes me through the gate as he and some of the others that stayed close the gate behind me.  I pick up a discarded shovel and start running.  It’d be morning before anyone at the Hilltop would come looking if they came looking. It’d be even longer than that to hike back to the Sanctuary.  But I had to hoof it back there. 

I breathe and walk. Listening for the living, the dead.  Either one could and most assuredly would take me the fuck down without a second thought. This was probably stupid.  Walking alone at night was never a good idea.  And the end of the fucking world didn’t improve those ods.  

My luck seemed to improve just a touch as the sun peers over the edge of the horizon.  I find a car, with half a tank of gas. Fingers crossed as I turn the ignition. It sputtered a little before it roared to life. My foot heavy on the petal I drive back to the Sanctuary.  

Arat slid open the gates when I drive up, “Is he here?” She shakes her head, “Dwight and Simon think he’s gone.” 

“He’ll make it back,” I climb out from behind the wheel, “he’s too damn stubborn to die.” 

“Come on,” she says, “Let’s get you upstairs before Simon sees you.”

“That asshole left me there,” I walk with her up the back steps. “To die. I almost got killed in his Hilltop ambush.” 

“That wasn’t the plan,” she said, “Negan went to rescue you and the others.  Simon went off-script.”

“I knew it,” I respond as she leads me into her room. “If Simon thinks Negan is dead, he’s gonna try to take over. We can’t let him do that.” I take a seat.  “He’ll fuck things up beyond all recognition. Get more people killed.”

“What do we do?” she said and handed me a bottle of water.  

“Thanks,” I take a long drink. I can’t remember anything tasting so good before, “we over through him. As to exactly how,” I stand up, “I’ll let you know after a shower and a nap.” 

The sun had already set when I stepped out of Arat’s apartment, I kept close to the wall, I didn’t want to be seen, not yet.  Not until I figured out this thing with Simon and until I knew for sure what happened to Negan. 

Going into the boss’s room, was probably not the smartest idea. I smile as I turn the knob and duck inside Negan’s room. It had gotten me into this trouble in the first place. I lay a change of clothes on the back of his leather couch.  The truth of it was, I wouldn’t change a second of it. My life changed for good in with that decision. And I didn’t want it to change back. 

I step under the warmth of the shower, the heat relaxing every muscle in my body.  I washed and conditioned my hair. Felt like a person again. My hand moved over the slight swell in my stomach and I knew there was only one-way shit would change. We’d have to figure out a different way to work with the communities.  After I took Simon out of the field of play. 

I rang the excess water from my hair then stepped out of the shower.  I’d left the bathroom door open and wipe the steam from the mirror. I met his hazel eyes in the reflection.  I turn slowly praying it was not just a figment of my imagination. 

My cheeks didn’t flush as I stand fixed for him to admire me with that look of his. The one that sparked every cell in my body.  I take the few steps to close the gap between us.  My palms rest on the worn leather of his jacket satisfied that he was real, I step up on my toes and press my lips to his. I let the flavor of Negan dance on my tongue while his hands move over my naked body.  A gloved one squeezed the cheek of my ass pulling me closer, while his bare one cupped my breast, thumb circling my nipple to a hardened peak.  

“I missed the fuck outta you too, baby,” he smirked when the kiss finally broke.  “Let me take a look at you.” He steps back a moment letting his eyes linger on my body, taking in every inch. “You are still super fucking hot.” 

“Stop talking,” I tell him, “and take your clothes off, Negan.” He shrugs out of his jacket and tugs his white T-shirt over his head.  I didn’t care that he was still covered in dirt and grime from whatever he’d been through. I just wanted to feel connected with him again.  

“Get on the bed,” I crawl on the bed on my hands and knees.  

“Fuck that is a fucking beautiful sight,” his hand moves over the curve of my ass as he positions himself behind me. “So fucking wet already,” his voice echoed a smirk as he traces his finger slowly along my slit.  “Your pussy missed me too huh?” I start to speak again, tell him to shut up but his tongue slides inside me and his thumb dances over my clit causing me to forget all other words except, “Oh fuck.” He alternates between his tongue and fingers in their assault of my cunt.  Causing me to see stars.  He wraps his arms around my thighs as I start to shake, continuing to devour me as I let go. His lips move up my body followed by his hands, he kisses my shoulder as his hands cup my breasts and pulls me back to his chest. 

“Jee-sus,” he grinds his hips against me. I let out a disappointed groan feeling his jeans rubbing against me instead of flesh.  My eyes dark as I turn my face to him, “Why are your pants still on?” 

“That is a good fucking question,” his hand slides over my stomach, middle finger toying with my clit, causing me to squirm at the overstimulation. His lips ghosted over my neck and I let out a groan hearing his zipper lower, “Is that what you want, baby?” His cock slides between my lower lips tickling my clit with the head. 

"You know what I want, " I purr moving with him. 

"Oh I fucking know baby, " he lines himself up with my entrance. The tip of his cock slipping slowly inside.  Slowly he slides deeper. He kept one hand on my hip, the other hand cupping my breast holding me tight to his chest, as he drives hard bottoming out inside me. His hand moves to cover my mouth as I start to cry out. "Fuck if hearing you scream while my cock is inside you isn't the hottest fucking thing ever, " he says, "I can't have anyone else knowing I'm back yet." He smirks against my ear pumping hard again. I bite down on my lip to quiet my moans. 

I drop down on the bed, supporting myself on my elbows, his fingers dig in my hips, he thrusts hard and fast chasing his release. My walls pulse around him, syncing their rhythm with each thrust. "That pussy is hungry for it?” he grunts out his words, “I’m gonna fucking give it to you.” He slams into me a final time his cock twitching as he fills me with hot thick ropes of cum. 

A satisfied smile tugs across my lips as we collapsed on the bed together, “I needed that.” I turn to face him, “You put everything in perspective.”

“My cock is fucking magical,” he smirks. 

“Well, that,” I rest my hand on his face, searching the depths of his hazel eyes, “and that you’re here with me. I was scared that what Simon said was true or worse.” 

“What did Simon say?” he arches his brow as his hand toys with my breast. 

“He said I was ‘damaged goods’,” I tell him, “I know if we get caught up in shit it’s up to us to get out of it. But this was different. He didn’t give a shit if the bullets he was flinging hit us or them.” 

“That was not part of the goddamn plan,” he said, “don’t worry baby.  I’ve got plans for Simon.” 

“Those people, at Hilltop,” I yawn now feeling the weariness in my body from no real sleep in the last few days, “don’t kill any more of them than you have to, OK?”

“You let me worry about that, baby,” his fingers comb through my hair, “you sleep.” “

----------

“Negan?” I reach my hand out finding his side of the bed empty. My eyes open and I look around finding him gone.  My heart pounded in my chest, I was terrified he was gone. I scoop up my clothes and dress quickly. I relax when I hear the sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom. 

“You alright, baby?” he asks when he comes out of the bathroom, buckling his belt as he walks. 

“I thought,” I shake my head at myself, “I thought you were gone again.”

“I didn’t think watching me take a shit was a kink you enjoyed,” his lips curve into a smirk, “I can keep that in mind next time.” 

“As appealing as that sounds,” I smile up at him, arms sliding around his waist, “I’ll pass. There are still some things that should remain a mystery.” I step up on my toes and peck his lips, “What’s the plan for today?”

“I think it’s time we announce our triumphant return,” he slips on his glove and picks up his bat, “I shall shock the shit out of Dwighty boy. And I’ll give you the honor of paying a visit to my second.”  I give a nod in agreement. There were so many things I wanted to say to Simon.  Most of them end with a fist or a gun to the face. 

I step out of Negan’s room, feeling his eyes follow me as I head down the hall in the direction of Simon’s room. I glance back catching his eyes before he starts walking in the other direction. I give a smile, I could never get enough of Negan’s eyes on me. Or well his everything on me. But I had a job to do. 

I pause watching as Simon’s door opens and closes, Gregory steps out and scurries down the hall.  Of course, that spineless ameba would have slithered his way back here.

 “I’m so glad you made it back safely,” I watch as Simon freezes catching a glimpse of me, “Negan wants a meeting in the conference room,” his jaw practically drops.  I push down the urge to grin, “he wants an assessment of all the ‘damaged goods’.”

“Right away,” he turns back on the big dick energy he had always been known for, though this time it seemed a little limp.  

I felt a little exhilarated as I took a seat in the conference room. It was the first time I had a seat at the table. The men Negan could trust had just been dropped by two, and glancing around the room. I wasn’t sure who else among them would turn Judas. 

“I thought they killed you and they were gone,” Simon reasoned, “I lacked discipline. And made it personal. So I moved things from infection to extermination. I fucked up. I’ll make it up to you.” 

“I remember when I took this place,” Negan strokes his bat before standing, “When /you/ helped me take this place, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep you on board. Before the system I put in place, you killed all those men and boys in that settlement so long ago, a lot of people would have thought that is some fucking psychotic shit. The work a demented goddamn gual. But I kept you, everything seemed to work out right up to this point,” Negan moves around the table, standing behind Simon, “I’m gonna need you on your knees.”   

I glance across the table to Arat then back to Simon as he looks like he’s about to piss himself. 

“You gonna make a move?” Negan curls his fingers around Lucille. I’d never seen him use her to her full potential before. I swallowed back the churning sensation in my stomach. 

“No move to make,” Simon accepted his fate.  Negan pulls the bat to his shoulder ready to swing but stops.

“All is forgiven,” Negan states, “We’re good.” I bite back my words. Though my face flushed red. I was pissed.  This man had left me for dead and Negan was just gonna let that shit slide. Negan’s eyes met mine.  He had a plan.  I should have known, he always had a plan. 

DJ lays a map out and Negan reviews the plan to set up new staging posts for the Hilltop.  To keep them in their place.  Starve them into submission. I listen trying not to react. I hoped this plan would keep our people, both here and still prisoners at Hilltop, alive. 

“Clear out,” he says.  I scoot the chair from the table, pausing as everyone else files from the door. He lifts his eyes to me, “I’ll see you /real/ soon, gotta have a chat with my boy, D.” 

“What the fuck going on?” I ask as Negan swings the door open to his room.

“I’m disappointed, baby,” he tilts my head up to lock my gaze with his, “no fucking kiss hello before laying into me.”

“I’m sorry,” my hands cup his face, and I step up on my toes, “it doesn’t stop with one kiss though. I kiss you and then your dick is inside me and I have no answers.”  He grabs a handful of my ass, “You like my dick inside you.” 

“I’m not debating that. You use your dick to shut me up,” I settle back on my feet, “what are you gonna do with Simon and Dwight?”

“I’m gonna handle shit the way I fucking handle it,” he says then steps away from me, “don’t worry about it.”

“He’s gonna make some kind of play,” I tell him, “so don’t tell me what to worry about. That mother fucker got our people killed.  Almost got me killed. I can’t let him get you killed.”

“Baby,” he keeps his voice even, “you trust me?”

“More than anyone,” I respond.

“Then believe me when I say I will handle my shit,” he raises Lucille to rest on his shoulder, “I’m waiting on my number two to fuck himself before I end him.”

“What are you gonna do?” I ask. 

“Just stand back and watch the fucking show,” Negan’s lips curve into a smirk, “get your pistol it’s about time for me to interrupt a super-secret meeting.”

I holster my weapon and follow him from the room.  I stay back listening with him at the door, Arat, DJ and several others stand to wait, listening to the backstabbing words coming from Simon.  We hang back as Negan steps out, whistling to catch the attention of the Judases below.  

“Thank you, D,” I heard Negan say before counting down, “Three… two... one.”  The rest of us step out firing shots.  Taking out everyone but Dwight, Gregory, and Simon. Arat holds the barrel of her pistol to the base of Simon’s head as I pull his weapons.  

“Getting fucked over isn’t as fun as you thought,” I glare at him. Simon charges at Dwight as DJ and another guy grab him to hold him back.

“There’s the Simon I know,” Negan states, “He comes right at you instead of that backstabby bullshit.”  Negan’s eyes narrow, “You killed all the garbage people, Simon.  After I specifically told you /not/ to do that shit. But after all this and me being me I’m still gonna give you your shot. You want to be the man you gotta beat the man. If you can do that then fuck, you should /be/ the man.” 

I feel the tension so thick between the men it could be cut with a knife.  We file into the furnace room.  I clench my fist to keep from reaching out to Negan.  He didn’t need me, not in this.  It would only make him look weak.  Or me desperate.  

“Hold my baby,” Negan smirks as he hands me Lucille, “Baby.” 

“Everyone,” Simon announces smugly, “After this is done, we get to work. I didn’t want this. But the Sanctuary must stand. I just wanted to say…” He stops his monolog to cold clock Negan in his face.  No one moves, no one speaks, as fists collide into flesh.  The only sound was the grunts of the two men.  The fight was evenly matched.  But I kept my face stoic.  My hand squeezed tight around the grip of Lucille. Heart thumping in my chest but my face didn’t reveal anything.  Not until Negan held Simon down, his hands tight around the man’s throat.

“You went for it all at Hilltop,” Negan says between clenched teeth, “you got Saviors killed. Left my girl for dead.  Then you ran the fuck away like a fucking coward.  You got shown up one too many times. They’re gonna always try to push back.  Now I gotta kill all of ‘em.  Just like I gotta kill you.” My eyes squeeze shut as I hear Simon’s windpipe crunch.  No one else moves.  “What an asshole.” 

I open my eyes when Negan rests his hand on mine, taking Lucille from me, he leans in, his lips dance over my ear as he spoke, “I left a surprise for you in your apartment. Meet me there.” I nod, “Alright.” 

I swing the door open to my apartment, “Well shit,” I grin, “I thought you were dead.” 

“Almost was,” Laura stands and gives me a hug, then looks around my room, “Nice digs. Been really enjoying that cushy mattress.” 

“Glad someone has got to use it,” I take a seat next to her.  

“Come in,” I say after hearing a tap at the door.  Negan swings the door open, Dwight standing beside him.  His face stark white as he stares at Laura.  

“You look surprised, Dwight,” Negan says, “Laura, why don’t you tell D what you told me?’

“Oh, how he turned on us that night in Alexandria?” she stands to stare him down, “Killing our team. Or how he left me for dead? I kept running. Hoping I’d be able to expose you for the skum you are.”

 “You are a nobody in way over your head,” Negan tells him, “But when I told you that you would come through for me when I needed it, I meant that shit 110%. I knew I could count on you to deliver my brilliant, if I may say so my fucking self, fake-ass fucking plan to Rick. Rick and the piss patrol are gonna walk right into the line of fire.  All thanks to my new right-hand man.” Negan stands over him, “I thought about killing you too.  But that’s too fucking good for a backstabbing, double-crossing dirtbag such as yourself. No, Dwighty boy, I got plans for you.” Negan gives a nod to his guys as he moves to drape his arm around my shoulders as he leads me from the room.  The men grab Dwight and drag him in the opposite direction.

[georgeharris0n]

Blisters On His Fingers- Chapter 3- “Paul Is On The Verge of a Mental Breakdown”

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3.8k

Chapters: 3/25

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, Minor Paul McCartney/John Lennon

Summery:  Paul gets a front row seat to a famous John and Rory ego match, except this time John's scheme goes into motion.

Also- Geo and Ringo get a little impulsive. ;) 

Read Chapter 2 here

The very back of the KaiserKeller was probably the most musty, weathered place of the entire establishment. This was where the bands had to store most of the equipment when sets ended and nights were played out. It was horrid, dusty, and just plane disgusting to say the least. Ringo could barely stand having to store his drums back there. It always gave him a nasty cough when he breathed.

  “Oi! Rings! Need a hand with them drums?” Johnny called out from round the corner of the hall.

  Ringo was holding in a breath and gave his friend a quick nod as he rushed from the room holding onto his snare and cymbals. Johnny kindly swept in to grab what was left, the stool and bass drum.

  “Thanks lad- um.. how long have we got till our numbers?” Ringo asked nervously looking over at the cracked floorboards while approaching the rotting stage.

  Johnny quirked his brow, and scanned the bar. “Nope, no Beatles yet… if that’s what you’re askin’.” He flashed a knowing grin and gave Ringo a nudge with his elbow.

  At that, Ringo scratched the back of his neck and checked his watch. “I’m serious arsehole I- I’ve jus’ got to set up my things n’ all…”

  Of all the things Ringo was in the world, he was always a shitty liar.

  “OHhhh sureee- right, because it’s so hard putting drums onto a stage?“ The lad scoffed. “Maybe I should ask Rory for ya? He might know when they get here.” Johnny said teasingly. Giving Ringo one last shove in the arm.

  In panic, Ringo’s eyes went big and he spun round’ to Johnny’s smug smile. “Please-”

  “You’re gonna hav’ to them him eventually Rings.” Johnny cautioned “He knows you’re into fellas anyhow, what’s the worry? Coverin’ for ya last night wasn’t easy you know.”

  He knew, of course he knew. Rory was observant. He seemed lively and easygoing, which he was- but Rory could tell when something was off, and Ringo leaving last evening was very off. The band spent practically every waking moment together, and Rory was a natural born leader. He knew when any of the boys were out of it.

  Rory was what people wished they could be. Back in Liverpool he was always the talk of the town. Popular, athletic, and with more energy than all of the boys in Liverpool combined. He was a looker as well, Rory had high cheekbones and some of the most fluffed and well groomed hair you’d ever seen. Not to mention he was a tall bastard, lean, and full of promise. Fellas wanted to be him and girls wanted to be his . 

His best quality though by far was his drive. Rory was ambitious, and when he set his sights on starting a band, he went in- full force. There was nothing he took more seriously, he designed every aspect in order to set up the band’s image and style. He liked glamour, flare, and theatrics. A theatrical showman in his own right, and he loved feeding the audience as much of it as he could throw.

  Sure the pink suits were a bit much, but it was different and Rory loves different. None of the other lads ever complained, except maybe Luo. He thought it to be a bit too flashy. Although, that's what Rory likes, flashy, fun, and professional. It’s probably why the Beatles were so different. Natural rivals. Rory was serious about a clean, fun image, while the Beatles were rough looking, not so much caring for stage presence. For them, they focused on the music.

  Regardless, Ringo admired the Beatles, not just George. John and Paul were both characters for sure, but musically they fit into each other like gloves. The Hurricane’s could hopefully live up to that kind of potential. The band was close, but even Ringo could tell it wasn’t the same as what those 3 had.

  Johnny Guitar was probably the closest friend Ringo had. They got on real well since he joined and since then has been best mates. They’d gotten to know each other so well Johnny even knew Ringo was crushing on George before he told him he was.

  He knew Johnny meant well, even if he was takin’ the piss while doing it. Ringo needed to tell Rory. The band never had secrets, mostly because they are impossible to hide.

  Ringo surrendered and slumped back in his drum stool. “Fine, fine… I’ll tell Rory.”

  “Do you really think he’ll take it that bad? He might be fine, he’s always bantering with John n’ all.”

  Rory did have a strange relationship with John. Emphasis on relationship. John certainly was with Paul, there was no question about those too. But John and Rory always seemed to have a weird flirtatious quality to their “intimidation”. Clearly nothing either of the two meant, just a playing off each other's cheeky attitude. But- it made Ringo wonder if Rory and them really weren’t meant to overlap. Was Ringo dating George against some kind of rule?

  “I don’t know Johnny, but I need to tell him before-”

  “Before he sees right through your smitten arse?” Johnny chimed.

  “Piss off! You’re no help.” Ringo chuckled and shoved Johnny’s arm away. “Go tune your guitar or somthing you wanker.”

  ____________________

  It was 30 minutes until the set started and Rory and the rest of the band were just about ready. It was only about 4, so the crowd turn out wouldn’t build up till nearly 6. 

  There was still no sign of the Beatles. Ringo figetted at his drum set. Despite not having any numbers tonight, The Beatles never missed a gig. For weeks he’d seen George in the audience having beers and watching them play till the end of the night. They’d never been late either. Always a little early, so John could get in a few beers to heckle between songs.

  Now it was almost time for the first song, and Ringo hasn’t seen any of them out here. What if the date hadn’t gone as well as he thought? Maybe the gay bar was too overwhelming? Or maybe it was too little ? Not enough excitement. Had he fucked up? Said something? Was… was it the kiss ? He knew George had kissed him this time, but was it not what he expected? It was certainly… intense. Really hot too, he could remember how warm and wet his bottom lip had felt between George’s. Maybe he was a bad kisser and George was so disappointed he doesn’ want any reason to even look at him. Rory Storm and the Hurricane’s drummer “the worst kisser ev-”

  “Well! If it isn’t Rory and his shit storm!” 

  Ringo’s head had sprung up. He knew that crude greeting anywhere.

  John was perched at the front door with a toothy smile, clearly ready to spare with Rory before the show. Paul was never far behind, he was shaking his head as his boyfriend made an ass of himself as per usual. Ringo tilted his head, trying to get a glimpse behind Paul, but there was no George in sight.

   It looked like it was just the two of them, but- it was never just the two of them? Ringo glanced up at Johnny and felt his chest get tight. He’s not here.

  Ringo dipped his head down and excused himself, he turned the corner and started walking off the stage. He didn’t come…

  The date had gone so well. He felt super dizzy trying to wrap his head around all the confusion that washed over him. He knew he never felt that way about anyone so quickly and now he needed to go take breather and try not to completely embarrass-

  In a b-line for the basement, the step of the stairs caught Ringo’s foot and he fell forward into the dark stairway.

  Before Ringo could even brace himself for a nasty tumble down the stairs, he felt himself wrapped in two long arms. Two leathery arms.

  “Wha- Ritchie?”

  Ringo’s heart accelerated. George- that’s George’s arms.

  “George? You’re here!” Ringo sputtered against George’s chest, then regaining his balance at the top step and making room for him to climb up. “Course I am Ringo, I wouldn't miss your shows for the world. I just came down here for the toilets.” He shrugged, smiling at Ringo’s wide eyes.

  “I um- I wasn’t sure you were coming.” Ringo chuckled as he stuck his hands in his pockets. He tried to play it casual, and totally act like he wasn’t about to hyperventilate in the bathroom over one date. Even in this shitty backhall lighting George still had the most attractive features when he smiled at Ringo. And that just made him even more flustered.

  “You didn’t think after such a charmin’ date i’d leave you out to dry did ya?”

  Glancing up at George, Ringo was so fucking smitten he could hardly believe he thought George would do that. He liked the date just as much. Which also meant he wasn’t a bad kisser afterall. Thank fuckin goodness. The kiss they’d had had felt far too good to be a deal breaker. The way they sunk against each other so easily had to be right, everything. Everything about it from their hands, to their lips, was just so damn perfect...

  Ringo glanced past George at the storeroom door behind him… that dusty, awful, private storeroom. (with a lock of all things.)

      _________________

  George felt his cheeks get red at the hot-blooded look in Ringo’s eyes, he loved how one minute he could look as soft and sweet and maybe even a bit flustered one second… then, well… sexy the next. George felt his own body lean back against the wall, hoping Ringo would follow closer.

  Wait- is this a good idea though? I mean- here? In THE HALL?

  “Ritchie, someone could come this way any second.” George reasoned, pretending like he totally didn’t just grab onto Ringo's shirt collar.

  Ringo had both arms on either side of George’s face, while George leaned down a tad with buckled knees so they could be level with each other. (or George is literally weak in the knees for Ringo, but go off-)

   Ringo’s eyes broke from George’s a split second as he eyed the storeroom one last time. 

  Fuck it.

   Before making another move for the handle beside them Ringo’s breath ghosted over George’s cheek. “I think I know a good place.”

___________________________

“John you rat bastard! Keep it down!” Paul shouted probably even louder than John had even yelled.

  “Com’on Macca, I promise I won't embarrass you this time.” John said sliding his arm around Paul’s shoulders and threatening him with a nip behind the ear. “Fuck- quit that, you’re already embarrssing me you shit.”

  John pulled Paul to the side of the bar and ordered a beer while he waited for Rory to make his grand entrance. “Oi, where’d Geo head off to? Didn’t he run ahead of us?”

  Paul sighed and crossed his arms. “Think he said he had to take a piss, I told him to go before we left, but the dumbass was too eager to get going I guess.” 

  “Hmph, I bet he was…” John wiggled his brows, noticing the vacant drum set he could have sworn was occupied not too long ago. Paul gave John a swift kick in the leg under the bar counter earning himself a wince from his boyfriend. “Don’t you even fucking try it.”

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  Paul grabbed John by his jacket. “You’re scheming! You can throw yourself at Rory all you want, but don’t heckle any shit at Ringo about their date. Stay. Out. of. It.” Paul was nose to nose with John, and despite the angry look in his eyes and the hiss in his tone, John was turned on as hell by it.

  “Macca! I wasn’t even thinking of- wait, what do you mean? I don’t “throw myself at Rory”, sounds to me like you’re a little jealous Paulie.” John leaned forward and smirked as he bit the side of his lip seductively… which only earned him another kick in the leg.

  “Fuck you John.” Paul huffed, taking a big swig of John’s beer. “Just leave them alone okay?”

  John rubbed at his bruised calf and stood up from the stool. “ Well, It doesn’t look like I’m going to get to jeer anyone this evening.” He puffed his chest and turned to the rest of the bar patroons. “I guess “Liverpool’s Golden Boy” hasn’t got the guts to share a drink with me!” John shouted with his hands cuffed over his mouth.

  Paul heard the side door of the bar open and there stood the golden boy himself. Dawning his signature bright blue suit he had to contrast his bandmate’s pink ones. The young man stood well dressed and well groomed with his blonde quiff perfectly curled above his forehead. Paul couldn't stand it.

  “Quiet down Lennon! I’m going to lose my hearing with all yer yelling.” The cheery stutter of Rory Storm beamed from the back of the bar. “I was out back having a ciggy, fancy seeing you here.” Rory teased while he approached the bar for a beer of his own. “If I didn't know better Lennon, I’d say you were falling' for my charms, seen you in here a lot lately.”

  Paul shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Somehow when these two did their little “dance” he always managed to get forgotten, as if Paul wasn't even there. John’s boyfriend .

  John told him plenty of times this was just teasing, he insists that Rory’s got to be as straight as a board. Not with that fucking hair he’s not. But- even though Paul mostly ignores it and nothing ever really gets physical, he still can’t really watch for too long… He gets jealous far too easily.

  “Nah, despite those charms, you know I love to watch a good laugh when I can.” John winked, stealing his beer back from Paul and downing the rest.

  “You know you could learn a thing or too Lennon, instead of being a showboat, you could actually try and entertain for a change.” Rory said tugging at the sleeve of John's rugged leather jacket.

  See? What’s that about? How straight is that? Paul was nearly ready to tune out. He averted his eyes to look past Rory hoping he could catch George coming from the bathroom so his boiling blood could cool down. 

  John followed the remark with a light flick of Rory’s tuft up hair. “Sure, maybe in Liverpool you have it all, but here mate, all your flips and tricks are just a side act.”

  They both grinned widely at each other, almost like every quip they made only fueled the other. The showoff and the showman. Bastards.

  Rory gave a chuckle, “And where’s the rest of your act then? Word on the street is you’re short a drummer.”

  John shrugged, “Ol’ Pete? He hightailed it back to Liverpool, we’ve got a replacement coming in soon though. Suppose I can’t say the same for your drummer.” John chided giving Rory a cheeky grin. Rory followed John’s eyes to the empty drum kit.

  Paul was fuming in his seat. He couldn’t stop listening to John’s weaving web. John may not be doing his usual flirting, but this was almost worse. He could see right through his playful jabs, but poor Rory looked more confused than ever.

  He better not fucking say it.

  John stood up and leaned in close to Rory, close enough to whisper his next jest in his ear “It really would be a shame if you lost that drummer of yours huh? He's real geer, any band could use one like im’. 

  Rory furrowed his brows. “Sorry Lennon, he’s not for sale if that’s what you’re asking. Ringo’s ours.” John’s eyes looked knowingly into Rory’s, like he was holding in a secret he couldn’t bear to hold any longer, but oh he loved to watch Rory squirm for it.

  Paul felt his fists clench.

  Don’t even try John-

  “He might be- for now, but if you haven’t noticed...”

  Paul knelt up and yanked John back in his seat and out of Rory’s face. “Shut it John!”

  “Pipe down Macca, I’ve got something to tell Rory here!” John stood back up with Paul’s hand firmly locked on his arm… 

  Paul knows he can’t stop him. John was already too excited, too eager to tell his little secret, a secret he has no right to tell, but it’s one Paul can’t control.

  “You just better keep an eye on that drummer” John insinuated with a quiet  breath “because I know Georgie sure is.”

  Paul swore that Rory’s eyes shot open widely as if what John’s had said still wasn’t making any bit of sense.

  Fuck.

  Suddenly, John’s voice returned to his loud ever casual self, as if he hadn’t just scared the living daylights out of Rory who stood completely dumbfounded “Oh yeah, those too are practically an item now, and it looks to me that George really fancies him. Especially all that drumming he does, sometimes it’s all he ever talks-” 

  “WOW! Rory would you look at that! I think that’s Ringo on stage now! Gee, suppose’ we better have a seat so you can get to playing.” Paul cut in as soon as he saw an opportunity, quickly dragging John’s smug face to the back of the bar. With Rory’s furrowed brows and squinted eyes following them.

  “You never listen huh? You’ve always got to meddle.” Paul murmured angrily into John’s ear as he seated himself down in their usual table.

  “Quit pushing me! Geez Paul, I’m just having a bit of fun, it’s all just banter to Rory anyhow.”

  Paul knew that wasn’t true. With John it was never that simple. There was always an angle no matter what he said. The last thing he needed was John messing things up for George. The lad was really into Ringo. Paul could read it all over his face. It reminded him of how over the moon he was when he met John. The giddy twinkle in his eyes, the way he smiled after his date last night and refused to give them even a single detail. All Paul had to do was look at that grin George had after he rested his head down to sleep, he could practically feel his own cheeks ache at the look of it. Paul felt the same way for John, the very day he asked him to write songs together for the first time... How he’d do anything for him in that moment, like join his band, or quit school, or go over to another country and sleep in a shitty cinema room…

  No. He knew George. If he found out what John was doing it would only make him anxious. That- or super pissed off. Either way, he had to keep it quiet. This was all too impotent.

  “You better not tell George what you said damn it- he shouldn’t have to deal with your shit, he’s 18.” Paul sneered under his breath, loud enough for John to hear.

  “Exactly- He’s not a damn child Macca.”

  Paul looked up, his eyes piercing into John’s very soul . “You’re right, he’s not, and neither are you” He deadpanned. “so you're going to listen this one damn time, and not tell him .”

  “Tell who what?”

  Paul felt his entire body turn to ice. George was looking at them both, raising his brow curiously. Paul was practically on John's side, looking more stressed than that one time he had dropped his only comb in the cinema’s toilet, and John was red in the face, holding back some kind of cough or noise in the back of his throat. 

  “Damn, you guys are weird when I’m not around…”

  Somehow, George’s dismissiveness was a relief. Thank God. Paul gave one last glare at John before scooting over so George could sit. Taking a look at George, Paul’s eyes nearly fall out of his head. “What the fuck got into you?” Paul blurted out, seeing the guitarist’s hair pointed in every which way and leather jacket practically hanging off his shoulders.

  Wait- did he?

  George’s eyes stared back at Paul with what he could only describe as “oh fuck”.

  “Fucking hell Paulie! You’re acting like you’ve never snogged in a bathroom before!” John bellowed as he gave George a slap on the back that was way too hard. 

  “It wasn’t in a bathr-” George shut his jaw quickly and pretended to clear his throat.

Paul shook his head in disbelief. “Wait, you really?” Paul couldn't believe what he was hearing, he knew this would happen, if anything, he wanted George to get to enjoy stuff like that but- 

 “In the back of a BAR? After one date!” Paul suddenly released in disbelief. Not meaning to say it out loud.

  “YES PAUL! Okay! Now can we shut up and watch the show?” George put his head on the table not looking mentally prepared to deal with talking about his make out habits at the table. Too bad though, Paul had more questions.

  “But- your first make out though? The back of-”

  George’s head sprang up in defense. “Who said it was my first!” George then had the look of instant regret, this is what Paul wanTED.

  “For God’s sake Macca, he’s 18 remember?” John cut in with a smug grin on his face as he threw Paul’s own words back at him.

  Paul’s mouth opened one last time, but then decided against it, he dropped the conversation and George finally relaxed into his seat. “I’ll- um, I’ll tell you about it later okay?” George simpered quietly to Paul.

  With that Paul could relax too. He wanted for George to feel comfortable asking for help and talking about his relationship. It’s all going to be so new for him. He shouldn’t be alone if he gets nervous or scared. Paul looked to John who was nursing a new beer, while George looked longingly up at the stage as he always did. A small smile crept up Paul’s lips. Well at least he’s happy.

  Leaning back against John’s chest he felt his arm pull him close out of habit, though he was still mad, he was at the very least- grateful. John didn’t tell George what he had done, like Paul had  asked. Yet, there was still an uneasiness, like something was going in motion, something Paul can’t stop. He knew the plan John had going on in his head, whatever it was, was going to bite them both in the ass sooner or later.

Hopefully later.

[lancetuckershairgel]

Summary: Chris and Lucy are reunited.

Words: 1,977

Warnings: Stealing, language, emotions, slight mention of former drug use

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Tag List: @book-dragon-13 @jobean12-blog @marvelgirl7 @southernbell91 @buckysforeverprincess @anxiousamandapanda @buckysteveloki-me @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety

AN: Cant do a read more. Also it was brought to my attention that several people didnt get notifications for Chaoter Four that was posted early last week so if you get the notification on this one let me know.

Chris climbed into his truck with a groan, his back stiff and head mildly aching. He rested his head back against the headrest of his seat and closed his eyes, no longer having to rush anywhere. The day had been long and he thanked God that it was Friday. Chris had taught three safety courses to the different fifth grade classes and had two meetings with disgruntled parents about a bullying situation and then he went straight to the college after work. School greeted him with an essay presentation, which he hated, and two exams that he really should have prepared better for. 

Chris rubbed his weary eyes and ran his hand over his beard before finally sitting straight and turning on the ignition. The red Ford came to life with a grumble and he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Normally he would have gone straight home after class, especially with how tired he was, but not only was it a Friday night it was also a three day weekend and he was looking forward to an extended weekend and day off.  

"You can't take care of others if you others take care of yourself." Chris' psychology professor would say at the end of every lecture.

"You need a break Chris, you always put too much on yourself." Erin often told him during one of their phone conversations or occasional meet ups at the bar. 

"Yolo." 

Chris never quite understood that one but the teens at the middle school seemed to use it as a personal mantra. After driving for a few miles he took a right and pulled into a gas station lot and parked. Reed's Gas Mart had been around for a long time. One of the oldest businesses in town, owned by a simple old man, had been around since 1958. The place had quite the reputation built around it. From the late fifties to the early eighties it was a place all the kids came to for an after school milkshake and a handful of candy and to listen to Jerry tale his stories. Unfortunately times changed and things became less simple. Teenagers still frequented the store but not for the shakes.  Early in Chris' career as a police officer he'd made a few drug busts in the parking lot but well before that he himself had done a few things he wasn't proud of out back behind the dumpsters. Old man Jerry had caught Chris and a few buddies of his with a crack pipe once and chased them off with a broom, giving Chris a few good whacks across the back of the head all the while hollering about telling his mother. All had been forgiven though and Jerry was a good man, hard worker, and he wasn't going to let a few punk kids ruin his business. Chris gave a slight smile at the memories and entered the store, the ding of the bell overhead indicating that he had arrived. 

"Hey Jerry." Chris greeted the hunched over, white haired man 

"Hey Chris." 

Jerry's reply was short and he didn't look up at the off duty officer. His eyes were focused across the room, narrowed toward the candy aisle. 

"I got one. Just stuffed a chocolate bar in the back of 'er pants."

Chris rolled his eyes. Jerry used to love having kids come into his store, he'd even given Chris and his siblings free ice cream cones on the really hot summer cones when they were younger, but over time as Jerry aged and more and more people used his store as their personal sinning grounds the less excited the man became to see a youngster enter his store. He was always suspicious of anyone under the age of twenty five, convinced they were all up to no good. 

"I'll keep an eye out." Chris chuckled lightly as he walked over to a rack of snacks. 

Chris grabbed a bag of beef jerky and peered across the shelves at the suspected thief. To his dismay he indeed witnessed a crime. What was even more disheart was the fact that he recognized the beg being used to stuff merchandise inside. Blue, faded, torn. Rainbow pin and sharpie "artwork". Even with her hood pulled tight over her head, a classic move to avoid facial recognition on the security tapes, Chris knew that it was Lucy. He watched for a few seconds as she grabbed another item and quickly shoved it into her bag. 

"Come on kid, what are you doing?" Chris thought to himself

Lucy made her way to the back of the store, near the personal care items and Chris ducked down and watched through the large circular mirror on the wall as she stuffed another box into her backpack. He sighed and made his way to the counter. 

"You're right." Chris ssigh to Jerry with a sigh

"Goddamn kids." Jerry muttered under his breath

"Let me handle it, alright?" 

"Fine but I want her out of here and if I catch her anywhere near my store I'll give her the whooping she deserves, you hear me Christopher?" Jerry wagged his crooked finger in Chris' face

"You'll do no such thing old man." Chris rolled his eyes "Put that thing away and go back to  watching the game. I'll take care of this."

Lucy's head was down low as she quickly grabbed the items she had came for. Headphones were plugged into her ears and heavy metal played loudly to calm her nerves. her heart pounded in her chest as she rounded the corner to make her exit and she froze in her tracks. 

"Shit." She muttered when she saw Chris standing at the counter staring at her with disappointment, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Hey Luce." Chris finally said after a prolonged stare down 

Chris could easily read body language thanks to his training in the academy. He knew how to spot suspicious behavior or signs of an abuse victim and he learned to read people by how their left eye twitched or how they shifted from foot to foot. Lucy may have looked defiant, shoulders back and head high, eyes glaring death rays in a dare to interfere with her mission but Chris could see behind that. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bookbag until her knuckles were white. Her bottom lip quivered slightly. Her pupils were wide and pleading. Lucy was scared. 

"Whatcha got there?" Chris took a step forward and relaxed his arms as he gestured toward her bag

"None of your business." Lucy snarled as she stared down Chris

"Come on, hand it over." Chris sighed. He Judy wanted to go home, get a nice buzz off a few beers, watch Game of Thrones, and go to bed. 

Lucy mentally walked herself through her options. Would she be able to get out the back door before Chris caught her? What if he called backup and her name ended up on a wanted list and cops showed up at the school? 

"I'm fucked." Lucy said to herself and decided to comply. Maybe Chris would go easy on her. 

Slowly she handed over the incriminating bag and Chris took it. He eyed Lucy disapprovingly  as he looked inside and her face blushed furiously with humiliation and anger as piece after piece of the stolen merchandise was pulled out and placed on the counter. A box of tampons, a box of bandaids, a few cans of soup, a roll of half used toilet paper, and a bottle of equally used hand soap lined the counter. Chris furrowed his brow as studied the items. 

"And the candy bar Missy." Jerry gruffed out with a glare

Chris glanced at Lucy and she hesitated. The chocolate was the one thing she was really hoping to get out with. Chris held out his hand impatiently and Lucy reached behind her back and pulled the Hershey bar out of her pocket. She slammed it into Chris' palm with such force that the pieces broke apart. With a sigh Chris put it on the counter with the other items. 

"What do you have to say for yourself girl? Stealing from a hardworking old man, none of you have any respect for your elders anymore! Need a good ass whoopin is what you need. Even stole from the bathroom." Jerry ranted and Lucy visibly cringed

"That's enough, Mr Reed." Chris interrupted 

"I want her dealt with Christopher. Arrest her."

Lucy tensed and Chris held up his hand 

"Just wait a minute Jerry. Look at what she's got here. This looks like necessary stuff, doesn't it? Luce? Is everything okay at home?"

"That's not your business." Lucy held back the tears, letting anger overcome the sadness 

"Is your dad not buying things you need?" 

"Stay out of it!" Lucy hissed through her teeth, shaking

"I can't help if you don't talk to me, kiddo." Chris tried "Lucy I ca-"

"You're not in charge anymore. You don't work for my school because you left." Lucy spit the word out like it left a bad taste in her mouth and she stepped closer to Chris "You're not even on duty, you can't do shit. What are you even wearing?" 

Chris looked down at his red plaid button up shirt and frowned. 

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing" Chris asked, slightly offended 

 The realization that Lucy had never seen him without of his uniform came too late. Lucy had snatched the Hershey bar and bolted, the door slamming shut behind her. 

"Lucy!" Chris shouted but there was no use. The girl was gone. Chris groaned and buried his face in his hands as he leaned against the counter. 

"She left the property. I'm calling the police." Jerry stated as he picked up the landline phone

"For christ sake old man it's a candy bar. Puts you back what? A buck twenty five?" Chris took the phone and put it back on the receiver and slammed a couple dollars on the counter "In fact…"

He walked back to the cooler to grab his sought after beer then grabbed a proper back of bathroom tissue and a bottle of soap. 

"How much for all of it?"

Jerry shook his head but began to ring up the groceries. 

"You keep coddling these kids, Christopher, and none of them will learn their lesson. It'll be $48.62. "

"No wonder people steal from you." Chris jokes as he ran his credit card through the machine. He knew Jerry couldn't control the inflation and prices of goods these days. The old man swatted at him but did crack a toothless grin. 

Chris bid farewell to Jerry and took the bags out to his truck. He placed them in the front seat and drove off, keeping an eye out for Lucy the whole way home. He had no idea where she lived and with it being a holiday weekend it'd be Tuesday before he could get Erin to get her address out of the file. 

"Hang in there kid." Chris muttered as he parked the truck in his driveway. 

Lucy ran until her lungs burned. Tears streamed down her face and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing. She shouldn't have to steal to provide for her family. She cursed herself for not telling Chris what was going on but she couldn't. He wouldn't help her, he'd just call the social services and they'd ruin everything. She caught her breath and wiped her eyes angrily before standing up and brushing the dirt off her jeans, cursing herself again for getting them dirty knowing it'd be a few days before she could wash them. She clutched the broken candy bar and made her way back home not ready to face the fact that she was going to turn up empty handed. 

[suckerforsmylex]

I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head - Pt. 7

Harley giggles and hangs up, and you aren’t sure what to think.  Part of you is pissed that The Joker had to leave to tend to Harley’s bullshit. He answered her call earlier while he was in between your legs for god’s sake. The other part is mad at yourself for being so insane. I mean – here you are swooning over your attacker like a dumb school-girl.  

 I still don’t believe that this is real! Why the fuck is this happening to me?  

You decide that you’re going to leave.  You have to see what’s going on outside of your apartment where apparently, it’s Gotham City.  You put on an all-black everything outfit, and set out for the city.  

If I’m going to sneak out, I’ll have to blend in with the night.  

You glance at your wall again and see a cut out of the front page of The Gotham Times with a photo of Harley and a team of other criminals propelling off of a building. Shaking your head, you leave the room quickly, and finding that the bathroom door is still open from your medicine cabinet discovery earlier, you run inside with the intentions of taking your medication.  You shake out a pill into your palm and stare at it and then close your eyes. The memory of The Joker bandaging your bleeding foot with his shirt comes to your mind and that’s all it takes for you to dump all of the pills into the toilet and quickly flush before you can think twice.

If I’m going to figure this shit out, I’m doing it as me, not a sedated version of myself.  How much crazier can it get anyway?

You grab your car keys from the glass bowl and turn on your remote start.  The engine purrs to a start and you open the hall closet door to grab your purse and…

KaaaaaBOOOOM!!!!     

The car is in flames and you almost feel it before you see it as you thrust the door to your apartment open. Shutting the door quickly, you lock it and put the chain on just as your cell phone rings. It’s an incoming facetime from The Joker.  You’re afraid to answer, but even more afraid to let it keep ringing. When you answer, the picture-in-picture display shows you dressed in black on the tiny screen and The Joker appears on the main screen, wearing a maroon button-down shirt, half unbuttoned and a platinum blazer. His clothes are covered in blood and he’s got it spattered on his face as well.

“Cupcake,” The Joker drawls out as he rolls his head around in frustration, “…what part of DO’NT LEAVE YOUR APARTMENT did you not understand?” His chest heaves up and down and it looks like he’s going to have a heart attack. “Answer me,” he demands as he gets up from the chair he was sitting in and removes the blazer, throwing it down to the floor brusquely.  “I…I’m sorry…I just wanted to see what was going on outside. Did…did you just blow up my car,” you ask with tears welling up in your eyes.  

“Did I…blow up your car? Did I blow up your car?” The Joker turns to a henchman behind him who’s wiping blood off a wall.  “She wants to know if I blew up her car.”  He’s got full on crazy eyes and the henchman lets out a nervous chuckle. “YES!  Yes, sweetness.  I asked one of the twenty men guarding you to point a fucking bazooka at your car the moment you started it.”  The waterworks are in full effect on your end now and you’re sobbing.

“Stop blubbering.  We’ll steal you a new one,” he says, waving you off with a ringed hand. The thought of you and The Joker stealing a car together makes you grin from ear to ear, even through your tears and you force yourself to take a deep breath.  “I remember now, Mister J.  I met you in the court.”  Saying that to him only makes you grin more, until you’re laughing.  “That’s where I met Harley and we robbed that expensive department store.  I broke you out of Arkham.  I have the jewelry heist stash!” The tears are streaming down your face but you’re laughing between almost every word. The Joker cocks his head to the side, grins and slaps his thigh. “Oh…she’s back.  My naughty, little thief is back!  I don’t know what I like more.  When you’re a naughty girl or when you’re a sweet angel.  HARLEY! HARL!”  You hear Harley before you see her on the screen, and then she comes bounding in, almost knocking the phone out of J’s hand.  “Hiya’, Puddin’!  You need me?”

Both of them are now on the screen, and Harley is also smeared with blood. Her baseball bat it leaning against the wall and gunky with some kind of bloody, clumpy matter and she’s got droplets on her face and her Daddy’s Little Monster shirt.  “Hey, hot stuff!” Harley seems genuinely happy to see you and she keeps nudging J out of view in her haste to speak with you.  “I got a little nutty ova’ here and beat the living shit out of someone!  Okay, it was more like someones.  Five someones to be exact!” She wrinkles her nose, smiles and puts her fists up in a boxer’s pose and starts shadow boxing.  “When I get going, I don’t know when to stop.  We had to get rid of the bod….”

The Joker bats her away from the phone.  “Daddy is gonna’ leave Harl with Frost and come and pick you up.  Be ready to go out the back patio in ten minutes.  We’ll have some company to respond to that little explosion. Get the jewelry and get out. We’ll get you new things tomorrow. DO NOT make me wait.”  The last thing you see and hear are The Joker’s finger waving in a “no” motion and Harley singing a nonsense “la…la…lala…la” in the background.      

This is it.  I guess I’m quitting my day job and joining the circus.

Obeying his directive, you run and stuff all of the jewelry into a black duffle bag and say goodbye to all of your pencil skirts and your steno-graph. You grab the news clipping off the wall and stuff it into the bag too.  The sirens blare as they come down the street.  In a moment your apartment complex will be swarming with fire trucks, police and maybe even The Batman.  You open the patio back door and hop the small fence landing in a short bush.

Smooth.  Real smooth.

The Joker pulls up in an unmarked car, just in time to see you brushing twigs and branches off yourself and out of your hair, and you jump into the passenger seat with the duffle bag.  He’s dressed in a GCPD uniform from the police badge right down to the hat.  “Oh, I love a man in uniform,” you purr out as you look him up and down.  He growls and tosses you a uniform too and the two of you speed off into the night. “Feeling frisky, sweetheart?  Put on that uniform.”  The Joker’s eyes are locked on you as you change.  His hands are steering erratically, weaving in and out of traffic as you take off your top and jeans and put on the uniform.  “Sure, Mister J, I’m up for anything.  What do you have in mind?”  You finally feel like you.  Untouchable.  Unstoppable. It’s alarming how good it feels to be a bad guy.  

When the car stops you look up and see you’re at the Gotham Museum of Classical Art. The Joker turns and grabs you by the throat. “You’re a work of art, sweets.”  He pries your mouth open with his and covers it with a kiss.  “Mmmmm. You’re my little cherry bomb.  Sugar and spice and everything nice and then, KABOOM! All that explosive heat.” The Joker has a hand snaking its way down your GCPD uniform pants. He lands on the outside of your panties, stroking your wet lips with two fingers through the sheer fabric, leaving you breathing heavily and trying unsuccessfully to suppress a moan.  He leans in close and whispers in your ear.  “Youuuu…are dripping right through your panties, officer.”  He gives your ear a nibble and pops out of the car, leaving you gasping.  

He pulls out a briefcase and starts walking up the museum steps.  “Come on, let’s keep popping your criminal cherry.”  You jump out of the car and run after him and he rings the security door, telling the desk guard that you’re responding to a report of a disturbance.  The guard buzzes you both in and you proceed to handcuff him and his partner and then bind them with duct tape.  Lastly, you lead them both down the stairs and secure them with a second set of handcuffs to pipes in the museum basement.

The two of you move fast, climbing the museum’s main staircase and walking down the second-floor corridor that overlooks the courtyard and into The Dutch Room.  You both fill large bags with pieces of art that you lift from the walls.  It’s easy because you have a list of requested items with each piece’s exact location within the museum.  He cases The Early Italian Room and you make your way through the The Raphael Room and reconvene in The Wayne Gallery.  

There are so many diamonds and jewels in this room that it makes you stop dead in your tracks, remove your police hat, let your hair down and put on the first ornate tiara you see.  The Joker takes one look at you and clears a large marble table of relics and they crash to the ground. He lifts you by your waist and drops you down onto the table.  “If you don’t have a collection of tiaras already, I guess we’ll just have to start one, princess.”  You squeal and The Joker starts peeling off your clothes.

Laying on the cool marble slab in your black lace bra and panties, wearing the newly stolen tiara and your black booties is surreal.  “I’ve been dreaming about this moment since we locked eyes in that courtroom,” he snarls as he unzips his pants and releases his massive cock.  It’s a struggle for him, to take his thick shaft out of the fitted pants and you blush and turn away for a moment.  The sight of him is enough to make you almost come on the spot.  He grabs your chin and turns your head back to face him.  “Oh no. No shyness.  Look at me. I want you to see how hard you made, Daddy.”  Looking at his cock makes you clench and whine.  “Daddy, please…”  You’re squirming around on the hard surface, helpless and needy.  “Daddy, please what,” he says with a chuckle. His thumbs hook into the lace waist band of your panties.  “Daddy, please…”  The Joker has his eyes locked on yours and it’s quite clear by the way his cock twitches that he’s enjoying tormenting you.

“I need to hear you say it, sweets.  You know what Daddy likes.” You moan out hungrily.  “Daddy, please fuck me. I need you inside of me.” There is no room for shame.  You’re desperate for him.  There is no room for coyness.  He grins but doesn’t remove your panties.  Instead, he slides them to the side with his thin fingers, poking digit into your pussy, and then pulling it back out and sliding it into his mouth.  “I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name.  Did you forget that too earlier,” he asks with a low laugh.  Before you can respond he slams himself into you, filling you with the thick weight of his dick, pounding into your wet slit.  It feels like he’s ripping you in two and the tears well in your eyes as your body is thrust hard into the stone.  You grip both sides of the table tightly with both hands.

“Awww, baby? Does it hurt?” When he says the words, you lose it completely and start bucking your hips back against him, feeling your orgasm building and your inner muscles clench the full length of him.  He rips your tits out of your bra and roughly tugs on both of your stiff nipples. Your body is hot and loose now, writhing all over the table and you know you are about to come.  You manage to lick your lips and tell him, which makes The Joker pull himself entirely out of you. 

“Nooooo! I was about to come,” you whine, and it makes him give you a terrifying smile, licking over his metal teeth.  “You have to earn it first, greedy girl.”  He walks around the table and you can see him hovering above you.  “Taste the mess you made.”  You open your mouth and engulf all of him, sucking sloppily back and forth, the sound of spit and your wet arousal on his cock and in your mouth, bring you back to the edge.  You can taste the sweet tang of yourself mixing in with his own taste.  “You better ask for permission before you come,” The Joker warns, and with that, you start waving your arms wildly as a signal that you are close, as he continues to fuck your mouth.  “Do you need to come?” You nod as best you can with him filling your mouth.  “Let me hear you ask me nicely.” Looking up in desperation, you ask as best you can. It sounds pathetic. “Caaghh I peeess cunnn, daahh deee?  

He cackles and removes himself from your mouth with a wet pop and you gasp for air, while he leaps onto the table, straddling you and thrusting all of himself inside of your pussy.  You cry out, frantic for release and he grips your throat, his face inches from yours.  “Come.  Come now.  Come all over my cock.”  You explode all over him on command, shockwaves running through your body as he thrusts as hard as he can. “Give me what’s mine.” With one last hard thrust, you can feel him filling you, and the pulse of his balls as he empties himself inside you, and you collapse back onto the table.  

It’s only now that you hear the alarm has been tripped on the first floor. He hears it to and there’s no time to savor the exquisite way he’s cream-pied you.  He pulls out and tucks his ruddy, wet dick back into his pants, while you scramble to put all your clothes back on.  It’s a miracle that you don’t end up with your bra on the outside of your shirt, at the speed you’re going. You both run and manage to escape out of a hole The Joker laser cut into the second-floor back window and propel down to the street.  You jump into the nondescript car with the stolen art and ride off, still wearing the tiara from the museum display.  

The Joker turns to face you, smiling broadly.  “You’re mine now, and you’ll have anything your little, crooked heart desires and that includes plenty of tiaras.”

You smile at the thought of being his favorite and of having a new crime family to come home too. Harley was like your sister from another mister, after all. After looking in the rearview, you lean over to give him a peck on the cheek but he turns his head quickly and the kiss lands on his crimson lips instead, making a genuine giggle rise from your chest.  It was easy to laugh with him and he laughed to, his infamous, “Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha,” echoing into the impending sunrise of a new morning.  This was the start of your new life with the Clown Prince of Crime, and you were ready for whatever was going to come next.  

[chuffyfan87]

What's In A Name? Part 1. (NSFW)

Mature content. Set before the start of series 1. A take on how Charlie and Duffy first met.

-x-

Charlie was starting to think this night out had been a rubbish idea. He'd not long finished the last of five straight twelve hour shifts. He wasn't in the mood to party but his friends Steve and Chris had insisted that they had to visit this amazing new club that had just opened in town.

He looked over to where his friends were busy chatting up a couple of blondes. He made a decision - one last drink and he was calling it a night. It was his day off tomorrow. He was starting to make his way over to the bar when out of nowhere his path was blocked by a young woman. There was nothing he could do to prevent them colliding.

"Maybe try looking where you're going in future!" He remarked.

She spun around to face him, an angry glare on her face. She quickly gave him the once over and her face broke into a smile. She stuck her tongue out at him and carried on walking towards the bar.

Arriving at the bar, Charlie lent against it and lit up a cigarette. As he waited to be served his attention kept being drawn across the bar. To her. She was partially turned away from him so didn't notice as he took the opportunity to take a better look at her in the brighter light of the bar area.

She wasn't his usual type. He tended to prefer brunettes but something about her impish grin drew him in. She walked slightly away from the bar to speak to a friend sat at a table. He watched her, greatly appreciating the way her bottom wiggled slightly as she climbed the couple of steps to the table. She lent over the table to speak into her friend's ear just as the barman came over to take his order. Hearing the barman clear his throat he reluctantly tore his eyes away from the perfect view he had of her bum and shapely thighs that were now on display thanks to the way her skirt had ridden up.

"Um... A pint please and..." He tried to think quickly, what would a girl like her drink? He glanced at the row of drinks behind the bar. "And a babycham."

He paid the barman and made his way over to where she was stood. Taking a glup of his pint he walked up to her.

"Um, hi, I've bought you a drink to say sorry for being rude earlier. Um, my name's Charlie, what's yours?"

"Lisa." She took the drink he held out. "Thanks and, well, sorry for barging into you earlier. I probably should look where I'm going more often."

"Yes you should!" He replied.

She glared at him again. Before he had a chance to correct his words she interrupted him.

"Look thanks for the drink but I'm going to go over there now to speak to my friends."

As she walked away he cursed himself. When did he suddenly lose the ability to chat up a good looking girl? He just couldn't seem to say the right things to her.

About a half hour later he was walking, head down, back towards the bar from the toilets when bang! He looked up.

"We really need to stop meeting like this Lisa."

"It does seem like our stars have aligned." She smiled.

He didn't really know what to say to that so he dug his hand into his pocket and held out the crumpled cigarette packet in her direction. "You want one?"

"No thanks, I don't smoke."

"Oh, um, ok." He put them back in his pocket. "Very sensible, they're bad for your health."

"So..?"

"So..?"

"Fancy a dance?"

At the start of the evening he could have thought of nothing worse than setting foot on that dancefloor but now she'd asked it was a different matter entirely. They crossed the room and stood awkwardly swaying to the music at the edge of the dancefloor neither sure exactly what to do with their hands.

The decision was soon made for them when a barge in the back sent her flying into his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. Their gazes locked and he lowered his head to kiss her. Wrapping her arms around his neck she deepened the kiss. His hands, which had been on her waist, travelled down to grope her bum and he was pleased to discover it felt as good as it had looked when he'd been admiring her from the bar.

They danced and kissed for another 20 mins or so before wandering away from the dancefloor and finding a seat on one of the sofas that ran around the outside of the room. The club was still pretty busy so there was only room for one of them to sit down. She nudged him towards it and once he was seated, perched herself on his leg. He ran his hand down the side of her face, his fingers tangling slightly in her hair. It was softer than he was expecting - most girls put so much stuff in their hair that it felt rock solid. She raised an eyebrow in confusion at the way he'd suddenly paused.

"You're beautiful." He felt rather than saw the blush that crept up her cheeks.

Their lips met once more. His hand slid down from her cheek to her shoulder before settling on her waist. His fingers played with the hem of her top before slipping underneath to stroke her skin. She shifted herself slightly to allow his hand better access. As she did the inside of her thigh brushed across his crotch. He moved his hand further up, as he reached her ribs she let out a giggle.

"Ticklish?" He smirked.

She didn't respond, just bent her head down to kiss him again, her teeth grazing his bottom lip. The kiss intensified as his hand reached her breast, his fingers stroking along the lace of her bra. Breaking the kiss, he looked slightly shy.

"Um, my place is about 10 mins from here if you wanted to... Um..."

She stood up and gave him a saucy wink. "Sure, lead the way."

The walk home ended up taking longer than 10 minutes due to various distractions but finally they were outside his front door. He had her pressed up against the wall of the alcove, his hands groping her breasts and his teeth nibbling at her collar bone. Her hands worked their way inside his jeans and slipping her hands under the waistband of his boxers she gave him a gentle squeeze. She brought her lips to his ear.

"Are you going to invite me in or are we going to stay out here all night?"

They reluctantly parted so that he could remove the keys from his pocket and open the door. Once inside with one motion he pushed her jacket from her shoulders and her against the door. Her hand snaked around his neck, her fingers playing with his curly hair and her other hand reached down to remove her ankle boots. He moved back to give her space, removing his jacket and shoes at the same time. His jeans were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. He took her hand and guided her in the direction of the stairs. Once at the top he kicked open the bedroom door, silently cursing the mess he'd left the room in.

"Um... Sorry its..." He cringed and gestured to the room.

She simply laughed and grabbed the front of his shirt, sending them both tumbling onto the unmade bed. Her hands went straight to his belt buckle whilst he set about removing her top. That done, he reached under her skirt and ran his fingers along the waistband of her leggings. He heard the thud of his jeans hitting the bedroom floor. Reaching up to bite her earlobe he muttered.

"You really have far too many clothes on!"

She wiggled her bum so he could pull down her leggings leaving her in just her underwear and skirt. He was down to just his boxers and a pair of mismatched socks. He reached back under her skirt and ran his fingers along her knickers, her thighs parting as his hand travelled lower. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that her knickers were already slightly damp. She let out a contented moan and reached down to undo the button on her skirt. He stilled her hands and removed her skirt.

Her hands unoccupied again she reached inside his boxers and ran her fingernails along the length of him. Placing her hands on his shoulders she gently pushed til he was lying on his back with her over him. Kissing her way down his chest her hands released him from his boxers and she took him into her mouth. He let out a deep moan as she moved her lips slowly up and down the length and circled her tongue around the tip. She kissed her way back up his chest as he reached up her back to unsnap her bra and drop it to the ground. Rolling her onto her back he reached his hand inside her knickers and began to stroke her expertly. He lowered his head to tease at her nipples with his teeth and tongue. She let out a loud moan, her back arching, her head thrown back in pleasure.

The last of their underwear is quickly discarded. He lies between her parted thighs and kisses her. Suddenly a thought occurs to him. He pushes back from her slightly. She opens her eyes and looks worried. What had she done? Had he changed his mind? She opens her mouth to speak but he places a finger on her lips to quieten her. With his other hand he reaches behind him and feels around til it makes contact with the bedside drawer, he reaches in and quickly locates what he's searching for. Raising an eyebrow and smirking at her he shows her the silver packet he's holding.

Quickly putting the condom on he returns to his previous position and slowly, gently enters her, kissing her as he does so. Once he sees she's comfortable he quickens his pace, her legs wrapped up around his waist encouraging him to thrust deeper. Their tongues duel and her nails dig into his shoulders. His orgasm peaks and he collapses forward onto her. He lies there for a few seconds, looks up into her eyes and suddenly realises. Without saying a word he moves his head downwards and, resting his hand against her parted thighs he uses his other hand and tongue til her orgasm hits and they both slump sleepily onto the bed.

They laid their heads on the pillows and Charlie reached down to grab the discarded blankets, pulling them up over the two of them. Within a matter of moments they were both fast asleep.

[stozzierr]

He Floats Too

a/n: okay so! this one is not a request, but something that has been swimming around my noggin for a while. the prompt for this one is “what if richie floated instead of beverly?” now, here me out, there’s a couple stories like this on AO3 already (kudos to those writers) but it’s all reddie. me, being a slut for stozier, decided to change it up a little and have stan kiss richie. so enjoy!

ps: the ending got a little rushed and sloppy because i got tired and i apologize. i think it’s fine, though

warnings: mentions of blood, stan’s special scene where everyone cried, and of course, clowns. don’t worry it’s fluffy towards the end

ship: stozier

word count: 2.4 k

Richie Tozier, with his anger from the “incident” three weeks ago reduced to a dull grumpiness (he hadn’t talked to Bill since then, so that helped a lot), slammed his fingers down on the buttons of the machine. If he could juuuust beat his high score before he had to go home-

“Hey, kid.” Richie flinched at the sudden voice and swiveled around quickly. He’d been so on-edge since his adventures in Neibolt, that any noise could be that fucking clown coming to chomp on his brains.

To his surprise and luck, it wasn’t a clown. It was just Elliot, someone who worked at the ticket counter and who Richie made a small friendship with. The 17-year-old was known for just up and leaving in the middle of his shift, but seeing as Elliot was alone without Marcus at the counter with him, it was a little odd for him to be leaving now.

Elliot tossed his keys at the glasses-clad boy and a grin manifested on his oily, acne-ridden face. “Lock up for me when you’re done, got it?” With that, Elliot sauntered off, pulling a cigarette- or possibly a joint?- from his pocket as he went behind the arcade.

It was now that Richie realized he was completely alone in the arcade. He was used to being alone, at home. Not here. Why here, where did all the kids go? Not like they all went missing. Yeah, bad joke, and Richie felt bad for thinking it.

Nevertheless, he turned back to his game, which he was on the verge of losing for not paying attention to it for that brief interaction with Elliot. He put his game face on and began to aggressively tap on the red and blue buttons, lip pulled between his obnoxious teeth in concentration. Almost there, almost there, almost winning!-

“No! Aw, you dipshit!” Richie cried out when he saw his character KO, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Damn it. He gave a small kick to the machine, bitter about the loss, before he turned around to leave.

Two strong, gloved hands wrapped around his throat. Before him stood Pennywise, a grin on it’s face that gave his worst nightmares a run for their money.

Black-bellied whistling-duck. Check.

Pink-footed goose. Check.

Black brant. Check.

‘That’s the last of them,’ Stanley Uris thought to himself as he stood up from his spot at the nearby pond. It was an extremely pleasant day in the middle of August, and a perfect time to go bird watching. But, he’d checked off all the birds he was hoping to see, and some repeats he’d already seen. Not that the repeats weren’t beautiful, he loves their beauty, he just got all he was looking for today.

He stole a quick look at his watch. 12:34. 26 minutes until he had to meet Richie. He smiled softly at the thought of the wild boy with wild hair. Always so wild, that boy. Stan felt his cheeks tinge a light pink at the thought of his wild smile, and he shook his head. Not the time. He could think about his smile when the two finally met up.

This outing between the two was planned two weeks ago, after the Bar Mitzvah. In Stan’s mind, it was like a date. They’d go see Honey, I Shrunk The Kids (Stan’s choice. Richie wanted to go see A Nightmare On Elm Street 5, but Stan was too much of a wuss. Not to mention, they didn’t do well with scary things, especially with recent events), then get milkshakes, and then spend the night in Richie’s house. It was a great event for Stan that they planned forever ago. Hell, Richie called him three days ago to confirm the plans.

As Stan began to work out the best seating for the two where they could see the movie, and Stan could steal glances at Richie while he was enthralled in the movie, he hopped onto his bike and took a leisurely ride towards his house.

Coming up on the side of the road was Maggie Tozier, which surprised him. She was usually at home or partying with friends, not stapling pieces of paper to a telephone post. The next odd thing that caught Stan off guard was her soft cries escaping her lips as she stared at the paper. Stanley felt a deep pit in his stomach begin to form, and he slowed down to a stop next to her. She was like a second mother to him, after all, and he hated seeing her (or her son) upset.

“Mrs. Tozier..?” Stanley spoke quietly, looking up at her with worried eyes. What could be so upsetting that she’s crying?

She turned around a little bit to look at him with glasses-clad eyes, just like her son. Her face was blotchy and the tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes like pearls were threatening to fall again.

“Oh, Stan.. Stan, he’s missing..” She wrapped her thin arms around him quietly, tears falling again to accompany the sobs. Stan went rigid. No, that’s not possible, he’d just talked to not three days ago! He took a look up at the paper stapled to the post only to find Richie’s smiling face staring back at him.

Almost mechanically, Stan adjusted himself on his bike. “It’s okay, Mrs. Tozier. He’ll come back. He always does.” When Maggie unwrapped her arms from Stan’s shoulders, the boy sped off in the direction of the Denbroughs. He had to have a talk with a certain Stuttering Bill.

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Bill Denbrough let out a sigh and broke out of his conversation with Beverly Marsh. Tears had streamed down the girl’s face as she ranted about what happened with her father, involving inappropriate touches followed by a toilet seat. Now wasn’t a great time for pebbles being thrown at his window.

The two young teens approached the window and were surprised to see Stanley Uris standing there, a worried look on his face. Bill opened it up. “Stan?” Bev called out, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He had a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, and what it was, they didn’t know.

“It got Richie.” Stan said simply, fighting back tears of his own.

“What got Richie?” Bill drawled in annoyance. He still didn’t want anything to do with Richie, after the words that were said 3 weeks ago.

“It, Bill!” Stanley shouted up at him, a stray tear falling off his cheek. He held up the paper in his hand to reveal a missing persons poster, the words “YOU DIE IF YOU TRY” scrawled over Richie’s smiling face with blood. The look of annoyance on Bill’s face was wiped off fairly quickly. When he tried to look at Beverly, she was already climbing out the window. A silent decision was made as Bill ran downstairs to his phone to call Eddie, Ben, and Mike.

The losers club had to band together again to get their Trashmouth back, wherever he may be.

Drip. Drip. Drip-drip.

Richie blinked his eyes open as he felt a stick substance drip onto his face and stream down his neck. “Ow, fuck…” He gently touched his temples, pain sparking from the area and zipping all around his head. It took him a minute to realize where he was and what he was lying on, and once he realized it was the wet concrete of the sewer, he scrambled himself up…

Only to stumble back to his knees.

He let out a small string of curses and stood himself back up again, this time leaning against the walls for support. One of the lenses of his glasses were missing, the other cracked beyond repair. His dad was gonna kill him for breaking the glasses so badly when he got home. If he got home.

A large pile of toys and children’s clothes were piled up in a huge mound in front of him, with a large box-like structure set up in the bottom. Richie knew it was part of the circus, but what it was called, he was unsure of. He just had to get away. As he tried prying open the nearest door he saw, a loud voice suddenly shot out from the speakers attached to the box-thingy. “Step right up, Richie! Step riiiiiight up!”

“Oh, what the fuck..” Richie muttered to himself and slowly turned around to stare at the box.

“Come change, come float! You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll cheer, you’ll die!” Richie’s blood ran cold, but it wasn’t out of fear. He was not afraid of this bastard anymore. “Introducing, Pennywise! The daaancing clown!”

The box suddenly kicked open, sparks flying up in some sort of grand gesture. Pennywise stood there for a moment, looking.. scared itself. It began to dance for Richie, it’s legs coming up and kicking in an, admittedly, hilarious manner.

Richie couldn’t stop himself. He began to laugh at the scene in front of him, which only made the clown more distraught. Thinking Pennywise was distracted, Richie made a split-second decision and tried to run for his life, still giggling. His giggling ceased when It hopped down from it’s podium and grabbed the young boy by the neck.

Rich gasped for air, legs kicking wildly in an attempt to free himself while It laughed in his face. “I’m not afraid of you..” He choked out, large eyes glaring at the creature holding him. Pennywise leaned It’s head forward and sniffed, recoiling at the lack of fear. It glared at Richie for a moment, before a smirk appeared on it’s makeup-painted lips.

“But you will be.” It began to open it’s jaw, wider than ever seen before. Richie’s head was held in place so he had to stare down into it’s never-ending maw. At the back of the throat held three, swirling bright lights. Lights that sucked him in further, and further…

Pennywise slowly let go of the child, watching him float up up up…

Teeth. So many teeth, all latched around his face.

After gathering the gang and barging into Neibolt, Mike had been attacked by Henry (wherever that bastard came from) and Stan had been taken away from  the group only to end up with Judith’s teeth wrapped around his head. It was horrifying, and he could see everything, everything that It would become, would give birth to, so many of It-

“Stanley!” He heard Eddie’s muffled voice somewhere in the distance, muffled yet shrill. Everything moved so damn quickly. It was gone but people began touching him, yelling in his face, so he yelled back.

“You aren’t my friends! You took me into Neibolt, you aren’t my friends!!” He cried out in fear, legs pulling to hug his chest. He was so scared, so damn scared. He shouldn’t have been by now, they weren’t as afraid of him. Why couldn’t he be strong like them? Strong like Beverly. Strong like Bill.

Strong like Richie.

Speaking of his wild friend, wild wild wild, he was nowhere to be found. That scared him worse. What if Richie was already dead what if he was next-

Bill had disappeared a while ago, hellbent on avenging his brother like the crazy suicidal bitch he was. The group stumbled there way after him, like lost sheep following their master. They all yelled a chorus of “Richie!” “Trashmouth, where are you?!” in attempts of finding the wild wild wild boy, if he was still able to be found.

Eddie and Beverly, at the front of the pack, stumbled to a stop. “Oh my god..” Eddie mumbled, patting his pockets frantically for an inhaler that wasn’t there. Beverly surged forward, still. “Help me get him down!”

Mike, who let Stan lean on him for support, made sure he was okay before he ran off to go help Beverly and Eddie, with Ben right behind him.

Stanley had to, of course, follow them. Why shouldn’t he follow them? Richie was there. If they could find Richie they could go home-

Oh. Oh that’s where he was.

Richie, suspended in the air with his head tipped backwards, was too high for one person alone to get. Eddie climbed on top of Ben’s shoulders and took a leap, managing to catch onto Richie’s sneaker. The Losers minus Bill managed to pull Richie down, and Eddie nearly gagged at the sight of his face.

His face was wet with sewage water, curls knotted in a horrible mess, and neck red with hand prints. And his eyes, god, his eyes. They were milky white and devoid of any life. Stan nearly burst into tears.

“Richie.. Richie!” Stan called to him uselessly, worming through the Losers to get to him. “Why isn’t he responding.. Why isn’t he saying anything, what’s wrong with him?!” The group remained silent, which provided even more frustration onto Stan.

Stanley thought back to everything he’d done with Richie. Everything he wanted to do. He wanted to hold his hand, hug him, kiss him, dance with him at prom. He wanted everything. And now, he had nothing.

If this was his last chance to do something, he was going to take it. Stop being the pussy he was, man up, and do it, even if Richie was dirty, so dirty. He grasped Richie by the cheeks and let their lips collide.

It wasn’t a perfect first kiss. Hell, it wasn’t even good. Inexperienced, rushed. Richie’s lips were cold and unresponsive. But it was enough for Stan. Noises of confusion circled around him but he wasn’t focused on that. He stared at Richie’s dead face for a moment, hope flushing out of him quickly… Until the boy burst to life.

He blinked blindly for a moment before staring Stan in the face. A watery smile crossed both their faces. “Jesus, fuck.. Stan the Man..”

“Trashmouth..”

They finally had a desperate, proper kiss that had all the losers giving little cheers for them. It was short lived as they heard a little boy’s voice, a little boy that went missing a year ago, begin to speak to Bill in the distance.

It was time to kill this fucking clown. Together.

[sugatsby]

Cinderella

Group: GOT7 Pairing: Im Jaebum X Reader Rating: Fluff Prompt: You’ve always been a bit clumsy, but this is the first time you actually get hurt, ending up making a late night visit to the hospital Jaebum. The cause of all this: a shoe. Word count: 1 712

An uncomfortable feeling wakes you from your slumber. You mentally slap yourself for not having peed before climbing into your boyfriend’s bed. You carefully lift your head from his shoulder and slowly slide your arm from his torso. Turning around, rolling to the other side of the bed, you try to manoeuvre yourself over the mattress without letting it move too much. When you succeed in getting out of bed without waking him, you smile, looking at his sleeping figure. Knowing how busy his life as an idol is, you try and have him rest as much as possible.

You tiptoe your way out of the bedroom, opening and closing the door as quietly as possible. When you sneak onto the hallway in the direction of the bathroom, you mentally slap yourself again. This time for not bringing your phone to use as some kind of flashlight to light your way in the dark hallway. You refrain from turning on any of the lights, afraid that will end up waking one of the boys in the dorm. They all came back from dance practise pretty late, ending up in bed after midnight. They were exhausted. You felt Jaebum crawl into bed with you when he came home, hearing his breath even out pretty quickly. You felt bad for falling asleep before they came home, since you wanted to surprise them with some food. But you’re pretty sure they helped themselves to your little surprise while you were asleep.

Closing the door of the bathroom behind you, you’re confident enough to turn on the light in there without disturbing anyone. Walking through a dark hallway is one thing, going to the toilet in the dark is another. After relieving your bladder, you sneak back onto the hallway. The transition from the bright lights in the bathroom to the pitch black hallway turns out to be a little more inconvenient than expected when your left foot meets an object laying on the floor, causing you to fall forward.

Jaebum’s sleep is disturbed by a muffled cry. He turns towards his left where you are supposed to be and pats the empty place on the mattress beside him with his eyes still closed. When he realises you are not next to him, his eyes shoot open. The muffled curses coming from the hallway, knowing they belong to you, are now joined by a male voice, still trying to speak in hushed tones. Jaebum throws the blanket off of him, moving to the bedroom door as fast as possible, his heart racing. When he opens the door his gaze falls upon Jackson squatting down next to you on the floor of the now lit up hallway, trying to get you in a sitting position while whispering encouraging words.

Within seconds Jaebum finds himself at your side, placing a hand on your naked thigh. “Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?” he asks with worry written all over his face. He places his hands on both sides of your face, drawing tiny circles on your cheeks with his thumbs.

You let out a groan when you move the hand holding your wrist a little. “I don’t know,” you hiss. “I had to pee and I was just walking to bed again, but I tripped.”

The commotion in the hallway has already caused Jinyoung, Bambam and Yugyeom to have woken up, walking into the hallway, rubbing their eyes. All three of them have questioning looks on their faces, wondering what the hell is going on right outside of their bedrooms in the middle of the night.

You nod at the wrist you’ve been holding ever since you sat up. “I think I broke my wrist,” you wince.

Jaebum’s gaze moves to your hand, like it’s only at that moment that he realises that you’ve been holding it. “Show me,” he grunts softly.

When he holds out his hands, you carefully remove your own hand from your wrist to have him take a look at it. The slightest touch or movement of your wrist makes you cry out in pain. “Jackson, can you get some ice, please,” Jaebum orders.

Jackson nods and stands up. With Jackson out of the way, Jaebum notices the object which has probably caused you to trip and fall. “Bambam!” he growls all of a sudden. You turn your head to the left, where Bambam has been standing, a horrified look on his face. “How often did I tell you not to leave your shoes everywhere! Look what happened!”

“Jaebum, don’t. It’s okay,” you interrupt in an attempt to keep the peace.

“It’s okay?! He broke your wrist!” he snaps before grabbing the bag of frozen peas from Jackson’s hand when the latter holds it out in front of him.

“Calm down, Jae. Bambam didn’t break my- Ah!” you scream out when Jaebum places the bag on your wrist. He mutters a small ‘sorry’ when he realises he has hurt you. “Besides,” you plead, “we’re not sure if it’s broken or not. It might just be bruised.”

Jaebum looks at you with a stern look in his eyes. You know he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t want to show it. “Can someone get my car keys, please. We will need get this thing checked out.” Jinyoung nods silently and disappears into Jaebum’s room to look for the keys. Jaebum’s face turns softer when he looks at you again. “Do you need me to help you get up?”

After you sit down in the passenger’s seat of Jaebum’s car, he helps you get the seatbelt on, manoeuvring your wrist around as carefully and with as little pain as possible. Putting on one of Jaebum’s tracksuit bottoms turned out to be easy. With his help, of course. As for his hoodie, not so much. Jaebum just ended up draping it over your shoulders to give you at least a little bit of warmth before stepping out into the cold night air.

When Jaebum closes the door on your side, he walks around to the driver’s side of the car. As he gets in, he lets out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. Once seated and having put his seatbelt on, he looks at you before turning the keys. The tired look on his face makes you feel very guilty. He should have been asleep peacefully, not driving you to the nearest hospital because you needed to trip over one of Bambam’s boots so badly.

When Jaebum drives the car onto the road, you notice his knuckles are turning white from grabbing onto the steering wheel too hard. You know he’s angry. He probably still blames Bambam for your little accident. You look at the frown that has formed on his forehead. “You know that Bambam couldn’t have known, right?” you say, putting your non-injured hand on his thigh.

Jaebum sighs, his harsh gaze turning a little softer. He lets go of the steering wheel with one of his hands, placing it on your hand on his thigh. “I know,” he sighs, bringing your hand to his mouth, placing a delicate kiss on your fingers.

You love how he is so soft around you. He wasn’t always like that. At least not at the beginning. When you first saw him, he came across as very strict, maybe even a bit cold. But your impression of him changed when you saw him around his friends. That was when the stern façade melted away, crescent-moon eyes and a toothy grin appearing in its place. That was when you fell for him. Literally.

One of the customers in the coffee shop you worked at had placed her bag a little inconveniently, causing you to – yes – trip and spill Jaebum’s iced coffee all over his crisp, white shirt. You profusely apologized, but he was nothing but nice about it, telling you it was alright. You offered to pay for the damages done, but the confident bastard just smirked and asked you out on a date to repay him. Two and a half years later, you were here, on a late night trip to the hospital because of your clumsiness.

After signing in at the front desk you both move and sit down in the waiting room. When you sit down, you look at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. You feel another surge of guilt go through your body. “I’m sorry, Jae,” you mutter.

Jaebum turns to look at you, surprised. “What? Why?”

You look down at your wrist, still covered with the bag of not-so-frozen peas. “For keeping you from having a good night of sleep.”

Jaebum scoffs and smiles at you tenderly. “It’s okay, babe. We don’t have a schedule tomorrow, so I’ll be able to sleep in. It’ll be fine. At least I get to spend my night with you,” he says with a wink, wrapping an arm around you.

“God, Jae! You’re so cheesy!” you chuckle, letting yourself lean into his warm embrace.

You feel him nuzzling his face in your hair, his nose touching the shell of your ear. “But I’m still going to kill Bambam when we get home,” he murmurs.

Just before dawn you and Jaebum find yourselves in the car back home. Your wrist did turn out to be broken. Both you and the doctor had your suspicions, but to make sure he send you to Radiology. You ended up waiting for more than an hour to have the X-rays made, and another hour while the plaster technician made a cast around your wrist. You were exhausted by now and you could only imagine how Jaebum was feeling.

Back at the dorms, the rest of the boys were still asleep, and you were dying to follow their lead. After getting undressed with Jaebum’s help and taking one of the painkillers the doctor prescribed, you climbed back into bed, ready to sleep the day away. Jaebum followed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. After this eventful night he deserved to sleep as long as he wanted. And that’s what he did, not even opening his eyes when you ended up accidentally slamming down your heavy cast onto his chest halfway through the morning.

[withlovekth]

Don’t Say a Word (Part Three)

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Pairing: Yoongi/Yoonji (Suga) x Reader Genre: Fluff, Smut Contains: crossdressing, alcohol mention Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: Why do I always end up writing in the middle of the night and then get excited so I post chapters when no one is awake...

Your ride had arrived and you and Yoongi clumsily get in, giggling about all the little things. You driver was in a good mood and didn’t mind your drunkenness. He actually really appreciated you for being smart and requesting a ride rather than driving while intoxicated. The three of you had a good time, singing along to whatever popular songs that came up onto the radio. From the back, you can see the driver’s bright smile in the rearview mirror. You joked about how he should become a rapper, and he laughed it off and told you he actually danced with a team in his free time. Yoongi, too drunk and too loose, mentioned how he wished he could watch him perform, knowing this would probably be the first and last time you would ever see this man for the rest of your lives.

Your driver dropped you off at the front your apartment complex. You gave him a generous tip and thanked him. “Goodnight,” you paused to look for his name on your phone, “Hobi.”

“It’s Hoseok, but ya’ll can call me Hobi,” he flashed the two of you another big smile. “And goodnight to the two of you too. Stay safe!”

You got out and Yoongi followed you, closing the door behind him. Hoseok signaled two short honks as a goodbye before driving off into the night.

You and Yoongi supported each other while stumbling to get into the empty elevator. As it ascended to the sixth floor, you took the opportunity to attempt to kiss him once again. While giving him a serious look, you jokingly slammed your hand against the wall by his head as he leaned against it to keep himself up. You tried your best to keep a straight face as he broke out in laughter at your silly, little actions. You looked into his eyes, suggestively raising an eyebrow, hoping he would catch onto your signal. You closed your eyes and leaned in for a kiss, waiting for him to meet you halfway.

The elevator had dinged and the doors opened. You quickly pulled yourself away from Yoongi at the sound of people talking. A small group of people got onto the elevator as you and Yoongi awkwardly stood next to each other. After accidentally making eye contact with one of them, you gave them a guilty looking smile as they were all probably aware that something was going down in there. The only thing that could be heard was the hum of the elevator as it continued to climb up. Time seemed to go by so slowly as you went up about three more floors before getting to yours.

You and Yoongi finally got off on your floor. You fumbled with your keys, trying to shove every key you got into the lock. The two of you tumbled through the doorway. Yoongi stopped you in the middle of the living room to hug you. Well, it was more like he was using you to keep him up. You tried to walk over to the couch, pushing Yoongi to walk backwards. He held onto you tightly by the waist. He tripped over his own foot and you both fell onto the couch. With you lying on top of him, maybe now was the time to go for that kiss. You paused to mentally prepare yourself for what you were about to do, but Yoongi beat you to it.

It was a sloppy drunk kiss, but it made your heart race faster than any other kiss you’ve ever received. This was a totally different sensation than the kiss the two of you shared in high school as young, hormonal teens. You both were a nervous mess back then, but somehow this kiss felt just right, as if this was supposed to be happening.

You broke the kiss first. Your gaze met his. The two of you were a blushing mess, chests heaving, and hearts heavy.

He spoke first, “Why do I feel like I’ve been missing out? This entire time, I’ve felt alone and empty. Why did I leave without a word?” The alcohol in him revealed his inner emotions.

You kissed his forehead and shushed him. “Yoongi, no. Don’t do this to yourself. Not now.” You gently kissed him on the lips. “I thought the same thing throughout all these years. When you left, a part of me disappeared with you and it was my fault. But you’re back now so…”

He held you against his chest. “I won’t leave you alone ever again. I promise.”

“And I won’t leave you alone either.”

The two of you just lied there, holding onto each other. The combined warmth of the alcohol in your system and Yoongi’s body made you drowsy, and that fading, content look on Yoongi’s face was saying the same thing. You forced yourself to get up, bringing Yoongi along with you to the bathroom to get ready for the night. You had to remove that makeup off your face as soon as possible, you weren’t trying to anger your skin by sleeping with it on. You passed Yoongi some makeup wipes and the two of you began to clean your faces, taking turns washing them in the sink after the makeup removal.

A drunk and sleepy Yoongi sat cross-legged on the closed toilet, watching you brush your teeth. With his arm resting on his knee and his chin in his palm, he looked at you with his eyes half closed, ruffling his messy wig cap hair. No matter how Yoongi looked— work presentable to wigless, barefaced Yoonji, he was absolutely perfect.

You finished brushing your teeth and passed Yoongi a new, unused toothbrush. “Here, your turn.”

He whined and turned his head away from the brush. “No, I’m tired, let’s go sleep.”

You frowned, “I don’t care. It’s bad to go to sleep without brushing your teeth.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head with his eyes closed. “Nope, I’m going to sleep.”

You let out an irritated sigh and began to apply toothpaste to the brush. “Then, I’m going to make you,” you mumbled under your breath. You grabbed Yoongi by his chin and forced his mouth open and stuck the toothbrush inside. Catching him off guard, Yoongi’s eyes widened as you forcefully brushed his teeth.

“Y/N wait,” he tried to stop you. “This feels… Weird…” His voice was muffled by the toothpaste foaming up in his mouth. He helplessly looked up at you, his face red with embarrassment. His mouth hung open, drool and toothpaste dripped from the corners and onto his clothes. His eyes, glossy and begging you to let him do this himself. He moaned and fidgeted in his seat as the bristles gently brushed against the roof of his mouth. “Y/N…”

You stood him up and over the sink. “Spit,” you commanded and he followed.

“Are we done?” He propped himself up over the sink and looked at you weakly.

“Stick your tongue out.”

“I can do it myself…” Yoongi reached out for the brush.

“Stick it out,” you kept the brush away from his reach. “This is what you get for not listening to me in the beginning.”

He shyly opened his mouth without any more complaints, his hands clung to the bottom of his skirt. You brushed his tongue and his eyes watered a bit as he tried his best not to gag. You couldn’t help but smirk at how cute he was while obedient and defenseless.

“Okay, we’re done. You can rinse your mouth out now.” You washed the brush and put it into the cup where you kept yours.

Yoongi rinsed his mouth out and looked at you with his hand covering his face. “Y/N… You’re so cruel…” He breathed heavily while covering his face with the back of his hand.

You shot a smug grin at him and helped him wipe off the excess toothpaste that had fallen onto his shirt and skirt. You patted his clothes with a wet napkin. You dragged the napkin along his skirt. You let out a small gasp when you accidently brushed over a bulge. You quickly stepped back, “Yoongi, I didn’t mean to—”

“So cruel…” He repeated with a low groan. He grabbed you by the wrist and placed your hand over his growing erection. “And you won’t even help me with this? You’re too cruel, Y/N.” He bit his lower lip and glared into your eyes while making you rub him over his skirt.

You reached under his skirt and stroked him through his spandex shorts. You shoved him up against the sink and kissed at his jawline. With your free hand you ripped the choker off his neck with a hard tug. “I’ll get you a new one,” you whispered before sinking your teeth into his neck.

He winced at the painful contact, but the twitch in his shorts was asking for more. You felt his precum seep through the fabric as you groped him. He pulled you off him and lifted you off your feet.

“Yoongi?”

“I can’t take anymore of this teasing… You’re making me go crazy…” He somehow carried you to your room, without tripping over himself, and threw you on your back and onto your bed with your legs dangling off the side. He nearly pounced on you, straddling you while pinning you down by your wrists above your head with one hand. His breath on your skin as he proceeded to kiss you everywhere sent chills throughout your body. He kissed you on the lips for the second time of the night. You liked the taste of mint in his mouth over the vodka.

You kissed him back, trying to fight back for your dominance, but Yoongi had you wrapped around his finger. The things his tongue did in your mouth made you wonder how he’d do in between your legs. You broke from the kiss, accepting defeat. “Yoongi wait, let’s get comfortable.” He let you go and you took off your jacket and threw it onto a chair across the room by your closet. You helped Yoongi take off his flannel and shit and also tossed it with your jacket. You could help but stare at Yoongi’s beautiful, pale skin, tracing your finger from his chest all the way down to the waist of his skirt. You unclasped the buttons and unzipped it, allowing it to slip down to his knees.

Yoongi stayed in his position above you with you still in between his legs. All he was wearing was his shorts, socks, and shoes. He lifted up your dress and helped it off you, revealing a pair of black, laced panties and a bra to match. “Did you wear those just for me?” He licked his lips while staring at your body.

“I wasn’t expecting any of this,” you grinned at how pleased he was with you.

He got up off you and let the skirt fall to the floor. He eagerly removed his shoes and socks, just dropping them where he stood.

You took that moment to unhook your bra and playfully threw it at his face, covering your breasts with your free arm.

“God, Y/N, you look so amazing,” he reached into his waistband and stroked himself a bit while admiring your body.

You spread your legs for him, playing with yourself through the fabric of your panties, to drive him completely insane.

“Hm, but something’s a bit off,” he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at you.

“Oh? What?” You looked back at him, a little concerned and feeling a bit self conscious.

He kneeled down at the foot of your bed and kissed your thighs and trailed down your legs, slipping your socks down in the process. “Your shoes…”

“What about them?” You propped yourself up a bit to see what he was doing.

“You know what? I really hate Converse… Because they’re so hard to take off of you.” He gave you a dumb grin and you laughed as he struggled to take your shoes off. He finally ripped them off your feet, along with your socks, and carelessly tossed them over his shoulder. He got back on top of you. “Okay, so where were we?” He asked while slowly grinding against you, his face buried in your neck.

“I think we were at the point where we were going to get to the fucking, right?”

He inhaled sharply at how bold were. He instantly tugged at your panties, literally ripping them off you.

You gasped. “Yoongi!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he mocked your tone from when you broke his choker in the bathroom earlier. He lowered his face between your thighs and used his tongue to circle your clit, kissing and sucking at it.

It was just how you imagined it, but ten times better. You pulled on his hair and he continued to play with you. Your legs twitch with each flick of his tongue. “Yoongi, I want to come,” you begged him to keep going.

He pulled back and you groaned in disappointment.

“Hey…” You looked back down at him to find him slipping his shorts off.

He wasn’t wearing anything under them. He grabbed himself, lubing up his dick with his precum. “You wanna come? I haven’t even been inside you yet,” he taunted you.

You circled your clit with your fingers then spread your lips apart. “Then fuck me.”

He jumped onto you, shoving himself inside you so easily with how wet you were. Your body twitched, you were coming from him just entering you.

“Did you just?” He looked at you with a surprised yet pleased face.

You covered your face in embarrassment. “Yeah…”

“Y/N, you’re so cute,” he began thrusting deep into you.

“Wait, I just came,” you moaned with pleasure and a slight discomfort.

“I’m sorry, I can’t contain myself… Your pussy feels so good…” He bit his bottom lip while continue to pump himself in and out of you, digging his nails into your thigh. His other hand groped at your breasts, playing with your nipples between his fingers.

You watched as he smiled down at the lewd expressions you were making just for him. Your body had calmed down and adjusted to his movements. He picked you up and brought you up to your pillows where he flipped you over face down, ass up. He slammed himself into you once again. The sound of your moans and your ass slapping against him drove him wild. He quickened his pace. His cock deep inside you, hitting your g-spot, made you melt. Drool escaped the corner of your mouth as you moaned in ecstasy, staining your pillow.

He suddenly slowed down his movements. “Hm? What’s this?”

You picked up your head from the pillow to find that he had stumbled upon your cordless hitachi wand that was hidden under your pillow. “That’s um—”

He pressed the small circle button and it began vibrating at the lowest setting. He held you down to prevent you from moving. He placed the wand under you and against your clit as he continued fucking you from behind. When you used the wand, at most you’d have three fingers inside of you, but Yoongi’s cock completely filled you up and you were losing it.

“Do you use this while thinking of me?” He asked then slapped your ass.

“Yes,” you confessed with your face buried in the pillow.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you,” he pulled you by your hair to lift your face up.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I fuck myself while thinking about you. It’s always you and only you.”

He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Good girl.”

“Yoongi, can I come?” You were about to hit your breaking point. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

“So cute for asking… Of course you can. I’m really close too. Your tightness plus the vibrations is making me so weak.” He pressed another button, quickening the vibrations and his thrusts.

You gripped hard on the bed sheets, your body shaking. You muffled your screams with the pillow. “Oh fuck Yoongi, you’re so fucking good. I’m coming.” You felt yourself tighten around his dick as you came. Your body was warm and heavy. You couldn’t move from the sudden release, but Yoongi kept going, grunting under his breath. He turned off the hitachi and tossed it to the side to hold onto your waist, sliding you on his dick.

He leaned over and bit your shoulder. “God, Y/N, I’m going to come.”

“Come inside me,” you begged.

“Are you sure?” His voice sounded harsh and shaky.

“I’m on birth control, it’s okay.”

With your consent, he instantly released inside you, filling you up with his cum. You felt his dick twitch inside of you. He pulled out and plopped down next to you, a mixture of your juices and his cum trailed out. You lied on your side facing him, the two of you catching your breath. You could feel his cum spill out of you.

“Ah, Yoongi, grab the tissue box,” you frantically pointed to your desk.

He jumped up to run for the box and quickly cleaned you up before it leaked onto your bed sheets. You thanked him with a peck on the lips. You got up and walked over to your closet to put on a new pair of panties and an oversized shirt that belonged to Yoongi back in high school.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” he teased while putting his shorts on and lying back down on the bed under the covers.

“Of course I would, it’s special to me,” you smiled at him then walked out of the room to finish cleaning yourself off in the bathroom and then into the kitchen to grab the two of you your own water bottles to hydrate yourselves before you end up with a hangover in the morning. You passed Yoongi a bottle and he chugged it all in under fifteen seconds. You drank until you were more than halfway done and placed the bottle on your nightstand by the bed. You got under the covers and rested your head on his arm as he held you close. You took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m so glad your back.”

“I’m glad to be back.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and the two of you drifted to sleep.

Side note: I ONLY MADE HOBI THE DRIVER BECAUSE HIS CAR NOISES IN RAPS. IM SORRY. Also, I felt that this took awhile to come out but thanks for waiting. (I’m still trying to figure out what to write in The Last Train but I decided to work on this instead because it’s more light on my weak ass broken heart.)

Edit: ok but did anyone get that converse high reference??????

[aardenpress]

The Hunters - Short horror story/crime thriller. A man finds himself on the run from the mysterious "hunters". But things are not always what they seem.

Short horror story/crime thriller. A man finds himself on the run from the mysterious "hunters". But things are not always what they seem. Technorati Tags: serial killer,murder,delusions,killer,paranoid,paranoia,horror short story,horror flash fiction Book Data Edition 1st ISBN 9781301404490 Pages 4 Publication Date Aug. 03, 2013 Publisher n/a Series n/a BCRS Rating CA-16

BCRS ratings? Learn more

The Hunters Mike Ramon Published: 2013 Tag(s): "serial killer" murder delusions killer paranoid paranoia © M. Ramon This work is published under a Creative Commons license (Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0). To view this license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ If you wish to contact the author you can send e-mail to: storywryter@hotmail.com  

 The Hunters

His luck had to run out sometime, he supposed. He had never really had much of it anyway. They had him surrounded. In spite of the desperate situation he was in, he couldn’t suppress a smile at the thought of it; they were out there right now, smug, complacent; sure of their own power. They were hunters who had grown accustomed to easy prey. They thought he was just sitting here in his room, none the wiser, a helpless fool awaiting the slaughter. But he saw them, and saw through them. He had been running from the jackals so long that he could even smell them. There were two of them now, a man and a woman, leaning against a car and locked in an embrace. It was an act, of course. They were just waiting for the word, for some signal to move, to kick in the door of his motel room and snuff him out. Where there were two of them, there were sure to be more. That’s how they operated. He moved away from the window, carefully setting the curtain back in place so that it wouldn’t move too much. The room was dark; he wanted them to think he was asleep. He grabbed the duffel bag that held all of his worldly possessions and lifted the strap over his head, settling it onto his shoulder. The heavy weight of the bag bit into his shoulder, but it wasn’t too bad. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. The bathroom was small, with a toilet, a stand-up shower and a sink crammed into it in such a way that he was sure the architect had been a fan of the game Tetris. The only light was the faint glow of a streetlamp coming in through the opaque window set high above the toilet tank. He unslung the bag and set it down, cramming it under the sink to give himself room to move around. After lowering both the seat and lid of the toilet, he stepped up onto it and reached up to turn the knob that locked the window in place. When he pressed on the window it didn’t want to budge. He pushed harder and his right foot slid out from under him on the smooth surface of the toilet lid. He braced himself against the wall and managed to catch his balance. With his feet planted a little more firmly (he hoped), he tried again. This time the window moved, the bottom edge moving out and up. It moved slowly, but it was moving. When he had pushed the window up as far as it was would go he hopped down off of the toilet and grabbed his bag out from under the sink. He stepped back up onto the toilet and used both arms to lift up the duffel bag, sliding it out the window. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed it, giving the duffel one final big push so that it wouldn’t be in his way when he came down. The bag fell to the ground with a loud thump. The window was too high for him to pull himself up, so he stepped up onto the toilet tank while holding onto the lip of the window for balance. From this new position he was able climb up and through the window, twisting himself around has he did so, so that he was sitting on the windowsill. He tried to back himself out of the window as slowly as he could, trying to get a foot up on the sill, get he lost his balance and fell back, tumbling out of the open window. He hit the ground hard; the wind was knocked out of him, and for a moment tiny bright pinpricks exploded before his eyes, dancing around and disappearing as new points of light bloomed. He lay there for a minute, catching his breath, until the pinpricks all went away. He was fully aware that a clock was ticking somewhere, and that he needed to get away from this place. Still, he waited until he felt he was ready to move on. When he finally gained his feet his head swam a little, but he steadied himself against the brick wall of the building, and in a moment he felt better. He dusted himself off and picked up his bag, slinging the strap back over his head. The motel was at his back and before him there was a big, weedy field; beyond the field there were woods. That was the way, he decided. He started off across the empty field, crouch-running, zigging left and zagging right as he went just in case they had shooters on the roof. When he made it to the woods he dove into the safety of the shadows. Leaning out from behind a tree he looked back the way he had come. He didn’t see any of them; even the roof appeared clear. They must still think he is in the room. Good. He set off through the woods. There were noises in the dark, but they didn’t bother him; they were normal noises, nature noises, little furry animals scurrying to and fro, heavy branches groaning, leaves rustling. He flew through the darkness, an occasional branch whipping him in the face. He tripped over an exposed root and went sprawling, twisting his ankle as he went down. He sat up and moved his foot around in small circles; it hurt, but not terribly. He used the side of a tree to pull himself up, standing on his good foot. He tested the other one hesitantly, putting a little weight on it, and then a little more. It wasn’t so bad. He went on, at a fast walk now that he was not quite able to run. When he came to the edge of the woods he waited for a while. There was a road running past, and he watched, waiting for a car to come along. He wondered if they had made their move yet back at the motel, if they had discovered the empty room. Would they follow him into the woods? Of course they would. But he couldn’t act rashly; that would be a certain death sentence. A pair of headlights was approaching. He unzipped a side pocket of the duffel bag and reached in, grasping the pistol he stashed there. Just in case. He walked out of the woods and to the side of the road. He lifted up his free hand and waved it up high at the oncoming vehicle. The car slowed, and he waited, tense, for some sign of malevolence, some sign that the hunters had been one step ahead of him all along and had known he would end up here, on this road, and had taken precautions. The car stopped, and he bent down to look in the passenger-side window. Relief washed through him. A middle-aged man with a thick mustache was behind the wheel, and a young boy—his son, most likely—was in the passenger seat. The hunters didn’t bring their kids along with them; he knew he was safe. The window rolled down with a low electric whine. “You need a ride?” the driver asked. “Yeah, that would be great.” “Hop in, then. Billy, get in the back.” The boy (Billy, evidently) opened the door and got out of the car, then opened the back door and got back in. The front seat welcomed him, and he got into the car, resting the duffel bag on his lap, and closed the door. He pushed the window button to roll it back up. “Thanks for stopping,” he said with genuine gratitude. You don’t know it, buddy, but you may have just saved my life, he thought. “No hassle,” the driver said. “Where ya headed?” He thought about it, trying to remember the lay of the land from a map of the area he had spent some time studying. “Rich Road,” he answered. “There’s not much around Rich Road. Just a few farms out that way.” “Yeah, my brother has a small farm there. Listen, if it’s out of your way, I—” “No, don’t worry about it; it’s fine,” the driver assured him. They were off. As they drove along the driver turned on the radio, hitting the buttons to switch between a few pre-set stations. A Top 40 station was followed by smooth jazz, which gave way to a country station—the driver certainly had some varied tastes, he thought. Finally the driver settled on a channel that was broadcasting an advertisement for a local window repair company. The ad ended with a jingle: “Don’t despair, don’t hesitate. Dial three-five-five oh-four-six-eight!” The radio spot ended, and after a moment of silence a husky voice broke in: “This is Randy St. Clair with a WNBO ‘update on the eight’. Congress is set to hold a hearing on—” He tuned the voice out. Politics didn’t interest him much. He looked out the window at the passing scenery—or what little of it he could see at that time of night. He didn’t know what his next move was. No matter how fast he ran, they always caught up with him. He’d been running for so long, and he was tired. Sometimes he thought about just putting a bullet in his head and painting a wall with the contents of his skull, just to be done with the whole mess. But he just couldn’t do it. It would give the sons of bitches too much satisfaction to know that they had finally beaten him, that they had won. Fuck ‘em. “Authorities are warning the public to be on the lookout for anyone behaving suspiciously. They think the subject known as the Parcel Killer may be in the area.” This brought his attention back to the radio. “The Parcel Killer earned that nickname because of his habit of sending packages to various news outlets with parts of his victims’ bodies. So far the killer has claimed—” The radio was silenced by the driver. “Terrible,” the driver said. “We’ve got some sick people walking around these days. You know what I mean?” He looked at the driver, who looked back at him for an instant before looking back at the road. In that one brief instant of eye contact he thought he had seen something in the driver’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what it had been, exactly, but there was something there, something that unnerved him. He looked straight ahead at the road, his mind racing. Was it a coincidence that this car just happened to come along when he needed it? There was a kid, sure, but maybe the hunters had gotten a little smarter, had figured that he would never suspect someone who had a kid in the car with them. Maybe they had even trained the kid; stranger things had happened, and didn’t they use child soldiers in Africa all the time? It made a weird kind of sense. He had broken out in a sweat. He risked a look to his left, at the driver. The man appeared to be concentrating on the road, but that didn’t mean much. Hunters could see you when they weren’t even looking at you; he knew that well enough by now. He looked up at the rearview mirror, but the boy was out of his field of vision. What was he up to back there? He could even smell them now, that unmistakable hunter stench. How could he have missed it? His hand slipped into the side pocket of the bag. He moved slowly, without looking down. He kept his gaze on the road, just like he didn’t know any better, like they had him fooled. The pistol grip felt cold in his hand, and that seemed right. It was a cold business he was caught up in. There was a red STOP sign up ahead, and he waited. When the car came to a stop the driver looked to the left for any oncoming traffic; there was none. As the driver turned his head to check in the other direction there was a flash of light, and an explosion of sound that was followed by the sound of the window on the driver’s side shattering as the bullet that tore through his brain exited his skull and hit it. He acted quickly then, on pure instinct. He reached over and put the car in PARK, then turned to face the boy. The boy’s eyes looked like saucers, or two big moons, and his mouth was wide open in a silent scream, the sound that wanted to come out caught in his throat. Another shot, and that young face was gone, replaced by a red and ragged mess. A scream filled the car, and he turned back to the driver in a panic, sure that the man was somehow still alive. But that man was still slumped over in his seat, and most assuredly dead. The scream came again, and he turned to the back seat. He leaned over and looked down, and let out a little gasp at what he saw there. There was a young girl lying flat beside the dead boy. She must have been there the while time; taking a nap, perhaps. He hadn’t seen her, but he knew that if he had it wouldn’t have changed anything. It wasn’t his fault that she was involved. The hunters were so cruel that they didn’t even hesitate to put their own children in harm’s way just to catch their prey. It was terrible, and it was horrifying—but it wasn’t his fault. “I’m sorry, sweetie” he said. One last shot, and it was done. He got out of the car, ran around to the driver’s side and opened the door. He pushed the driver over and got behind the wheel. He drove around for a while, eventually finding an ideal spot, far from the main roads, on a dirt track that looked like it hadn’t been used since the Nixon administration. He killed the engine, got out of the car and pulled all of them out. He took out his bag, unzipped it and pulled out the necessary tools—a saw and a large knife with a serrated edge. Then he got down to business, and it was indeed a cold one. When morning arrived nobody paid much attention to the car that drove up to the post office on Main Street. It parked on the other side of the street, and an average-looking man got out and ran into the P.O. with a small package in his hand. The package was addressed to Randy St. Clair, in care of WNBO, and the return address was phony. When the man came out of the post office he stood for a minute beside the car. Again no one took much notice. The man opened the passenger door and took put a duffel bag, then went around to the back of the car and popped open the trunk. He looked into the trunk with a look on his face that could be described as fascination by anyone who had happened to see it; no one did. No one noticed as the man closed the trunk again, leaving the keys dangling from the lock, or when he walked away, leaving the car behind, disappearing around the Highland Rx. And when something started leaking from the trunk, leaving a small maroon pool on the roadway beneath, no one noticed that either for a time. End Click to Post