#felt much more secure under a weighted blanket than in anybody's arms

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [1] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Mentions of hypothermia/exposure, head injury. Mentions of death. NOTE: This idea has not left me alone and it’s evolved into a thing so here we are. I suppose it is kind of a reader-insert, but it could also just be an original character as things progress. The second person worked pretty well with the plot. 

Slowly blinking open your eyes to almost endless white, it made you think that you had to be dead for a few moments.

Whatever peacefulness that could have been taken from that thought had left you as soon as you could feel the stinging of coldness biting against the skin of your face, burning in waves as you took in a short breath to cough out a wheeze from your lungs. Inhaling brought about a heavy ache in your ribs, but it was almost completely overpowered by the throbbing that came from across your forehead, resting sharply behind your eyes and into your teeth as you let out a low groan. Gingerly, you moved an arm. That didn���t hurt, but it felt heavy, raising it up to be met with an unfamiliar jacket and gloves that you were wearing. The material was stiff with ice and snow, creaking and bending finally with some force.

The cold was now settling heavily into your bones, making your body quake and teeth chatter as you sucked in another deep breath that went in easier than your first.

Where in the hell…?

You...honestly weren’t too sure how you ended up in the situation you were currently in. Most recent memory you had was your uncle talking to you outside your home in...in Tumbleweed. Yeah. What that conversation was about, you had no idea, but it certainly didn’t explain how you ended up in the snow. Slowly, you shifted your legs, the fabric of the clothing you wore stiff and freezing to the touch of your skin. Everything hurt, you could almost feel every ache with each beat of your heart. Still, despite the protest in your ribs and back, along with the heavy swaying in your head, you had managed to gather yourself to a stand.

The sharp winds whipped around you, the area cast in white outside of a few cliff edges and, upon looking up, you could see more of the mountain side that you had been laying at the bottom of. Had you fallen? Maybe. It certainly felt like it. Yet, it still didn’t explain how you were on that cliff edge to fall off in the first place. Still, standing around to freeze to death wasn’t a good plan and you started to stumble your way toward more of the edge you had been laying on.

It took quite some time before you were able to pull yourself up onto a flatter and wider surface, the mountain yawning open before you as you stared down into the crevices and drops. Eventually, you seemed to find something that seemed like actual ground, dead vegetation peeking out from under the thick blanket of snow. With the snowstorm raging, it was hard to make sense of where you were. You couldn’t see anything but snow. Any hope of finding smoke or signs of life was fleeting as you realized just how bad the situation was. Your limbs shook and it felt like you were walking with large rocks tied around your legs.

Time seemed to slow and stretch, the skin exposed to the snow and air outside burning and stinging as you continued to walk in any direction. Though, upon hearing the sound of rushing water and more trees appearing around you, it was enough to push you into following it down toward a river.

Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you decided to follow it up to wherever it may lead. Death or salvation, it was hard to see but you figured the cold would drop you eventually if it was your time.

Nightfall brought more challenges than you were really aware of.

With how mindlessly you seemed to press on, it was easy to not really notice how quick the light around you was fading, the cold biting your skin almost feeling like open flame at this point, yet you couldn’t seem to feel much. Your jaw, your fingers, your legs. It caused a couple stumbles and falls, your body almost begging you to just lay down in the snow and go to sleep. Yet, in the back of your mind you knew that was a terrible idea. So, each time you gathered yourself on whatever strength you could gather before carrying on to follow that river.

As it would turn out, you had at least made the correct choice there. Really, it was hard to focus with the exhaustion that was settling in, but eventually you found yourself wandering down toward more packed snow. A path. There were fading horse tracks that were stretching on out through the trees. So, abandoning the river, you decided to follow those. Really, every moment seemed to stretch on for hours, your legs weak and aching as you continued to push your way through the snow, but the more compact bits at least gave you some relief from that. Though, it still felt like the weight on your legs was pulling you down further and further with each step.

However, some lights appeared ahead. Dim and barely there, but it was enough to have you walking toward them. Eventually, you could start to make out some buildings, frozen and rotting out in the snow like you could feel yourself starting to do. Though, the horses had you making quick strides, seeing some figures moving about and stepping into a building that left you alone to wander into the rundown area. Upon seeing the small fire sitting out in front of one of the buildings, you almost stumbled over yourself to get near it. Falling like a sack of bricks, you collapsed down into the snow beside it, the heat almost hurting in a similar way the cold did but you wanted that more than anything else at the moment.

However, that relief was short lived as you heard something shift behind you, an unfamiliar voice calling out with words that didn’t really register in your mind. Though, you groaned at the feeling of hands gripping at your shoulders, rolling you over none to gently onto your back as you blinked, your eyes taking a moment to register the figure above you and the barrel of a gun shoved near your face. If there were words in that moment, you couldn’t seem to find them as you parted your mouth, lips flaking and dry from the cold.

“...Oh--Oh, god, you’re alive.”

The weapon was instantly dropped, the hands gripping at you loosening some as the figure bent down some into the firelight as you could make out the face of an older man. He was bundled up, scarf around his neck. You groaned slightly upon him sitting you up, the momentarily forgotten pain in your ribs and back coming back suddenly with a sharp flare. You could feel him move your arm up and around his shoulders, raising you up to your feet again. A protesting sound escaped you as you reached out toward the warmth of the fire again, your legs feeling limp.

“We can get you to a warmer place than this, dear, c’mon,” the man said, pulling you along toward another building as you forced your legs to work again, “Grimshaw! Anybody! I need help out here!”

A few moments passed before sure enough a door opened into another dimly lit building, a woman stepping outside before she paused as the man tried to lead you toward her.

“Get her inside, quick!” she exclaimed, taking your free arm somewhat gently from under the elbow as you were pulled forward by the two of them. There were many people inside, it almost looked like some sort of hall with pews to sit on and someone laying on a bed at the far end of it.

“We need blankets, spare jackets, anythin’,” the other man ordered from near your head, helping you walk toward a fireplace, where your legs almost gave out again before you were finally allowed to lay down on the somewhat warm floor nearby. “Found her curled up near the scout fire outside, probably would have been dead by mornin’.”

“Well, Mr. Matthews, I should hope that won’t be the case with her doin’ so in here…” the woman spoke up again, a heavy blanket wrapped around you as she secured it around your head and back. “That wound on her head doesn’t look good.”

Really, you almost couldn’t feel it with how numb a lot of your body had become. Though, you soaked in the warmth from the fire and the blanket as you rested your head against the rough wood of the floor. There were some heavy footfalls approaching from where you had entered, your gaze focused on the flames as you didn’t have the energy to lift your head to see who had just walked in. Though, you could see a bit of the figure of Mr. Matthews turned to glance toward who had entered.

“We heard the commotion,” a new, gruff voice stated, a small ping of familiarity there but it was almost so small it floated into the back of your mind in light of everything, “The hell’s goin’ on?”

“Arthur…” Mr. Matthews started, a small silence following before a pair of boots appeared in your field of vision, a new man dropping down onto a knee as you felt a hand resting on top of the blanket covering your head. Gingerly, you turned your head up slightly to look into his face, shock and concern heavily resting in his features as you blinked up at him. He shifted the hand down slightly, hovering over where the wound on your head likely sat before he let out a breath.

“Christ...I thought you’d died, darlin’...” he muttered, laying a warm hand against your cheek that you soaked in if only for the feeling against your frozen skin. You dropped your gaze as he glanced up to address the people behind you. “Micah’d said…”

“Perhaps he was wrong,” Mr. Matthews muttered, letting out a sigh as you felt a hand grip at your shoulder as the man in front of you returned his gaze to your face. He looked at you as if he knew you, yet…

You let out a slow breath, groaning slightly as you tried to find the words that had been shut out behind your chattering teeth and chapped lips from the journey to the place you currently were residing in.

“I-I...I have...n-no idea who...any ‘f you are.”

[outroshooky]

waiting for the sky to fall | jjk

⇢ genre: series; part one (i-saw-you-on-the-subway-every morning-this-week-and-i’m-possibly-in-love-with-you!au) (fluff)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

⇢ word count: 6.3k

⇢  warnings: brief instance of anxiety; probably too much rambling about how pretty jeongguk is when he exists like that

⇢ a/n: a dearest birthday present for the love of my life and platonic soulmate @guksheart. cait, i cannot believe we have been a part of each other’s lives for over a year now. i adore you so so much and i am so proud of the bold, compassionate, wonderfully gay, fierce yet gentle, considerate, accepting, lovely woman that you are. i would not trade our sisterhood for the world, and i still cannot believe that you are coming to new york in a mere matter of months. i can only hope that we’ll have adventures like this one when you do.

this is heavily inspired by the commute i took to visit my friend in the city over the summer!! kudos to columbia university for loaning me some much-needed inspiration, although i never fell in love with anybody on the way there.

part one of the verses and vibes series. part two will be uploaded on december 20, 2019.

“bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art—   not in lone splendour hung aloft the night   and watching, with eternal lids apart,   like nature’s patient, sleepless eremite,”

⤷ “bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art”; john keats

10:57pm.

Call it 11, it’s close enough.

Eleven o’clock in the evening.

A sacred time, those great appreciators of the universe would say. It is amazing how, as the wind caresses your hair with breezy fingers, there are some who walk the city streets below without pause. Some who cannot understand the sanctity of such a time, the security that comes with the blanket of nightfall— if you could call it nightfall in the heart of such a metropolis.

Below you beats a rhythm akin to the one in your soul, beneath the skin of your merely human chest. A home you’d heard so much about, fallen in love with before you’d even met, and god it couldn’t have felt more right. Over the edge of the balcony is utter chaos: taxi cabs honk an irregular staccato, the open! sign of the ramen shop one block over flickers its own neon melody. People shout, brakes screech, doors bang, dogs bark; to anybody else, it would be utter madness but to you- to you, it is simply home.

The ambient light mutes the glow of so many stars that pinprick the sky millions of miles above, arcing across the heavens in so many celestial designs. If you squint, you can pick out Casseopia, maybe even Ursa Major through the dim haze. The stars are far and few between, but it’s a quick glance to your left and right and you’re surrounded by majestic masterpieces, this time of a manmade design.

When you were younger, you used to muse that skyscrapers not only scraped the bright blue sky so far above, but supported the very cosmos itself with the slight curve in their arching backs. They bore the weight of the world, shouldering the immense task of keeping the stratosphere aloft. For a skyscraper to crumble was for the sky to fall, and yet you’d never seen one even waver in the wind.

Later, of course, you would learn that this was not the case. Earth herself kept the stratosphere in good health, and those wonderfully tall buildings existed as testaments to man’s great ability. However, there was a quiet part of you that still entertained the fantasy (as all of us do, in one way or another). And why not? It's moments like this, where you are surrounded by the dizzying breadth of the world out there and you can taste the sweetness of the universe’s ambrosia, that have you thinking twice about it all. Who says that we can't hold up the sky? Who says we don't spend our lives wondering, even if just a little bit, when the pillars will collapse and the sky itself will cave in one shuddering breath? Who decides when the Sun will burn, the Moon will freeze, when life as we know it tumbles to ash and dust?

“Baby?” His fingers interlock over yours, warm against the cool of the balcony railing. “Everything okay?”

His chest is warm against your back, grounding in its familiarity. You could name the planes and angles of his body like you could name the asterisms that freckle the night sky. He smells like cucumber soap when you turn and nuzzle into his neck, the damp locks of his hair tickling your forehead. You usually tease him when he’s post-shower like this, the bangs that tumble past his cheekbones giving the impression of a shaggy mop, but you spare him tonight. He squeezes over your hand, palm flush against your knuckles as your cheeks heat against his neck. 

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just taking a moment.”

Jeongguk tilts his head skyward, but he’s already got the universe in his eyes, wide and fawn. His chest rumbles when he speaks, soft velvet, a little gritty. “It's so beautiful out here.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” you raise your head to reply, brushing your nose to the column of his throat.

He’s got good composure but he's blushing now, between the lateness of the hour and the softness of your skin. He may smell of Dove and there’s a pimple dotting his cheek, but you’re stunning in the light and there’s a faint air of something sweet; if it’s your skin or your soul, he can’t decide. Perhaps both but he can’t help himself; his lips find your forehead and your eyes flutter shut. Contentment so simple, so lovely. 

His arm slides around your shoulders and the way you fit into his side is divine insistence. The other half you never knew you had, and yet at one time, it wasn’t this way. Hard to believe, but that’s the reality of it, and you never even knew he filled a gap in your heart until the deed was done, and there was nothing you could do to unplug the hole.

He kisses your temple and you kiss his shoulder, exposed by the dip of his t-shirt. “Come to bed, baby.”

“But it’s so nice out here,” you whine. 

“It’s late and you have class in the morning,” he coaxes quietly, his accented English gentle in your ears. “Come on.” His fingers slip from your own and you sigh, giving in.

“But you have to carry me inside.”

His eyes roll but he’s already stooping, and when he scoops you into his arms to press a kiss to your nose- he just can’t help himself- you poke his cheek and he grins a smile as warm as the lazy afternoon sun. “I love you.”

“I love you twice that amount.”

Jeongguk takes the balcony in stride, nudges the sliding door open with his foot. “Yeah, well I love you fifty times that amount. Squared.”

He kicks it closed behind him as you raise an eyebrow. “Cheater.”

“I’ll throw you on the bed, swear to god.”

“You’re mean,” You retort. 

“No I’m not.” He turns the light off on his way in, bumps the bedroom door shut with his impossibly slender hip. “I’ll be the big spoon if you take that back.”

Bedsheets under your fingertips. “Fine.”

It is hard to believe that, merely a year ago, you would be coming inside to an empty bed. Merely a year ago, your world would be silent, save the busy hum outside your apartment windows. Merely a year ago, you hadn’t a clue that your world was about to turn upside down, flipped on its axis and spun into chaos in ways you’d never even considered possible. Merely a year, but a lifetime spent sitting, waiting, wishing- twiddling your thumbs, chewing on your fingernails, anxiously hoping for something, anything.

And that’s when, exactly three-hundred and sixty-four days ago, the columns gave out in a rush of dust, the cosmos itself unraveling at the seams of early morning.

 Momentary silence, a stifled yawn. “Come cuddle.”

A sleepy, breathy, near-whisper. “Will you be the big spoon?”

Jeongguk chuckles, breath soft. “Always, baby girl. Always.”

one year before

There’s no better alarm clock than a caramel macchiato, sipped through tired lips and bleary eyes on the chaos of a Monday morning in the subway. You are far from a morning person, as evidenced by the death grip on your Starbucks cup, but you feel just a little more human with the help of four espresso shots and a pump of hazelnut. Having an off-campus apartment means it’s a roughly twenty minute subway ride between home and school, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when there’s not much of a difference between the two.

To be frank, the city is home- a comfort you never expected, the subject of a thousand love letters never to be written but in the deepest cavities of your soul. The grime of the sidewalks, the gritty rumbling of the subways, artful graffiti and corner bubble tea and a little bit of pride, thrumming in the deepest recesses of necessity. The city in which you grew up is merely a square foot to the square acres that are your romping ground now.

The wires of your headphones snake around your scarf, bundled up around your shoulders. It is that wonderful time before fall bleeds over completely into winter, a lingering cool breath, and arguably the best season of all. Thus, you are perfectly comfortable underneath a warm jacket, backpack slung across your shoulder as you swipe your card, pass through the turnstiles and on to the waiting train just across the platform.

The subway car rattles beneath you with a groan, darkness rushing past in so many variants of orange from the neon lights that dotted the tunnels. Around you, bodies press tight on the morning commuter train; in any other circumstance, it would make you anxious, but there’s an odd feeling of security it grants. The train slows, pulling into the next station, and you focus your attention on the page of Madeline Miller’s latest bestseller.

At the next station, the car decompresses as travelers shift, and you are left a moment to breathe before the train will inevitably fill again, two stops from now. Next to you, a purple jacket brushes your shoulder. Just above the top of your book, a pair of black Timberlands pauses before turning towards you and settling. 

There really is no reason at all why these Timberlands would be special. There's no reason at all why your eyes find it necessary to track upwards, no reason why you should have glanced up from your delightful novel for the sake of one commuter’s settling. No reason at all why, as your eyes followed skinny jean-clad thighs to a leather jacket, and further, further.

His caramel-streaked hair brushes his cheekbones, styled in a way you’d typically call bedhead, but on him looks like art. His brow is soft yet defined, much like his jawline, cutting narrow. His lips are perfectly pink, a gentle pout, and his graceful nose a button. His shoulders are broad, the taper of his waist impossibly slender but hidden under the folds of his ridiculously oversized t-shirt. 

And his eyes- his eyes. 

You have poured over literature for hours upon hours, soaking in poetry and epics and novels alike, yet you have never understood what the poets meant until this very moment.

His eyes are the café au lait you sip on sunny afternoons, the sweetness of a chocolate bar, the warmth of a woolen blanket in wintertime. They glint with the light of a thousand stars but shine with the depth of a thousand galaxies, each and every one a testament to the great work of the universe. It is as if he holds the very cosmos in his pupils, and your breath is stolen from your lungs without a second thought. 

He is stunningly beautiful but goes completely unnoticed by everyone else in the car, it seems, as the train picks up speed. There is no greater punishment than tearing your gaze away from him when you realize you've been staring too long to be socially acceptable. You force yourself to return back to your novel but end up reading the same line five times over, too distracted by the shift of his heels, the way he toys with the straps of his rucksack. 

Part of you aches every time the train car fills, obscuring your view of the handsome stranger. Each time, you’re left wondering if he's moved, but each time, the crowds part to find him still seated on the garish plastic bench, glued to his iPhone. Your stop is the next and you can't help but feel anxious about getting up, about turning face and walking out of the train car. Your heart rattles an irregular tempo as you snap your book shut (still on the same page as twenty minutes ago), gather your things, and carefully stand amid the gently rocking car. He doesn't even look up at your sudden movement, and there's a part of you that is somehow irrationally crushed. 

The train grinds to a halt and the doors slide open, and you spare one last longing look before striding across the grimy tile, minding the gap between the train and the platform. Foolish of you to want to stop your day for the sake of an attractive stranger. Foolish of you to think his day would stop, either. 

With a muffled curse behind you, footsteps thud and voices grumble as a mop-haired boy with a rucksack on his shoulder bursts his way out of the train car, having nearly forgotten that this is his stop, too. When something brushes your arm as you jog up the stairs, you nearly drop your Starbucks with the realization that he is unintentionally keeping pace with you across the stairwell, lost behind the curtain of his fawn locks. 

Anxiety melts to curiosity as you weave through the station, matching pace all the while as you’re spit out onto the street from underground and walk the mere half block to your university gates. He hesitates under them, a touch of nerves, but shakes his head and continues on under the tree-covered path of the quad. You lose him somewhere by the Economics building, heading towards the library as you turn towards Hamilton Hall, but the excited thrill in your veins outweighs any and all disappointment.

You're practically glowing during 8am lecture, dancing on air through your lunch break when you think you spot him across the dining hall, but in fact it's just that guy from your math gen-ed. You’d never admit to a stranger consuming your thoughts, but here’s a nagging feeling at the back of your skull as you zip up your bag at the end of your day and head towards the corner station. 

A typical Monday indeed?

Anything but. 

It was certainly unconventional, the way you launched yourself out of bed the next morning in favor of tripping into a pair of jeans and dashing to fix your hair in the bathroom mirror. You haven't put so much effort into getting ready in months, and factoring in time for a dab of makeup left you skipping breakfast in favor of slinging your bag over your shoulder to rush out the door on time.

An iced Americano restores breath to your lungs, but does nothing to soothe the jitter in your bouncing knee as the train doors shut and a voice crackles over the intercom, unintelligible. A chocolate croissant is light on your tongue, memories of the flaky pastry crossing your mind only to be drowned out by thoughts of the next station and the promises it holds.

With no novel in hand, it is easy for your eyes to flick to the crowd as the train slows coming into the station. Effortlessly, you pick him out even with the white mask across the lower half of his face obscuring his nose and mouth. His visage is scrawled, it seems, on the inside of your eyelids; it danced throughout your Human Behaviors class, teased you through the late night of cramming for midterms. You hoped the concealer would cover the dark spots under your eyes, but you couldn't be certain.

As the doors slide open and the crowd surges forward, you lose him for a moment in the streams and flows of people coming and going. He appears just down the car, button-down rolled at the elbows, and even from a distance you feel your cheeks heat as he finds an empty seat just across the aisle.

Yesterday, his jacket hid him to the knuckles under the security of worn leather. But today, pushed sleeves reveal the ink snuggled tight around his wrist, curling its way up his forearm to snake hidden under the folds of the unbuttoned dress shirt he so casually threw over another plain black t-shirt. Sunflowers and daisies and blossoms you can't even name bloom in color across his skin, geometric designs etching sculpture into living marble. He is a magnum opus through and through, bearing so many works of art on the canvas of his flesh.

The white wires of his headphones leave him oblivious to the world, the galaxies in his pupils twinkling under the stark white light. He is wholly unbothered by a group of high school girls tittering to his left, the judging eyes of the older gentleman to his right. He simply exists in all of his beauty, whether the world wishes to love him or not.

And then his eyes find you.

It is only for a moment, but his gaze renders you breathless, mind spinning, pulse racing. He blinks owlishly, staring only for a second, two, but it's long enough to feel your heart ricochet around your chest, caged butterflies in your chest soar against the crest of your ribcage. They dart in tandem, beating their fragile wings with a fluttering pulse; you swear you’re reduced to a mere teenager at the sight of him, and that’s just ridiculous. The train car around you is suspended; it is hard to believe you are breathing the same air merely a few paces away, but you are and it is him and the depth of his soul is staring you blind in the face.

You don’t know him but you know him, all at once. He says a thousand sweet nothings with the shine of the lights in his eyes, promises commandments to keep when his lashes flutter against the apples of his cheeks. He is a complete stranger but somehow, someway, a known companion. His fingers twitch against the fabric of his jeans and you wonder what they would feel like wrapped around yours, memorizing every divot with a careful reverence. How they would brush your hip when he pulls you against his side, how they would pull at you craving more, more, more— 

A spice of cologne curls under your nose, a little floral, a little sweet. Perhaps it’s his, the scent that clings to his pillow in the morning and his jacket in the evening. The tap of the woman’s foot to your left is the beat of his footsteps on the creaky apartment floor as he announces he’s home, he’s brought dinner; life is simple and content—

He nods his head to the beat that flows quick through his headphones, eyes shut, in his own world. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to share on your morning commute, fingers entwined with coffee in one hand but music in your heart—

Bodies around you ebb and flow, but the flurry is nothing compared to the images that swirl in front of you. Tracing his tattoos with the lightest touch, laughing till his nose scrunches at a shitty pun, early kisses and late-night touches. The warmth in his eyes when you do something stupid, the comfort in your arms around his shoulders when he’s doubting himself—

It’s a misplaced elbow to your ribs that jolts you out of reverie as the older gentleman seated next to you creaks to his feet. You wince and open your mouth to complain, but not before taking in the empty seat across the train car, devoid of leather and ink and beauty.

Where did he g— 

That’s when the car doors slide shut and you, all too soon, come to a stunning realization:

The handsome stranger whom you have just spent twenty minutes daydreaming about is gone, nowhere to be seen, lost in the crowd of chaos that is the city.

And you have completely missed your stop.

Well, it’s a damn good thing taxi cabs exist.

Your alarm does not go off on Wednesday morning. Perhaps a fatal mistake, because by the time your dreary eyes crack open at the suspicious amount of rest you’re getting for the middle of the week, you are supposed to leave your apartment in eight minutes— shower, breakfast, makeup, and all.

Perhaps there is a god looking out for you after all, because you manage to make it out of the house only two minutes later (although just about all of the above had to wait). Your stomach grumbles as your feet trod down the littered stairs of the station, an insistent reminder that the last meal you had was ten hours ago, and you really need to eat sooner rather than later. No time meant no coffee meant cold hands, an unfortunate consequence, and you’re shivering your way through the turnstiles onto the train as the wind bites cool at the back of your neck.

You’re still drowsy from sleep, a ten page paper having kept you awake, so it is no surprise that you nod off on the train. You’re not sure when your mind clears of soporific fog, but when your eyes flutter open, the one person you’ve been waiting for is seated in front of you with his elbow slung across a backpack next to him, propping up his head as he too drifts off. A raven cloth mask covers his nose and his mouth, his eyelashes brushing the curve of his cheeks, a bit crimson from the chill. A binder slips crooked under his arm, threatening to topple to the floor. Squinting at the train board means you’ve got two stops left and you force yourself upright, rubbing your eyes only to wince at their dryness.

Though your eyes ache and sleep tugs at your bones, he is worth staying awake for as his body sways with the rhythm of the car. Around you, everyone is immersed in their own little slices of the world, completely oblivious to another tired traveler. There’s a scar on his cheek and a tiredness about him, and your heart, two sizes too big, aches for something you don’t quite understand. One station passes without interruption and he is still asleep, draped over his backpack with his notebook slipping further, further. 

The train rounds the final bend, brakes screeching as it pulls into the station. The sudden deceleration is enough to send the stranger’s binder, packed with papers, spinning to the floor of the train just as you stand to gather your things. A few index cards here, some loose green and white papers there, and he is somehow still asleep through all of this, surrounded by oblivious minds and occupied hearts.

You have approximately five seconds to make a decision before the train fills with a swell of new passengers.

You don’t have to think when you’ve already made your choice.

Forgoing the cleanliness of your jeans, you stoop to the floor, scrabbling the spilled contents of paper and a pencil and a spare Chapstick into the mouth of the binder. People are already beginning to spill through the door, but you’re pushing your way through without a second glance, feet pounding the steps underneath you. You follow the beam of light that pours underground, cutting corners and rushing staircases until you are facing a narrow city block and the buildings that reach on tiptoe to kiss the heavens. The sun’s caress is warm on your cheeks as you stride through the gates, ever stony in their stoicism, and find a shady bench to sit and organize the mess in your hands.

It is a simple black binder filled to the brim with notebook paper, neat handwritten ideas that dissolve into simplistic sketches and jotted thoughts. You don’t mean to read it, you really don’t, but as you tuck the pencil into the neon green case looped through the rings, a single form catches your eye: an advertisement for the show in the greater library this weekend, set up by the architecture majors showcasing their designs in conjunction with the fine arts students.

He does fine arts? That must be the sketches in these pages. But perhaps it’s a casual hobby for him? Maybe he’s only interested in it and not actually pursuing it as a major. There’s Korean on this too; is he an international student? How long has he been going here? Why isn’t he dorming on campus with the others—  

A cough in front of you, and when you glance upward, you nearly choke in surprise.

Hazel shines russet when his eyes catch the light that filters through the trees, twinkling with something unknown when they meet your own. His hair is tucked under a beanie, vivid red against the muddy brown of his oversized sweater. His mask is pulled down to his chin as he fidgets in front of you, twisting his fingers with almost a childlike nervousness. His lips part, plush, a little chapped. “Can I have that?”

His English is sweet, accented on the ears, a softer tone than you’re expecting, but you don’t mind it. Curse your nerves and your sweaty palms! “Oh! Yeah, sure!” You nearly shove the binder at him and he blinks owlishly, taking a moment to examine its contents, making sure nothing is out of place while you ramble on and on. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get it back to you on the train, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to bother you, especially since here that’s typically just not what people do, you know how they are- Oh, your pencils and things are inside the pencil case, I figured they would be too much to try to carry around before I found you, you know? And I didn’t want anything to get lost; I hate when things of mine go missing and I tend to be so scatterbrained.” You chortle nervously as he hugs the binder to his chest.

A small smile blossoms on the stranger’s face and you get the feeling there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t know how. Instead, he bows graciously, a little pink in the cheeks, and states simply, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, really! Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’d want someone to do for me and since I’ve seen you only recently on the morning train, I didn’t quite know if you’re new to campus or you’ve been here a while and just moved or something like that-” He’s still staring, eyes wide, and you realize you’ve been talking for far too long. “But ah, I’m sorry! Continue on, yeah? Have a good day!” You ramble, internally kicking yourself. Damn your loose tongue and damn this man for being so infernally, unfairly attractive.

He blushes even deeper, face flushing crimson, and shoulders his backpack. “You too…?” When he trails off, you realize he’s waiting for your name and nearly trip over your own tongue getting the syllables out. He repeats it once and nods, extending a hand. “My name is Jeongguk.”

The way his fingers brush yours is ingrained in the softness of your skin for the rest of your day, in the touch of cologne that lingers in the autumn air long after he’s gone to class. He is the sweetness of your afternoon Starbucks and the freckles of the night sky, dotted through the ambient fog that settles over the city with all the comfort of a blanket. Somehow, someway, there’s a name to the face.

A very handsome face, to boot.

You wake early that Thursday, early enough that you have time to wrap yourself in the fuzziest blanket you own and pad to the window to gaze out upon the city as it wakes slowly, block by block.

The city is sleepy too, rosy glow hanging lazily over the skyline, reluctant to slip into the brightness of daytime. It slumps against the skyscrapers, vibrant fingers brushing the glass with the softest caresses, whispering sweet nothings to the minds that rest just behind the other side. Perhaps dawn enjoys pampering her city like this, with the kindest affirmations and the prettiest, warmest eyes. 

From your apartment window, it is as if first light is melting away, slipping lower and lower as the cracked-egg yolk of the sun leaks over the harbor, spilling over the urban jungle. As you stand, blanket around your shoulders and bathed in the beauty of early morning, a thought strikes you, a minute snippet of profound reality.

It is still on your mind as your feet cross the platform an hour later, effortlessly stepping over the gap into the narrow confines of the train car. It’s busier this morning and thus your usual seat is taken, leaving you to stand and cling for dear life to the pole. A stranger brushes your arm and someone pushes against your backpack, your throat tightening in response. Oh, how you hated busy days. Anxiety blurs your surroundings, swirling in color and breath and heat around you, an unfocused Polaroid. It is blurry and nothing is right, and the doors are opening and closing, opening and closing, and then there’s a new face pressing to your left, and your entire world melts at the very seams.

It is him. Him! He is here and real and in front of you, and has opted to completely ignore his usual (empty) seat in favor of standing with you, a kindly smile gracing the corners of his lips and he ducks his head into your field of view. His eyes flick to yours and the bokeh clears, your heart thrumming happily at the warmth they contain. His fingers grip above your own as he shifts to make sure others can flow around him; you take in that little scar on his cheek, the moles that dot his neck just under the folds of his jacket, the subtle lick of ink that dips into his collarbone. You can just make out the hum that trickles from his headphones over the rattling of the train, a melodic undertone, and his head dips to check his phone.

You’re the one to nudge Jeongguk when it’s your mutual stop, him flinching with surprise when he realizes how fast the ride has gone, and as you follow up through the station, you find that you are no longer trailing him, but instead by his side. He opts to walk next to you; when you tilt your head, asking the silent question, he merely smiles and pushes the pace just a bit. When you’re chasing sunlight on stone, borne out of the street into the mouth of the day, you find yourselves under the university gates, side by side. He takes out his earbuds, fidgeting with the wires as one foot taps the sidewalk. He’s nervous. “I just wanted to say thank you for getting my book yesterday,” he begins. “Properly thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Jeongguk!” You grin, perhaps a little flushed. “Anytime, really.”

Now it’s his turn to redden, shuffling in place. “Ah, is there anything I can do to return the favor?”

“Jeongguk, don’t be silly! Well…” you trail off. “Answer me one question. What’re you majoring in?”

He beams a little at this, glancing at the sidewalk. “I’m studying architecture here for a year; I’m from Seoul. I’m also learning English.” He winces. “Or trying to.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job. It’s amazing that you’re learning architecture in an urban environment like this!” You gesture above as a flock of pigeons flutters past. Like a damn Disney film. 

His eyes follow the birds as they swoop above the street, ducking under lamps and through scaffolding. “It’s different from Seoul, but also like Seoul. I like it,” he confesses. “I really like the city. Any city is my city, not just Seoul. You know?”

God, he is so cute, it hurts. Hearing him talk is flowers blooming snug in your chest, winding around your nerves, soothing their live-wire ends. You can’t help but smile at him. “I know.”

“I don’t want to keep you too long…” Jeongguk hesitates as the bell in the clocktower resonates down the commons. “Class starts soon.”

You frown. “Too soon. Want to grab lunch over at Fourteenth?”

His brows furrow. “Fourteenth?”

“Fourteenth and Tenth, yeah. There’s a cute little cafe on the corner, great for people watching and Americanos. And bubble tea. There’s ramen a few shops down, too.”

“Ramen!” Jeongguk practically vibrates in excitement. You swear your face will crack from how hard you’re grinning, from shyness or joy or both. His nose scrunches; your stomach flutters. “Can I have your number? Wait, is that too direct? May I have your phone?” He shakes his head but you’re already handing him your device, a new contact at the ready.

“Text me when you get out of class. I’ll show you how real ramen is supposed to taste.”

Jeongguk raises a hand in farewell, slipping his own phone back into his pocket. You’ll never know that he saved your contact under 귀여운 여행자, nor that he suddenly has a reason to stay awake through his 8am.

And when he spots you sitting there under the Alma Mater a few hours later, his heart skips a beat in its chest. His phone vibrates in his hand.

Ready to eat?

He was born ready.

There’s a poetry book you like to read on Friday morning subway rides, one that filters breath into your lungs and stirs the lyrics in your heart. You soak up the comforts of literature with a mocha in the other hand, lo-fi in your ears, and obnoxiously colored plastic supporting your back. How wonderful life could be in all of its simple joys.

There’s warmth at your side in the form of a boy, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the galaxy in his heart who asked if he could sit next to you and with a pounding in your chest, you gladly accepted, moving your bag to your lap and returning to your Keats, singing cants of yearning all these years later.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever--or else swoon to dea—

A note is tucked into your open page, a folded piece of cream-white paper, smooth at the edges, unwrinkled. You glance up at him to find his gaze steadily fixed on a grayed gum stain, knee jumping up and down, up and down as he fingers the rip in his frayed jeans. You unfold the paper slowly, carefully.

Are you busy on Sunday afternoon? Because I’d really like to take you to an art exhibition on campus, and I think you’d look right at home among the masterpieces.

Jeongguk’s focus is on the floor and the floor alone as his stomach twists. Butterflies beat their wings against his ribcage, darting here and there, and he swears that if the train sways one more time, he may throw up his bagel right there and then.

He feels something at his right jacket pocket and flinches, only to notice it is your hand that retreats from it a second later.

He produces a familiar looking scrap of paper from his pocket with trembling fingers, unfolding it anew as he reads a new line of scribbled letters, squinting a little at the cramped figures.

An art exhibition? Sounds like a perfect first date to me.

And that’s how this beautiful thing begins.

an epilogue (of sorts): one year and one day later

There is a thought you had many moons ago, in the heart of a child but nestled in a timeless soul. A thought that was purely fantasy: of mankind supporting the weight of the heavens with the structures that scratch the sky around your tiny little apartment, shared not by one soul, but two. Never before had someone so fallen into your heart like he had, cradling it in his palms with sweet, sweet adoration. Jeongguk was yours and you were his, and that was simply how things were.

You had moved in shortly after you began dating, a decision some criticized but had felt purely natural to the both of you. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him, easy to let him into the world you had built for yourself now expanding to fit one more.

He introduced you to Korean barbecue and held you when things wouldn’t go your way; you dragged him into the vortex of John Mulaney’s comedy and cried together while binging all seven Harry Potter movies in two days. He taught you some Korean while you polished his English, supplementing it with words he perhaps didn’t need to know, but you couldn’t help laughing when he mashed profanities in brand-new combinations. He loved tea and quiet nights on the couch; you craved the intimate moments high above it all, watching your city rush beneath you in all of its gritty, grimy, wonderful glory. Jeongguk’s pen scratches the page of his sketchbook as you gaze out at the lights that flicker in the apartment buildings seated securely in midtown, downtown, beyond.

We will never know when the sky decides to fall, to come crashing down to earth in all of her heavenly splendor. It is something known only in the fabric of the universe, stitched together in cosmic threads we cannot even hope to unravel. Not yet, anyways. It will come to us eventually, when it is time, comfortably so. In the meantime, you’ll look out over the balcony railing of your little studio apartment uptown, the night air breathing clear, with a blanket wrapped around your legs and Jeon Jeongguk by your side, unceasingly himself.

And that is everything you can ask for in this life and the next.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling at the Seams Pt 10

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC, Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: Again, I want to thank everyone of you for reading this and the feedback. muah muah *kiss kiss*

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for the header :D

Catch Up Here

Going to bed angry wasn't a habit that Nell ever wanted to get into, which is why she did her best to never go to sleep while angry at someone. Until last night. She'd gone to be angry with Henry and his stupid suggestions. How dare he want to willingly put their son into that kind of pressure. Ivan was smart and far too old for his age, but he was still a child.

A parent was supposed to protect their child, not feed them to the media wolves.

She'd gone to bed ahead of Alex, telling him that she needed to clear her mind and spend a little bit of time trying to sort through her thoughts and feelings. Like a fool, Alex had let her go.

He should have followed her, despite her words, he should have asked her what was on her mind. Coaxed her until she told him everything. It's what you did with someone you cared about, especially when you were supposed to be their partner. Of course that was the problem, daily Alex was feeling less like a partner and more like a coping mechanism.

By the time he returned, Henry would be ready to leave, Alex was feeling encouraged by that. Henry gone there was a possibility that the Nell he had met and fallen for would come back. She had been hesitant, but there had been that spark. It was undeniable. Alex had felt it the night he'd taken her out for a drink – even more so the first time they'd had sex.

God she drove him crazy.

Quiet, he laid in bed watching her sleep. His alarm was set to go off in half an hour, he had four hours until his flight and wanted to be ready to roll when the cab showed up. He had it all rehearsed in his mind, collecting his bags leaving Nell with a kiss and a promise to see her when he came back.

She'd been asleep when he came to bed, fitful and anxious through the night, he had dodged her elbow at least twice to save from getting a black eye. Laying with his right arm around her, holding her to his chest, Alex kissed the top of her head gently. Wanting to see her before he left and wanting her to rest, he felt torn.

Oh how he wanted to wake her. To hold her and feel her warm body against his. Foolish boy. It would never be more than a wistful hope. For now she was his. In his bed. In his arms. And he was going to enjoy it.

Nell snuffled and frowned in her sleep, bringing her hand up to brush away whatever was tickling the back of her neck. Grumbling and shivering at the air blowing against her skin. Alex snickered, gently blowing against her neck, his fingers edging down the collar of her shirt.

Nell whimpered trying to hide her head.

“Morning sleepy head.” Alex laughed when she pulled the pillow from under her head, swinging it aimlessly in any direction trying to hit him.

“I hate you.” Nell reached to find the thrown pillow. Whatever, she'd use her arm instead. Tucking her left arm up under her head, she yawned and sighed. “Aren't you supposed to be getting ready?”

“I have a few hours, yet.” Alex leaned over her, his weight pushing her into the soft mattress. His bed was like a cloud. She would miss this bed, once she took up temporary residence in a hotel.

“Mmm, then we should sleep.” Nell snuggled down under the blanket, resting her head against Alex's smooth chest. He wanted to wake her up, he was her pillow now. “Sleep is amazing.”

“I won't argue, but I should really get a start on the day.” Alex leaned over, kissing her cheek. The only time Nell ever seemed to kiss him properly was when Henry was around. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Alex checked the attitude. He was not starting his day and his vacation home while annoyed. “You can stay in bed, I need to shower.”

“You do that, I will be here.” Nell didn't even bother to lift her head or open her eyes, when he untangled himself from her to leave the bed.

Fresh from the shower, a towel around his hips, Alex sauntered into the bedroom. He had three hours until he left, checking the clock on the bedside table. His hair damp, he moved it off of his shoulders pulling it into a bun. Still in bed, Nell hadn't moved an inch. Her chest rose and fell with steady breaths and a light snore.

Suitcase packed and ready, Alex could get his clothes for the day out of his closet later. Towel barely hanging on, he opted to get back in bed. Sure would be nice to see Nell awake before he left. Sitting for a few minutes, watching her sleep, he suppressed a groan.

“I didn't hear you come back in.” Nell mumbled, her face squished against her arm. “Have a good shower?”

“Better had it not been a solo event.” Alex teased, resting against the headboard. His eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, do I get a chance to say a proper goodbye?”

“Depends.” Nell shifted around, rolling over to look up at him.

“I was thinking maybe I would get dressed, we could grab a cup of coffee and something to eat. Wait until the cab arrives?”

Not at all the proper goodbye that Nell had been expecting.

Crawling out from under the covers, she scratched the back of her head, squinting against the light in the room. Still groggy. Resting next to Alex against the headboard, she gave him a faint smile.

“I'm sorry I was asleep last night and that I was so upset.”

Alex shook his head, his blue eyes soft. “No need. You're allowed to be upset.”

“And so are you. I know that you had plans last night and I ruined those.” Nell bit her bottom lip. If he wanted to spend time with her that badly, he could have joined her for dinner. Some comments were best left unsaid.

“It's fine.” Alex smiled, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “How was Ivan?”

“He's good. Energetic and off the cuff, as usual. Honestly, my son is a handful at times.” Nell sighed. “He's too much like his father. He has the same lack of filter that Henry used to have. It's a curse sometimes.”

Alex hummed. Did he dare ask about Henry?

Did he care about Henry?

No. He did care about Nell. To care about Nell would mean having to care about Henry, from time to time. Alex still wanted to wrap his hands around Henry's neck and...no. He would not go there.

“You never did tell me, did you work out Henry's offer?”

Foot meet mouth.

Words that felt like an intentional argument. Words that meant nothing more than curiosity. Nobody knew when or where they would have their next job, Nell was ahead of the curve. She had the perfect job laid in her lap. Alex wished she would take it, he wasn't hung up on her being with Henry all the time, but a job was a job. It wouldn't be all bad. This job had a few good points, one being that Ivan would benefit more than anybody.

A job like this meant security. A steady pay and not worrying about whether or not you would have to give up a career, landing your next job at McDonald's. Hell, if Alex could sew, he'd consider asking for the position.

“No.”

“I know they say not to make plans when you're in bed, or something about that, but you should take that job.” He turned to look at her, his eyes gentle and his smile soft. “It's a great job.”  

“Excuse me?” Shock was written all over her gorgeous features. Nell hadn't expected Alex to be on board so easily.

“It's none of my business, I'm sorry.” Alex leaned over placing a kiss on her shoulder. “But I have been giving it thought and it's a huge opportunity.”

“Where do you get off telling me what I should do?”

“Hear me out,” His voice was patient. “I'm saying this, because how amazing would it be for Ivan to see his dad practically every day? Hungary is a nice place to live, not too far of a flight from Denmark.” He winked. “You'd head a steady job, no worries, and you're amazing at what you do. They'd be lucky to have you.”

“I don't want to talk about this. You have no right talking about this.” Nell frowned deeply. “I'm sleeping with you, it doesn't mean you can run my life.”

“I know.” Alex sat, his back straight and his hand sliding out of Nell's. “I'm sorry, I only brought it up because I want to think it's something that will make you happy.”

“What will make me happy is everybody keeping their opinion to themselves.” She pushed her hand through he hair and groaned. “I need a shower.”

This conversation was over.

Distance was her go to when things got scary, rocky, or rough. Without another word, Nell made her way to the shower. The hot water felt calming as it beat down, allowing her to escape. A job offer should not cause that much angst and frustration, Alex was right. It was a good job and Nell was foolish to think otherwise.

Secretly she had been indulging herself in the works of Sapkowski, since finding out the name of the project. Evidently her task would be to help Henry bring Geralt of Rivia to life through his clothing and tiny details. A daunting task, as this character had a conception and fans would pick him apart every chance they got. If the fans liked the way a beloved character looked, when brought to the screen, it made a job like Nell's even sweeter. The stories were entertaining, the character someone she would love to explore, and yet the whole thing made her nerves go haywire and made her want to vomit.

Lingering in the hot water longer than usual, she was doing a pretty good job of purposely avoiding Alex. Unfair and even a little cruel. Shampooing her hair, taking extra time moving at a sloth's pace to scrub her body, and wash her face. He would only have an hour left until he left, when she joined him in the kitchen. Once he was gone, she'd collect her things and check into her hotel for the rest of Henry's stay.

Leaning her forehead against the cool tiles, Nell inhaled deeply. What was wrong with her? Alex was trying to help. An apology was in order.  Once in her hotel and comfortable, she would begin a little soul searching, perhaps.

Morning started like every other, Ivan woke Henry by diving into the bed. Kal wiggled his way into bed in the aftermath, trying to avoid the initial chaos. Good lord, Henry would never get used to that wake up call. A child body slamming into the bed was actually a little terrifying. According to Nell this was only something Ivan did to Henry. The worst she got was a poke in the forehead and a complaint about whatever his daily drama was.

Shocked, but awake, Henry instructed Ivan to go get dressed so they could take Kal out for his walk. A quick walk, breakfast, and then the day was theirs to do whatever they pleased.

“Are you and mum angry at each other?” Ivan lazily kicked a pebble along the sidewalk. He'd heard them arguing last night, right before his mother had come in to say goodnight.

“Of course not.” Henry denied the twitch of annoyance. Annoyance wasn't anger.

Perhaps he had been out of line. Ivan was still a child and Nell had given him a valid point. If he hadn't been prompted by somebody else, Henry would never ask her to put Ivan on public display. Although he had, covertly. A few times. Telling a story here or there, leaving out names and claiming it was a nephew. His son could be a riot and Henry loved him dearly, there was a few stories that were too good not to share.

“Your mum and I had a few things to talk about, nothing for you to worry over. I promise.”

“Okay.” Ivan shrugged it off. Following his dad and Kal down the walkway.

Each morning they took the same route, a walk around the block, allowing Kal his morning bathroom break. It was short, but enough to get the blood flowing and it set the tone for the day. Ivan would linger a little behind thinking about – whatever it was that went on in his mind. Henry was often scared to ask. If it was something Ivan wanted to share, then he did. Henry would casually keep an eye out for any potential issues. He was growing frustrated with the unknown.

Some mornings Ivan would wave or stop to have a chat with various neighbours. He seemed to know everybody on the block. Henry was not the least bit surprised by that, his son was a social butterfly. People were naturally drawn to his cheeky smile and charm. Henry's mother often said it was the same way for Henry at that age. He could have the whole world wrapped around his finger in seconds, Ivan was the exact same way. Albeit Ivan was much more confident than Henry had ever been.

This morning Ivan waved at a lady down the street, but didn't stop for his usual chat. He kept his head down, for a good portion of the walk. His thoughts lingering on his parents. Eves dropping was impolite, he had always been taught not to snoop and not to listen in when he wasn't part of a conversation.

Ivan found those things hard not to do. Curious by nature, he wanted to know what was going on around him. He'd been playing his game when he went to the kitchen for a drink, outside the screen door and open windows he could hear his mum and dad. Henry telling Nell about the things they had been doing and his worries.

Drink in hand, he lingered, warning Kal to be quiet. A finger to his lips. Kal licked his lips and sat beside Ivan, scratching his ear with his back foot. Not a care in the world for what was happening outside. Henry and Nell were of no importance, when the miniature Henry was in the same room as all of the food.

Walking along, Ivan tried to make sense of it all. He didn't hear too much after that, only raised voices. This morning was sunny, bright, he was hanging out with his dad, and it should be lifting his spirits.

The day was warm already, Henry was regretting his long sleeves. Before they did anything today, he was going to make sure they were dressed comfortably and Kal had lots of shade. Maybe a day by the ocean by called for. Kal and Ivan could run in and out of the waves and Henry could find some sanity in the sea air and sand.

This morning they walked along, Kal sniffing whatever caught his fancy. The three of them in no hurry to get anywhere. Henry enjoyed this.

“Should we go swimming?” Henry tested his idea out loud. Ivan's questions about his parents arguing lingered, though Henry was confident that they would be put to rest shortly and his son would move on to more exciting things to talk about.

“I guess.” Ivan didn't seem sold by the idea. Odd. He loved the beach. Swimming was one of his favourite things to do.

“Was there something else you wanted to do?”

“No, swimming is fine.” Ivan smiled briefly, sighing. “But I don't want to go back to the pool.”

“Why is that?”

“I heard you telling mum about those people.” His confession was shortened by his next statement. “I like the pool, but there is a lot of strangers there.”

He didn't want his dad feeling bad, because people were watching him. People got excited about his dad, it happened a lot.

“I was thinking we could go to the beach. We can take Kal for a swim.”

“Really?” The light in Ivan's eyes lit and his smile grew, this time not disappearing.

“Of course. But, I need to ask something,” Henry stopped for Kal. Ivan stopping short of running into his father. “Ivan, this is a bit of a serious question,” he let Kal to the end of the leash, to sniff the lamp pole they were next to.

“Hit me, big guy.” Ivan adjusted his England Rugby ball cap. He was such a card. His discontent nearly forgotten.

“When we're out and people stop us. How does that make you feel? Does it bother you? Are you scared? Nervous? Is it something that you understand?” No point in wasting time. Kal tugged at the leash, guiding Henry forward a step.

“Well,” Ivan drug out the word, liking his lips and cocking his brow. God he was like a small clone. “People do it, because you're Superman. I know that you're not really Superman and it's only pretend, but maybe they don't. Superman makes people happy and I think seeing you makes them happy.”

“Are you sure you're only seven?”

“Almost eight.” Ivan quickly reminded.

Henry nodded, of course. “But how does it make you feel when they do that?”

“I don't know. Sometimes it's weird, adults are always weird,” Scrunching his nose, Ivan shrugged, scuffing his shoes on the sidewalk. “It doesn't make me scared. People are nice to me.”

“I'm proud of you, did you know that?” Henry held out his fist.

Bumping his fist against his dad's, Ivan nodded slowly. “I am pretty awesome.”

No ego in that kid at all.

“Hey, dad. I'm proud of you.”

“And why is that?” Henry stopped, giving Kal a light tug to fetch him up.

“Because I love you. It makes me proud of you.”

So this is what a proud parent moment was? He'd had many moments where he'd been proud of Ivan, but this was a new level.

“You, my wild boy, I love more than anything else.” Wrapping his arm around Ivan's shoulder, Henry laughed.

Kal was tugging on his leash, eager to get back and have his breakfast. Not to ruin the moment, but he was hungry and through with sniffing along the street like some uncultured stray.

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[ericsonclan]

Learning to Walk Again

Summary: Louis tries to help Clementine as she learns how to walk with her prosthetic leg.

Read on A03:

“Alright, you ready or do you need another minute?” Louis’ voice broke through Clementine’s thoughts and brought her back to this moment. She looked down at the wooden appendage laying where the bottom third of her leg used to be. Willy had been tinkering with the prosthetic for weeks now, with everyone else at Ericson giving their two cents on its design as well. When he had presented it to her this morning, Willy looked so excited that Clem had to lower her eyes for a second to hide her initial reaction. 

She knew he had stayed up nights struggling to create the leg and she deeply appreciated that, but somehow seeing Willy holding the leg out to her just made what had happened all the more real. She wasn’t dealing with a broken leg; those crutches weren’t simply a temporary fix. She would either depend on them the rest of her life or she would have to learn how to walk again with a hunk of wood for a leg.

Though most of the kids were caught up in the excitement of the new leg finally being revealed, Clem caught Louis’ frown as their eyes met. He could tell she wasn’t as happy about the prosthetic as they’d been expecting. When Willy offered to help her into it so she could start walking right away, Louis stepped in and suggested everybody give Clem some space while she got used to the new leg. 

Plucking the prosthetic from her limp hands, Louis had directed AJ to grab Clementine’s crutches. Once she was up, Clementine followed him over to the greenhouse where they’d be away from prying eyes as everyone went about their daily work.

It had taken some finagling to figure out how to buckle the bootstraps that kept the prosthetic in place, but with concentrated teamwork and a few jokes on Louis’ part they had finally gotten it secure. Now Clementine was simply staring at the prosthetic while Louis awkwardly twiddled his thumbs, not wanting to push her farther than she was ready to go. Finally, Clementine broke the silence.

“I’m ready,”

With concentrated effort, she began to rise up on her new leg, grasping Louis shoulders tightly. Louis kept his arms firmly around her waist, not wanting to risk a fall. Once she was stable, he loosened his grip slightly.

‘Everything alright so far?”

Clem grunted in response, trying to shift her weight.

“Y’know, comfort is one of the features we’re testing here, so be sure not to hold back on saying how it feels,”

“It doesn’t have to be comfortable, just functional,” Clementine responded, gritting her teeth as she tried to raise her good leg. She dropped it with a cry of pain, tilting backwards. Louis attempted to catch her, but ended up simply easing her fall to the ground.

“You alright? There’s no bleeding, right?” Louis frantically reached out to check her leg. Clementine angrily pushed his hand away.

“No, of course not! Just give me a minute, OK? I’ve got to catch my breath,”

Louis looked up toward the main building, searching his memory for something they could use as padding between the prosthetic and her stump. There were a lot of possibilities. He wasn’t sure what would work best.

“Clem?” Louis tried to catch her eyes, but they were glued to the ground. “Just wait a minute, OK? I’m gonna go grab something to use as padding. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” After waiting a few seconds and seeing that she wasn’t going to respond, Louis pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, glanced down to make sure her gun was securely holstered to her side, then went sprinting in the direction of the main building.

He returned after about five minutes, arms full of sheets, blankets, pillows, a curtain and other bits and bobs he’d picked up in his mad dash through the school. A moment of panic set in when Clementine wasn’t where he’d left her. 

But a stifled groan quickly drew his eyes about a dozen feet away where Clementine was desperately clinging to the ivy covered walls. With her chin set low in fierce determination, Clem dragged herself forward another step, her back turned to Louis. Her prosthetic dragged lamely across the ground, the hinge meant to simulate her ankle causing the foot piece to tilt behind the main trunk of the prosthetic.

 Clementine shook the leg to snap the part back in place, then took a shaky breath as she stabilized the leg. She was clearly dreading the next step. But she still went for it. As she attempted to place her weight onto the prosthetic, her body tensed in pain and she crumpled to the ground once more with an indignant, desperate cry.

Louis rushed over, dumping the load of fabric behind him. “Clem! Clem, are you okay?”

She turned herself around just as he reached her. Her body slumped against the wall in defeat. Sweat shone on her brow and her chest was heaving. She had never looked so exhausted. Yet as Louis reached out to brush a limp curl from her face, he didn’t see the despair he had expected in her face. Instead he saw a deep, silent fury.

“Wow, babe, you made it so far while I was gone! Usain Bolt who, amirite?” Louis chuckled nervously.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t try to lighten the mood. I know it’s what you do, but… I just can’t now. OK?”

“OK,” Louis agreed softly. “Whatever you need,”

“What I need is a new leg,”

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

Clementine sighed. “I’ve already wasted so much time. I knew it was foolish, stupid, to think this leg would be the answer, but if someone needs to fetch my crutches for me one more time…” Her voice broke and she bit her lip fiercely.

“Hey,” Louis whispered, putting a hand behind her head and bringing his forehead to touch hers. “Just breathe for a second, OK? Let me hear you breathe. C’mon, just like I’ve seen you do with AJ.”

Clem took a shaky breath, held it for a second, then let it out. She repeated this a few times as Louis kept his head pressed to hers. He could feel her heartbeat pounding through her forehead. Once it had calmed a bit, he pulled back and tried to look her in the eyes. When she finally raised her eyes to meet his, Louis’ heart broke when he saw how red-rimmed they were.

 He silently pulled his girlfriend into his arms, reorienting the two of them so that his back now rested against the wall while Clem’s lay on his shoulder. He felt his shirt grow damp as the tears Clem had been holding back finally came out. Tears began to run down Louis’ face as he listened to the girl he loved sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his fingers running through the ends of her hair. “I’m so sorry Clem. If I hadn’t jumped that fence, if I just stayed with you and AJ…”

“No,” Clem pushed herself off of his chest to sit straight. “No, Louis, don’t talk like that. You couldn’t have known what would happen,”

“But I should have been there for you! Fuck, Clem, you saved me just days before and this is how I repay you? If AJ hadn’t had the sense to do what he did, god, if we had found you any later than we did… I can’t lose you, Clem. I can’t lose anybody else,” Louis cupped Clem’s face with one hand, looking at her with determination. “I’m gonna be stronger Clem, you hear me? Everything’s gonna be OK. Aasim and I are bringing back food every day. Ruby’s been patrolling and patching the wall – nothing’s getting in that we don’t know about. And Willy’s going to keep working on your goddamn leg until he gets it right! We’re going to give you all the time you need, Clem, every day that you and Violet need to heal, we’ll give that to you. I’m not giving up, Clem. I’m gonna be here every step of the way till you get on your feet again. I won’t let you down,”

Now it was Clem’s turn to wipe the tears from her boyfriend’s eyes. God, to be in a situation like this, but to be in it with someone like Louis… she had thought for so long that AJ was all she needed. She would look out for AJ and he would look out for her to the bitter end. But now she had others by her side, a family who had stuck by her, a boy who was willing to hold her up when she didn’t have anything left to give. The world was unbelievably shitty. She’d known that for a long time. But the world had also given her Louis, which was more than she’d ever expected in this lifetime. Slowly, she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thank you, Louis. For not giving up on me,”

“I’ll never give up on you,”

“I know,” Clementine murmured. “I may not always remember, but I know. I’m not giving up either.”

Louis smiled at that, pulling Clem into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a good 30 seconds before pulling apart and looking down at the prosthetic that stuck out from Clem’s leg at angle, sprawled across the ground. Louis sighed and let a rueful grin cross his lips. “I know it’ll break his little heart, but we gotta tell Willy that that things is a hunk of junk,”

Clem snorted. “C’mon, it’s not that bad. But you’re right, it does need some padding. Probably a tighter fit on the ankle joint as well,”

“Well, I believe that is some primo information we have garnered from this, our first of many experiments. Shall we return to the group and report back?”

“I’m right behind you,” Clem quipped. “Or I will be as soon as you grab my crutches,”

“As Her Majesty commands,” Louis said with a wink, lifting Clementine off of his lap and gently placing her on the ground before running to get her crutches. 

Clementine leaned forward to unbuckle the failed prosthetic from her stump, chucking it to the side with vindictive pleasure. Louis offered her a hand up, making sure she was secure on her crutches before reaching for the prosthetic then groaning as she noticed the pile of bedding that was scattered across the yard.

“I could take a pillow,” Clem offered. “Just stuff it under one of my arms. Or I could try balancing it on my head,”

“Na ah ah. As much of a delight as that would be to watch and we should totally make some sort of competition out of it at a later date, I will be cleaning up my own mess.” After running around for a few seconds, Louis had the towering pile of bedding under control with Clem’s prosthetic tucked under one arm. “After you milady,”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Clem made her way through the entrance to the greenhouse then looked back at him with a smile.

“Louis?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you for all your help today,”

“For you, my darling Clementine? Anything.”

[jenanigans1207]

17 Kisses [part 1] |Klance|

Part 2 | Part 3

Find it on Ao3

Summary: There's a million different types of kisses in the world. Here we discover 17 of them.

Or:

17 ways Keith and Lance kiss each other. From sitting on the roof watching the sunset to under a waterfall on a planet on the other side of the universe. No matter where they are, they always find each other.

1. Nose

Keith was from Texas so cold was something he had very little experience with. And snow? Well, he had exactly zero experience with that. Seeing it for the first time was something special for him. It was a beautiful sight, the way the untouched snow made the planet look so serene. It glistened in the light and made the branches of the trees look fuller, giving the whole area a mystical vibe. For the first time he was really able to understand the phrase “Winter Wonderland.”

He took a step tentatively into the snow, surprised at how far his foot sunk down before he was able to gain purchase. He carefully took another step forward and another and another until he was in the middle of the trees and no longer alongside the castle. He looked up in wonder at the boughs of the trees and the way they bent elegantly under the weight of the snow but didn’t break.

As he continued walking, a small breeze blew through, knocking some of the snow off the branches and dumping it on Keith’s head. It was colder than he expected, which he found surprising. To guard against that happening again, he pulled the hood of Lance’s jacket over his head and pulled the drawstrings, securing it. Allura had managed to pull a few coats out of storage in the castle but they were awkward fitting at best. Lance being tall and lanky fit in them best (although still not well) so he had taken one of the jackets and offered Keith his jacket to wear over Keith’s own jacket. It was bulky, but he couldn’t deny that he was warm.

“Keith!” He turned at the sound of his name to see Lance sludging over to him, moving fluidly through the snow. Keith didn’t know if Lance had ever encountered snow before but he wouldn’t be surprised either way. Lance was naturally graceful and would have no problem adjusting to a new element like this. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said as Lance reached him. His breath puffed out in front of him like smoke before scattering to the wind.

Lance looked around them, eyes alight with mystery and wonder. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “it sure is.” He turned his attention back to Keith then, a grin breaking out across his face.

“What?”

“It’s just--” Lance shook his head as if he were trying to get rid of the smile but it didn’t budge. “You just look really cute all bundled up. I can only see your nose!”

Keith crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head to the side indignantly, mumbling something about the cold.

“I like it,” Lance laughed, leaning closer to him. “But I promised I’d help Coran unpack,” he said before giving Keith’s nose a small peck and taking off.

Suddenly Keith was warmed from the inside out and the world looked even more magical.

2. Top of Head

It had been Hunk’s turn to choose the movie. Honestly, Keith didn’t care at all about the movie, he never did. He cared about spending time with his team and seeing them happy. He also cared about the fact that it gave him a chance to splay out on the couch with Lance, tangled up together under a blanket. The others usually filled the chairs and couches closest to the tv while the two of them took the couch furthest away so they could lay down together.

Keith was on his back on the couch, head turned to the right so he could see the movie, even if he didn't care much about it. Lance was pressed to his left side, snuggled tightly between his body and the back of the couch, his head resting comfortably at the junction of Keith’s shoulder. They had a blanket thrown loosely over them but it was wonky. Lance’s arm was on top of the blanket, bent so that his hand was under his head for added comfort, the rest of his arm warm across Keith’s chest.

The first time they had done this, Keith had been a little nervous. He would never admit it out loud to anyone, not even Lance (but Lance wouldn’t make him admit it out loud because he already knows), but he was afraid the others would judge them. They hadn’t, of course, and he felt bad for not believing in them.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice was weak and Keith could hear the sleepiness in it.

“Mm?” He asked, even though he knew what the answer was gonna be.

“Wake me up when it’s over?” Lance readjusted his position, scooting his body closer to Keith. “And tell me the plot so I can pretend I watched it?”

Keith turned towards his boyfriend and pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of his head. “You got it,” he murmured, smiling, and giving his his head one more kiss and turning back to the movie.

3. Sunset

It was interesting to think that the sun had continued setting each day, gloriously, no matter what. Lance had been on the other side of the universe risking his life and the sun remained moving steadily about it’s routine as if nothing were out of the ordinary. It offered Lance some sort of comfort--the idea that things could go back to normal after everything that had happened.

He had watched many a sunset from the rooftop of his family home, it had always been one of his favorite things to do. It had always been a personal thing, too. Even though his family was always there, he never invited anybody to sit on the roof with him and they never pried. It was usually his time to think about life, reflect on the day and just unwind.

Sitting on the roof now, Keith tucked snugly under his arm with his head on Lance’s shoulder made him wonder how he ever could have been satisfied before. He had watched many a sunset from this rooftop and yet, not one had ever been this beautiful. The yellow from the sun bled out, fading into soft oranges and pinks until it eventually met up with the darkness of the night sky. The soft colors were stunning, no doubt, but they weren’t what made this such a special occasion.

“I like to picture little you sitting up here,” Keith said, his voice hushed. The moment was intimate and his quiet tone only made it more intimate. Lance had to lean closer to him to be able to hear his words clearly. Not that he minded. He would always take an excuse to be closer to Keith. “Looking at the sky and just thinking about your life.”

“I used to do exactly that,” Lance replies just as quietly, turning his head so he can see the soft smile on Keith’s lips. “Have I told you that before?”

“No, I just know you.”

Those words fill Lance’s heart with an emotion as soft as the sunset. There’s a comfortable warmth in the pit of his stomach, making him feel like he’s exactly where he is supposed to be. He lets his own small smile grace his lips, “Yeah, you really do.”

Keith pulls away then--not far, but far enough that he can angle his body so they’re facing each other. The small smile is still on is lips and it’s so fond it makes Lance feel like his heart might burst right then and there. He lifts a hand and places it on Keith’s cheek, tracing his thumb along the scar that resided there. Keith closed his eyes and leaned his head into Lance’s palm.

There was a time where Keith would never have done this. He never would have been open and honest and vulnerable. There was a time when Lance never would’ve believed that he could win Keith’s heart, no matter how much he wanted to. But somehow, somewhere along the lines he did exactly that. And now he got to enjoy these tender moments with Keith and nothing could make him happier.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the colors fading to a softer pastel, Lance pulled Keith’s face forward and met him in the middle in a tender kiss. He wondered, as their lips met, how he ever could have enjoyed a sunset before this. But as they separated, he knew it didn’t matter, because he would never have to watch a sunset alone again.

4. Sleepy

Being a member of Voltron was a full time job with no vacations. It often required them running on little to no sleep and it didn’t take long for that to catch up to them. Lance was tired--physically, mentally and emotionally. He felt like his body was only a second away from collapsing. And yet, this time he finally had to sleep was also the first time he had to spend alone with Keith in nearly a week.

“Hey,” He dropped down onto Keith’s bed, his head settling into his pillow. It was still weird--pleasantly so--for him to think that he had his own pillow in Keith’s bed.

Keith flopped down next to him, slipping an arm under the pillow and around Lance’s shoulders. “Can you believe we finally have some time?”

“Don’t jinx it,” Lance laughs weakly, his eyes already feeling heavy. “I’m sure Allura can come up with something else for us to do.”

The edges of Keith’s mouth turn up in a smile but Lance can see the way it’s duller than his normal ones. The exhaustion was wearing on all of them and it was showing. Everyone was moving more sluggishly and taking longer to come up with solutions to their problems. “You’re probably right.”

Lance realizes suddenly that his eyes had fallen closed. He forces them open only to see that Keith is laying on his side, facing Lance, with his own eyes shut. Carefully Lance scoots closer so their faces are lined up with each other. “Keith,” he whispers.

Keith stirs and then slowly blinks his eyes open, smiling at how close together they are. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his words slurring together slightly. “I’m just… tired.” He yawns, his words barely making it past his lips.

A small smile works its way onto Lance’s lips. It was true that they had spent almost no time together just the two of them in the last week, and he wanted to spend time with Keith. But he was perfectly content for this to be the way they spent their time together. They had never been those people who needed to constantly be out doing things, all they wanted was the company of each other. So Lance leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to Keith’s. Keith responded, slowly raising his other arm to put it on the side of Lance’s face. They fell asleep shortly after, Keith’s hand still on Lance’s face and their lips just barely brushing.

5. Post Battle

“Duck!” Keith cries

Lance ducks without hesitation. Keith swings around, his sword flying just over Lance’s head and into the robot that had been attacking him. Lance, for his part, manages to shoot three approaching robots while Keith is preoccupied. They shift after, Lance standing back up, so they are pressed back-to-back.

“Alright,” Keith says, taking a step to his left. Lance responds by taking a step to his own left so their backs stay together. “You get who you can from a distance and I’ll take on anyone you can’t get to.”

“Heh, don’t expect to have anything to do then,” Lance replies with a grin, lifting his gun up to his eye. The two of them spin in a circle, their backs pressed to each other as Lance shoots, shot after shot, at the robots that are ambushing him. Despite his boasting, there are simply too many for him to handle at once. Luckily, Keith lives up to his end of the deal and takes care of any of them that sneak past Lance’s shots.

They continue on this for what feels like forever. Lance is starting to get dizzy and he can hear Keith panting behind him. He notices the way Keith’s resting stance now includes the tip of his blade against the ground instead of high in the air. There’s only so much more they can take before they’re out of energy completely.

“Hang in there,” Lance says, leaning back slightly to put reassuring weight on Keith.

“Worry about yourself,” Keith says in response and Lance smiles.

“If I only did that, you wouldn’t be here anymore!”

“Oh yeah?” Keith’s blade swings out wide as he arcs around Lance, deflecting an attack that Lance hadn’t noticed because he was too busy looking into the distance. “You were saying?”

They break apart then, Keith taking off to the other side of the room, thinning the horde around Lance. Lance does his best to fight off the robots closing in on him, all the while keeping his eye on Keith and making a well timed shot here or there to give Keith the advantage.

“Nice one!” Keith yells as Lance makes a perfect shot. A moment later, the robots drop to the ground. Suddenly Keith’s voice is in the coms instead, “It’s about time, Pidge. We were drowning out here.”

“We were fine,” Lance contradicts, “Nothing a sharpshooter can’t handle.”

From across the room Keith shoots him a look but it’s more amused than anything else. Lance watches as Keith’s blade retracts, disappearing back into his bayard. A moment later, the bayard itself disappears. Finally Lance allows himself to step out of his fighting stance and his bayard follows Keith’s, disappearing into thin air.

“Thanks for having my back.” Lance pulls his helmet off his head, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

Keith crosses the room, stopping back at Lance’s side. He removes his own helmet and Lance smiles at how wild his hair looks. “Nice shooting,” he says before leaning in and capturing Lance’s lips.

These were perhaps Lance’s favorite kisses. He loved all of them, of course, but he loved these the most. They were always full of adrenaline and a certain gratefulness to be alive. And they always came after the two of them worked as a team. Keith pulls away but Lance catches the back of his neck, drawing him in again. After all, it should be a few more minutes before the others get here.

6. Rain

One of the things Lance had missed most about Earth was the rain. He loved the way it sounded on the roof of the house as he tried to fall asleep, loved the way it felt, cascading down his back. It had always felt as if the rain were washing him clean. He was beyond thrilled when it rained on their first day back on Earth.

He was up later than the others, standing just outside the main building of the garrison, his eyes closed as he lifted his face up to the sky. It was a summer rain--warm and relaxing as it beat gently against him. He can hear the rain hitting the roof, hear it hitting the ground, and for the first time in what has to be years, he feels at ease. He takes a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the damp Earth and thinks, for once, he’s home.

Arms slip around his waist from behind before a warm chest presses against his wet back and a head settles on his shoulder. He raises his arms to lay them overtop of Keith’s, tangling their fingers together against his stomach. Keith doesn’t say anything, he just leans into Lance and enjoys the rain. That was one of the things Lance loved the most about Keith--he was comfortable letting them just be in silence.

A lot of the time Lance wanted to talk--and Keith would always listen--but sometimes he just wanted to enjoy a moment in silence. To take the time to commit it to memory. Most people wouldn’t let that happen, interrupting his silence constantly with questions. But not Keith. Keith leaned his head to the side, resting it against Lance’s and waited. He waited until Lance was done memorizing exactly how he felt. He let Lance decide when the silence was to be broken.

Finally he was ready. He untangled their fingers and turned within the circle of Keith’s arms so that they were face to face. Keith’s wet hair hung across his face, dripping, and it was a look Lance loved. Even in the rain, his hair tried to curl around the ears and at the base of his neck and it was stupidly endearing.

“Hey,” He breathed.

Keith didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he took one of his hands off of Lance’s waist and used it to grab his chin, pulling his face forward until they were kissing. His kiss was fierce but tender. Keith was bad with words, but he had emotions--he just often struggled to express them. But when he kissed Lance, his lips soft, the message was clear. It was obvious in the way his hand splayed out across the small of Lance’s back, drawing his body closer. It was in the way he was gentle with Lance, his hand brushing tenderly across his cheek. It was everywhere.

Keith’s every action with Lance screamed what he was trying to say. But still, as he pulled away for a quick breath, he took a moment to whisper, “I love you,” before diving right back in.

[krobuss]

between the raindrops

Word Count: 2118 || Time Taken:

Summary: Lance really loves the rain. || This takes place after s6-ish. Keith is staying at the McClains because he doesn't like sleeping so far away from Shiro and the gang. It starts raining.

<->-<->

Lance sat on the carpeted ground of his room, music playing softly over a radio located somewhere deep within the house. It had started raining a few minutes ago and Lance had rushed to his view of the outside world, taking in the droplets as they rolled down the glass and fogged up his side of the window. The water was coming in sheets against the glass and the wood of the house, making it feel a degree cooler in the rooms.

Outside he could hear children giggling and splashing in the puddles, even running in front of his room a couple of times. They waved in their soaked jeans and muddy boots before chasing each other away from his field of vision. A flash of white light and a clap of thunder sent them shrieking back into the house, and Lance rested his head against the cold of the window.

It was dark in his room, the door closed and the sticky stars on his ceiling fading with the dying light. It was 7 during summer and, while the time would usually mean the season made it so the sun was out and shining, the gray clouds prevented any kight from seeping through, making the paladin curl up a bit more into his spot on the floor.

Thoughts weren't really in his mind as he sat, knees to his chest, just the ache of experiencing nature for the first time in what felt like a century. Briefly, he wondered how his Altean friends were doing, and the image made a giggle escape his throat- Pidge was probably trying to calm them down in order to save the garrison from being destroyed.

A small knock on the woof of his door brought him out of his trance, Lance being brought down to the cotton around his feet and the thickness of his fur blanket that rested on his shoulders. He called out, alerting whoever was on the other side of the door that they could come in, Lance was decent. Keith appeared with two mugs in his hands, the look on his face one of annoyance at the two mugs he held in both hands. Lance got up in a flash, crossing the room to help ease the weight of both cups from his friend while he shut the door, a small smile taking place of the scowl he had worn seconds before.

"Hope you don't mind. Your mom made some from the kids and ended up making it for whoever came to mind, which ended up being about everyone within a mile radius," the other spoke, gesturing to the tray under his arm. "She made me the chosen one of delivering twenty cups to everyone." Another roll of thunder and Lance was back on the floor, sipping the hot dark chocolate and humming as the warmth traveled into his stomach, heating up his insides in a way a blanket could never.

Keith joined him on the floor, sitting cross-legged and putting his mug on the space in front of him after taking a sip, making a face that made Lance chuckle. "It's got a very unique taste, I should've warned you. I don't know how they make it but Abuelita's definitely not the hot chocolate that can come from other packets." That probably didn't make sense but Lance wasn't looking to make sense, he was looking to appreciate the rain before they were forced to go back into space and risk their lives.

The silence between them became comfortable, hearing the rain pour. It looked like it wasn't letting up soon, like the earth had saved up as much rain as it could just so when Lance came back, it could greet him with puddles and thunder before he went away again. This was mother nature's gratitude for saving her from aliens- at least, the paladin liked to think of it like that. The music from inside the house grew quiet as the house settled, the walls absorbing any sounds that weren't explosions.

Lance almost forgot about Keith's prescence until a body was moving and picking up any leftover blankets, placing it on around his arms. Rolling his eyes, the Cuban lifted up the blanket from his body and brought Keith to his side, their fronts now exposed to the chill but neither of them really minded. Occasionally, they would bump hands or knock arms together while drinking the hot chocolate, but if anything happened, all they got was a smile or, rarely, a giggle.

Sometimes the house would rile up again, a few times people walked in to check on Lance, but most of the time, it was just Keith and Lance wrapped up in a blanket, pulled together with Lance's head resting on the other's shoulders, hands brushing together but not quite entangled yet. When the rain had stopped and the drinks had turned cold, the night was already coming and the two laid on the ground, blanket on them. Keith was bigger than expected but it didn't faze them, just talking in whispers while the house fell asleep without them.

When the red paladin looked like he was falling asleep, Keith picked him up and carried him the short distance to his bed, Lance's arms wrapping around him and refusing to budge with impressive strength, considering he was half-asleep. "Solo quédate conmigo," he mumbled, trying to bring Keith underneath the covers. "No quiero que te vayas."

"Lance--"

"Keith, stay. It's been so lonely without the others, I don't even know if I'm wanted anymore. Just, stay. You can leave when I fall asleep." The broken tone of his words left Keith with more questions than anything but he'd ask in the morning, or the next day. With Lance's arm wrapped around him, the half-galra was warm in more than just his stomach, cheeks flushed as Lance's breath tickled his neck.

And if, after a few moments of quiet, his breath evened out and his eyes grew heavy as he was spooned, it was really nobody's business if Keith awoke the next day, face buried in Lance's chest and arms wrapped around each other. It wasn't anybody's business if he flushed, smiled, and closed his eyes for a bit more sleep because Lance was warm and the outside was turning gray with what looked like another thunderstorm. What mattered is that Lance loved the rain: loved how it smelled like strawberries and papaya, loved that its lips felt soft against his skin, loved that its arms felt secure and strong. If he didn't know any better, Lance would say he was in love with the rain.

But again, that's nobody's business.

<->-<->

Tanslations: "I want you to stay with me. I don't want you to leave."

[cooperjones2020]

Everyone is a moon

Summary: Betty baits Jughead into going full dark, no stars. Real dark. Real kinky. Real consensual. You’ve been warned. (Part 3 of The Beast Within)

A/N: As with all the fics in this series, Jughead is v. dark and creepy. Only here, Betty’s the one to draw it out of him. I want to put a warning label as long as my arm on this thing, but I trust you all to know that this is fiction and not to judge me. Don’t read if you’re at all squicked out by violent sex or BDSM.

Y’all I edited this on the plane yesterday and my heart was pounding so hard the whole time, afraid someone could read my computer screen.

And most importantly, happiest of birthdays @jandjsalmon. I would not be here, and this dark Juggie would not exist, if not for you. Hopefully this fic doesn’t go too far.

ao3–> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11840985

kinky smut below the jump

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.”—Mark Twain

Betty leans over the pool table, scissoring her legs to give her the leverage to hit the ball on the far side. It doesn’t help that she’s got a leather skirt the size of a band aid covering her ass. She scratches.

The large tattooed man she’s playing with — Gator — gives her a condescending smile before smoothly sinking his last ball. She hasn’t seen him before tonight. Probably a trucker passing through. They come in sometimes. But a Serpent wouldn’t do for her plan to work.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Why won’t you take this twenty and go get us another round of drinks while I re-rack.” He holds the folded bill between his index and middle fingers, making her come up close to him to reach it. His eyes slide down to her cleavage, on full display in the sleeveless blue button-up she’s tied just above her belly button.

“My pleasure.” She smirks at him, pressing her shoulders back as she turns.

As she crosses the room to the bar, she feels the eyes of the Serpents on her. Not the way they usually are, quick glances that bounce off of her like snowflakes, as if they’re afraid Jughead will catch them looking. He’d lost control once and now the guys give him a wide berth. The Serpent Prince had earned his name.

But Jughead’s not here now. Some use it as an excuse to drink her in, staring until she has to steel herself not to flinch under their eyes. Others look concerned, worried for the peppy blonde girl, so clearly out of her depth in a biker bar. Still others’ stares are hard and accusatory. Reminding her that they’ve never trusted her, daring her to get herself into trouble without Jughead here to bail her out.

That’s what she’s waiting for. For Jughead to catch her. He should have been here half an hour ago.

After the Chuck incident, she tried to put a lid on Dark Betty. But the more she tried to confine her, the better she got at escaping.

That is, until one day she found Jughead’s journals. With FP still in jail awaiting trial, the trailer became their safe space, their sanctuary. Every afternoon she could get away, every weekend day her mother would spare, Betty would rush to the trailer, and Jughead would be there waiting. Sometimes they just did homework, or watched TV, or talked. Passing their burdens back and forth. Often she would cook for him, and they would pretend they were somewhere far away, spinning castles in the air, dreaming of a new life. But they were still teenagers, hormones and all. In that trailer, Betty learned how to please him. And she learned how she liked to be touched.

On a cold afternoon in early November, Betty laid on Jughead’s childhood bed, watching his hands run all over her, watching him memorize her body.

Watching him shoot nervous glances toward the bookshelf beside his bed. She craned her neck to see what he was looking at.

It was a little dark blue journal, much like her own pink one, with the corner of a photo peaking out between its pages. She leaned up and grabbed it before he could stop her.

The photo was of her. Of her sleeping. And it had been taken by someone inside her bedroom. She lay splayed on her stomach, the blankets pulled down to her calves. Betty could see the curve of one of her ass cheeks peaking out of the cheer shorts she slept in. She normally put her hair in a messy bun before bed, but in the photo someone had pulled it down and fanned it across her pillow.

She remembered that night, a few weeks prior—she tried not to sleep in her cheer shorts, always wanted to wash off the sweat from practice before bed. But that night Cheryl had kept them late and she was so tired by the time she got home, ate dinner, finished her homework, that she’d crashed. And then she’d been so confused when she woke in the morning and her hair tie was on the nightstand beside her.

She should have felt repulsed. She should have felt scared. Her sweet, gentle, caring boyfriend was sneaking into her bedroom at night to manipulate her body like a doll and take her picture.

Instead, she felt excited. She glanced up at Jughead. He looked trapped, like she’d backed him into a corner. His eyes kept flicking from her face to the door.

“Turnabout’s fair play, right? I mean, you read mine.” He swallowed and nodded. She reached out to grab his hand with one of her own and eagerly turned the pages. Eventually, she got so absorbed, she drew her hand back so she could flip through his entries more quickly.

This journal was relatively new—the first entry dated from July. He talked of his lonely summer without her, and without Archie. Of going days only talking to Pop and to himself in his writing. He wrote of his anger, of something within his chest he struggled to control. He wrote of stalking her. Of breaking into her room when she was there and when she wasn’t. Of the things he secretly longed to do to her.

As she read, Betty felt a weight lifting off of her. Jughead knew some of her darkness. She thought she knew all of his. She was wrong.

He had curled in on himself while she scanned the pages, his elbows resting on his thighs. He chewed on the corner of his thumbnail and avoided all her attempts to catch his eyes.

So she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back until she could swing a leg on either side of his hips. She kissed him with a hunger she hadn’t realized she’d been repressing.

That was the day she discovered how to control Dark Betty. Or, rather, that Jughead could control Dark Betty. A regular diet of Jughead’s obsession and his depredation and the fugue states stopped. Her anger stayed in its box and her nails stayed out of her palms.

But Dark Betty escaped today. Betty remembers why she’s here, remembers the process of getting ready and driving here, the steps she laid out ahead of time. She just doesn’t remember making the decision to come. Or the decision to delete the draft of Jughead’s novel off his laptop.

They work because their darkness balances. Like the controlled release of a bomb. But Jughead has been slacking on his responsibilities. Apparently, Dark Betty had decided to remind him. They’d both been so busy lately, Jughead hadn’t had time for anything more than a quick fuck late at night before they both fell into bed, exhausted. And she needed him. She couldn’t control the darkness inside herself without him. She thought they had that in common, that they were equals in that way.

She’s worried that maybe now he wants them to be normal. Well, she was trying to be normal for him. Dark Betty wouldn’t let her.

When she returns with the beers, she watches him take a long pull out of his as she places hers on the windowsill behind her.

“So what brings you to Riverdale,” she swallows, “Gator?”

“Doin’ a long haul job, Orlando to Montreal. Gotta get them oranges up to the Canucks.” He smiles, and she can see a silver cap on one of his molars.

They play another game, during which he grows increasingly bold. He offers to help her correct her stance, the way she holds her stick, and when he passes behind her, his hand grazes her ass. He smells like stale beer and unshowered male. Both odors, she surmises, are accurate.

“What do you say we take a break? Maybe grab a drink and get to know each other a little better?”

Betty’s heart sinks into her stomach. The clock’s run out and Jughead didn’t show. But she tries to smile, tries to seem like nothing’s wrong. “Sure. Why don’t you find a table while I run to the ladies’ room?”

She grabs her purse and makes a beeline for the dark hallway behind the bar. She swallows the tears that threaten and gets ready to call Jughead and tell him what she did.

As she passes a doorway, someone grabs her wrist and yanks her inside. Whoever it is presses her face against the door and twists her arm up behind her back until she winces. A blanket of fear alights on her stomach. Maybe she went too far. Maybe one of the Serpents…

When he speaks, every bone inside her melts. “Sometimes I think you have a death wish.”

“Juggie?”

His voice is rough in her ear and it send shivers down her spine. “I’ve been watching you. You were so distracted by your new boy toy, you didn’t even notice me across the bar when you got that drink. Tut tut.” He lets go of her and she turns around.

“You’ve been here that long? And you waited?” Before she knows what she’s doing, she slaps him. “You sick fuck.”

He smiles but it’s foreign on his face. Not the way he usually looks at her. Lethal. “That was a mistake, little girl.”

His hand wraps around her throat. She scrambles to wrap both of hers around his wrist. That strong and elegant hand that around the back of her neck felt like safety, security, home, now, wrapped around the front, feels like danger and excitement, and a hunger she’s desperate to sate.

He doesn’t squeeze, but instead uses his grip to pull her head forward so he can kiss her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth until she cannot help but yield to him.

When he releases her, she already feels a bit calmer, a bit more settled. A new softness in his jawline indicates that he does too. She rests her forehead against his and lets out a deep exhale. She’d been more wound up than she realized.

“I was getting a little bit scared. I was in over my head and I didn’t know if the Serpents—”

“They would have. And I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“Except you.”

“Isn’t that how this game works, Betty?” And just like that, something inside her sizzles like electricity.

He tilts her head back and spits in her mouth. “Will you play with me?” She nods. “Good.” He dips his thumb in her mouth and swirls it around her tongue. Then he uses their saliva to smear her lipstick onto her cheek before pulling on her lower lip. “Such a pretty girl.”

Betty’s already feeling light-headed, fuzzy. As if she’s drifting somewhere outside herself. As if he’s fixing all the broken places so her body will be ready to hold her again.

Jughead grabs her wrists in one of his hands and lifts her arms over her head, tilting them back until she loses her balances and falls against the door of the storage closet he’s dragged her into with a dull thud, the knob digging into her ass. But Jughead leans over her, something feral in his eyes. He uses his free hand to yank on her top, untying it and popping the buttons open until he spreads it on either side of her and feasts his eyes on her breasts in the black, lacy balconette she’d chosen for tonight.

He releases her and steps back. “Take it off.”

She rushes to comply. When he holds a hand out, she gives him the bra.

“Good, now let’s go home.” He drops it behind a metal storage cart. “You can pick that up tomorrow.”

She gapes at him. He nods at her shirt, where she’s balled it up and tossed it onto a table. “You can tie it, but no buttons.”

She’s dripping wet. And by the way Jughead looks at her when she presses her legs together, he knows it.

When she’s dressed again, sort of, he takes her by the hand and leads her out the back of the Whyte Wyrm.

If she wasn’t cold before, now in just her mini skirt and tank top, she’s freezing. On his bike, she presses her chest against his back and she’s sure he can feel her nipples through the leather that protects him.

When they get home, they don’t bother with the lights. They both kick their shoes off and move down the hallway, fused together. He runs her into a wall and her shoulder knocks a picture frame to the floor. They step over it and keep going.

In the bedroom, he kisses her again, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

She reaches forward to unzip his pants, but he stops her. “Nuh-uh. I don’t think you deserve that yet.”

“Please, just let me—”

“I said no.” So she stands there, a little deflated, and watches him undress her.

When she’s naked in the centre of the room and he’s still fully clothed, as she fights the urge to cover herself, he says, “That’s better, isn’t it? Now let’s play a game called how good is Betty’s memory.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

“How many times do you think your new friend touched you tonight?”

“Um, five times?” Uh oh. As much as this side of Jughead can make her nervous, she also craves it. When he’s so cold and detached, when he looks like he can see right through her, that’s when she trusts that he will take care of her. That he’ll give her what she needs. Because sometimes she frightens herself. But she never frightens him.

“Wrong. He touched you eleven times. And that’s just after I arrived. Now, how many words of my work did you delete?”

She definitely doesn’t know this. “Seventy thousand?”

“Wrong again. You deleted ninety-five thousand words.”

Tears flood her eyes. “Juggie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I know I can’t fix it, but can I make it up to you somehow?”

He chuckles at her as he removes his own shirt. “We’re certainly going to let you try. Why did you do that Betty? What did you think would happen when I found out you’d messed with my computer, when I found you showing your ass off to someone else?” He steps up behind her so he’s talking into her hair. She can feel the rough material of his jeans brush against her ass. She wants to lean back to find out if he’s hard yet, if this is affecting him as much as it is her, but she knows he wouldn’t like that.

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. What did you want to happen?”

Betty closes her eyes and whispers, “I wanted you to hurt me.”

“That’s right. But maybe I shouldn’t let you get what you want. Maybe I should just let you suck my cock and then come all over your face and let you sleep in it.” She whimpers and forces herself to nod. “But I’m too selfish for that. I’m not going to sleep until I feel the velvet heat of your cunt around me. Until I’ve rubbed you raw, inside and out. So here’s what you’re going to do for me.” He comes back around to face her. “You’re going to touch your tits.” Her hands move without any input from her brain. “Now twist your nipples.” She does. “Good. Now I want you to pinch them so hard they turn white.”

She just stands there. It feels different somehow, to do it to herself. She wants him to take the control from her. She doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to willfully offer it up. Jughead shakes his head. “I thought you were serious.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re not, I can just go back to work—”

“No!”

“You want me to hurt you? Prove it.”

“What?”

“I told you to pinch your nipples.” She squeezes. He watches her as he removes his pants and boxers.

“Harder.”

She does until tears spring to her eyes.

“Good girl.” That horrible perfectionist inside her preens at the compliment. She closes her eyes and bites her lip, trying to concentrate on the pain that sends shock waves down to her pussy. Then Jughead pulls her hands off and captures one peak in his mouth, sucking, and the sudden influx of blood makes her gasp. He wraps his hands around her waist, forcing her to bow her back until she’s afraid she’s going to fall.

But at the last second, he spins them and pulls her onto the bed on top of him. He slides up the bed and she crawls on top of him, trying to follow. With every jostle, his cock brushes against her centre and she wants to scream.

When his head lands on the pillow, she leans back and begins to gyrate against him, desperate now.

“Please, please…” She doesn’t know anymore what she’s asking for.

He slaps her thigh and after a moment she realizes he’s telling her to get up on her knees. He slips a hand between them and angles his cock up, before gripping her hips and slamming her down on him. Now, she does scream.

He doesn’t thrust, but wraps both hands around her, thumbs rubbing her hip bones, and urges her to move.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take what you need from me.” His fingers are tight and she knows she’ll have bruises. She welcomes the pain. Her nails carve small half moons into his pecs, a matching set to the scars on her own palms.

But the sting must make him impatient. He begins thrusting upward with his hips and pulling her down at the same time, setting a brutal rhythm. Every time her clit hits his pubic bone she shudders. She’s on top, but he’s controlling the pace, the angle. He’s controlling her. And it’s as if by controlling her body, he can reach any remaining piece of her soul that remains unconquered. And she wants him to have that. She wants him to have every splintered, bleeding part of her. Tears begin to slip out of her eyes. She sees them drip off her face and land on her hands, on his chest.

When her shaking intensifies, when she’s so close, he pushes her off him and bites her shoulder as he reenters her from behind. Betty cries out at the sharp sting of teeth but god she wants it. She wants him to bite her all over until her back is a mess of mangled tissue. She must have been speaking out loud because he does. Every bit of her he can reach, biting and dragging his teeth against the aching flesh. She sobs at the intensity and an orgasm slams into her without warning.

Jughead keeps pounding away inside of her, like a meat tenderizer against her pussy. She’s crying in earnest now. She never wants him to stop.

But he does. He pulls out and paints her back in hot, sticky ropes of come. A masterpiece. Then he collapses beside her and drags her on top of him.

And her sweet boyfriend is back. Dark Betty, banished back to her hiding place.

“Next time you find yourself spiralling, I want you to promise you’ll tell me. Preferably before you start deleting things off my laptop.” Betty nods into the wet spot she’s left on his chest. “You’re lucky you know I keep a back up on my external.” Yes, she’s damn lucky Dark Betty remembered that. If she did.

They throw all the darkness into the black hole they create between them until it burns itself up and winks out of existence. Until the next time.

Later, she’s laying across his lap and he’s tracing her back, running his fingers in and out of the grooves of his teeth marks.

“Let me see.”

“Betty, no.”

“I want to see it Juggie.” He sighs, reaching over to flick the lamp on before slipping his arms under hers, pulling her up so her chest rests against his, and she can twist and see her back in the mirror across from the foot of their bed.

It’s a web of raised red and white ridges. Her eyes follow the hills and valleys of her damaged skin.

“I’m sorry I got carried away. The noises you were making—”

“Don’t be. I don’t want it to ever fade. I want you indelibly inked onto my skin, a tattoo that scientists years from now could use to resurrect your exact dentition.” She wants to wear Jughead Jones’s darkness like a cloak to hide her own.

“We could do that.”

“How?”

“I mean, I know you have your crown. And we probably shouldn’t do anything like that again. It’s a miracle you didn’t get tetanus the first time. But maybe a tattoo, if you wanted.”

“Yes. Yes, I want. Do you? Would you want that?”

He gives her a look that would melt steel. “Betts, I’d do everything short of tagging you with ‘Jughead Jones wuz here’ if I could.”

She smiles and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Where?”

He slips his hand back underneath her, coming to rest where the curve of her breast runs into the skin of her back. His thumb presses into a particularly deep bite mark and she hisses. “Here.”

[bugsieplusone]

Between a rock and a hard place

Injured and stuck in a cave is the last place Sabine expected an invite from Kadara’s Outcast leader.

A fic for Sloane week ~ under the cut (phew did I make it? I’ve had little time to do much this week.)

Sabine had been surprised to find Kaetus and Sloane as well as half a dozen both at the entrance to the cave when they arrived.

She shook her head. “What are you doing here? Kaetus asked us to deal with this.”

Sloane laughed, a resonant chuckle. “I want to see how you work. Plus rumors were that there was a small army of kett down here. I’ve heard you’re good, Ryder, but not that good.”

Sabine smiled at the backhanded compliment. “Thanks for the vote of confidence-- I guess.”

“Come on then. We’ve picked off a few here, if they don’t know we’re here, they soon will.” Sloane didn’t wait for a reply before her and her small group of Outcasts headed deeper into the cave.

Sabine shrugged at Liam and Vetra and they followed behind.

Pathfinder, a warning.

What is it SAM?

According to preliminary maps, this area is in a geologically unstable region. Arms fire might set of the surrounds.

Well, shit. I don’t think the kett are going to care.

If you turn your sensors on, I can monitor the situation whilst you assist the Outcasts.

Do it SAM. I’ve got some kett to kill.

Sloane’s information had been correct. A small army of maybe twenty-five kett had taken base in deeper part of the cave. However, their handful of eight, five outcasts and the three of them from the Pathfinder team, was more than enough gunpower. Only one injured and a whole lot of dead kett. Sabine had given Sloane the smuggest smile when the last kett fell, yet she remained passive and unimpressed.

The Outcasts began to move some of the more valuable kett provisions and Vetra and Liam scrabbled amongst the belongs to find things for themselves before asking Sabine if she needed anything.

Sabine shook her head. “Take what you can carry, there’s not much room in the nomad.” She watched as Liam took several items of armor and Vetra removed mods from several kett weapons. Both walked back to the cave entrance leaving Sabine behind. She turned to Sloane who was directing Kaetus and another Outcast member.

“Okay take that. Then we can go and bring back some more people to recover the rest of what’s here. Looks some good stuff.”

“Sloane, uh I’m going now.

Sloane nodded. “Okay then so.”

Sabine’s mouth fell open, and she scratched her chin, unsure what reaction she had really wanted from Sloane. Gratitude would have been a good place to start though. “Okay the--”

Pathfinder I am detecting a small tremor in the area can you--

The sound of thunder filled Sabine’s ears. Soil and rock debris flew in plumes around her, fine particles filled her mouth with dust and hit her eyes blinding her from her surrounds. She fell back, her ass hit the ground hard and a sudden sharp pain hit her hand before it reverberated up her arm. She yelped then let out a series of gasping coughs the grit coating her lips as it spluttered from her mouth.

When the dust cleared she looked down at her hand, her pinkie finger was bloody and the skin torn down to the bone. Just looking at it made her flinch. A few feet away she could see Sloane lying prostrate. Sabine’s heart leapt into her mouth, but then she saw her head move and a low groan emanate she made a deep sigh of relief.

Sloane moved to a sitting position as Sabine, walked towards her holding her injured hand against her.

“You okay?” Sabine asked as she looked down at her.

Sloane coughed and licked her lips then glanced up to her. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a rock fall.” It took a moment for Sabine to come out of a dazed state before she saw the bone sticking out form Sloane’s leg. “Shit you okay?” she said as she stared at Sloane’s wound.

Sloane followed Sabine’s glance down to her leg and let out a guffaw. “I guess not.”

Pathfinder your finger appears to be damaged, but not extensively. Also the entrance to the cavern appears to be blocked. I suggest contacting the Pathfinder team in order to find a way out.

“Okay SAM, was just gonna do that,” Sabine said aloud.

Sloane started laughing again then began to cough before staring up to the bewildered Sabine. “That thing in your head now too? I almost forgot.”

Sabine blinked not realising that she had replied to SAM verbally rather than just thinking. She squatted down beside the injured Outcast leader and placed her hand gently on Sloane’s knee. Where her pants were ripped, she could see Sloane’s skin was barely broken, with little blood. However, there was bone pointing through. She’d have to stabilise it and make sure Sloane didn’t go into shock before help arrived.

She pulled her communicator out and tapped on it. “Vetra, Liam, are you okay?”

Static filled the quiet space they occupied before Vetra replied. “Ryder, you’re alright?”

She looked at her hand then down to Sloane’s leg again. “Yeah I’m okay, but Sloane’s leg appears to be broken. Anybody else injured?”

“No. But it looks like you’re both trapped behind a wall of rock, we’re gonna have to dig you out. Kaetus wants to speak with Sloane. None of their comm device can get through to her.”

“I’m gonna dig up what I can in the way of medigel if it hasn’t made its way out yet.” She held out the comm to Sloane. “You okay to talk?”

Sloane nodded.

“Gonna go find some stuff. I’ll be right back. Gonna hand the comm to Sloane, Vetra.”

“Okay, we’ll get you out, Ryder, might take a while-- save your energy-- both of you.”

Sabine headed inwards to the small kett facility. Inside the base was a warren of rooms and stores. She remembered seeing what appeared to be a small medical area in the back. Inside the cupboards was everything she needed. Medigel and a kit with a mediblanket, makeshift splint material and a small handheld monitor that looked to be angaran. She poured medigel over her damaged finger, bound the joint to her index finger with a bandage and winced as she pulled it tight and fastened it securely.

Back near the entrance, Sloane had pulled herself against a nearby rock and was breathing heavy from the exertion of pulling herself. Sabine could hear a faint thud then a sound like a drill coming from the other side of the fallen rock. She said nothing as she knelt down and poured medigel on Sloane’s open wound, put the splint either side of her broken leg and bound and set it in place.

“Okay don’t move it.” Sabine grabbed the medical emergency blanket and made to place it over Sloane.

“I don’t need that,” Sloane said.

Sabine ignored her and draped the blanket over her lower half, whether Sloane wanted to or not she didn’t want her dying of shock and when she didn’t protest any further, Sabine tucked the blanket on either side of her legs.

“Kaetus says a couple of hours at least before they can get through. They’ve got mining equipment on the job already.”

Sabine gave a wry smile. “I can hear. Time for us to get to know each other better then, hey?”

Sloane snorted and bowed her head. “Sure. Got a pillow for my ass though?” She looked to be waiting for Sabine to reply but Sabine sat back quietly and said nothing. “Why did you come to Andromeda? Daddy make you?”

Sabine’s brow rose at the sudden interrogation. “Why did you come?” she said, ignoring the sarcastic tone of Sloane’s enquiry as she made her reply a question.

“I asked first, Pathfinder. I knew your father, he wasn’t an easy man.”

She nodded. “So you did ask first. And no, he wasn’t the easiest of individuals. Dad didn’t make us, if you must know. We wanted to come. Gabriel and I.” She sighed as thoughts drifted to her comatose brother still in the medical facility back on the Nexus. “Gabriel has a natural sense of adventure.”

Sloane spat out more dirt from her mouth. “Nice deflection. But I didn’t ask about your brother.”

Sabine huffed out a laugh. “Gabriel had-- has-- a sense of adventure, but I-- I have sense of curiosity. I’m the kid who doesn’t leave a single rock on the beach unturned.”

“So you looking for something? Plenty of rocks here for you turn over. Beaches kinda suck though. I’m not one for bathing in water that smells like Satan farted in it.” Sloane nodded towards the rock wall and laughed.

Sabine let out an amused laugh. She hadn’t heard Kadara described quite in that way, and it was apt. “Well I’m looking for homes for everyone now. The habitats we’ve found really haven’t been any good.”

“But, before you were Pathfinder? What do you think you’d find under the rocks in Andromeda?”

Sabine bit her lip and shrugged. “I dunno. You found anything of note?”

Sloane shifted her weight. “Ha. Nope. And whatever the fuck I was looking for it doesn’t matter now. I didn’t fucking find it here in the Andromeda galaxy that’s for sure. Maybe I’m still looking.”

She tilted her head a one-sided smirk came to Sabine’s face. “Now who’s deflecting?”

Sloane laughed and coughed again. Sabine made to go to her but Sloane waved her down before she could get to her feet. “Give me some of that water, Ryder.”

“I really shouldn’t. You could have more serious--”

Just give it to me, just gonna rinse my mouth out -- don’t worry, I’m not the kind to swallow,” she said and winked at her and laughed as Sabine passed her the small flask hanging from her hip.

Sabine felt a heat rise to her cheeks at the innuendo and gave a quiet laugh before looking away.

Sloane took a swig and spat out the contents before taking another and swallowing it.

“You lied about swallowing,” Sabine said.

Sloane shook her head. “It’s Kadara, Pathfinder. Everyone lies here. The difference between here and the Nexus-- is you at least know that no one here speaks the truth. Anyway, I don’t make it a habit of lying. I don’t need to.”

Sabine nodded. “Well the lying part I get, but Reye--“

Sloane held her hand up. “Ugh don’t mention him. My Outcasts are going to hunt that bastard down and show him a thing or two.”

“What are you going to do? I mean--”

“It doesn’t matter, hopefully he’s been stabbed in the back somewhere and I don’t have to deal with his deception anymore. I’m gonna rip him to shreds otherwise, or a bullet. One or the other will suffice.” Sloane sniffed and pursed her lips she stared up the rock wall and away from Sabine’s gaze. “I came to Andromeda because of Jien. I would have followed her to the ends of the earth. I wasn’t an opportunist like Reyes.”

Sabine felt a chill run up her spine and dust fell from the rocks above as she could hear the drilling noise become louder. Obviously Sloane had a different idea of what an opportunist was, certainly wasn’t her current role one of opportunity? “You made it, though, we’re here at the ends of the earth.”

A sad smile washed across Sloane’s face and her features softened. “But Jien isn’t.”

She tapped her lips. Sabine knew little of Sloane before the Initiative left, even less of Jien even though her father was a good friend. She wanted to know more about it all, there were stories of what happened on the Nexus during the uprising-- she’d heard one side, but not the other. She wanted to know more of Sloane, if for any reason it meant an alliance and goodwill towards the Initiatives new outpost. “You were close?”

Sloane shifted uneasily again and swallowed. “As close as anyone with initial involvement with the Initiative, your father included.” Sloane tilted her head at Sabine as though gaging her reaction. “You’ve got his eyes, you know. They’re as blue as the waters here.”

“But without the sulphurous fart smell behind it right?” she said and chuckled.

A wide grin surfaced on Sloane’s otherwise unrevealing face. “I’m not that close to your ass right now, I wouldn’t know.”

Sabine crossed her arms and put a mock indignant look on her face, it felt like a cover for an increasing nervousness and she hoped a light hearted response might ease the sudden tension she felt at what in any other situation would come across as flirtatious. “I’ll have you know, my farts have a wholesome healthy smell of someone with a good diet and who gets plenty of exercise and fresh air.”

Sloane started to chortle and hold her stomach. “One night eating Kaetus special bean dish made especially for humans would be the ultimate test of that-- let me tell ya.”

Sabine felt her shoulders relax and she started laughing along with her. “You inviting me to dinner?” she asked.

Their laughter echoed around the cave only drowned out by the sudden sound of machinery on the other side of the fallen rock

Sloane’s laughter subsided and they both turned their heads towards the wall where the noise came from, expecting a breakthrough; however, the sound retreated again and when Sabine turned back, Sloane was staring straight at her, the soft look that appeared on her face when talking about Jien had returned.

“When next you come back to Kadara-- I don’t trust the Initiative, but Jien trusted Alec, and I feel I have to give you at least some semblance of a chance. Yeah, come to dinner.”

Sabine’s mouth fell open then shut again. It was meant to be a joke, but here she was asking her to share a meal. Sloane’s invite came across more as an command than a request and Sabine knew she couldn’t refuse, any more than she could refuse to pay Sloane’s ‘protection’ for the Initiative outpost. However, there had been a fleeting moment of vulnerability behind Sloane’s eyes. You could ignore her heterochromia for the most part, but this was different. Sabine could take it as her current injured state and nothing more, but that moment, it made her heart pound and she felt like a startled deer in headlights of an oncoming truck.

A crashing noise of rock and dust came from the rock face that had fallen, the mining machinery had broken through in just under forty minutes. Kaetus was first through, blindly looking for Sloane before the dust had even settled.

Sabine stood as Vetra and Liam came through behind him.

Kaetus and another Outcast member pulled Sloane to her feet.

“Hey, be careful, her leg is broken,” Sabine said.

Kaetus waved his hand at her. “We know what we’re doing, Ryder. You can go.”

Sabine shook her head. “Well thanks for everything, Kaetus,” she said with a sarcastic tone to her voice.

“Stop. Hang on.” Sloane made them stop in front of Sabine. “You’re making this a habit, saving me that is.”

Sabine crossed her arms and nodded. “For all that’s had happened on Kadara, I’m not one to keep receipts, but maybe I’ll keep this one.”

Sloane smiled and bit her lip “You’re learning fast. You even sound a little bit like Alec. Maybe you’ll fit into Kadara after all.” She reached out with a grimy hand and touched Sabine’s face. Her thumb slid over her top lip leaving a trace of dust.

Sabine let out an inaudible gasp at the intimate touch, her heart rate increased and a flutter hit her belly. “I ah-- I ah--”

“Farewell, Pathfinder. See you when you return.”

With that, Sloane was gone and Sabine stood dumbfounded.

Vetra placed her hand on Sabine’s shoulder. “C’mon, Ryder, let’s get back to the Tempest. Get Lexi to give you a once over. Jaal has apparently cooked something for us, if you’re up for a home cooked angaran meal after all this.”

Sabine stared up at the turian a dazed look in her eyes. “Sure, as long as it’s not beans okay?”

Vetra’s brow knitted in confusion. “What?”

Sabine shook her head. “I’ll tell you later, Vetra, remind me next time we come back to Kadara.”

[scepterofstardust]

talk me down.

Ladies and gentlemen and everything in between, it’s Day 7.

That means, I’m addressing the funeral. (I’m sorry.)

External: AO3

It had been an effort not to stare when Saruhiko had met him on the sidewalk outside of Yata's house to walk to the cemetery together. His friend was dressed in black, making his already unhealthy complexion look downright ghastly. It was raining, and within seconds, Saru's hair was plastered to his head, dripping water. He normally would have complained, but he walked at a sluggish pace to Yata, who halfheartedly scolded him and warned him that he would catch cold as he tugged him under the umbrella he had brought. The most frightening of all was his face. Yata had expected grief, had expected something plainer and more raw than Saruhiko's usual nonchalant default. 

He should have known better than to think Saruhiko would stop being complicated just because there was a death in the family.

Saruhiko's eyes were flat and lifeless, the cold blue boring into Yata. His mouth was set in a thin line, any words he may have said sealed in tight. 

"Saru?" Yata asked cautiously. Saruhiko met his gaze and wordlessly lifted his chin to the sidewalk. 

"Let's go." Yata nodded, silently resigning himself to not knowing what was going on in Saruhiko's head. It happened a lot these days. Well, always. He knew Saruhiko better than probably anybody, but that didn't mean he knew everything. Far from it. Yata suspected it would take more than his single lifetime to unravel the great mystery that was his best friend. He wanted to be alright with that, but really, he wasn't.

Especially when Saruhiko was walking beside him, expressionless in the rain, to his father's funeral. He wanted to know what to do for him, what to say, what to offer. But the fact was, he was at a loss.

Saruhiko said absolutely nothing on the way to the cemetery, but when they reached the long drive that led up to where people were gathered, he slowed to a stop. Yata looked up at him questioningly, stopping himself to keep the umbrella over Saruhiko's head. 

"Hey. What's wrong?" Saruhiko's face didn't change as he stared up the road. "Do..." Yata shifted his weight awkwardly. "Do you want to go up there?" All he needed was a shake of his head, maybe a muttered no, Misaki, and they would turn around and go back to the house and warm up with tea and blankets. If that was what Saru wanted. 

But Saruhiko squared his shoulders and began walking again. Yata trailed after him anxiously. 

"I do not," Saruhiko said without turning, "want to be here longer than I have to. If anyone offers you to stay, say no." Yata had barely avoided visibly jumping when Saru finally spoke. 

"O-Okay." They had reached the top of the hill at last, and Saruhiko added,

"And when we talk to them, don't give them your name." Yata felt his stomach tighten in some sort of dread. Saruhiko was firm, full of vague warning as if they were going into battle. 

Maybe they were.

Saruhiko didn't wait for his answer and set off towards the group of mourners, their black umbrellas obscuring their heads. It looked like a murder of crows, the shuffling movement like birds searching for food in the wet grass. Yata shuddered a little, sticking to Saru's side as they got closer.

Saruhiko bowed his head to each person they passed politely, but there was no emotion behind it. No disgust, no fondness, nothing in between. If he was forced to introduce himself, Saru did so blandly, meeting their dubious gaze with his freezing stare. As he predicted, a lot of people asked who Yata was, defensive as if they would kick him out of their exclusive party. He nervously told them he was a family friend, nothing more. Two of the women had snickered at him, finding the idea hilarious, and he felt Saruhiko tense up in anger. Yata kept his gaze close to the ground as they made their way through the group. He heard whispers following them.

Saruhiko? Poor boy. His father really did screw him up. 

Is that really Niki's son? 

I've never heard of him.

Can you blame Niki for not mentioning him? He doesn't look like he could do much, does he?

What a weakling. 

Yata grit his teeth. He was used to Saruhiko taking insults like they cost him nothing, and he was past the point of threatening everybody who talked bad about his best friend. Or at least, he had thought he was, until he felt his hands clenching into fists and words burning hot at the back of his throat. 

Fuck you, he wanted to scream at them. You don't know anything at all.

He forced himself to snap out of it as they approached the headstone, the dirt in front of it still freshly overturned. Saruhiko stood there simply looking at it for several long moments, staring it down like it had personally challenged him.

"I'm sorry for your loss." It was what Yata's mother had instructed him to say. It was what you said when someone died, someone close. It felt awkward, though, too formal. To make up for it, Yata edged closer to Saruhiko and gently put a hand on his arm. He swallowed as he waited for an answer, feeling strangely afraid. There was so much more he wanted to say - are you okay, please talk to me, I'm trying not to be scared but I am you look gone you look dead you don't look like my friend, please...

This was uncharted territory for them. Yata had been with Saruhiko for a lot; through school, through his worst moments and his best. But he had never seen this.

Saruhiko's face revealed nothing, of course, but he was trembling. Yata could feel it through his suit jacket. 

"Don't," Saruhiko choked out, his voice jagged. "Don't say that. Don't be." 

"I won't," Yata promised. 

Saruhiko's mask was breaking now, the image splintering until his face showed signs of distress, showed his rapid blinking to hold back the tears, showed his lip wobbling as he fought not to break down. Saru's shoulders were hunched and he seemed terribly small, in this moment. Yata felt his eyes stinging and he didn't hesitate to reach for Saruhiko's hand, not today, not when he was needed most. It was ice cold, but Yata squeezed hard, willing warmth into the skin. Saruhiko closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

"Do you want to go home?" Yata murmured. He wanted to get Saru away from here, away from all those people dressed in black laughing at him and away from the stone that read FUSHIMI NIKI in icy marble. He wanted him to be secure, wanted to watch him relax as he sat on the couch and he made them food. He wanted, as always, to save him.

But Yata knew, as many times as he had bandaged scrapes and cuts, had thrown bullies into walls and taken bruises for him, he could not rescue him from the wounds he inflicted on himself, internal and invisible. For those, he could do nothing but stay at his side and hope that he was allowed an opportunity to try and soothe it. It was a guessing game, frustrating, but that had never stopped him.

Saruhiko silently knelt down in the grass, letting go of Yata's hand, and plucked a flower from one of the bouquets that had been carefully arranged around the grave. It was a blue rose, uncommon, the thorns still attached. Yata watched as Saruhiko's lip curled in something dangerously close to disgust, and he yanked at the petals, ruthlessly pulling them off one by one. When he was finished, he crumpled the remains in his hand and let them fall to the ground. He straightened, gripping the stem in his fist as he threw it as hard as he could into the field. Yata flinched, confused, and grabbed Saruhiko's wrist.

"Hey." Saruhiko's eyes settled on Yata, placid as if nothing had happened. Yata took his hand and inhaled sharply as he saw the blood. The thorns had gouged cuts into his palm and the undersides of his fingers. Saruhiko didn't so much as wince, just observed the rain drops landing on his hand as if they held some fantastic mystery. Yata shook his head, wishing he had bandages with him.  "Why did you do that?" He felt like he wouldn't get an answer, but he tried anyways. Saruhiko only wrapped cold fingers around his, not holding too tight so the cuts wouldn't gush or open wider.

"Yes."

"What?" Yata was frowning in worry, watching the small drops of blood dripping off of their joined hands.

"Let's go home," Saruhiko clarified, beginning to head back towards the road. 

Yata followed him, dumbfounded. They trudged down the driveway side by side. The only noise was the rain splattering onto the umbrella above their heads. Yata clenched his jaw at the warmth he felt running down his palm. Fear sloshed around in his chest with every step, fear at why Saru had sneered at his father's grave, at what Saruhiko might have done if he had gone back to that house with no one to hold onto him. No one to make sure the damage was less than a few cuts.

Yata shivered, squeezing Saru's hand as tight as he dared. He moved closer to him, the instinct to protect crawling under his skin. 

"Are you cold?"

"Yeah," Yata lied sheepishly. Saruhiko allowed the proximity with a click of his tongue. 

"And here you're scolding me."

"...Shut up." That earned him a weak ghost of a smirk, and Yata counted it as a victory. They traveled the rest of the way in a more comfortable silence, and Yata unlocked the apartment door. Saruhiko immediately collapsed on the couch, and Yata sighed at him as he went into the kitchen. While dinner was cooking, he waved his best friend into the bathroom.

"Sit on the counter, let me look at it," Yata coaxed. Saruhiko sulked a bit before complying, hoisting himself up onto the counter. Yata took some ointment and bandages out of the medicine cabinet and gingerly took Saruhiko's injured hand in his own. He examined it and found that the cuts had stopped bleeding. "You still feel cold," Yata lamented. "You should take a hot shower after this so you don't get sick." The other boy made a small grunt of agreement, rather than his usual biting comment. Yata looked up from unwrapping a bandage, eyebrows raised. He found Saruhiko leaning his head against the wall, eyes drooping shut. 

"You didn't really sleep last night, huh?" Yata guessed quietly, feeling his chest ache. He got a nod of agreement. "I'll make it quick, I promise." Saruhiko winced as bandages were wrapped around his palm, then his fingers. "Sorry." 

"Stings," Saruhiko mumbled.

It wouldn't if you weren't so intent on self destruction, Yata almost retorted. He knew better, though, and he secured the bandages before stepping back from the counter. Saruhiko got down, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. He might have teased him about it, if Yata didn't know precisely why he was so exhausted. Instead, he led him to the kitchen for dinner, and hoped that somehow, he could make it better.

Yata sighed into the darkness of the bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. He listened to the restless sounds in the bunk below him that had been going on for several hours now. At last he couldn't stand it anymore and he wiggled over to the edge of his bed, peering down and spotting Saruhiko curled up on his side facing the wall. 

"Saru?" he whispered.

"What?" Saruhiko rubbed at his face tiredly.

"Can't sleep?" Yata asked even though he knew the answer.

"No," Saruhiko admitted, rolling over to look up at him. 

"Makes two of us." Yata propped himself up on his elbows. Even in the dark, Saruhiko looked troubled, and his eyes were puffy. "Is there...anything I can do?" He offered hesitantly. Saruhiko rarely sought comfort outright, so he wasn't really sure what he was meant to do. Maybe he could sleep in Saruhiko's bed like when he had nightmares? Saruhiko heaved out a sigh and slowly reached his hand out towards Yata in a silent invitation. Yata swallowed and took his hand, watching thin, pale fingers intertwine with his. He saw Saruhiko's eyes close and the tension drain out of his body. "Saru, I..." Yata took a deep breath. "I don't know anything, I don't know what this is like for you, but..." He tightened his grip and tried to smile reassuringly. "You're gonna make it, you know?"

"Right," Saruhiko replied, his voice rough. He was smiling faintly, as if he'd been told a joke. It made Yata's stomach twist. 

"I'll make sure you do," he vowed. "I'm not going anywhere." Saruhiko opened his eyes a fraction, fixing him with a flat stare.

"Yeah," he said quietly, throwing his free arm over his eyes. Yata bit his lip.

"Want me to come down there?" It was just a suggestion, but Saruhiko nodded at once. Yata clambered down from the top bunk without letting go of Saruhiko's hand and laid down beside him, rolling onto his side and pulling their hands between them. Saruhiko remained on his back, eyes covered. Yata watched him worriedly for a few moments before he settled into the blankets, feeling sleep pulling at him. He slowly slipped under, with Saruhiko's hand in his. 

Somewhere between dream and reality, he swore to himself that he would keep that promise.   

No matter what it cost.

[kor-knight]

Darkness Prevails ch 6

Love is a beautiful thing.

Its the smile on her face when he makes a joke, or the feel of her arms around him. The look in her eye when they’re sitting in the booth at Pops. The same vanilla scent that seemed to symbolize her.

But, love can also be a dangerous thing.

It can pull people apart, or make others attack in the declaration of it. It can be hiding the truth from the one you love for fear of hurting them.

Or it can be the girl you’re in love with asking you an impossible question.

“No.” Jughead didn’t register his mouth opening, or even trying to talk. But his voice rang out, alarm bells ringing.

Through the tears, Betty’s face morphed into that of confusion. “Why not?” was all she asked, pulling out of his arms.

Scoffing, Jughead reached forward, cupping her face. “I just got you back Betts. Please don’t make me lose you again. Please”

Choking on a sob, Betty closed her eyes, nodding. “It’s so hard though Juggie… The rumors, the names, the touching-”

“Touching?” He cut her off.

“It’s just so hard, I can’t deal with it.”

“You are so much stronger than the white noise. And if you’re crazy? So what? I am too.” She smiles through the tears, sniffling. “Don’t give up Betty, please. “He pulls her forward, placing a kiss so full of emotion on her quivering lips. Trying to convey the thoughts he can’t quite express in words.

And it must’ve conveyed something, because even as her body still shook from the assault of her emotions, she smiled nonetheless at the boy in front of her. Whose eyes so full of life and love, protectiveness and respect. Most of that directed at her.

“I don’t deserve you Juggie..”

“Don’t do that. You deserve the world Elizabeth Cooper, but I will try my best to give you even the smallest piece.” Placing a gentle kiss on her temple, Jughead pulled her close. “I know I’m not a white knight in shining armor, more so a black knight in leather?” He wiggled his eyebrows, causing Betty to giggle. “But maybe I can lend you my shield – if you would have it?”

Pulling away slightly, Betty’s confusion evident on her pristine features. Smirking, he yanks his serpent jacket off his shoulders, and reaches for her hand. Slowly, careful of her fresh wounds, he pulls the cool leather over her arms. Securing the jacket around her shoulders, he pulls it snug and places a kiss on her nose.

Pushing invisible dust off her shoulder, Jughead just smiles. “There. Now you have my shield. May it bring you peace and comfort.”

Betty just smiled, nodding a thank you.

Cleaning up her office quickly, they head out to Pops, ordered takeout, and spent the rest of the evening at his trailer watching Netflix. After the 4th episode of Criminal Minds finished, Betty stifled a yawn and cuddled closer to Jughead, nuzzling her face into his neck.

Sighing, he traces small circles on her shoulder. “I wish I could protect you Betts. I’m sorry I live on this side of the tracks.” Betty just stayed silent, breathing calm, the telltale sign she was out cold. He gazed at her sleeping figure, eyes trailing the curve of her hip.

A different kind of hunger coursed through his veins as his eyes trailed over the exposed skin of the angel beneath him. His mind wandered to places his hands have yet to discover. The valley between her breasts, the soft skin of her hips, the sensitive center he longed to delve into. His heart raced at the thoughts, of the idea that this beauty was his to touch.

He was the luckiest guy on the planet.

No, in the entire universe.

His mind wandered to all things Betty as he laid his head back and shut his eyes.

He awoke again, the trailer dark. Stiff and sore from the unnatural position, he groaned. Fishing out his phone, he hissed at the blinding light assault on his still sleepy eyes. Taking a second to adjust, he looks over at it again.

3:34am

“Shit!”

Jughead jumped up, woozy for a second before switching on the light. A groan surfaced from beneath a blanket, signaling Betty wasn’t too pleased at the rude awakening.

“Betts” he leaned down, shaking her gently. “Betty you need to wake up. It’s 3am. Your mom is going to kill me. Then you. Then me again.” He laughed nervously, but she still didn’t budge.

“I don’t want to be there. Can I please stay with you tonight?” Her voice was quiet, thick with sleepiness.

“What about your mom Betty?” Jughead was trying to convince himself otherwise, fully on board with the idea of her staying.

“She doesn’t care. I’ll just say I was at Ronnie’s.” She cuddled up in the blanket again, smiling tiredly up at him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me Betty Cooper.” He laughs, placing his arms under her legs and on her back, picking her up bridal style and heading to the bedroom. Setting her down on the mattress, he shed his beanie, jacket and jeans.

Before sliding in beside her, he asks, “Are you content with sleeping in that?” He looks pointedly at her hoodie, jeans and socks still on. She bites her lip, and unbuttons her pants.

“W-What are you doing?” He felt his face heat up, looking away quickly. Then her hand was entwined with his, and he was getting dragged down to the bed.

“You’re pretty nervous for someone who took my virginity Juggie.” She cooed, moving his arm to snuggle in close to him.

“It was quick, and you don’t even remember it. So we could say it doesn’t – what are you doing with your legs?” He could feel her silky legs rubbing up and down his, heating them up.

Her laugh filled the small room. He failed to reciprocate it, only letting out a breathy wheeze. His face reddened, eyes lowering to her collar bone. Placing a gentle kiss there, he heard Betty gasp. Encouraged, he placed another just south of the previous, eliciting another gasp to escape her lips. Shifting to lay above her, putting weight on his elbows, he traveled further down, each kiss bringing new and exciting sounds from the goddess below.

Smirking, and with newfound confidence, Jughead nipped and sucks on the sensitive skin between her delicious mounds. Betty all but screams at the contact, tangling her fingers in his messy curls. Her breathes shallow, legs squeezed together, she was squirming below him so much, you’d have thought he was tickling her.

He sucked a little harder, before she forcefully pulls his hair till his face lined up with hers, smothering him with a kiss.

“Please Juggie...” Her hooded, desire over every one of her perfect features. Jughead just smiled, kissed her soft lips and complied.

When Betty awoke the following morning, stiff and sore, sitting up she recalled the events of last night and smiled. Welcoming the tension in her muscles, she stretched and got out of bed. After putting on Jughead’s discarded flannel, and her jeans, she rushed to the tiny bathroom to make herself slightly presentable.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she head out to the main room; in search of her beloved. As she rounded the corner to the kitchen, she spotted him perched on the tiny table. Feet up on the chair, laptop balancing on his knees, his back facing her. Circling around the counter, Betty reached out and covered his eyes.

“Guess who?” She bite her lip to keep from giggling.

“Gee, I don’t know.” Discarding the laptop and spinning abruptly, he wraps his arms around her waist, “My gorgeous girlfriend? Or should I say benevolent housemistress?” Wiggling his eyebrow, Betty just laughed at his remark

“I’d like to officially point out that this-” she throws her arms up, twirling around “-is a trailer, not a house.”

“Fine fine grammar nerd. Benevolent Trailermistress. Better?” She nodded her approval before wrapping her around his neck, kissing him.

Jughead’s hands rub her lower back, then shift to her ass, squeezing gently. A gasp emits from her, and he takes advantage, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She deepens the kiss more by tangling her fingers in his hair, tilting her head slightly.

They break apart a few minutes later, out of breath and disheveled. “If you keep that up Betts, you won’t make it to school on time.” He’s still panting.

Betty just shrugs. “Maybe I won’t go. Not like anybody will miss me there.” She untangles her limbs, and heads over to the couch.

“Betty.” His voice isn’t demanding, just laced with concern. He plops down beside her, pulling her in to his chest. “Remember what I told you yesterday? I gave you my shield. Use it.”

She looks up at him, a small smile on her lips. “Do you think I’d be allowed in the school with it on?”

“Only one way to find out.” He challenges, standing up and pulling her with him. He reaches down quickly, and places the cool leather in her hands. “You might want to wear your own clothes though. People might talk...” He looked pointedly at his shirt hanging on her shoulders, smirking.

“Let ‘em talk.” She giggled, before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him again.

They arrive at Riverdale High within the hour, both dressed- Betty still wearing Jughead’s shirt though- and ready for the day.

Before she gets out of his dads truck, she turns to give him a kiss goodbye.

“Remember what I said baby, if anyone gives you trouble. Call me.” He winked at her, and watched her walk up the steps into the school.

“God she is sexy.”

[raindrenchedstories]

Not myself

Day woke in the middle of the night to a strange yowling noise outside her window. Sitting up, she opened the window to find Reaver perched precariously on the balcony. “Mhn... Reaver? The hell?”

Her response was a low, worried growl. Day paused. Reaching for her book on Gordylie. Reaver didn’t normally act like this. So she assumed it was a Gordylide thing. Sitting on the balcony with him, she flipped through under the porch light.

He shifted his weight and whined uneasily as she read through the care guide. “Let’s see... I don’t see any injuries. You’re not looking sick. Can you speak?”

“Waaaarg!”

“Nope. Nope you’ve forgotten how to talk.” She sighed. Taking in the heat radiating off his body. She placed her hand on his, he wasn’t boiling yet. But he was shaking.

From everything Reaver told her, heating up was either a conscious act to warm himself, or a defense mechanism. He would forget how to be a person in emergencies as well. So something happened. He either was scared or hurt. She pulled his shoulder, encouraging him to climb down from the railing and into her lap

He complied readily. Nearly clinging to her. She soothed a hand down his back circling her fingers around the base of one spike and adding pressure. He melted. Frightened little whines creeping out of him every so often. “Okay. I gotta get you home bud. Come on.”

She stood, and he hesitantly followed. Leaving a note for her sister Day packed herself up so it didn’t look like she was wandering Calgary with nothing but her pajamas on. She held Reavers hand the whole time.

Dragging the reluctant gordylide through town, Day stuck to well lit, but private areas. Reavers beastly nature showing in full at this time. Oddly it was a pretty safe time for women on the streets. Something had been abducting men specifically.

A lone man walked the streets across from Day. He was armored like a hunter. Any weapons he held must have been concealed. He paused. Staring at Day with her gordylide boyfriend. Tilting his head, the man crossed the empty streets.

Day stayed still as the man approached. “Sorry to bother you miss. Um... Is this your familiar?”

“Sorta’. He’s one of the smart ones. Just... Well he’s not really there right now. Don’t know why.” Reaver was still shaking. Still twitchy. He clung to her as they were stopped.

The man paused. Eyeing him. “I see. Ah, Mort by the way. And you are?”

“...I don’t give out my first name but please call me Day.” The mans eyes lit up red. Day immediately shut her eyes and turned away.

“Oh! Oh no don’t worry miss. Not a vampire. Not human but not a Vampire.” He responded. “That just happens sometimes. I’m glad you know better than to give your first name out like that though.”

“Yeah well... My sister’s a changeling.” She shrugged.

“Got it. I just... I thought I recognized this guy is all. He looks a lot like my dad’s familiar. But... It’s not him. Sorry to have bothered you miss... You should get home. It’s not safe out tonight. For him.” The man gestured to Reaver. Day sighed. Running a comforting hand over Reavers shoulders.

“I know. What about you?”

“Best bait is the thing they’re hunting. Besides. This thing’ll get more than it bargained for. Have a good night.” They parted ways there. Reaver still clinging to Day. His movements were stiff.

They arrived at Reavers apartment after a while walking. She hastily unlocked his door. Bringing him some place he knew would probably help him calm down. As if it were clockwork, Reaver found the one spot on the floor he seamed to gravitate to. Laying down there and facing the door.

Day approached the door to lock it again only to hear a protesting whine. Reaver seamed to grow panicked. She locked it, striding back to his side as his whines turned to soft whimpers. He clung to her hips, burying his face in her stomach.

“Oh Reaver. What happened out there?”

Daylight pooled in from the kitchen window. Reaver winced. Covering his eyes with his arm. God his side hurt. From his hip down. He remembered bright lights, and screeching tires.

He took a deep breath. He was home. Day’s scent was heavy in the air too. She must have brought him here. Though he had no memory of what happened between the car and waking up. 

He could tell his favorite blanket had been draped over him. His shirt was taken, but that was probably due to his spikes tearing through it. A pillow rested under his head. Day was breathing lightly in the same room.

He probably freaked out when she tried to leave. He’d feel guilty if he knew more about the situation. But after shedding in front of her, Reaver had decided to brief her on certain things.

Opening one blue eye, he found that damn book she kept with her by his elbow. The fucking care guide she kept referring back to. He sighed. Pushing himself from the floor. Hissing in pain as he got up.

“Mh Reaver?” He froze, Day was staring at him from the sofa with concern. He forced a smile.

“Hey beautiful.” He moved to sit up, blanket falling from his shoulders.

“What happened last night?” She mumbled. Slowly crawling off the sofa and making a B-line for his kettle. In need of tea. “Also lemon ginseng today?”

He slowly made his way into a standing position, forcing himself forward to sit at the counter. She joined him. “I wanted to ask you the same... I...I know I got nailed by a car but it’s a blur after that.”

“A CAR? Who the fuck!? -”

“Hangover rules babe.” Reaver winced. Clutching his head.

“Where?”

“W- twenty second street I think.” He sighed. Waiting for the inevitable angry ranting and demanding they call the police. Which, if he freaked out, he might not be able to do.

“No, I mean where did you get hit?” He paused. Looking at her curiously.

“On my right side. It was low.” One minute he was talking with his girlfriend. The next she was gone. He heard water cascading down from his bathtub. Something clattered against the porcelain surface. “Must’ve wanted a shower.” he muttered to himself.

“REAVER! Get your bruised ass over here!” He jerked, nails trying to sink into the counter-top. Eyes wide and staring down the hall to his bathroom. After Day didn’t get the response she wanted she stormed out. Glaring at him.

“Daaaay?” The stool was kicked out from under him. But as opposed to being dropped on the floor, the diminutive woman caught Reaver by the middle. Lifting him and carrying the flailing man down the hall. “DAY!”

There wasn’t much arguing with the woman. He highly regretted spotting for her workout routines now. He was afraid to try and over power her. So he soon ended up being wrestled into a salt bath. Sitting with his arms folded, a hand firmly planted on his chest keeping him in place.

“This wasn’t necessary.” He huffed. Day giggled splashing his face with water, before letting him sit up. Taking something from her ‘care kit’. He hated that bag as much as he hated the damn book.

“Retract for me?” With a long, agitated sigh, Reaver relaxed, his muscle mass decreasing and spikes pulling into their place in his back. A soft cloth ran up his back alongside a hand bracing his shoulder.

“It’s my hip that’s banged up babe.” He chuckled. Popping his left knee out of the water to rest on it. He couldn’t really complain too much. As she made sure to get the salted water where it needed to be. And he couldn’t lie, it felt good.

The rest of the day he had to sit there awkwardly being tended by Day. As well as letting her examine just how strong his legs actually were. Which she didn’t shut up about for an hour.

“...Did I do anything last night? Anything bad, or uncomfortable?” The question rested on his mind for a while. However Day just laughed it off.

“No. You did get a little weird when I went to lock your door. But other than that you just wanted to be held.” She smoothed a hand down his back carefully. Letting him melt under her touch.

Reaver heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good.” Sure, asking for physical comfort was embarrassing, but normal for a gordylide. Turning to a trusted companion for help was also normal. He understood it.

“Reaver? Why did you freak out when I got close to the door?” Reaver blinked back. Laying his head flat in his arms.

“Pfft. It’s... My dad went out hunting, back in my realm. He closed that door... and never came back.” He stared off into the distance. Trying to push the image of that day aside. “Now, when my brain’s working, I know people come back. I know there aren’t a ton of monsters out to eat the people I care about.”

Day sat listening. Trying to press down at his spikes and ease his growing tension. “But when it’s not working. I don’t know that. I just know sometimes people don’t come back. And I don’t want to lose anybody.”

She sighed. Rolling Reaver so he was laying on his left side, she squeezed under him and let him curl around her. “Well. I’m coming back. Always.” He laughed, leaning down and giving her a kiss on the head.

“I don’t think I could get rid of you if I tried.” Still, she was squeezed a bit tighter to his frame. He held her like a security blanket while calming himself down. Staring at that damn book again. He pulled it to himself, flipping it open to a marked page.

Reaver froze part way. As it turned out, Day used notes as bookmarks. Notes that fell awkwardly onto the floor. Day herself had apparently fallen asleep in his arms. So Reaver pulled the notes back together and read them. Eyes stinging a bit.

They were lists of his personal favorites just from watching him. From lemon drop candies, which he seamed to be getting a lot of lately, to which blankets were his favorite. Listed most to least.

He read through them. Noticing the things he’d told her about himself. He paused. Seeing a small plan she’d laid out in one of the last notes. Detailing how to handle a day like yesterday. Including the bath, and keeping him calm the next day.

He glanced at the last page at the end. It detailed the things she loved about him. And it was surprisingly cramped. She still searched for places to put more information it seamed. The whole page was filled with small things. Things like “He smiles in his sleep” but they meant the world to her.

And she meant the world to him. He sighed, leaning his head back into the pillow. Only now realizing she’d bought him THIS pillow because it was firm, and scratchy in texture. He put her notes back in order and shut the book. Playing idly with her hair.

A soft smile crossed her face. She turned so she was her face into his chest. “Love you...Don’t worry about work. I called and said you wouldn’t make it.”

“Thanks babe. Love you too.”