#fine i made a companion set but i cut out the cheek squishing and the mouth wiping because it would be like three sets :'))

[panncakes]

Nubsib touching Gene’s face.

#lovely writer #lwedit #lovelywriteredit #mine* #fine i made a companion set but i cut out the cheek squishing and the mouth wiping because it would be like three sets :')) #but also all these moments are so tender and soft so it pairs well with the gene one

[kpopfanfictrash]

62 + my bb hoseok. ily squish fish.

*coughs* um, here. [ drabble game is closed ]

“No,” you respond, crossing your arms. “Absolutely not.”

Rolling his eyes, Hoseok pushes a hand through his hair. Theresult is a rumpled, dark mess you can’t help but look twice at. 

“Why not?” he says.

His words come out a s barely more than a whine; the sound is annoying enough that you glare. 

“Because.” You gesture at the lone King-sized bed inthe middle of the room. “We are not sharing thattonight. I don’t give a flying fuck that Anna is getting married tomorrow, orthat I’m the maid of honor. This is where I draw the line.”

Hoseok exhales as he walks towards thedresser. “Listen,” he says, glancing at you in the mirror. His fingers workquickly to loosen his belt. “It isn’t as though I’m happy with this arrangement either. It’s just… you know, this is our best friends’ wedding. We’resupposed to be making things easier on them, not harder.”

Jaw tight, you stare him down in the mirror. You hate the fact that Hoseok is right. Anna and Yoongi are getting married tomorrow and Hoseokis the best man, and you’re the maid of honor. 

This rehearsal dinner is notthe first time you two have met, however. 

The first time you met was the night before Anna’s bacheloretteparty. You see, Anna had always wanted a male stripper for her party and you, as her maid ofhonor, were sent to scope out your options. This quest brought you uptown, to a small dancestudio where a stripper named Ricardo was meeting you for a demonstration.

As soon as you entered, you found yourself face toface with Hoseok. He was just leaving a practice room, sweat practically dripping fromhis brow and fuck, was he hot. With his cut jawline, sloped nose and million-wattsmile, there were no other words for it. 

He was so hot, in fact, you thought for a moment he was Ricardo. You two talked for a bit – okay, maybe you even flirted –until you finally asked how much he charged for the night.

Hoseok’s jaw nearly dropped through the floor. He quicklyset the record straight, barely holding in laughter the entire time, but from that moment on,you knew you were doomed. This error has followed you around ever since. Hoseoknever fails to tease you and you despise him for it. 

Okay, so maybe you onlydespise the part where you came off as a fool – to his credit, Hoseok was very nice about the encounter in the moment. He was gentle while setting you straight and took no offense to you asking him for a night rate.

The reason Hoseok was at the studio in the first place was because he’s amember of a prestigious dance company; something he informed you of beforehe made a crack about g-strings. 

Such is your relationship with Jung Hoseok.

Fast-forward to tonight, the night before Anna and Yoongi’s wedding,when there has been a mix-up with rooms. You were supposed to have a co-suitewith the bride and Hoseok should have been joined to Yoongi’s room as his bestman. Unfortunately, the hotel screwed up your reservations and all that’s availableis Anna and Yoongi’s honeymoon suite.

Pushing his suitcase against the wall, Hoseok turns around to face you. Rose petals are sprinkled all over the comforter, which Hoseok leansover to awkwardly sweep to the floor. 

“Y/N.” Hoseok turns serious. “It’s onlyone night. We’ll just share the bed. Or,” he says, arching a brow. “I can sleepon the floor if you want. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”

There’s a long moment of quiet while you look at him.Hoseok is dressed simply in a white button-down and black jeans. He’s paired these with crazy, bright-colored sneakers – Anna warned you Hoseok has a crazy fashion sense. She also though you two would hit it off,but you’ve always said no due to the reasons.

Aka, the stripper fiasco.

Tonight isn’t about the reasons, though. Tonight, you have no other option but to pay an exorbitant fee for the hotel nextdoor and you cannot afford to do that right now. Not with your barely-scraping-by salary and student loan debt. 

“Alright,” you sigh, lugging your suitcase forward. “We can share, whatever. It’s a King, right? You just keepto your side of the bed, and I’ll keep to mine.’

Nodding his head, Hoseok agrees. Sighing loudly, he collapses ontop of the bed, rolling around to irreparably rumple the sheets. 

“Ugh,” hesays, burying his face in the pillows. “Good thing you said yes, Y/N, becausethis bed is amazing. What is this – silk?”

After eyeing him for a moment, Hoseok’s pert bottom in the air, you decided to give in and gingerly lower yourself to the mattress. Your previous reticence lasts only a moment before you exhale, star-fishing beside him. 

“Oh,” you sigh, closing your eyes. “You’re100% right. This is the best.”

Hoseok laughs, the sound muffled from his pillow.“See?” he teases, turning his head. “I told you this would be fine.”

Arching a brow, you open your eyes to see him. “Okay, fine. Thisis pretty nice.”

A slow, lazy grin spreads over his face. “As nice asRicardo?”

“Oh my god.” 

You swiftly squeeze your eyes shut.

Hoseok cracks up, the bed shaking with laughter as youcan’t help but scowl. 

“I’m sorry!” Hoseok says, attemptingto stop. “Really, I am! I mean, kind of. I know I’m a poor substitute for your usual companion.”

“Why do you do that?” Opening your eyes, you flip sideways to face him. “Why are you always such a dick about how we met? Yes, I was meeting a male stripper. Lots of bachelorette parties have them! Why do you keep making this so… difficult?” 

Hoseok falls silent during your outburst, his eyes a bit wide when he sees your annoyance. Slowly, he pushes himself up on an elbow. 

“I…” He falters. “Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t realize my teasing upset you.”

Jaw tight, you search for an adequate response. It isn’t just that, although you can’t put a finger on what, exactly, it is. 

“I – I’mnot upset,” you say, then shake your head. “Maybe I am. I don’t know. I’mconfused.”

At this, Hoseok smiles faintly. “Oh,” he says, only to pause. “I getthat. You see, I… Ah, fuck. No, I shouldn’t tell you that.”

Your curiosity grows as you twist on the bed. Curling both legsbeneath you, you arch a brow. 

“What shouldn’t you tell me?” you ask, your voice oddly breathy.

Hoseok stares at you. “I just – okay. When wefirst met…” He trails off, glancing up at the ceiling. “I almost said yes… when you asked if I was the stripper.” When Hoseok looks at you, there’s no trace of a smile, which makes his next words all the more devastating.“It sounded… intriguing to me, if you were the buyer.”

The moment he speaks, heat surges through you. A dark pool of needbegins to curl between your thighs and you become all too aware of your breathing. Each inch of your skin feels electric and shit, you can seeit all in your mind. Hoseok slowly peeling off each piece of his clothing,keeping his gaze steady while lowering his knee to the bed and –

Shaking your head, you pull back from the image. “I – what?”you squeak, trying to regain control.

“See?” Hoseok gives a shaky laugh. “It’s embarrassing,right? This puts us on even footing, though. You thought I was a stripper and hey, I kindof wanted to strip for you.”

Despite his attempt to put things at ease, you can tellHoseok is more affected than he lets on. His pupils are dark, blown out and youfind yourself equally thrown. Rather than lessen the tension between you, it seems to have skyrocketed – and now you realize why Hoseok’s teasing bothers you so much. You like him. 

And now you’re alone with him in the honeymoon suite, being forced toshare the same bed tonight. Without thinking about it, your tongue darts out to wet yourlower lip. 

Hoseok zeroes in on the motion. “Y/N…” he murmurs, his voice heavy.

Your gaze slowly lifts. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re inching forward. Closing the distance between you, your hands reach for his body. Hoseok’s fists in your hair as your mouths slot together, lips slanting messily against yours. 

With a grunt, he wedges his knee between yours as your chests touch. You groan, hands sliding down, searching the broad panes of his front. You feel lean, cordedmuscle beneath your fingers and sigh, pulling anxiously on the hem ofhis shirt to un-tuck from his jeans.

Hoseok is equally insistent, stroking your cheek with his thumbas his tongue enters your mouth. “I haven’t,” he breathes, rutting againstyou. “Been able… to stop… thinking… about this.”

“Me neither,” you confess, pressed to his lips. 

You should slowdown; you need to slow down and savor each second of this. Grabbing his hips, you kiss Hoseok deeper.

Hoseok responds, slipping a hand to your neck as he molds himself to you. His hips roll against yours, letting you feel howcompetent, how capable he is. Your legs are like jelly, holding him close and his kisses turn insistent. It makes you restless,wanting more. Wanting him and you pull back, intending to say this when –

RIIING. RIIING.

The shrill sound of the room’s telephone cuts through the silence,forcing you and Hoseok to still on the bed. Your breathing is heavy, fingersdigging into each other but the phone rings again and you curse, twistingaround to grab for the device.

“Hello?” you breathe, pressing it to your ear.

“Y/N?” Anna sounds slightly hysterical. “Where are you?”

Behind you, Hoseok groans as he slowly rolls on his back. Softly,he murmurs, “fuck,” beneath his breath. The word precisely echoes your sentimentsabout the moment.

“In the honeymoon suite,” you say, drawing your legs underneathyou as you sit up. Your panties are damp as they stick to your thighs. Adjusting your shirt, you realize your hairis a mess. “Remember? I said I was going to put mysuitcase away.”

“Oh,” she says, calming a little. “Right, right. Listen,Y/N – I’m so sorry about the mix-up. I know you hate Hoseok, but it’s just for one night, right?”

Wincing, you stand from the bed and hope Hoseok didn’t hear. In the mirror, you spot him re-tucking his shirt in his pants. When he does stand, there’s an obvious erection concealed by his jeans. Fuck.The sight makes you weak enough to glance up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, it’s fine Anna,” you say, coaching your breathingto normal. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. This isn’t about me, or Hoseok.Just keep thinking about Yoongi, okay? I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding more relaxed than when you answered. “Okay,that sounds good. I’ll see you soon!”

When you do hang up, you stare at the receiver a moment while deciding what to do. Pointedly, Hoseok clears his throat to the side. 

Turning around, you find him looking. His hair is messy where your fingers ran through itand fuck, do you find yourself wanting to kiss him again.

You swallow, realizing this is dangerous territory. Youneed to be on your best game this weekend; you need to be thinking about Anna andher happiness, not how fucking hot Hoseok would look with his pants unbuttonedand down by his ankles. You need to leave – now. 

Making a sudden decision, you nod.  “Well. See you at the rehearsal dinner!” you blurt, turningaround to high-tail it towards the door.

Hoseok seems stunned, saying nothing to you as you leave. When the door shuts between you, there is a second muffled, “fuck,” from Hoseok in a one-hour period. 

Echoing his sentiments, youstand outside for a moment before you recover enough tostart towards the lobby.

Fuck, indeed.

[ drabble game is closed ]

#hoseok fanfic #bts fanfic #hoseok writing #bts writing #kpopfanfictrash drabble game 0419

[edgy-fluffball]

ExR Samhain

Based on @nevermore-plutonianshore‘s prompt: Enjolras and Grantaire meeting at a masquerade ball.

As soon as the faint rattling of the carriage wafted up the promenade out of the fog rising from the river, the bell on the main tower began to toll. The nightmarish sound echoed back from the moors, leaving the will-o’-the-wisps shivering over their marshes. It reached the edges of the dark forests where it got caught in the threatening arch of spindling branches and trunks of the black barked beeches, birches and oak trees in the rustle of a gust of wind. The last leaves clinging to barren twigs sailed to the muddy ground on its back, long dead before they touched the bare earth around roots that desperately hang on for what little footing the gaunt earth promised them. Lastly, the eerie peal drifted down to the shimmering lake, swirling above the surface for a moment before dipping under water, muffled by the crystal waves. The sound of the bells resounded over the abandoned manor house, clinking the window panes in their setting. It chased a couple of ravens off their perch on the bell tower, followed them through the abandoned gardens and settled on the wall surrounding the graveyard beyond the hill.

The ornate wrought-iron gates creaked open, moved by an invisible hand to allow the carriage to enter the courtyard. Its wheels scattered the light gravel in all directions as it took a turn in front of the main entrance, a pale lantern dangling from the coachman’s seat. The figure perched on it was swathed in a cloak that obscured both head and body, leaving nothing to see but the gleaming eyes under the hood. Gloved hands held onto the reigns of four black horses that seemed eager to run on, steam billowing from their muzzles and ears dancing in excitement. The coachman restrained them with obvious struggle. For a moment, the fight seemed undecided, then the horses settled, huffing more steam into the crisp evening air. A door was opened, the carriage house tilted to one side and gravel scrunched under boot soles.

It was as if the house had waited for this sound and the obvious liveliness conveyed by it to show its own life. The torches and lanterns around the courtyard flared up in their holdfasts, the windows shone with candlelight behind them and the front door opened with a bang. A shadow spilled over the stairs, drowning out the light that had escaped from the inside.

The men who had stumbled from the carriage looked up towards the main entrance and the figure leaning against one of the massive stone collums of the erechtheum.

‘There you are then. I have waited for ages,’ he stepped out of the shadows of the collums.

‘You waited long enough to send the ravens,’ one of the newcomers shouted up to him, ‘and Baz couldn’t find his mask –‘

‘- so yes,’ another one chipped in, ‘we are running a little late.’

The four young people came up the stairs. They wore ornate frock-coats with the seams decorated with gold and silber thread, the base cloth of frock, waistcoat and breeches shining in all colours of the rainbow. One of them wore the waistcoat open over a simple shirt, the next one displayed a lavish cravat adorned with a gem stoned broach, another’s waistcoat displayed an extravagant floral pattern reflected in the ornate decoration on the handle of his walking stick, an accessory without doubt. The fourth was the first to reach the top of the stairs, polished boots clicking together at the heels in a salute.

‘The bell tolls, we hurry to your door and await your orders. The year is ended, the curse not lifted, we serve your every will,’ he bowed in front of him with a solemn face, ‘Have you been well, Enjolras?’

Their host welcomed each of them with a hug, careful not to squish their opulent costumes, ‘Thank you, Combeferre. It has been an uneventful time without you, Courfeyrac, have you not grown bored of your mother’s court quite yet?’

‘What, with ‘Ferre and Bahorel there to entertain me? With Feuilly arrived for the Samhain celebrations? Never, dear friend, never,’ he kissed Enjolras’ cheek and looked back to his companions, ‘we had a jolly journey here, the marshes truly are exceptionally uncanny tonight.’

‘They are just right,’ the last of them buttoned up his waistcoat before bowing before Enjolras, ‘there came an owl swooping in over the hollow tree.’

‘The moon is up.’

‘The ravens sent.’

‘The time is now.’

‘The place is here.’

Enjolras motioned for them to enter the house, ‘The four of you have been missed. Is it a year already?’

‘I wonder who is going to be the unlucky victim this year,’ Courfeyrac danced through the entrance hall, swirling around his own axis, ‘which tribe’s turn is it this year?’

‘The lake people,’ Combeferre caught him by the wrist, ‘you can dance all night, darling, don’t tire yourself out now.’

‘Whom are they going to present?’ Feuilly took Enjolras’ hand, ‘you have grown thinner and paler.’

‘Should I be rejoicing at the aspect of another young fay giving their life because an age-old curse will not allow my family to be happy?’ Enjolras lead them up the wide staircase, past gold-plated mirrors and painting frames, over thick, blood-red carpets and polished tiles, ‘Should I be happy about the opportunity to see another young fay go to their death because the elders appointed them into a position they did never plan to hold?’

Feuilly stroked his hair, ‘You are right about that. But until midnight, you can have a good time. Maybe, they do not step forward, maybe they will chose not to tempt fate.’

‘They all have,’ Enjolras motioned to one of the near invisible servants to carry on with their preparations of the evening, ‘why wouldn’t they, prospect of being consort to the seelie court?’

‘Your parents –‘

‘- my parents died trying to lift the curse and it has not changed a thing. We still have to host this damn ball, hoping for a miracle and an epiphany when the masks fall. In here, my friends.’

Enjolras opened the grand valve and waved them in. The servants, had decorated the ball room for the evening enjoyments, banquet and dancefloor parted from each other. The flower garments, bouquets and food platters made for colourful highlights around the otherwise shining, polished surfaces. Chandeliers cast their light onto every reflective surface in the room, the mirrors that would later shine like diamonds, the crystal cuttings on the lamps, the prisms embedded into the floor that would later shine and reflect back from the jewellery and decorations of gowns and coats and from the frail wings some tribes displayed openly.

‘We are all set for tonight,’ Combeferre squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, ‘there is a reason we wear masks. No one will know who you are tonight, no one will know who the lake tribe’s anointed is and maybe, maybe – you will be dancing with them by midnight.’

‘Did you bring my mask?’

‘Of course,’ Feuilly held out a light, soft bag, ‘only the best for the prince of the fay.’

‘And the best the greatest mask-maker beyond the marshes can create,’ Bahorel leaned against him and kissed his cheek, ‘no one will know, Enjolras. Trust us!’

‘He made our masks as well,’ Combeferre showed a similar bag hanging from his belt.

‘Well then,’ Enjolras looked at the mask he held in his hands, ‘I cannot deny it suits my intentions.’

The simple, golden mask relied on its intricate pattern to hide the face of whoever wore it. The right side curled up into something resembling a wave and it emphasised his temples when he held it to his face, turned towards the mirror behind him. Even though it covered little but his cheeks and eye area, it was like looking at a stranger. Bahorel offered to tie the black velvet band behind his head.

‘Combined with those fine hair ornaments it will look even more breath taking than it does already,’ Courfeyrac assured him, placing his own mask and hat combination over his face.

Bahorel nodded once he was done with Enjolras’ mask and put his silver wolf mask on, howling against the high ceiling.

‘To a night of celebration and wonder!’

                                                          ***

Fay from every tribe had gathered in the palatial ball room. The dark night settled over the manor, more lanterns and candles lit every corner of the room and let the sumptuous colours they were wearing shine. A meadow tribe had brought their orchestra and they played one dance after the other to which the young couples spun across the dance floor. The elders of the tribes found pleasure in the food provided, their chattering almost as loud as the waltz music.

Enjolras kept an eye on his friends whilst he danced. Combeferre and Courfeyrac, clearly recognisable by the butterfly and hat mask they wore, danced slowly at one end of the floor whilst Bahorel and Feuilly swayed on the spot in front of the banquet table from where Bahorel would grab a chicken leg or a brochette to nibble on for a while. They had a good time, there was nothing else he could ask for his friends. He accepted another fay’s hand for a dance, his eyes darting towards the great clock on the wall behind the orchestra. Its hands moved towards the twelve, looming over the whole celebration as a certain reminder that one of the merry group would not see the sun rise again.

A soft melody began and he led his partner further onto the floor. Their robe was too lavish for one of the lake folk, the red cloth used betrayed the attempt to seem tribe-less. Enjolras was not meant to be seen as the fay prince and the elders had decided it was the best to keep the chosen suitor’s identity a secret, too. The age-old curse did not discriminate between fay wearing masks and those who didn’t. The masks were a means to think oneself safe. Any masked dancer could be the suitor, any other the prince. If no one knew who they were dancing with, it proved easier to ignore the imminent death of an attendant. Enjolras had stopped thinking about the twenty fay that had died at midnight at twenty Samhain balls before because they were not the anointed suitor and he had danced with them when the bells proclaimed the end of the day. He would find his suitor eventually, the forest elders had said after his parents had sacrificed themselves in a desperate attempt to break the curse that bound their child. Enjolras had known that it had failed. The elders had tried to comfort him.

‘You look sour, my prince,’ a familiar voice brought him back, ‘even behind that mask.’

‘Jehan?’ his eyes darted back to the clock to make sure that he did not endanger his friend, ‘why are you dancing with me? How did you know it was me? Don’t you know – ‘

‘Twenty minutes, my prince, four more dances. As for recognising you, your posture and the line at your mouth gave you away. Additionally, you check the clock before every dance you begin,’ Jehan smiled under their flower-adorned mask.

‘You found me out,’ Enjolras initiated a turn, keeping hold of his friend’s hand, ‘are you going to let me kill another innocent?’

The dance ended and Jehan bowed before him, their smile replaced by a sad expression, ‘You are going to find them. I’m sure of it.’

‘Well, you keep clear of me,’ Enjolras sighed and kissed their hand, ‘dance with Montparnasse tonight and worry not about my wellbeing.’

He turned and found himself welcomed by the next dancer who bowed and slipped their hand in his. The next dance, a slow, solemn waltz began and Enjolras felt himself being drawn back towards the swirling couples. His partner wore a simple, almost unremarkable mask in different green tones. They swayed slightly in his hold, relying on him to lead.

Enjolras looked into their eyes, kind, dark eyes that seemed to encourage him to dare another turn or rotation and felt his feet turn. He led them by their hand and it was easy to do so, moving to the soft melody the orchestra provided them with in the background. No thought entered his mind as he carefully placed his feet on the floor. He could see their reflection in the mirrors as they danced past and, for a moment, it reminded him of his parents dancing when he was watching.

The eerie sound of violins accompanied them on their waltz.

‘You seem a little tense,’ a whisper, nothing more, and yet, Enjolras felt his hair stand on end, ‘are you afraid of dancing with the prince by accident?’

‘Yes,’ he said, trying to recognise the accent his partner spoke with, ‘and you?’

‘No,’ the answer came prompt, ‘we all die at some point and I couldn’t picture anything better than dying after a whole night of dancing, fun and food. One measly curse won’t keep me from having a good time.’

Enjolras nodded slowly. These talks were not uncommon but most of his partners had expressed fear and uneasiness upon the possibility of their untimely death in a ball room. Most of them hurried off afterwards, determined to find a cheerier partner.

This one seemed determined to be in a good mood, ‘Do you want to know my name?’

‘Are names allowed on Samhain?’

‘You tell me. Don’t worry, I won’t press for yours, you seem pale enough under that mask. I’m curious, however – why does someone as seemingly straight-laced as you wear such lavish head ornaments? They do suit you but you seem wary of them.’

Enjolras cleared his throat, ‘Family heirloom. I’d rather wear them than to risk offending some spirit like the royal family did.’

‘No one offended anybody,’ the too-familiar voice said, ‘if you believe that, you probably also believe that iron harms fay!’

‘Doesn’t it?’ Enjolras lifted an eyebrow.

‘See this?’ a finger followed the edge of their mask, ‘Pure iron. It is surprisingly comfortable.’

Enjolras followed their lead and touched the shiny mask, ‘It doesn’t feel painful.’

‘Because iron hurting us is a story we tell our younglings to scare them away from the ironworks in the mountains,’ their partner initiated another turn, ‘by the way, your hair is shiny.’

‘What are you, a dwarf?’ Enjolras grinned and fell into step with them.

‘You would be surprised,’ the dark eyes behind the mask sparkled mischievously, ‘but don’t worry, that was more a spur of the moment remark. It looks soft.’

They turned and Enjolras saw Courfeyrac and Combeferre dance in passing. He was thankful for the mask covering his cheeks since he felt them heat up with blood rushing to his head, his friends would not have let him live it down otherwise.

‘Your hair is soft,’ he brushed it with the back of his hand, as if by accident.

A throaty chuckle rang in his ears as his partner dipped them into a challenging figure. He felt light, freed, his feet found sound footing in every step he took, despite the crowded dance floor and the banquet blocking the doors and windows.

The bell on the main tower began to toll. The nightmarish sound echoed back from the moors, leaving the will-o’-the-wisps shivering over their marshes. It reached the edges of the dark forests where it got caught in the threatening arch of spindling branches and trunks of the black barked beeches, birches and oak trees in the rustle of a gust of wind. The last leaves clinging to barren twigs sailed to the muddy ground on its back, long dead before they touched the bare earth around roots that desperately hang on for what little footing the gaunt earth promised them. Lastly, the eerie peal drifted down to the shimmering lake, swirling above the surface for a moment before dipping under water, muffled by the crystal waves.

Enjolras looked around. The music had stopped. No one moved or made a sound. Midnight had arrived and the consequences of his prolonged dance rushed towards him. He had danced four dances with his iron-masked partner, four dances, of which three would have meant finding his suitor and saving a soul that night. Hot tears welled up in his eyes as he met one shocked pair of eyes after the other. The candles and lanterns had gone out and the darkness beyond the marshes seemed to suffocate the house, seeping in through small gaps and cracks. Quiet whispers burned in his ears, bringing him back to where his dance partner had been a moment before.

‘Another soul lost,’ he whispered, loosening the velvet ribbon that held his mask, the sign for everybody to take off their masks, ‘another young fay claimed for the darkness.’

‘I knew you had little faith in me, but this? This hurts me!’ the all-too-familiar voice breathed into his ear, ‘Turn around, my prince!’

Enjolras did as he was told.

His dance partner stood behind him, dark eyes burning with a fire he could not fathom, one hand on his mask, taking it off as Enjolras watched. A collective gasp went through the rustling rows of fay, a breath held by hundreds let out into the night.

‘My prince,’ his dance partner bowed in front of him, ‘forgive me that I recognised you and decided to keep you close to me, your anointed suitor of the lake tribe. I did not intend to cause you distress.’

‘Grantaire,’ Enjolras breathed, eyes spilling over, ‘is it really you?’

The masks clattered to the ground as he embraced a man he knew, an old friend, a familiar voice without the power of one constantly around him.

‘I hoped I remembered your voice correctly,’ Grantaire’s voice sounded close to his ear, ‘I only had this shot to get you talking. I used Jehan. A little.’

He looked up at Enjolras to meet his gaze, ‘I could not let you suffer through another victim of the curse. It would have broken your heart and my will to live.’

‘The curse is broken?’ someone asked behind them.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his, ‘I believe I have found my suitor. Light the candles, play music! From now on, Samhain can be what it was intended to be, a celebration of our traditions and customs! No fay will ever again fear to be dancing with the wrong partner, no one will have to endure the pain and sorrow of Samhain!’

Grantaire cleared his throat softly, pointing out Combeferre and Courfeyrac close by, both in tears and fighting to get to them. Enjolras turned, embracing them, then Feuilly and Bahorel, Jehan and Montparnasse, his friends who had been at his side all these years. He embraced Grantaire again, feeling like the drowning man after his first free breath, the man dying of thirst after the first gulp of water.

Their hands fir into each other’s as they walked amongst the fay who slowly began to understand what had happened when no lightning bolt struck one amongst them down. A few shy claps were audible, soon joined by others until Enjolras and Grantaire stood amongst a shower of applause. The orchestra continued their piece, not cut short by the gruesome wind and storm that carried one soul away.

For the first time in years, there was dancing on Samhain, dancing as lightsome and carefree that only fay were able to do it. For the first time in years, there were dances after midnight. For the first time in years, Enjolras did not flee the room with a mask pressed to his face. For the first time, he had Grantaire at his side.

#les miserables #les mis #enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #halloween #samhain #fanfiction #fanfic #cursed

[theworstjedi]

A Mandolorian Wannabe and a Jedi Walk into a Cantina

The metal door slid open with a grating rattle that might have set anyone else’s teeth on edge, but the protest of technology on the threshold of disrepair and the rolling stench of alcohol and vomit let Taizi know she was home. The Smuggler’s Stim was a dimly lit kriffhole too seedy for even the dregs of society. This was a place for the scum that floated on top of the dregs to amass in search of drink and job. Sometimes company. Taizi dispassionately watched a lizard man rake his tongue over the temple horn of an overpainted Twi’lek as she and her two companions shouldered their way through the closely packed bodies.

“Are men always that disgusting, Moussa?” she asked the man shrouded in a helmet to match her rough cloth keffiyah own at her shoulder. Unlike hers, which left her mouth free, the beskar betrayed nothing aside from a black t-visor, but the neon murk of the cantina swallowed even that in obscurity. Although he was only average height, he loomed over the woman accompanying him.

“What you call disgusting—” the man pulled his helmet up over his ginger stubbled chin, “—I call a good time.” His unmuffled timbre danced around a mischevious grin.

“What’s not a good time is you blowing the speeder out again,” she snapped. Her crips Kaasian accent became sharper.

“If you think you can drive that pile of trash better--”

“I know I can,” Taizi sneered and swung herself into a seat next to a gold bangle covered figure staring absently into the distance at the bar. Moussa moved quickly to occupy the seat next to Taizi before the lizardy alien and his “date” could squish both of themselves into it.. He pulled the rest of the helmet offback so it fell away around messy, although neatly tied back, shocks of red hair, green skin, and ritual black tattoos. The bar was the most brightly part of the establishment. The light was a florescent white rather than the colorful haze of the mood lights tucked into small alcoves. The bartender slapped two glasses down in front of them. His hard gaze brokered no argument; if you sat here you bought.

“Tihaar and lime-spritz.” Taizi didn’t bother to look at the blob of an alien glaring holes into them.

“I was wondering if any wine had come in yet?” MOussa asked. The etiquette stuck out like a clean thumb in his surroundings.

Taizi snorted. “It’s not real wine.”

“What? If you can pretend to be Mandalorian, I can pretend this place has fine wine.”

She shook her head but didn’t pursue it.

“La yama beestoo,” the bartender gargled.

“Great. I’ll have a glass of red.”

In the light, Taizi could see the water stains on the glass as clearly as she could see Moussa’s wandering eye settling on colorful twi’lek ladies. The world at this bar counter on Nar Shaddaa was as unsubtle as his hair. Sometimes she rescued his one night flirtations from Moussa’s unrelenting overtures, but really, Taizi wasn’t the keeper of woman (and occasional man) kind just because she had a pair of tits. His interest had been become a line in the sand a few months ago when the bounty board had still been their biggest priority. It was quaint now. So much of Taizi’s galaxy had changed in the Cold War, but Nar Shaddaa hadn’t. Of course, Moussa hadn’t. He could be counted on to be consistent, if nothing else.

Taizi pretended not to see the unfortunate alien’s half-hearted answers to her companion. She looked to the figure beside her instead. See no evil. Now that she was sitting by him, she could see he was distinctly male. If the lean muscle of his freckled arms was any benchmark. Perhaps, it was his disinterest in his surroundings that spurred her to stare longer than she knew was necessary, but Taizi found something about him implacably interesting. He was clothed in a thin white tunic and adorned with a heavy gold collar dripping over his chest and neck. She could only see the tip of his pale nose, lips, and chin from behind the palm cradling his cheek and shock of blond hair. Like them, he a weapon secured to his back, which was straight as a board but not rigid. It suggested uncharacteristic discipline that set him apart from the lawless irreverence of the typical bounty hunter or smuggler. A gloved hand was wrapped around a glass he was mindlessly rotating against the bar. A curiosity. A…compelling curiosity. Taizi could feel Moussa’s eyes on her as he noticed his partner’s intent interest in an affair that wasn’t her own. Taizi’s eyes drifted from the line of the golden boy’s back to his hip. The hilt of a lightsaber rested against his belt.

She stopped breathing. The moment she felt her blood chill, the man’s determined stare at a point beyond their perception tilted towards her. It did not face her but rather cocked his head at an angle that suggested it might be staring at her in return. A flash of cold ran through Taizi. It was not unheard of to see a Jedi in Hutt space – unusual but not unheard of. She was more preoccupied with the old scar that still looked raw cut into a deep trench from corner of his lips, like an extended mouth or like someone had bridled him at the mouth and pulled too hard. Her eyes traced up along the flattened disfigured cheek. The jagged eye socket around blue eyes. Blue eyes that should’ve been yellow.

“You’re my father’s apprentice--,” she said compelled by the same force that had made her gaze linger. “Elutherius.”

The Sith apprentice formerly known as Elly W’ks stiffened, going paler under his freckles. “Farkle me.”

“I’m considering it. You don’t look bad for a dead man, Elly.”

---

“What’s the Jedi Code about?” Taizi demanded suddenly in the long stretch of silence. If one could call the hollow wail of Nar Shaddaa streets quiet.

It was followed by the sound of a spanner clattering on the floor and an “Ow!” as Friyr smacked his head on the panel under the edge of Taizi’s speeder. “What?” he asked and extracted himself from the innards of her retooled junk pile more mindfully that time.

His Guide Droid, NM1, began to grumble in Taizi’s direction.

She waved him away and fell into the space he’d been occupying by Friyr’s side. Their knees brushed. “The Jedi Code. Tell me about it.”

Friyr followed the trajectory of NM1’s complaints and accusatory scittering against concrete, then sighed. He looked Taizi in the eyes. His pale blue irises were unnaturally faded and electric all at once, and they possessed no sight to speak of. But the way they caught and held hers felt like they did so intentionally.

“The Code?” he asked. His voice was as incredulous as his grease stained skin and disarrayed hair falling into his face and across his cheeks. “You thinking of joining up?” he teased and flicked her knee.

“Not on your life Elly.”

Friyr chuckled, but she could see that her question had taken him aback. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and her eyes traced the deep-seated burn patterns splashed over his tendons and wrist, all the way down to his forearm. “Whaddaya wanna to know ‘bout the Code? I can’t really summarize what it’s about without a coupla full days, and half the Order would still say I’d gotten it wrong.”

“Uh—” This was a harder question to answer.

“So, d’ya know what the Code says?”

“I—” Taizi thought. “No emotions, no love, only the Force.”

“Emotion, yet peace,” Friyr began to recite. “Ignorance, yet knowledge./ Passion, yet serenity./ Chaos, yet harmony./ Death, yet the Force.” His effeminate voice seemed fuller, like there was something behind it, and by the time he’d finished speaking gooseflesh trailed along her arms with a cold feeling that told her honed instincts beyond all logic that they weren’t alone. Friyr simply waited.

“What—does that mean?”

Friyr pulled a face as she still pursued the grandiose philosophical answer he was avoiding. “It’s a code of discipline for wieldin’ the Force; at its core it’s’about self-mastery over everythin’, so that the Force isn’t misused or whatnot. But it means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.”

“What does it mean to you?” she asked and watched Friyr respond with a dramatic groan. She smiled despite herself.

“So, I take a stance nobody else likes I believe that the Force is beyond our ability to get. I think she does what she wants, doesn’ care much what we do. I b’lieve we’re a parta that, an’ we got dark ‘n light same as she does. Force changes; we change.” Friyr gently thunked his head onto the concrete. “So, I believe that the Code really means nothing outside of Jedi philo-whatever; it’s just like a little thing that people need to repeat and sometimes shove all the way up their ass because they’re a Ver-ry, Serious. Jedi.”

Taizi rubbed at her arm still aching with goosebumps. A sad quirk turned up the corners of her painted lips. “You’re such a Jedi, E-- ... Friyr, was it?.” And he was so different from what he had been. A hard edge of discontent had been worn down into a belief that she could tell he’d poured his heart into.

“Yup.” Friyr popped the p. “What? You think I’d join a kinda-religious order without believing in what they were sayin’?”

Taizi gave him a doubtful look before she remembered that he’d lost what little sight he’d had when he was young. She instead made to tap him reproachfully on the shoulder, but her fingers hesitated over the fabric of his white tunic still streaked with black. She pushed them into his beached straw hair instead and ruffled it. It was a thin excuse for just wanting to feel close to him, and she thought they both knew that. Friyr pointed out often how her Force presence was the equivalent of an enraged Nerf in a china shop.

“Yeah, I guess I would, wouldn’t I?” He smiled and caught Taizi’s wrist.

“What’s this about, Wk’s?”

“So, where does ‘no attachments’ come in?”

They asked both questions at once. Their words ran together in a confused jumble; one question the answer to another. Taizi closed her eyes and groaned. She watched Friyr swallow hard as he processed her clumsy and unwitting admission.

“No attachments—” he said then swallowed again. He pulled her fingers from his hair. “–actually has very little to do with the Code. S’derived from the Code, but s’not a part of it. It’s covered under the passion and serenity part, right? You don’ have passions, so you got no reason to do things t’benefit yerself. You have to serve the Force not use it. Attachments cause you to be like “oh yeah! I do want stuff.” Wantin’ stuff leads to the Dark Side, and ‘Passion will break my chains/ the Force will set me free.’ You see how that fits together in a nice little slippery slope?”

“Kurt never had you declared dead,” Taizi murmured. Any attempt at being subtle was gone. Friyr stiffened. “If you’re still attached to my family...”

The air deflated out of Friyr. “You know—the funny thing about love, ‘n family, ‘n all that stuff is that I never believed in it. I thought once—” he started to say then shook his head.

“I know love’s a lie. It’s another extreme the Sith try to sell you, and it’s a nice luxury,” he said the word with so much disdain, “But my apprenticeship with Ignolis? S’a lie. Iggy gettin’ us hitched? A lie. My freedom? A lie. Priv’lige at best. I, as a Force whatever, have to know better. An’ I owe the Force the truth. Myself too by extension or whatever.”

Taizi had never been much of a speaker – not like he was. “That’s not fair,” was all she could say and still be eloquent. “We gave you everything, and you left.”

“Them’s the breaks, kid.”

She slipped her fingers into his, and he sat up. His rough hands squeezed them back apologetically. The neon sign for an ad flickered off as a quarrel started a few blocks down. It was just them and the curb.

“Taizi,” Friyr said softly.

“Mnn?”

“Don’ tell anyone. Please. You were always... chasin’ the next adventure or whatever. You weren’t parta this... Sith nonsense.”

The feeling of steeping self-pity turned acrid. Friyr had left her alone without a thought and he didn’t even have the pair on him to respect her after the fact. She pulled her fingers away, leaving the Jedi’s hand empty.

“I have to get going now that the things fixed.”

“Taizi.”

She turned back, hands jammed in her pockets and saw him sprawled on the wet concrete. His wirey frame and gold adornments something like a doll dropped on the ground.

“Fine. But. You owe me one.”

Friyr grinned as bright and cheerful as he ever had been before he died. It was almost forgiveable.

#Friyr Illustratum #Taizi W'ks

[itslulu42]

Yuregakure

Ninja Dorks Flailing at Interpersonal Relations Part Twelve

This part has a meme!

Below the cut or you can creep on over to FF.net.

One | Previous

Sakura and Sasuke arrived in Yuregakure a day later than planned. Sakura's pleasant travel companion had disappeared after the incident with the ninken.  She hadn't said anything of it during their travel, but she had reached her limit by the time they reached the village.  The innkeeper had commented on what an attractive couple they were, but Sasuke hadn’t responded; Sakura accepted the compliment with a strained smile.

Sakura took advantage of Sasuke’s silence by splurging on a room with a large double bed.  She wasn’t certain when the next time they would be in a proper inn was, and she had no desire to sleep on a futon if she could avoid it.

They went to eat at a small restaurant around the corner form the inn.  Sakura ordered for the both of them, while Sasuke stared mulishly out the window.  

Sakura clenched her fist under the table and gave her sunniest smile.  "What's wrong, Sasuke-kun?"  Sakura would have missed the clench of his jaw if she wasn’t' staring at his face.

"There's nothing wrong."

"You've been really quiet for the past two days.  I said I'm sorry I ran off with the ninken.  I didn’t know I had run off that far."  Sakura took a shaky breath, worried she had already messed up so soon on their journey.

Sasuke set his chopsticks on the table and took a drink of ice water.  "It's not that.  It's..." He pressed his lips together.

Sakura pouted. "What?"

"What were you doing with the Hokage's dogs?"

"They are ninken," Sakura corrected.  "They like to play fetch with me since I can through the ball farther than anyone else in the village."

"But they belong to Kakashi," Sasuke stressed.  There was something unfamiliar about his tone that prickled underneath Sakura's skin.

"And what is wrong with Kakashi?"

Sasuke scowled and picked up his chopsticks once more.  "He doesn't deserve to be Hokage."

What?

Sakura stopped chewing, her mouth full of rice.  

Sasuke must have seen the irritation on her face because he elaborated.  “The Hokage is supposed to be the strongest person in the village and that is not Kakashi.  Naruto should be Hokage.”

Sakura swallowed, the food jamming in her throat in her haste.  She took a quick drink of water and then slammed the cup down on the table. "Don't be ridiculous Sasuke-kun. Naruto still has some growing up to do before he's ready for the position.  Kakashi has as much leadership experience as anyone else in the village and he’s intelligent. He’s establishing the necessary infrastructure the village needs to be successful in peacetime so Konoha won’t have to rely on missions in the future.  There’s politics involved in being Hokage and Naruto is not there yet."

"Kakashi is overrated. He only became famous because he had a Sharingan and now he doesn't even have that anymore."  Sasuke's nostrils flared.  “He may have been able to create a Susanoo, but that’s all the credit I’ll give him.”

Sakura's anger faded away as she took a look at Sasuke's expression.  She tilted her head to the right.  

Sasuke was pouting.

Sakura raised a napkin to her lips to stifle her giggle.  When Sasuke's snapped in her direction, she burst out in a chortle. "Oh! You're still mad his Susanoo was better than yours."

"It was not better than mine," Sasuke ground out.

"I don't know about that.  Kakashi only had the ability for a few minutes and he made a critical hit." Sakura tapped her finger to her chin in thought.  "Now that I think about it, Naruto thought Kakashi's Susanoo was better too."

Sasuke's face turned into a thundercloud.  

The expression was too much for Sakura, causing her to burst out in laughter.  Everyone in the dining room turned their direction; Sakura raised a napkin against her lips to muffle her laughter. It was a fruitless effort; one look on Sasuke's scowling face was enough to set her in another fit.  

"I can’t believe you’re jealous!"  Sakura chortled, reaching across the table to give Sasuke a pat on the hand. "It's okay Sasuke-kun. Kakashi's eyes are both the same now, so you don't have worry about him stealing your thunder anymore."

Sasuke withdrew his hand from table.  "I'm not hungry anymore. I'm going back to our room at the inn."

Sakura felt a little guilty as Sasuke walked away, worried that she had pushed him too far. Sighing, she finished her food quickly and went out to explore the village.  

The shopping district was just a few blocks away, and Sakura made use of her time to stock up on necessary items.  She purchased more scrolls and ink for recordkeeping.   She also bought a proper set of pajamas for the evening.  Walking back to the inn, Sakura contemplated sending Kakashi's shirt back to Konoha, but decided against it in the end.  It's not like Kakashi would need the shirt since the village had changed the uniforms.

Sakura returned to their room to find Sasuke reading on the bed.  He had showered while she was gone, his hair was still damp and the smell of soap hung pleasantly in the air.  He gave her a smile when she walked in, causing her stomach to fill with butterflies. Instantly, she knew that things between them were back to normal.

Pleased, Sakura retrieved the goodbye letters she had received during their travel to Yuregakure.  She flipped through them, surprised how many people had signed their name at the bottom.  She recognized her neighbors, some patients, and even some shopkeepers.  A lump rose to her throat, astonished by their kindness.

Sasuke cleared his throat; Sakura turned to find him holding a box of tissues her tissues in her direction. She gave him a shaky smile, gratefully accepting his offering.  She pressed a tissue against her eyes to wipe away the tears that were forming.  Then, she reached for ink, determined to respond to everyone who wished her well.

After a couple of hours, she had a neat stack of letters on the table ready to be mailed out in the morning.  The only scroll left unopened was from Kakashi which she tucked in a pouch in her travelling pack.  

"I'm going to get ready for the night." Sakura pulled out her new nightclothes and her toiletries.  "I'm going to take a long soak since I don't know when we will be able to do this again."

Sasuke chuckled.  “There are many caves, but not many rivers where we are headed.”

“That’s what I was afraid you would say,” Sakura mumbled as she headed out the door.  

When Sakura returned from the baths, Sasuke had already laid out his sleeping bag.  She looked at him in confusion as she set her toiletries down. "There's plenty of room on the bed, so you don’t have to sleep on the floor.”  

Sasuke's cheeks turned slightly pink.  "That's... inappropriate."

Sakura blinked in surprise.

Oh, that’s right.  

She had forgotten about that small detail.

Determined to save face, Sakura plowed on. "Don't be ridiculous Sasuke.  The only thing we are going to do is sleep.”  She placed her hand on her hip and leveled him with the same look she gave her misbehaving staff at the hospital.

Sasuke stared at a spot on his sleeping bag before sighing.  "Fine.  As long as you don't hog the covers."

"I'm told I'm very good company."  She squished the pillow on the bed, trying to fluff it up.  The pillow resisted.

"Who told you?"

"Hmmm?" Sakura gave a small punch to the pillow, causing the seam to rip and the stuffing shoot out and hit the wall.  

"Who told you were good company in bed?" Sasuke asked in a strained voice.

Sakura turned to him.

Kakashi

"Ino," Sakura lied, her brain catching up with the conversation and Sasuke’s train of thought. "We have movie nights sometimes with Hinata and Tenten."  

Sakura gave him a smile and then turned her back to him to march across the room.  She jammed the stuffing back into the ruined pillow case.  She retrieved her own meager pillow from her pack and tucked it under her arm.

When she turned back to Sasuke, he looked abashed.  “I thought… never mind.”  He lifted the covers and settled on the right side of the bed, facing up to look at the ceiling.  

Sakura bit her bottom lip, trying to quash her grin.  Sasuke looked so stiff and uncomfortable.  She turned off the lamp on the table sinking the room into darkness, save for the light streaming from the window.  Sakura settled into her side of the bed, shoving her own inadequate pillow under her head, and then pulled the blankets up to her chin.

“Goodnight, Sakura.”

“Goodnight, Sasuke-kun,” Sakura whispered back.  

Sakura wriggled, trying to get into a comfortable position without disturbing her bedmate.  One of the springs on the bed was worn, and she could feel it pressing against her back.  She rolled over to the left side to avoid it.  Her breathing evened out, and soon she could feel herself drifting to sleep.

What felt like moments later, she was startled awake as she landed on the floor with a thud.  

“What the hell?!”  Sakura rubbed at the back of her head as she glared up at Sasuke who was peering down at her.  “Did you just push me out of the bed?”

Sasuke huffed, tossing the covers off of him.  “I had to! As soon as you fell asleep you rolled over to my side of the bed and you…you…”  Sasuke’s voice died out.

“What?” Sakura crossed her arms, her bottom still smarting from the expected wake-up call.

“You…you…you cuddled me,” Sasuke sputtered.  “I tried to free myself, but you hugged tighter and throwing you over the bed was my only option.”

“I wouldn’t cuddle you,” Sakura argued, trying to convince herself as much as Sasuke.

“Whatever,” Sasuke replied as he ran a hand through his hair. He stood and walked back to his sleeping bag.  “You can have the bed all to yourself.  I’m sleeping on the floor.”

Sakura opened her mouth to argue some more, and the closed it with a snap.  She could avoid that irritating spring which had poked her back if the bed was all hers.  Sighing, she climbed back into bed, yanking the blankets around her closer since she was now deprived of company.  

Kakashi had never tossed her out of bed before.

Mortified by her thoughts, Sakura rolled to her side and hugged her pillow close to her chest.  She tried to ignore the guilt in her stomach.

Sleep was a harder to find the second time around.

Thirteen

BONUS!

Sasuke: Bed sharing is inappropriate.

Sakura:

#kakasaku #ninja dorks #my fanfiction

[karabites]

Here’s the second draft for ch5. this one is a lot closer to how I originally planned it? but again, realized I didn’t like how it was going and scrapped it. this one picks up right at that first break when karamatsu wakes up and runs for… 2k…. and it’s very mushy and self-indulgent… enjoy…

When Karamatsu awoke, the apartment was still, unfortunately, as dark as his future.  The stressful dream that awoke him was fast fading from his memory, his eyes were still glued together by sleep and his limbs felt like bags of wet cement.  He laid in the futon wordlessly, flipping and rolling over to try to find some comfort for a few minutes, before sighing and pushing himself up.  Even as the dream slipped from his memory, the anxiety it induced lingered, barring him from the sleep he so desperately needed.  A few hours of being unconscious and not having to worry about the hole he’d dug himself into would’ve done him good.

He forced his eyes open and allowed them to adjust to the low light of Chibita’s living room.  They’d set up their sleeping arrangements in the same room, which Karamatsu appreciated.  He was used to sharing a bed with five other men, so sleeping without anyone else nearby was still rather new to him.  Chibita didn’t mind either way.  He was nice like that.  Karamatsu felt himself fall a little bit in love with him again, but this time, the usual fears did not follow; he just let it happen.  No fussing, no worrying, just love.  What was the harm in it?  His sleep-addled brain pushed away all of his previous objections like they were nothing more than silly inconsequential daydreams.  Chibita would be flattered by his affections, not frightened, his brothers’ teasing would end, and his parents would be so happy for them.  Really, it was fine.

Chibita was snoring quietly on the couch a few feet away, bundled up in a thin blanket with a pillow squished between his arm and his cheek.  Karamatsu watched the rise and fall of his chest and traced the outline of his hips and ass with his eyes.  He was so cute.  He pulled himself across the floor and leaned against the armrest of the couch.  He had such a cute friend.  Was he always this cute?  Did he always want to plant soft kisses, tokens of his adoration, across his round cheeks and his always-wrinkled brow and his big, soft lips?  Probably not, but he really wanted to now.  Ah, this was dangerous, wasn’t it?  He was such a sinful man, wanting to tangle so intimately with his sweet little friend.  But again, he was too tired to really care that much.  Being sinful wasn’t so bad.  Chibita was cute.

Karamatsu readjusted his position against the couch, and his movements must have been louder than he thought because he looked up to see Chibita’s eyes crack open.  He opened his mouth to say something, but Chibita cut off whatever he was planning with a grunt and a tired smile.  He lifted his arm and rested it heavily on Karamatsu’s head and said, “Can’t sleep, Karaboy?”  His voice was thick and heavy with sleep, like his words were made of honey, and Karamatsu wished there was a way to kiss his voice too.

Karamatsu nodded and watched the way Chibita’s lips turned up just slightly.  “You’re used ta sleeping with all th’ others, right?” he asked.  Karamatsu nodded again.  Chibita hummed and let his hand slip down off Karamatsu’s head, trailing down to the back of his neck and off the curve of his jaw.  It was a clumsy, tired motion, but his fingers ran so lightly over his skin, it felt completely deliberate.  “Tha’s alright,” Chibita slurred.  He looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes open.  “You’n sleep with me tonight.”

Chibita pulled back the blanket and shifted back to make more space on the couch.  “If it’d help,” he added, “but y’know, if you don’ wanna tha’s okay too.”

He knew he shouldn’t.  He would be taking advantage of his friend’s trust and—.  Karamatsu clambered onto the couch and wrapped his arms around Chibita’s waist.  Why not?  It’d be fine since Chibita had invited him.  Plus, it was actually very comforting.  Chibita chuckled softly and rearranged the blankets around them, the two settling with Karamatsu all but laid on top of Chibita with his cheek on his chest and Chibita’s hand running slowly through his hair.  It was nice.

Chibita leaned back into his pillow and sighed.  “You feelin’ better?  From before?”

Karamatsu nodded and grunted quietly.  Those things didn’t matter, did they?  The worries of a desolate future, of being forsaken by his nearest and dearest companion—a volatile angel of a friend that could terrify and comfort him in the same breath.  This mattered, though.  This cramped oasis of warmth in the cold silence of Chibita’s apartment,  this quiet exchange between the beats of Chibita’s heart against his ear, this security and compassion and this love Karamatsu felt.  He adjusted his hands over Chibita’s soft, soft waist and turned his face into his chest to press a half-kiss into his shirt.  His cheek was resting just over Chibita’s breast and Karamatsu let his thoughts drift for a moment to wondering what it would be like to kiss the bare skin there, warm and soft and sensitive.  Hmm, that probably was the wrong kind of thing to think.  But he was the kind of man to think wrong things, wasn’t he?  There was no point in pretending otherwise.

He hummed contently and whispered, “Chibita?”  

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”  

Chibita snorted and blew at a couple of Karamatsu’s hairs near his face.  “I’m not as mean as you guys think, yaknow.  I’m not gonna ignore if you’re upset.”  He was sounding a bit more lucid than before and was tracing shapes in Karamatsu’s scalp with his fingers.

“I don’t think you’re mean,” Karamatsu mumbled.

Chibita shrugged under him.  “Y’all kind of treated me like the devil when we were kids.  And you run away when I get mad.  So, I kind of figured you do.”

“I don’t.  Sorry.”  Karamatsu readjusted against Chibita’s chest.  “Mostly for when we were younger.  We’re… I’m pretty awful, aren’t I?  ‘M dangerous, huh?”  Was he?  Not only were they awful with how they’d treated Chibita when they were younger, but how bad was it to take advantage of his trust now?  Half-formed thoughts about betrayal and alienation and love and friendship floated through his head, fleeting and confusing and too much for him to understand right now.  Right now he wanted Chibita.  He wanted Chibita to love him.  That had to be okay.

Chibita’s hand stilled in Karamatsu’s hair. “Oi…”  He slid his other hand over his cheek and tilted his head up to him. The blanket rustled in the quiet as Chibita adjusted their positions. “Karaboy, it’s fine.  We were kids, yeah?  We all did stupid shit.”  In the low light, Karamatsu saw a soft smile grace Chibita’s lips.  He felt his thumb move slowly against his cheek and leaned into it; it was soothing.  “And besides,” Chibita continued, “I don’ know how I’d get through the day without forgiving people.  If I always held grudges, I’d have no one left to talk to.”

“Hmmm,” Karamatsu rumbled, putting on his bravado as best he could through a whisper, “does that mean all is forgiven?  From when we were young?”

Chibita nodded tiredly, leaning back and settling into the pillows.  “O’ course, Karaboy.”

Karamatsu mirrored his movements, laying his head back down against Chibita’s chest and adjusting himself to be comfortable.  He looked down at Chibita’s hand resting next to him and pulled up his own to idly thread their fingers together.  He listened to the quiet pattern of Chibita’s heartbeat against his ear and felt the rise and fall of his chest become slower and deeper.  He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d felt this peaceful had been, this content and secure.  Maybe he never had been.  “Chibita?” His voice was much quieter than he thought it could ever be.

Chibita made a soft questioning grunt, but didn’t move or respond further.

“Would you forgive me if I did something that terrible now?”

This time the grunt sounded a bit more annoyed than questioning.  “What kind ‘f…?  I ‘unno, depends on what you do.”

“Heh.”  A lot depended on what he did now, didn’t it?  He ran his thumb over Chibita’s knuckles and thought about kissing the pads of his fingers.  He thought about Chibita pulling his hand away but he also thought about Chibita letting their hands and their legs and their bodies tangle up at dinner.  He thought about how he’d squeezed his hand and smiled and never once moved away.  He thought about how love didn’t feel as flashy as the movies made it seem.  

It was probably too long of a pause before he replied. “What if I broke your heart?”

Chibita scoffed and mumbled something like “don’t know what I expected” and sighed and brought his other hand up to run through Karamatsu’s hair again and said, “You really think you could do that?”

He hummed, pausing more to watch the patterns his thumb was tracing into Chibita’s hand than to actually think.  Was it normal for friends to hold hands like this?  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.  “I would never want to, but perhaps by accident—“

“Nah, nah,” Chibita cut in, sounding amused.  “I mean, d’you think you mean that much to me? That you could do that?”  

“Huh?”  There was a beat where he processed the question, then another, “huh?”  He adjusted himself to better see Chibita, and could just make out him looking off to the side, chewing on his lower lip. He cleared his throat.  “Well I… I thought maybe…”  He let out a breath and turned his head back down to mumble into Chibita’s shirt, “You’re that important to me.”

He thought he could hear Chibita’s heart pick up at that, and he felt the rise and fall of his chest still for just a moment before he let out a fragile breath.  His hand felt shaky against Karamatsu’s scalp but when he spoke his words were steady and deliberate.  “Ain’t this kinda an awkward time to talk about this?”

“Heh. The concept of Time itself is awkward, no?”

Chibita chuckled nervously and mumbled an “I guess.”

They were quiet for a long time after that. Karamatsu wondered if Chibita had fallen asleep, while he himself only felt more alert.  How could he sleep when he could feel the warmth of Chibita’s body pressed against his, when he could hear the softest hint of his voice in his tired breaths just above him, when his own heart was beating so hard at the suspense of the situation?  How much of this crossed a line?  How much of this did it take before Karamatsu was no longer just a friend in need of comfort and instead a man with hidden motives?  

He readjusted himself, hoping to get more comfortable and push those troubling thoughts away, and heard Chibita make a small sound of protest.  He lifted his head and looked up at him, hoping he hadn’t woken him, only to see him wide-eyed and watching him.  He seemed to startle when Karamatsu noticed him and opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.  

Had he been just as sleepless?  

Karamatsu felt his body move without thought as he propped himself up on his hands.  Something about the way Chibita was looking at him, something about laying with him like this, something about being up so long in the witching hours, these times of unreality and no consequence, moved him.  

Had Chibita too been affected by their closeness?  

Chibita stilled beneath him and his mouth closed into a small uncertain triangle.  He couldn’t read what he was thinking, but he saw his eyes dart up and down Karamatsu’s body. His cheeks were red.

Did he feel what Karamatsu felt?  That love, that passion?  Did he mind?

Chibita found his voice.  “O-oi, Karamatsu…”  It was small and cute and not warning or nervous or confused.  It was just his name and Karamatsu very much liked how it sounded when he said it.

He thought about how much he wanted to kiss him. And then he did.

The consequences far from his mind, he leaned down and kissed him like he’d wanted to do all night, like he might even had wanted to do a year ago if he’d been asked.  Chibita’s lips were soft and after a moment’s pause he felt them press back against his.  Chibita seemed to relax into the kiss, seemed to sweep his own hesitations away as easily as Karamatsu had.  

And then it was over.  He pulled away, loving the tiny sound of their lips separating, loving the shaky breath that Chibita took, loving the lingering taste of Chibita on his lips.

#couch art #wip #also trans chibit ment in this one? #he can b interpreted as cis still if u want #karabita

[juggieheadcoopers-blog]

Hey there :)) could you please do a request where Betty gets kidnapped one night and she was just on her way to meet the gang at pops? The gang obviously notices that Betty is late and tries to find her. They go to her house, the school everywhere and conclude that she's missing. Her parents find out and freak out. Please include Jughead and Betty together as in a relationship and make it super angsty!!!!! Thank you so much 💋

Here you go, hope you like it! P.s: This is a long one guys, sorry about that! I straight up wrote a freaking novel lol

**Warning: This fic touches on the subject of kidnapping. Although it is not graphic, it still might be a sensitive subject for certain readers.**

–

6:54pm

Betty Cooper stood on the curb across the street from Pop’s, smiling to herself as she watched her friends filing into a booth closest to the window. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her phone and dialed her sister’s number.

“Hey, Polly it’s me,” she said into the phone, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets as she stepped to the side and let the family in front of her cross the street. “I’m almost to Pop’s so I can’t talk long, but I just - I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. I know you probably don’t hear that often, especially from mom and dad, but I just thought you should know that you’re probably one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. I don’t think I could have gone through what you’re going through right now and come out of it a better person but you - you’re raising your baby the way you think is right and you’re doing it on your own. You’re an incredible sister and mother and friend and I just - I wanted to tell you how much I love you. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow okay? I can’t wait to squish that little nephew of mine’s cheeks! Bye!”

Betty slid her phone back into her bag before looking both ways for oncoming traffic, and crossing the street. Once she made it safely across, she noticed a familiar face leaning against the side wall, and quickly hurried over to greet her.

“Hey, Josie!” Betty called out to her. “Can’t wait to hear you and the pussycats at the parade tomorrow!”

“Well, I expect another rave review from a certain school newspaper, that’s for sure,” Josie told her, raising one eyebrow at her expectantly as she adjusted the cat ears on top of her head.

“You know me, I only write the truth,” Betty reminded her, taking a step backwards as she headed for the front entrance of the diner. “See ya!”

Josie waved goodbye before hopping into the car that just pulled alongside the curb, making Betty the only person left in the parking lot. Just as she was about to pull open the door to Pop’s, a noise coming from the alleyway on the opposite side of the restaurant struck her attention.

“Hello?” Betty called out to the empty parking lot. “Is someone there?”

When no one answered, Betty was ready to deem herself a fool and head inside the diner like nothing happened until a figure crossing the parking lot towards the alley - letterman jacket, dark hair, tall build - drew her attention back to the strange noise.

“Reggie, is that you?” Betty asked as she took a few steps into the dark alley. “Reggie?”

Rounding the corner, Betty stepped into the alley to find the man facing in the opposite direction, his face completely hidden from her view.

“Reggie, what are you-” Before Betty could get the words out, the man turned around to reveal his face to her, causing Betty’s heart to pound rapidly in her chest as the fear began to set in. 

“You’re not Reggie,” Betty muttered, her breath catching in her throat as she heard movement coming from all around her in the alley.

“No, love,” the man growled, his voice low and rough as he signaled for his menacing companions to creep up behind her. “Can’t say that I am.”

With a quick nod of his head, the man stepped away from Betty and allowed for three men to grab her from behind and lift her into the air.

“No, get away from me! Get awa-” Betty tried to call out for help, kicking and screaming as they carried her through the alley, but it was too late. One of the men had silenced her by placing his giant hand over her mouth, his grip tightening as he threw her into a van at the back of the alley.

No one had heard her cry for help. No one was coming to save her. She was alone and she had no idea how she was going to escape.

–

7:32pm

“I can’t believe you ordered that.”

Veronica took one look at the giant burger that the waitress had just set in front of Archie and raised an eyebrow at him in mock-disgust. “Do you know what that much grease is going to do to your skin?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Archie sighed, looking from the hamburger, to Veronica, and back again, an amused tone to his voice.

“Hey, Veronica, have you heard from Betty?” Jughead wanted to know, his brows furrowing together in concern as he looked over his shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time since they had filed into the booth half an hour ago. “She should be here by now.”

“Not since our phone call earlier,” Veronica informed him, picking up a fry from the plate in front of her and waving it dramatically in Jughead’s direction. “She insisted that my leather mini I bought online last week wasn’t going to make look like a bloated cow, but I told her that-”

“What time was that?”Jughead cut her off, his patience beginning to run thin at Veronica’s incessant need to change the subject back to anything to do with fashion. “Your phone call?”

“Uh, around 5:30 I think,” Veronica answered, her forehead scrunching together as she thought back to the conversation in question.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Veronica assured him, pushing the plate of fries away and narrowing her eyes at Jughead. “Okay, what’s with the spontaneous game of 20 Questions: Betty Cooper edition? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jughead muttered, his gaze focused on nothing in particular in front of him. When he noticed all of his friends’ eyes on him, he quickly shook his head out of its trance and turned to them with a reassuring smile. “I mean no, of course nothing’s wrong.”

Skeptically, Veronica pulled her gaze away from Jughead and turned to Kevin. “Anyway, Kev, what’s your take on the skirt situation?”

Letting his friends continue their conversation, Jughead slid out of the booth to a quieter section of the diner and pulled out his phone.

“Uh, hey, Bets, it’s me,” Jughead greeted his girlfriend’s voicemail, his hand sliding up and down the back of his neck nervously as he tried to keep his voice calm. “I told myself that I was never going to play this sort of role in my lifetime for fear of becoming just like every underdeveloped male character in a romantic drama, but with you I can’t seem to help it. I’m starting to get really worried, Bets. I know there’s probably a logical explanation for your not being here but I’m to the point where I can’t think of one that makes any shred of sense to me. So when you get this, can you please call me back so we can both laugh about how much of a fool I am together please? I just - I want to know that you’re safe.”

Just as Jughead clicked off his phone and turned to head back to the booth, a figure heading in the opposite direction caused him to slam directly into their chest and nearly knock him into booth next to them.

“Oh, sorry, Arch,” Jughead mumbled as he looked up to see his longtime friend staring at him with concerned eyes. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Jug, what’s going on?” Archie asked. “You’ve been acting strange since we got here. Does this have something to do with Betty not being here yet?”

“Of course not. People can be late, Archie,” Jughead reminded him, his eyes darting to the floor as he attempted to avoid Archie’s gaze. “That’s not an abnormal thing to occur, especially for teenagers.”

“It is for Betty,” Archie pointed out. “She was an hour and a half early for our Kindergarten graduation, Jughead. And if you remember correctly, she made sure that all of us were the first ones at the door to take the SAT’s last month. She texted us hours before we had to be there to make sure we were up and ready to go. Betty hasn’t been late a day in her life and there’s no way that she would start now, not when she had that important announcement she wanted to share with us tonight.”

Jughead fidgeted uncomfortably next to Archie, his mind screaming at him to tell him that he was right, but his heart too terrified to admit the truth.

“You think something’s wrong,” Archie concluded, and Jughead’s head snapped up to meet his gaze.

“No, I don’t-”

“Come on, Jughead, I know you,” Archie reminded him, his voice dropping to a whisper as he let a few of their classmates headed for an open booth pass them. “You’re really worried.”

“I just - I have this feeling,” Jughead struggled to explain himself, his words coming out rushed and unsure. “It feels like something’s not right. And I know her, Archie. She would have called me if she was running late. She would have made sure that one of us knew where she was.”

“I agree,” Archie concurred. “So let’s go find her.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“You know Betty better than anyone, Jughead,” Archie explained, reaching up to clap a reassuring hand on one of Jughead’s shoulders. “If you say something’s not right, then I believe you.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Jughead backpedaled quickly - a way of assuring himself more than anyone, that his girlfriend really was just fine. “I’m probably freaking out for no reason and she’s just at home with her parents or with Polly or I don’t know, staying late at the Blue and Gold and forgot to tell me.”

“Okay, well let’s go find out for sure so we can have a good laugh about this later, okay?” Archie suggested, knocking back Jughead’s shoulder in an attempt to get him to crack a smile. When he gave a faint nod, Archie took that as an affirmative and gestured towards the door. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Archie, wait,” Jughead stopped him, placing a hand on his arm to swing him back around so that they were facing their friends. “We should tell the others.”

“After you,” Archie let Jughead pass him before heading to the booth to join their friends, both of them shuffling their feet as they walked through the diner to stand in front of the table with troubled expressions evident on their faces.

“Something is wrong I knew it,” Veronica declared the second she looked up from her phone to take note of Jughead’s furrowed brows and deep frown. “Did Cheryl make Dilton Doiley wear the mascot head again? Did he pass out like last time? God, I thought I told her to-”

“It’s Betty,” Archie explained, his eyes drifting to Jughead standing next to him, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Jughead and I think that something might have happened.”

“She’s not answering her phone and I haven’t heard from her since right before she left to come here,” Jughead continued. “It’s not like her and I’m - I’m starting to get worried.”

Without another word, Veronica slid out of the booth, slinging her bag over her shoulder and turning to face her friends with a look of determination.

“What do you need us to do?” Veronica asked, her brows drawing together in concern as her thoughts drifted off to where her best friend could possibly be.

“I think we should spread out, look at all the places where we think she might be,” Archie suggested, turning to Jughead for confirmation. When he nodded, Archie continued on with his plan like they were heading off into battle. “Jughead and Veronica, you take the Cooper’s house while Kevin and I check the school. In the meantime, Veronica can you-”

“Already sent a mass text to everyone in our class telling them to let me know if they’ve heard from her in the last hour or so,” Veronica explained. “If anyone’s seen her, we should know within the next few minutes or so. We’re going to find her, Jughead, I promise.”

“First rule as a mystery or horror novelist, Veronica,” Jughead muttered, his eyes dropping to the ground. “Never allow your characters to make promises they can’t keep.”

“Well, this isn’t some Stephen King novel,” Veronica reminded him. “This is real life, and she’s Betty Cooper. The B to my V. Your girlfriend. And we won’t stop looking until she’s back in that booth with us, enjoying a strawberry milkshake like it’s just any other day. That’s a promise I can keep.”

8:23pm

“Are you sure this thing’s sturdy?” Veronica called up to Jughead as she slowly made her way up the ladder leading to Betty’s room.“I mean, I’m really not wearing the right shoes for this. If this $150 heel gets stuck in that rung, I’m so sending you the bill to get it repaired.”

“Well, would you rather go through the front door and explain to her parents what we’re doing here?” Jughead asked, glancing down to watch Veronica take one nervous step at a time from his spot at the top of the ladder.

“If she really is missing, Jughead, we’re going to have to tell them,” Veronica pointed out, clutching the rung above her with both hands as she waited for Jughead to make his way to the window.

“She’s not missing,” Jughead muttered under his breath, placing his flashlight under his arm as he fiddled with opening the window. “We’re just going to have a look around her room - see if we find any clues that might tell us where she is.”

“Are you sure that the window is even going to be-” Veronica started to say as she watched Jughead struggle with the window, but quickly silenced herself as he slid it open with such ease that made it seem like it hadn’t even been locked in the first place. “So this is why you guys look so happy all the time. You have an all-access, sneak-in-anytime-you-want, booty call entrance.”

“Would you just stop talking and start climbing,” Jughead snapped, locking the window into place and stepping into Betty’s bedroom.

“Sir, yes sir,” Veronica mocked, carefully swinging her legs around and hoisting herself into the room.

Jughead shut the window behind her and stuffed the flashlight into his back pocket as he casually began to peruse Betty’s desk, lifting up papers and various odds and ends that looked like they could be hiding something.

“What are we looking for exactly?” Veronica wanted to know, crossing the room to run her hand along the quilt that Betty’s grandmother had made for when she was younger, feeling the fragile fabric with her fingers as she sat along the foot of her bed.

“Notes, books, any sort of hint that might suggest she made a stop before she came to meet us at Pop’s,” Jughead explained, leaving the mahogany desk to rummage through the trashcan that sat alongside it.  

“Well even if she did, I doubt she would have left anything in her room about it,” Veronica pointed out, hopping off the bed to join Jughead by Betty’s closet. “That girl’s been more secretive than ever lately, especially with her parents poking around here all the time.”

“That’s why you need to know her favorite hiding spots,” Jughead mumbled, his head snapping up as if a thought suddenly occurred to him. His feet moving quickly, he made his way to Betty’s bedside table and began rummaging through it until he found the screwdriver he remembered her mentioning a few weeks ago. Once he had what he was looking for, he turned around to face the wall closest to the bed and crouched down to the floor.

“The air vents?” Veronica questioned, skepticism evident in her tone. “Isn’t that a little, Veronica Mars?”

“It might be outdated, but it works like a charm,” Jughead informed her, twisting the screws until the frame popped off and setting it onto the floor next to him. Reaching inside, Jughead pulled out a thick leather-bound journal and held it out to show Veronica.

“Great, now I’m going to have to explain to Betty why I’ve been sneaking into her room with her boyfriend and reading her diary,” Veronica mumbled. “This goes against so many girl codes I can’t even tell you.”

“Be quiet a second,” Jughead shushed her, flipping to the last page in the journal and reading intently.

“What is it?” Veronica leaned in to see what Jughead was looking at, gently jerking the book away from him and pointing it in her direction. “Did you find something that might tell us where she is?”

“I can’t believe it,” Jughead breathed, his eyes going wide as he finished reading the rest of the page. “She actually did it. She actually-”

“What the hell are you two delinquents doing in my daughter’s room?”

Veronica and Jughead spun around to find Mrs. Cooper standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her eyes shooting daggers in their direction.

“Mrs. Cooper,” Veronica said in a small voice. “We were just-”

“Save it, I don’t want to waste my time hearing half-assed excuses from the likes of you two,” Mrs. Cooper ran a tired hand down her face as she took as few steps into Betty’s room. “Now, would one of you like to tell me where she is? Last time I checked, she was supposed to be having dinner with both of you at that little diner she loves so much right about now.”

“Um,” Veronica whispered, exchanging a worried glance with Jughead as she scrambled to think of something -anything- to say to her.

“Well, go on then,” Mrs. Cooper pressed. “Stop bumbling like you forgot how to speak - where is she?”

“We don’t know,” Jughead admitted, a defeated expression crossing his face as he lifted his gaze to meet her angry eyes.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mrs. Cooper narrowed her eyes at Jughead. “Where is my daughter?”

“She was supposed to meet us over an hour ago,” Jughead explained. “She never showed up and we haven’t heard form her since.”

“That’s not like her,” Mrs. Cooper concluded, turning her back to Jughead as she called out to her husband. “Hal, get in here!”

“And there’s something else you should know,” Jughead added, holding out Betty’s journal for her mother to see. “I found this - it’s Betty’s journal. She was documenting everything she knew about the murder investigation and what she knew about Jason and Polly. I mean, this goes back to just after Jason was pronounced missing over the summer. Anyway, this last entry is from today and I think…” Jughead trailed off, turning to look at the faces staring at him with terrified expressions.

“What?” Mrs. Cooper urged him to continue, her hand resting gently on the journal as she pried it from Jughead’s grasp.

“I think she finally figured out who murdered Jason Blossom.”

11:03pm

“Hello?” Betty’s voice echoed off the walls of the dark warehouse she had been taken to, her eyes searching in the darkness for any sign of movement. “If you’re going to take an unarmed minor in the middle of a dark alley, at least show yourselves so I can see what a bunch of cowards really look like!”

Betty thrashed against the chair she had been strapped to, her hands wriggling uncomfortably between the rope that linked them together.

“She’s a lively one,” a voice came from somewhere behind her, causing her to jump slightly in her chair at its abruptness and turn towards the source. “Definitely not what I expected from the youngest Cooper girl. Polly, maybe, your mother, definitely. But little Elizabeth - not so much.”

“Who are you?” Betty demanded to know, her head whipping in every direction as she tried to determine who it was she was speaking to. “What do you want?”

“I just want to have a little chat,” the voice said, the nonchalantness in its tone causing Betty’s cheeks to redden with anger. And while she could never have explained it, there was a familiarness to that voice that made her feel even more uneasy than she had only a moment before.

“I don’t talk to strangers,” Betty spat, her frustration becoming more and more apparent as her kidnapper continued to remain anonymous. “That’s the first lesson they taught us in preschool, if you can remember that far back.”

“Oh, but I’m not a stranger,” the voice admitted, sounding much louder and clearer as it came closer and closer to Betty. “You know exactly who I am - and you know exactly what I’ve done. And you see, Betty Cooper, that’s a problem.”

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness to reveal its identity to Betty. Her blood ran cold as she took in this person’s appearance, recognition flashing across her face as they took a step into the light.

“It was you,” Betty breathed, a shudder running down her spine as the mystery that she had been obsessed with for months finally came into her view. “You killed Jason. I was right.”

“Congratulations,” her kidnapper said dryly, clapping slowly as they came around the chair to place a firm hand around her neck. “Here’s your grand prize.”

Betty shut her eyes, letting her mind drift to thoughts of her friends and family - to thoughts of Jughead. She remembered the way his lips felt when they kissed hers. She remembered the way he made her smile when he cracked dumb jokes about authors that no one but her understood. And she hoped more than anything, that she would get a chance to be with him like that again - if only for a moment. 

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #betty and jughead fanfiction #betty and jughead #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #juggiecoopfanfic #requests #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale #tw: kidnapping

[eliniei]

Naughts and Crosses - An A!WoL fic

Summary: Upon discovering Lahabrea asleep in his office, Hythlodaeus convinces his dearest friend to play a game with him.

A/N: Prompt idea came from a tweet made my ValriaRei, here.

Word Count: 2971

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

“Lahabrea?”

I knocked on the door that led to the Speaker’s office and waited for him to either answer or bid us enter. When I received no response, I pursed my lips and looked over my shoulder at Hythlodaeus, who tilted his head.

“Lahabrea, sir?” I called again.

Nothing.

“Is he not in?” I hummed and shrugged my shoulders. 

“It doesn’t look like it,” I replied with a sigh, looking down at the large book in my arms. “Now what do we do? He wanted this manuscript right away.”

“I suppose...we could just leave it on his desk,” my companion offered, reaching past me to turn the handle. My eyes widened and I tried to shove him out of the way. 

“‘Daeus!” I whispered forcefully. “You can’t just enter his office without-”

Before I could stop him, he pushed the door open. I sucked in a deep breath and held it as the hinges squealed. Hythlodaeus looked down both sides of the hallway, watching for any unwanted company. 

When no one came, I exhaled in relief. He nodded his head towards the office.

“Well, go on.” I hesitated, clutching to book tightly to my chest, insides twisting in knots.

“What if he-”

“He’s not going to be mad,” he insisted. “And if he is, I’ll take the blame.” I clicked my tongue and rolled my eyes.

“That is not comforting in the least, you know.” He chuckled quietly and pressed against me, nudging me forward with him. 

“Come on,” he ordered again. “I’ll go with you if it’ll make you feel better.” I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment before finally giving in with a nod.

“Fine,” I sighed. “But we put it on the desk and leave immediately.” I eyed him warily from the corner of my eye. “ Nothing more .” One side of his mouth tugged upward at my pointed statement. 

“Oh, alright,” he agreed. I examined his masked face, trying to judge his sincerity before nodding. 

The both of us poked our heads inside and glanced around. 

A large desk sat right in front of the door, its surface cluttered with papers and quill pens, and multiple stacks of books towered above us. A cushioned desk chair was pushed in underneath and a large, glowing window behind it, the light of the midday sun illuminating the room. 

Hythlodaeus scoffed as he took a step past me, moving to take a closer look. 

“You’d think the almighty Speaker of the Convocation would be a little more...organized,” he said, amusement in his voice as he leaned over, examining the paperwork, locks of his long, pale hair slipping from beneath his hood. I pursed my lips again and closed the distance between us, waving my hand in his face. 

“Stop that,” I commanded. “That’s private.”

He huffed a laugh and stood straight. 

“He’s never going to know.” I blew a sharp breath out of my nose as his grin widened.

“You promised.” He tilted his head towards me. 

“I did not promise,” he teased as he tucked his hair behind his ear. When I shot him a look, he released a defeated sigh, and dramatically draped himself across the arms of the chair, the back of his hand on his forehead in mock sorrow. I watched him, unimpressed. 

“Hades has rubbed off on you more than you know, my friend. You used to be fun.”

My cheeks puffed out in indignation as he stood again, and stepped around the chair to meet me. His eyes lit with glee at my expression and he lifted his hands to my face. He squished my cheeks, forcing me to blow the air out. I narrowed my eyes, but he took a step back.

“Well, come on, then,” he said, motioning towards the desk. “Do your duty and deliver this book that was extremely important .”

I clicked my tongue at him and did as requested, gingerly setting it down in the middle so that it  didn’t disturb anything already there, but would be noticeable when Lahabrea returned. I picked up one of the pens lying around and reached for a spare piece of paper to jot down a quick note.

When I looked back up, Hythlodaeus was standing in front of one of the bookcases on the other side of the room. I sighed in frustration.

“‘Must you?”

“Calm down,” he said without looking my way, eyes roaming the different trinkets and books the Speaker had collected over the years. “I won’t touch.”

I crossed my arms over my chest with a frown.

“Explain to me why we’re friends, again.” He chuckled in response and reached out to pluck a small figurine from a shelf.

“‘Daeus!” I hissed. His hand paused and he heaved another histrionic sigh. 

“Oh, alright,” he relented. I shook my head as he turned back towards me. 

“Now I know where Hades gets his flair for the dramatic,” I muttered, coming around the desk again and towards the door.

I was halfway out when I realized my companion was not with me. With a groan, I leaned back into the room, peering at him from around the door.

“Are you coming or-”

Quickly, he lifted a finger to his lips, cutting off my sentence. I furrowed my brow, shaking my head in confusion. With the same finger, he pointed down. I followed his gaze to a couch and a side table I had not noticed before.

On the surface of the table sat a red Convocation mask- Lahabrea’s. 

And on the couch-

My eyes widened as my whole body tensed. 

The Speaker himself laid there, his hood drawn over his eyes to block the light, his breathing even. I watched as Hythlodaeus bent over him, carefully searching for signs of consciousness. He reached an arm out, waving it over Lahabrea’s face. When he straightened again, I saw a familiar glint in his eyes, clear and playful.

“‘Daeus, don’t even-”

“Play a game with me?”

I clenched my jaw and closed the distance between us.

“We are not pranking a member of the Convocation, Hythlodaeus. That is where I draw the line.” I tugged on the fabric of his sleeve, urging him to leave with me. “Let’s get out of here before he wakes up.”

“Don’t be such a spoil sport.” He turned back to the desk for a moment, and reached for a pen and inkwell. “We prank Hades all the time .”

“Hades is not part of the Convocation,” I reminded him. “And we’ve been friends with him for years .”

He hummed, unconcerned, as he dipped the quill into the ink and knelt next to the couch. “Come on, it’s a new game. One of our classmates came up with the idea.”

I bristled as he drew four lines on the other man’s face, two horizontal, two vertical. 

“Paper would work just fine-”

“But not nearly as fun.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, but he stood again and nudged me with his hip. “He’s asleep, he won’t have a clue. Besides, it’s only fair since he had us rush over to deliver this book and we found him slacking .”

“You are a constant headache, you know,” I sighed. “A horrible influence.” He flashed a smile and held the pen out to me.

“Alright,” he began, taking a deep breath. “You be the X, I’ll be the O. To win, you want to outsmart your opponent and get three in a row. You go first.” 

“Just so you know, I’m doing this against my will. If he ever finds out, I will absolutely not hesitate to throw you to the wolves.” 

“Yes, you’ve made your point abundantly clear, but you’re simply worrying over nothing,” he chuckled and I pursed my lips, looking down at the table now on Lahabrea’s cheek as I debated where to place my first move, tapping the feather against my lips. When I decided, I bent over and gently drew an X in the top left corner, then handed the quill back over to Hythlodaeus.

We played the game out, thinking each play out until all of the squares were filled and neither of us victorious. 

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” I complained. “Let’s get out of-”

“Aw, come now,” he cooed. “We can’t simply leave without a winner and his other cheek is open.” When he went for the pen again, I leaned away, holding it out of his reach.

“‘Daeus, we really need to-”  

“ What is that incessant racket?” Lahabrea grumbled. The both of us froze and I held my breath. A moment later, Hythlodaeus recovered from his shock and plucked the pen from my hand, moving quickly to  set both it and the ink back on the desk as the Speaker began to wake. 

We were nearly out the door when he called after us, halting us in our tracks.

“ What are you doing in my office?”

I cringed and turned back to the desk as he stood from the couch. 

“We-we were delivering the book you requested from the archives of the Akadaemia,” I answered, folding my arms behind my back and forcing a smile to my face. “You didn’t answer, so we thought to just leave it on your desk, sir.” His annoyed expression lightened, immediately.

“Ah, yes. Thank you both for bringing this all the way to my office so quickly,” he said. A nervous laugh escaped me as the Speaker approached the large window behind his desk. “It was a big-” He paused. I watched his reflection in the glass as his brow furrowed, noticing the ink on his face.

“What is-” He lifted his hand to wipe his cheek, the still-wet ink staining his fingers. His eyes shot up to the window again and I sucked in a breath as his gaze locked with mine. “You-” He whipped around the face us. “What did you-” 

“Well,” Hythlodaeus interjected, attempting to keep his voice nonchalant, lifting his arm to rub the back of his neck over his hood. “It’s probably time we get back to class…” He shot a look down at me, nodding his head back toward the door. 

“Right, uh-” I bowed at the waist and quickly spun on my heel as Lahabrea began making his way around the desk, irritation spelled out in his eyes. “Have a good day, sir!” 

“Get back here-!”

“Go, go go-,” Daeus whispered, urgently, a hand pressing on the small of my back.

I hurried out of the office, Hythlodaeus right on my heels, closing the door behind him. 

“What happened to taking the blame?”

“Only if we get caught.” A frustrated groan left me.

“Why do I let you talk me into these things? You always get me into trouble,” I chided him as we hurried towards the exit that led back into the city, where we could disappear until Lahabrea had calmed down. “If I get kicked out of the Akadaemia for this-”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. At worst we’ll just have to spend extra hours in the lab watching over one of his creations.”

“Or cleaning up after one of his creations,” I mumbled.

I heard my name echo from down a hall as we passed, the voice familiar. I came to a fast stop and, though he tried to skid to a halt behind me, Hythlodaeus bumped into my back, causing me to stumble forward a few steps. He grabbed my arm to steady me.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Lahabrea will be right on our tails.”

“Why are you two in such a hurry?” the voice asked as a figure jogged up to meet us.

“Hades!” I said with a bright smile. 

“Ah,” my companion said as he turned to face the newcomer. “I see.” Hades grinned down to me as he clapped Hythlodaeus on the shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his waist as he bent down to press a quick kiss to my lips before straightening again.

“Just on our way back to the Akadaemia for class. What about you?”

“Oh, the Convocation asked to speak with me about one of my-”

Lahabrea bellowed our names from down the hall and I jumped, my face flushing as a squeal slipped from my lips. Hades’ shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes as our friend breathed a laugh.

“Caught, again.”

“What have you done now?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Don’t look at me,” I whined. “This was all Daeus’ idea.” He sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he shook his head.

“But a member of the Convocation ? You two are always-”

“You’re far too serious, Hades-,” Hythlodaeus started, but Hades clicked his tongue.

“And you aren’t serious e-”

“Oh, there he is-”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Hythlodaeus grabbed my wrist and pulled me around the nearest corner. Hades raised a brow as he watched.

“What are you-”

His eyes wandered to where we had just escaped from, his last words cut off by a cough, his eyes wide with surprise. 

I peeked around the corner to see the Speaker come to a stop in front of him, his arms crossed, the anger radiating off his body.

“Hades.”

“L-Lahabrea, sir,” Hades responded with a respectful incline of his head, clearing his throat and trying not to stare at the writing on the Speaker’s face. “Is...everything alright?”

 “As a matter of fact, I was looking for the very two students I often see in your company. Did you happen to see them pass this way on your way in?”

His eyes flicked to me for half a moment and Hythlodaeus pulled me out of sight again as Lahabrea twisted to follow his gaze. A gasp of surprise nearly escaped me, but Daeus’ hand clamped over my mouth.

“Uh- I’m sorry to say that I have not seen them today.”

The Speaker hummed. 

“Is there a message I could pass on to them for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. You may wait for me in my office, I will be back momentarily to escort you to the meeting.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Two sets of shoes clicked on the tiled floor, one moving away, the other getting closer. I spun quickly, frantically pushing Hythlodaeus to move further down the hallway. 

“He’s coming,” I whispered. “Go!”

The both of us took off running straight out the exit with nothing but a quick look over my shoulder to see Lahabrea standing in the exact center of the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched us leave.

We ran until we had to stop for air, hiding ourselves in an alley between two tall apartment complexes. I tore the hood from my head and collapsed against the stone wall, sliding down until I sat on the ground. Hythlodaeus leaned over onto his knees, the both of us gasping for air. 

As we caught our breath, he began chuckling. I tilted my head back against the wall to watch him, though his laughter was infectious and soon the both of us had devolved into fits of giggles.

“Did….did you see...his face ?” he said between laughs. I held my stomach, tears rising to my eyes, unable to respond.

A moment later, however, there was a hum next to us. Daeus’ laugh choked to an end as Lahabrea stepped out of a portal. 

My mouth immediately dropped open, eyes widening. I tried to scramble to my feet, but the very second I was upright and ready to make my escape, a hand gripped the back of my robe and jerked me back, a short squeal of surprise slipping from my lips. 

“Oh, please,” the Speaker purred. “Don’t stop having fun on my account.” 

“Please, sir,” ‘Daeus began, pleadingly. “It was all-”

“Ah!” Lahabrea lifted his hand to silence my companion. He released my robe so I could turn to face him. “Save your excuses, Hythlodaeus. I do not care that it was likely your idea, you both will receive punishment nonetheless.

“You will report to my research facilities at the Akadaemia after your classes and assist in the care of my most recent creations for an entire month.”

I pursed my lips, gaze shooting to my friend. He, at the very least, had the sense to look somewhat sorry. 

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled in defeat, reaching back to pull my hood up once more. 

“I will be making sure to check up on you there, so don’t think about skipping out,” he continued, gaze easily sliding to Hythlodaeus. 

“Of course, sir,” ‘Daeus confirmed with enthusiasm, placing a hand over his heart. I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming. “I would never dream of it! Is that all you would ask of us, Lahabrea, sir, for this travesty we have committed?”

I elbowed him in the side and he hissed in pain, covering it with one hand.

“As a matter of fact,” the Speaker began again. “Tonight, when you have finished your cleaning duties , you will meet me in my office and-” He lifted a hand to motion to his face. “Teach me how to play this game of yours.”

My brow shot up as he turned, his portal opening once more. 

“‘Til this evening.”

When he was gone, Hythlodaeus laid his arm across my shoulders as he slumped against me. I clicked my tongue in annoyance and tried to pull away from him.

“I told you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whined, drawing his words out. “I tried .” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m never listening to you again,” I groaned as he tightened his hold on me. 

“You always say that.” I sighed and shrugged his arm off, then started making my way from the alley. 

“Come on. We should get back to class.”

“Race me?”

“‘Daeus!”

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