#he now wears a beanie and is called Chock

[chocobytes21]

Little animation I did, enjoy the little gore, I guess

[callmeelle22]

Snow

Gifted to @dameintoyland for the Flash Holiday Gift Exchange @theflashholidaysgiftexchange

Pairing: Barry Allen x Iris West

Word Count: 5912

Rating: M

Summary: Softly falling snow, spiked hot chocolate, and some light smut for the holiday season.

I want a snowfall kind of love, the kind of love that quiets the world.

When the snow starts, Barry recognizes how ridiculous it was to decide to walk to the store in the middle of the night. But, in the end, he’s sure it had been worth it.

It’d been because of a mere case of insomnia, that and the gnawing need for sustenance. A look into his refrigerator had revealed only a carton of expired eggs, an empty jug of orange juice, and a ridiculous amount of condiment bottles, so he’d stuffed his socked feet into a pair of sneakers, zipped himself into a coat, and jammed a beanie on top of his head before he’d ventured out into the cold.

When the snow starts, he’s only a few minutes into the fifteen minute walk to the grocery store. His collar is pulled up and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his sweatpants as he takes cursory glances at the world around him. The snow is just flurries, tiny drops that appear more like rain before it hits the ground, but Barry knows how picturesque this place will look when the snow gets going in earnest. The little neighborhood he lives in, one they’re calling the arts district, is filled with tiny shops owned by rich women and their Etsy jewelry, restaurants where the food speaks, murals painted on every single building that depicts a sort of effortless diversity that isn’t actually true for the area. That’s even more notable when he looks at all of the Christmas decorations in the windows of the shops, sparkling garland wrapped around every available column, bright green wreaths chock-full of shiny gold ornaments, brilliant red bows on door handles and lamp posts. It’s all been up, much to Barry’s chagrin, since the season apparently started on November 1st, and it’s why he’s survived on work, take-out, and The West Wing since.

He curses his own absurdity as he enters the small grocery store and picks up an arm cart with a half frozen hand.  The store is one of those small ones, the ones that sell mostly single serving portions at regular prices, the store’s bright lights and gleaming floors convincing customers it’s worth paying five dollars for a half a carton of eggs. They’ve been bit by the Christmas bug too, a song he doesn’t know, I want a snowfall kind of love, that lights up the sky from below; I want a snowfall kind of love, that brings people to their window, playing in the background. They’ve managed to plop a tree smack dab in the middle of the store and the aisles are full of what he’s sure the manager thinks are only subtle odes to this godforsaken holiday.

He tries to be quick, to hurry home before he has to start sliding through the snow. He throws a loaf of bread into his cart, some cheese and eggs, packages of bacon and deli ham. He remembers that they’ve got a pretty decent frozen pizza section too, so he grabs a couple of those, trying not to focus on the fact that he’s 27 and lonely and still eating like he did when he was in undergrad—and let’s be honest, in grad school too. He rounds another corner to decide on a six-pack, or two, of beer. And that’s when he sees her.

She’s a petite thing, shorter than she normally looks when Barry sees her hightailing it from the apartment across from his, in pencil skirts and shoes with heels like spikes. Her hair usually falls straight against her shoulder blades, soft looking and shiny, and he’s only ever seen her mouth painted in shades of purple and red. Tonight, this morning, she’s as dressed down as he’s ever seen her. She's only in a pair of gray leggings, a tight white t-shirt that cups her firm chest, a faux fur-lined coat thrown over it. Her hair is in a curly wavy style that falls right at her shoulders, and he likes it, how soft and sweet it makes her look.

When he sees her in the mornings, as she’s leaving their building, it makes him a little tongue-tied, especially when she’s in those tucked in blouses that show off the deep curve of her waist. The look of her like this, though, makes Barry wonder what it feels like to have heart palpitations and if he’s having them.

He’s watching her, probably a little creepily, and so when she turns, she catches her eyes. Now, Barry really can’t breathe. Her face is improbably pretty: deep ochre skin, dark chocolate eyes, a full pouty mouth that calls for his attention as she bites at the bottom one. He thinks, for a moment, of what it might be like to be beside her, naked, her lovely brown skin next to his paler body, her small, soft hands laced in his. He wonders, in the same moment, what it might be like to kiss her—her mouth, the soft heat between her legs—her long-lashed eyes closed in ecstasy. It paints a pretty vivid picture and Barry is sure he loses a bit of time.

“Oh, I know you,” she says, a hint of passion in her voice.

Barry blinks, looks behind him at the freezer full of overpriced beer, and then back to where there’s more than a hint of a smirk on her face.

“You mean me?”

“Yeah. You’re the one with the lab coat.”

Barry would like to note that as long as she’s been living across from him, a few months now, he’s been hoping for glimpses of her each time he’s left his own apartment. It’s a bit astonishing to know that she’s noticed him too.

“I, uh, yeah,” he mumbles, reaching up the rub at the back of his head. “I, I wear a lab coat.”

“Nice,” she says, and there’s some honey in the way she says the word, the way it drips down off her tongue.

Barry tilts his head, a bit incredulous. “Lab coats get you off?”

It isn’t what he meant to say, but her grin gets wider and there’s no doubt that Barry’s face goes bright red.

“I didn’t mean…” he starts, but the words get stuck.

She doesn’t seem offended. If anything, her grin gets wider, turns dirtier, and she winks at him as she starts to push her cart away. “See ya, lab coat.

“Wait,” he calls, and she turns, neatly shaped eyebrows raised.

“It's, uh, it's Barry, Barry Allen," he manages to get out.

 “I'm Iris West," she tells him. And then she—and Barry admits he could be hallucinating, admits that he might be high off the scent of her, of shea and coconut—gives him a slow, long look over, taking in the length of his legs and his slim torso, his broad shoulders. She lingers, in a few places he’s sure, at his crotch and somewhere around his throat, and then she's looking at his face again. She licks her lips. "I'll see you around, Barry Allen."

That should be it, Barry thinks, as she leaves the aisle and he presses as much of himself against the cold freezer glass as he can. Good lord. But then Barry pays for his food with the scowling person they’ve convinced to work the night shift at a 24 hour grocery store, and then he’s walking out of the store, clutching his purchases, prepared to make his way back home. And then Iris West is calling out for him, her car idling at the corner beside him. 

“Just taking a late night stroll?” she wonders.

He licks at his lips where they've suddenly gone dry. "Yeah. I got hungry and there wasn't any food in my apartment."

“So you thought a quick walk in the snow would do it?"

Were it anyone else, he thinks he might have been annoyed at her for goading him. But she's pretty and he likes the way her dark eyes sparkle with mirth, and something a bit deeper, darker, when she looks at him.

“I feel like you're judging me," he says, his own mouth quirking up.

“Of course I am." She pauses as she turns back into the car. She seems to be moving things around. “Get in, Barry Allen."

They don’t make much conversation on the short ride to their apartment building. The night is quiet on the empty streets, made quieter by the radio turned off and only the hum of the heater as noise. He wants to talk, but he doesn’t know what to say, or if she even wants to speak, so he let’s the ride soothe him. It reminds him of time spent with his parents, years ago. He’d always had trouble sleeping, a condition that has no true origins. But, sometimes, when he couldn’t get to sleep and he’d started to get grumpy because of it, his parents would bundle him up, sit him in the back of the car, and drive around until easy listening jazz and soft falling snow had lulled him to sleep. It’s one of many memories of his family, of the parents he’d lost when he’d been old enough to register their absence. He tries to keep them at bay, those memories that could turn overwhelming and crippling were he to let it.

Christmas doesn’t help. They’d been big Christmas people, spending the Friday after Thanksgiving picking out a tree and dusting off ornaments that had been sitting in the attic for the year, baking cookies as they let him throw tinsel everywhere. The last year he'd had with them, when he was seven years old and had just begun wearing those hideous coke-bottle top glasses, had been the biggest one yet. He'd been allowed to do more: actually pick the Christmas tree, carefully put the cookies in the oven, write out the full thank you for Santa Claus. It'd all been so exhilarating, until the day after Christmas, when date night had turned into a crushed car and stoic police officers and a bull faced woman who'd made him throw clothes in a duffle bag he hadn't owned; when he’d been stuck with the reality that the last time he would ever see his parents was through the window of his old house, Christmas lights blinking back at him.

“Hey, we’re here."

It’s only when she speaks that Barry notices they’ve stopped and she’s parked in one of the spots designated for their building. He looks at her, blinking back into the present. He answers the question written all over her face.

“Oh, yes. I'm," he shakes his head, trying to clear it. He swallows. "Yeah, I'm good."

This time, the smile she gives him is kind.      

“Sure?"

“Yeah." He rubs at his eyes. "Let's get inside before the snow starts falling more."

Later, Barry will give half a thought to what makes Iris West invite him into her apartment. They both schlep up the stairs to their third floor apartments, bags in hand, Barry trying not to wish her coat would rise a little higher as he follows behind her. He grabs his key from the pocket of his sweatpants, poised with a hand at the door, and when he turns to tell her good night, she’s staring back at him, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. If he didn’t know any better, he might think she was nervous.

“Chances you’d want to come in?” she blurts, “for some hot chocolate?”

Barry has two choices here. He can say thank you and go into his apartment, where the snow will still be falling and he’ll drink at least two of the beers he bought, and he’ll think about what he and his parents might’ve been doing for this Christmas holiday. Or he can go into the apartment of the woman he’s been drooling after for months and share some hot chocolate. 

So really, there’s no choice at all.

 ************

The clock on Iris’s microwave reads 1:15 when he finds himself standing beside her stove.

When they’d first come into the apartment, she’d left him awkwardly at the door while she’d gone to change. He’d kicked off his shoes at the door, placed his coat on one of the hooks near her door, and then he’d taken a casual glance around the room. Her apartment has the same layout as his, an open floor plan with a large living room and nice sized kitchen, a large island separating the two rooms in lieu of a dining area. A hallway off the living room leads to two bedrooms and a separate bathroom. That is where the similarities end, though. Her place is cozy, the living room featuring an overstuffed couch in a robin's blue fabric and a cream colored loveseat. A large rug under a distressed cream coffee table in a swirling pattern of blues and golds and greens ties it all together. It's a far cry from the hand me down-albeit comfortable-sectional that takes up most of his living area and the hardwood floors he hadn't bothered to cover when he realized that any decent rug cost his grocery bill for a couple weeks.

Even more is the fact that it's decorated for Christmas. There's a neat tree in the corner, teeming with shiny ornaments and blue garland and strings of white lights. There's some gold and silver tinsel thrown artfully in a way that Barry would never be able to manage, and even his cold, anti-Christmas heart can admit that with the giant blue, gold, and cream bow at the top, the tree is beautiful. Other knick knacks find their places around the room: two stockings on her mantle, a few blue bows tied on various pieces of furniture, an intricate figurine of a black Santa Claus. He’d thought that he should have figured her for a Christmas person.

When she'd come back, it’d been confirmed. She'd thrown on a pajama short set, the top with buttons and a collar, the bottoms showing the expanse of legs that look too long for her short stature, all of it in candy cane stripes. Barry doesn't always love the symbols of Christmas, especially those that remind him too much of the last one he had with his parents, but nothing in Barry's body objected to seeing her walking out like that, not even the reindeer socks covering her feet and ankles. He's glad that he'd showered and thrown on clean clothes after his Netflix binge.

Now, he stands beside her as she whisks cocoa powder into a large saucepan full of milk and sugar. Her kitchen is neat and clean, with bright yellow accessories and framed quotes that claim her love of coffee.

“Did you ever make cocoa with your parents?”

He glances down at his socked feet, and then over at her. She's still whisking, her small hands and nude nails gently gripping the base of the whisk. His heart clenches at the question, but when she starts speaking without his answer, he thinks maybe it expands, just a little bit.

“My grandma swore by homemade hot chocolate. Homemade everything, really. She'd only ever make it in December and only on Sunday nights. It was a thing to look forward to, I guess, a sort of tradition.”

“Does she still make it every Sunday in December?”

She shakes her head, her answering smile only a touch sad. "No. She died when I was 15."

Barry wonders how she does it, says the words without the pain of death overtaking her, without the memory of drinking hot cocoa with her grandmother sending her running away from milk and chocolate and sugar.

“I,” he says, and decides that this must be the way people feel when he used to tell them about his own parents, full of pity and sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Iris.”

“Thanks. She was ready to go, so I think I made peace with it early on."

Barry stays leaned against the counter as he watches her, the stirring methodical, an easy, constant clockwise motion. “Did your grandmother teach you how to make anything else?”

“She tried,” Iris tells him, laughing up at him. “But it never took. I am woefully inadequate in the kitchen.”

There’s something about a woman like Iris, beautiful and seemingly kind, that intimidates him. She seems so self assured, so well-adjusted, that he seems too good for him, like he’d only manage to bring her down into the depths of his own grief if he wasn’t careful.

“Can you cook?” She wants to know.

He shakes his head. “I literally just bought frozen pizza and eggs.”

“Good.” She gives him a sharp nod. “If you could cook on top of being this cute, I’m not sure I’d let you leave this apartment.”

Barry leans down and catches her eyes. “I could learn, if you wanted me to.”

Iris hums, holding his eyes, and hers flash, white teeth biting into her bottom lip. It feels like heat, swirling around them, taking over, settling in the middle of the kitchen. It feels tight, his entire body, the result of a strange mix of swirling thoughts and deep-rooted emotions. There’s the underlying feel of heartache, a steady companion since his childhood. The loneliness that usually accompanies has taken a backseat to the growing lust flooding his system, the tightening of his chest and the tingling in his hands he gets when he looks at her. He isn’t normally a flirt, is normally a fumbling mess when he gets around beautiful women. But it’s her, this woman, that makes him feel a touch bolder, a touch daring, a bit more like he would be if he didn’t live so much in his head.

“It’s time for chocolate chips,” she announces, and it’s the only warning Barry gets before she’s suddenly pressed against him. In reality, it’s quick, he knows it is. She merely reaches over him to grab a package of chocolate chips from the cupboard above his head. But god, if the world doesn’t stop moving as he feels the full length of her, supple thighs flush against the hardness of his, her flat belly and firm breasts almost molded to him. The smell of her is overpowering, the coconut and shea butter, the cocoa powder she’d stirred into the milk.

Barry swallows as she steps back into her own space. He would think that the moment would be gone, that her dropping those chocolate chips into the pan and stirring them to melt them faster would calm him down. It doesn’t.

It’s there, festering, as she finishes the hot chocolate, pouring the sweet drinks into giant mugs and topping them with a bit of Bailey’s. That earns him a wink, the gesture even more potent than the boozy cream he’s drinking on a mostly empty stomach. He follows her to her living room, where she sits down on the couch and motions for him to do the same. She grabs a blanket from the top of the couch and spreads it out with one hand, placing it over her lap and his, closing the distance between them just a little. He sits with his back fully against the sofa, but she’s cross-legged facing him, her attention on him intense. The room adds to it all, the Christmas tree providing the only light in the room, the small white lights casting shadows across her face. It doesn’t help, or it doesn’t hurt rather, this smooth setting. It brings it all to the forefront, the lust flowing as easily through his veins as the blood tends to do.

The following order of events he’ll give more than half a thought. He’ll question, but certainly not complain about, how they go from talking to falling against her bed, naked and twisted in her sheets.

The questions start innocently enough: how old are you? What’s your career? What are your hobbies? He finds that she’s 28 to his 27, a journalist to his research scientist, loves hiking to his personal science experiments. It’s almost like a date, the way they laugh with each other over their mugs, the spiked chocolate the invitation they need to go deeper than he imagines either of them would on a first date, to bare secrets he’d probably never speak aloud. 

He learns that she’s been watching him, waiting for a chance to speak to him, except the combination of her rushing and his own grumpy morning face kept her from reaching out. He tells her that the feeling was mutual, that he’d had improper thoughts of her after seeing her in those skirts, that he’d figured she’d never go for a guy like him so he’d just kept his distance. This takes them into deeper, dirtier waters. She wants to know his type, and he tells her, between warming sips of chocolate, that “I didn’t know, until recently, my love for women with deep brown skin and wide set eyes, and a mouth I want to sink into.”  It’s the Bailey’s, he knows, but it’s her too, and him when he’s with her, and he likes the way the words tumble from his mouth, the way she pulls the words from him.

If she were lighter, he figures there might be a touch of red at her cheeks, but she only looks down for a brief moment, a long pink tongue swiping over that bottom lip, and he watches as much as hears her say, “I always wonder if those moles are just on your face, at your throat, or if they’re everywhere else,” and Barry swallows at how her eyes drop down, as if she can see beneath his t-shirt where more moles are peppered, as if she can tell that they’re dotted on his thighs too, right around where he’s slowly growing thick and hard.

It’s after this revelation, that the tides turn.

He watches her, for signs that this isn’t just the talking of strangers drunk of chocolate and each other. There is the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips, her eyes that keep caressing the length of him. There is her leaning towards him, her body titled enough that he can look down the front of her top, where the mounds of her breasts are free, calling for his teeth and tongue. He swallows the rest of his drink and sits the mug down on her coffee table. Iris’s moves are similar, yet more deliberate. Barry finds himself enamored by the column of her throat as she drinks, by her nude brown nails as she wipes the excess from her mouth. She stands, her shorts riding high up on her hips, and time slows again as she plops her mug down and then comes to stand in front of him. He sits back, so that he can see all of her, until she’s sliding into his lap, and then he can really see all of her, just in the curve of her smile. And then she kisses him.

The taste of her is unbelievable, like the cream she’s been drinking and like something else warmer, something else sweeter. It’s been months since he’s kissed anyone, and the times had been few and far between before, but Barry knows that nothing has ever, could ever, compare to the feeling of kissing Iris West. She’s so soft on top of him, so much warmer than he would have thought, and he’s so overwhelmed with the feel of her, that he doesn’t know what to do outside of kissing her.

Iris takes the lead. She grips both of his hands in hers, placing one at her waist and the other at her hip, and then she sinks her fingers into his hair. The kiss turns deeper, the slide of her mouth against his, the slip of her tongue between his lips, the soft clash of teeth as they figure each other out. He tries to learn her, to adjust. She likes when he nips at her bottom lip, when he brings into his mouth to suck, so he takes advantage of that, swallowing the sounds of her moans. He likes the way her fingers tip down his throat, her nails lightly digging into his skin. 

It is the sort of kiss that is written about, odes to the shape of her lips, sonnets that praise the taste of her tongue. There are songs, made for nights like this, for faint lights. and warm hands and hearts pounding.  If he had the ability, he would pen poems about her, about her thick thighs spread over his lap and the heat  of her body he swears he can feel through the fabric of their clothes.

She pulls back, her lids lowered, those chocolate eyes more black than brown now. She licks her lips again, as she watches him, as if chasing the taste of him, and Barry groans low in his throat. Her response is to smile at him, easy and seductive.

“Want to go into my bedroom?”

Barry’s hands tighten on her hips. “I want to go anywhere with you.”

It becomes, Barry decides, the best night of his life. She climbs off of him, and takes his hand, pulling him down the hall. He only takes enough of a glance around to know that the blues and the yellows and golds extend to this room too, accents to the soft white comforter over her queen sized bed. He sees the matching dresser and bookshelf, and it’s all pieces of her that Barry hopes he gets to explore.

She instructs him to take his clothes off, and he does, peeling off his shirt, his sweatpants, his boxers and socks too. Her clothes come off in quick and elegant movements, and Barry laments not being able to stare at her for longer, at the even, deep brown skin and the full breasts hanging heavy, her nipples like the perfect pieces of chocolate chips she’d melted earlier. Her belly is flat, hips round, calves shapely, and the look of her warms him from the inside.

He has very little control, and he happily gives it up, falling onto his back when she pushes him down and crawls atop him again. She uses the sharp tips of her nails and the wide flat of her tongue to trace constellations into his skin, to connect the dots across his chest, the dots at the slight v of his hips; to stamp her name on the imperfections marring the skin of his thighs. It’s a heady feeling, only multiplied when Iris takes the length of him into her hand and then into her mouth. His head drops back onto the pillow, her mouth warm and wet. She takes as much of him as she can and then she pulls back to the tip. She gathers the spit in her mouth, letting it drip down his dick, and then she’s sucking him with purpose, her hands sliding up and down where her mouth can’t reach, the suction of her lips glorious. She swallows him down, the slight gag when he hits the back of her throat releasing something primal in him.

“Fuck, Iris,” he says and it’s something more like a growl, the feel of her indescribable. She hums around him, and then pulls away with a pop, giving her attention to his swollen, aching testicles. He lets her suck him until his breathing grows labored, and then he’s pulling gently at her curly hair, stuttering, “want, want to come in you.”

She stays on her knees in front of him, for moments longer, and then she smiles, the sultry one she’d thrown at him in the grocery store, the one she’d thrown him in the kitchen, the smile that’s got him in her bedroom.

“It’s insane how beautiful you are,” he tells her, and he likes the way it makes her body flush, a red tinge to her skin. He motions for her now, and she crawls back up, settling her crotch over him. He notes the warmth of her pussy on his belly, and it makes his own grin a touch sordid.

“Is this because of me?” He finds himself asking. “Did sucking me off get you wet?”

Her eyes flutter closed briefly. 

“I like it,” she says, “when you say these dirty things I’m not expecting.”

“It’s only because of you,” he says, and then he curls his finger around her neck and brings her down to kiss him.

This kiss is wet, open-mouthed, filthy. Barry wonders how he got here, how a short walk in the snow led to this gorgeous person writhing atop him, mumbling increasingly coarse things in his ear. He touches her where he can: fingers tipping down her spine and over her hips; hands kneading her breasts, pinching gently at the hardened peaks of her nipples; thumbing her swollen clit until the wet of her is dripping down her thighs.

Then Barry flips her over, under the insatiable need to have her spread out beneath him, and he watches her tiny hands cover the length of him with a condom. 

When he’s finally inside of her, Barry swears that, when she kicks him out of her bed, he’ll do everything in his power to be worthy of her. As her thighs clamp at his hips and he swivels them until he’s buried all the way inside her, he vows to work to be enough for her, and for him too.

She’s so wet, as he rocks into her, and he tells her so, murmuring into her ear, “god, you’re so wet, baby; you feel so good around me.” She talks back, as she digs her nails into his skin enough to leave scars. “I, I never,” she whispers, her voice is soft like white falling snow and sweet like warm, melting chocolate. “I never guessed you’d feel like this.”

She milks him, gripping him in her heat, clenching around him as pulls out, letting her wetness flood him when he pushes back in. Their rhythm is steady, rocking and sliding, rocking and sliding. He holds onto her thigh, hiking it over his hip, and he tangles his hands in her hair enough to hold her steady, enough to take her mouth again. His mouth is gentler on her, mimicking the slide of his body. This feels deeper somehow, their bodies so close he’s touching every single part of her. She pulls away only enough to gasp against his mouth, “damn, Barry Allen,” falling off against his lips, followed by a laugh that turns into a low, slow “ffffuuuucccckkkk.”

When he comes, it’s at the same time that she’s clenching around his dick, their bodies slick with sweat. He falls on top of her, and their breathing mellows out. Eventually, he tries to move away from her, but she holds him there, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his neck.

“You okay?” he whispers.

He feels her nod against him. “Perfect.”

************

She doesn’t kick him out after.

Instead, they clean up and then she asks Alexa to play a song, I want a snowfall kind of love, the kind that keeps you in bed all day; oh I want to walk through with you, and watch it all melt away, and she curls into him, her naked breasts pressing against his side, her leg thrown over his thigh. He’s in the space between exhaustion and awareness, his eyes heavy lidded as he comes back down from the high that was being inside Iris West.

There’s a sort of ambiance to the room now, one that makes this all seem more romantic and intimate than he knows what to do with. The blinds are open to the wall length windows that make these apartments worth it, and the night is dark, any stars in the navy blue blanket overshadowed by the softly falling snow. The flakes are thicker now, sticking to where they drop. It has the makings of a storm, especially in how much faster it’s coming down than when he’d been walking in it.

He can imagine them, in only a few hours, when the sun has barely crested the horizon and the cold is settling into the room, being wrapped up in Iris again. He can imagine even more, when the snow melts and the sun is on its way back down again, holding Iris’s hand in his as she walks beside him, in red high heels that match his shirt, in an easy smile that looks like his own, as they head to where they’ll talk and laugh and flirt over red wine and candlelight.

And because he can imagine it, because he wants to imagine it, to make it a reality, he finds himself telling her all of it: about The West Wing marathon he’d been watching since the start of the month because he remembers it had been his parents’ favorite show and he’d seen that it was on Netflix; about his attempts to befriend one of his colleagues, Cisco, because he’s never really had a friend and he thinks that he can be one, if he tries hard enough; about the crashed car that changed his life and the pain of Christmas lights and shiny tinsel that he’s begun talking to someone to alleviate.

For a moment, he thinks he’s said too much. Sure, she’s pretty and she’s sweet and she makes him feel like no one ever has before. But he’s only met her hours ago and it’s this, this kind of baggage, that’s kept him from reaching out, from trying to get close to anyone.

She still doesn’t kick him out. Instead, she tells him about her own childhood, about how distant parents had turned into divorced ones and how the strained tension hadn’t left just because they were no longer in the house yelling at one another. She tells him the struggles she’s had at work, at having to write whatever the paper deems as “black issues,” and the double edged sword that comes with wanting to write universal stories, and also wanting to take those black stories for fear no one else will write them with as much care and nuance. She explains how unlucky in love she’s been, how her thoughts are dismissed because men think she’s too pretty or how her well-earned independence is far too independent for them to see her seriously. It makes her more real to him, and Barry ponders how quickly one could fall in love.

They talk, until the sun does rise over Iris's window sill. And Barry rolls onto his back to pull her atop him, fingering into her until she’s dripping down his wrist. He sheathes himself and pushes himself into her, wet hands holding onto her hips as she takes over, grinding down onto him until they’re both a simpering, moaning mess, soaked and sated. After, Iris cuddles on top of him again, her mouth against his throat as she tells him, “of course, we’ll go out later,” when he whispers the question into hair.

They fall asleep to the still quietly falling snow.

Won't you bury me in your quiet love, oh bury me in your quiet love, bury me in your quiet love, and we will blow away.

[jocazep]

In The Whole Wide Train | Chapter 9

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader 

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

Author’s notes: Smut in this chapter! My first smut so please be gentle LOL.

Taglist: Now Closed

Series Masterlist

Chapter Nine - Washing Up

“Do you know if we got any soap for trading?” Edgar asked Curtis as they stood outside Gilliam’s quarters, waiting for Jo to finish her meeting with Gilliam. Around them, the dimly lit tail-section buzzed on with ordinary routines and shenanigans.

“Why? Are you taking after Jo’s habit?”

“Oh, oh no... Just, I thought it’d be nice to give her a welcome gift...” Edgar’s voice traced off.

Curtis scratched his head through the beanie. “Yeah check with the back lot, I think the going rate is three protein blocks for a half-bar.”

“That’s stiff man. I only have a third of a block. What’d ya reckon I can get for that?”

The rhythmic clicking of the train cut through Curtis’ reverie. He focused his eyes back to the present. They had won. Mason was still locked in his chock hold, Grey had more or less subdued Franco Sr, and Franco Jr. had dropped the knife from his hand.

But as Curtis took in the brutal consequences of the victory, his eyes found you hunched over Edgar who was lying prostrate on his back. You had both your hands on Edgar’s side, desperately trying to stop the bleeding with pressure. But foamy blood was gushing out, staining your hands, your face, and your clothes in an alarming scarlet.

Curtis didn’t need to look at Edgar to know that there was no saving him. He knew he had to carry the heavy burden of Edgar’s life on his shoulders the moment he chose to go after Mason. But you...you still hadn’t accepted it.

Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you whisper to Edgar as you tightened his overcoat around the wound and began to perform CPR.

“Stay with me, Edgar, stay with me. It’s ok. It’s ok.”

You thought back to Doris. To Timmy. To Andrew. To Yuna. But you pushed all thoughts from your mind but one--he’s not dying on your watch.

Curtis could hear your voice breaking, and it was all he could do to keep himself from wrapping you in his arms. But he looked back at the section in the wake of battle, and gritting his teeth, walked on to tend to the latest POWs.

You were running on autopilot. Pumping Edgar’s chest and breathing into his mouth, as if doing so would transport some of your life force into him. It wasn’t until Gilliam ambled up next to you, and placed his hand on your blood-drenched hands, that your brain began to process it all.

Your hands stopped, still quivering. You held your breath as well, forcing the visceral pain down with the pocket of air in your lungs. You were scared that if you breathed out, you would break and there would be no putting you back together. And you couldn’t afford that.

But there was nothing to say. His own hand trembling, Gilliam took your hand and guided you to close Edgar’s lifeless eyes. Sometime later, Curtis finished chaining up the POWs, and stumbled back to you and Edgar. A thump as his knees hit the floor next to you, his mind equally numb with pain. Taking heavy breaths, he pulls off his beanie, a last salute to his closest friend.

“Survivors, wash yourselves,” Gilliam’s voice came out strained, and raspy as usual, but it jolted you back to the present. As Curtis gulped back tears, he watched you stagger to your feet, hand and face caked in dry blood.

“The water supply section. Wash away the blood.“

The hours flew by as you lost yourself in cleaning and treating the wounded revolters, letting the rush of triage flood your mind and drown out the whatever pain, guilt, and self-doubt marinating inside your head.

Meanwhile, Curtis found himself chaining Mason to a water pipe in the furnace room, his rage slowly finding its way back after the grief and pain started wearing off.

“It’s Wilford you want, not me!” Mason was practically another person the minute she felt steel against her skin.

“Call him, see if he’ll come save you.“ Curtis heard himself say. It was a different kind of rage within him, calmer, surer, more deliberate, “We’ll rip you into pieces, he still won’t come?”

“He won’t leave his engine.”

“Well we control the water. We turn that off, he’ll have to come.”

“Turn off the water? Well you’ll only be condemning your own people. The water comes from front.” Mason’s eyes glimmered, finding a last shred of hope in the information she possessed.

“The nose of the train, it breaks up the snow and ice, and turns it into water!”

Curtis felt his confidence slipping. As Mason droned on about the front of the train being an elephant’s trunk, he turned to Tanya and whispered, “get Jo.“

When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the furnace room, you saw Curtis holding a knife to Mason’s neck.

“Curtis!” You rushed over and placed your hand on the blade, afraid that Curtis might kill Mason in the heat of fury.

“You keep his name out of your mouth, or you can fucking die.” Curtis was almost too angry to hear you.

“Curtis! Stop it!” Your hand pulled on the blade harder.

Mason’s eyes shifted from Curtis to you, regarding you and turned back to Curtis.

“Just as hot blooded as they say you are.”

You felt Curtis’ hand waver as he took in Mason’s remark, and slowly drew the knife from his grasp.

“Yes, we know you well, mister Curtis Everett. And you, Jo--”

You level the blade back to Mason’s neck.

“I can help you! I can help you! Wilford is not coming, you’ll have to go to the front, and I can take you! I can guarantee you safe passage!”

“You would betray your benevolent Wilford?“ You stared down at Mason, who held your gaze for a beat. A silent negotiation taking place between the two of you.

“I know the train. I know things you don’t.”

“Why the fuck would we trust you?” Curtis interjected. He still thought this was about the revolt.

“Because I want to live.”

You were dumbfounded by the sheer cheek of her. Was this really the same Mason that you knew before all this started?

The room was equally quiet. Who doesn’t want to live?

---

Night fell soon after. Things quieted down as both revolters and the invisible front-sectioners retired for the night.

Curtis and Gilliam arranged for patrols to guard the water section, and joined the revolters in the section that hours ago was an inferno of blood and fire. They were discussing whether to push ahead when Curtis realized that you were missing.

“Have you seen Jo?”

Gilliam shrugged, “I suppose she’s still in the water section, tending to the wounded. She’s taken it quite hard, after Edgar.”

Curtis found you sitting next to Edgar in the water section, hugging your knees close to your chest. You thought after all that you’ve been through, you would be too tired to feel, but you were wrong. You were feeling all right. There was a throbbing pain running along your right side, but you no longer cared.

You were too busy hating yourself. You hated yourself for not being able to save Edgar. You hated yourself for letting Mason talk you into sparing her life. You hated yourself for doing the math and deciding to put a wall around your grief instead of dealing with it. You hated that your eyes were completely dry.

“Hey...” Curtis squatted down next to you, his voice low and careful.

You turned your head from Curtis, and pushed yourself up. “I’m fine. I just need to, uh..., check on Bertie, he’s wounded pretty bad--”

“Jo.” Curtis caught up with you, his broad shoulders blocking your escape route. For the first time since the fight, he had a good look at you, and quickly realized that your clothes were covered in blood stains, some scarlet, others turning brown.

“Curtis, seriously I’ve gotta--”

“It’s OK. I’m here.”

You look up at him. “What?”

“I’m here.” Curtis wrapped his arms around you, and rested his chin on your head. “It’s OK.” His voice reverberated through his chest, slowly thawing the fragile barrier you put up. But it somehow felt safer, warmer, and you closed your eyes.

And the tears finally came.

When you were eventually all cried out, Curtis cupped your head in his hand, and murmured, “Let’s get you washed up.”

You nodded against his chest, and let him lead you towards the showers. The communal space was empty as everyone else had taken their wash already. After showing you how the water worked, Curtis left to wait outside, but soon a pained gasp from you sent him running back in.

“What is it?” Curtis found you mid-motion, trying to remove your blood-soaked coat.

“I think I cracked a rib...I can’t lift my right arm...”

No further explanation was needed. “Turn around.”

You did, and Curtis peeled off the coat, the water running in the shower the only sound echoing within the otherwise empty space.

Your silk shirt was next. What am I doing? You thought to yourself, but caught in the trance, you unbuttoned the front, and Curtis gingerly slid it off you, revealing the fading bruise from the guard’s rifle butt that now seemed a million years ago.

“Does it still hurt?” His voice was raspy and made you very self-conscious in your underwear and jeans.

“Not as bad as it did before.” You replied, keeping your voice as you could manage, fully aware of the tension between you.

Curtis shifted his eyes to your jeans. “Can you...”

You tried reaching down, but the blinding pain pierced into your right side, making you gasp as your legs wobbled. Curtis stepped up behind you, catching you by the arms and steadied the two of you, now standing unsustainably close to each other.

The room was getting foggy with the hot water running. You could hear Curtis swallow before he spoke, “Careful.” His breath swept past the back of your very naked neck, sending your stomach into knots.

He lifted his hands away from your arms to hover near your hips, but not quite touching you. You could feel the warmth radiating from his hands as you ached for more of his touch.

There was nothing Curtis wanted more than to pull these pants off of you and run his hands over every inch of your body. But he waited, his hands determined not to touch you until you gave a signal of what you wanted.

“What?” You willed yourself not to turn around.

“Are you sure about this?”

There was no reply. Instead, you took Curtis’s right hand in yours, and guided him to pop open the button on your jeans. That was all the signal Curtis needed. His warm hands ran down your hips, pulling your soiled jeans down, his fingers grazing your skin all the way down to your ankles.

You could feel the tension pooling at your core as you lifted one foot out of your crumpled jeans, and with the other foot, flicked them aside.

Curtis felt his hardness increasing as he straightened himself up half way, and traced his fingers lightly around the faded bruise on your back. You gasped out of surprise and pleasure as you felt his fingers trace upwards along your spine, ending up on your shoulder, where they were replaced by his lips.

You tilted your head, feeling the friction of his beard along the crook of your neck, light moans escaping your mouth, your uninjured arm reaching up to push off his beanie and run your fingers along his buzzed hair. Curtis’s hands were equally busy, flinging off his coat into a pile of grey and black on the floor.

You turned around to watch as he finally discarded his many layers of old sweaters and shirts, his muscled chest heaving, his toned arms pulling off his pants, and oh god--that bulge in his boxers. It was positively throbbing as you laid eyes on it.

“Hello.” You couldn’t help the wise-ass inside you as you took one step. Then another, and another, slowly closing the distance, watching Curtis’ eyes grow darker with lust, feeling your own heart pounding until you were close enough to notice the tiny specks of gold scattered in his sea-grey eyes.

Curtis reached down, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his arms wrapped around your figure, pressing you close to his body, his cock hard against you. You turn into putty in his arms, hanging on by your left arm hooked around his neck as your right arm roamed his stomach, exploring his abs by drawing circles around, making his erectness pulse inside the thin fabric. But as you reached down, Curtis stopped you.

“Not yet, baby.“

One hand holding you tight by the waist, and the other one cupped on your left breast, he walked the two of you towards the shower, until your back made contact with the moist wall of tiles. The coolness of the tiles, in stark contrast with the warmth from Curtis made for a strange yet wonderful sensation. Thank god for the running water, or your wetness would be quite noticeable as it soaked through your panties.

Curtis broke off the kiss, and trailed his lips down, past your heaving breasts, down your stomach, before resting his face between your legs.

“What are you--Ooooooh Curtis...” Your voice echoed loudly in the shower room as he ran his thumb across your core, pressing it into your clit. You look down to see the most imperceptible smile on his face as he slid your underwear off and lifted your right leg onto his shoulder.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his tongue met your dripping pussy, lapping up your juices as he sucked, sending you waves of ecstasy as his tongue explored your core.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Curtis all but commanded. And you were eager to comply as your hips rocked in tandem with his strokes, moans of pleasure tumbling out of your mouth as Curtis added his fingers to his attack, rubbing and pushing your sensitive lips. Your walls tightened as you felt Curtis’s tongue enter, and your hands flailed for balance as your knees buckled at the new high, before Curtis snaked his free arm up, grabbing your breast and steadying you against the moist tiles while his tongue and finger worked together to send your juices flowing.

“Curtis I’m gonna come--“

“You like that, baby?” he hummed into you. You nodded and squirmed as you felt your climax approaching, pressing your hips into his face.

“Yes, Curtis, just like that, I’m gonna come---” The wave of high washed over your entire body, your hips shaking and your pussy clenching as Curtis quickening his pace through your climax.

It was all you could do not to collapse as you came down from your orgasm. Curtis stood up, and you grabbed his face to catch his mouth in a sloppy wet kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as the running water soaked both of you, washing away your fatigue. As the two of you entwined, you pushed off his boxers,  and took in his girth. There’s nothing you wanted more than for it to fill you and make you come again.

“Fuck, Jo.” Curtis breathed out as you finally took his shaft into your hands, stroking it despite of its hardness. You tried to bend down and return the favor, but the sharp pain in your side screamed in protest.

“It’s OK, it’s OK baby,” Curtis helped you back up, and stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his right hand cupping your breast, and his left raising two fingers near your mouth, “Just suck on these for me.“

You held out your tongue, slobbering his fingers in your mouth before sucking and pulling away with a faint pop.

“That’s so hot,” Curtis whispered against your ear as his right thumb played with your hardened nipple, and his shaft rubbed against your wetness, making you moan and squirm in his hold.

“Are you ready?” Curtis lined the head of his cock at your entrance. You nodded, your entire body yearning for him to be inside you.

And what a sensation that was. Both of you groaned as Curtis’s cock pushed inside you. Curtis could feel your walls tight and warm around his cock, jerking him off. The strokes were slow and deliberate at first, each one going deep into you from behind, making you call out Curtis’s name in pleasure. The water, mixed with your juices, mixed with Curtis’s precum, ran down your legs as the rhythmic echoes filled the room.

Soon you felt the coil in your stomach building as Curtis picked up the pace, sending ripples in your body as he pounded into you. Mesmerized by the moaning figure in front of him, Curtis felt your pussy tighten around him, and gritted his teeth in concentration. It’s been a while, a long while since he’s had any sex, so he’s really sensitive, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get this right. He wrapped one arm around, capturing your clit between two fingers, while his other arm held you closer to him.

“Oh go--You’re gonna make me come if you keep--“ You all but cried out as he rubbed your clit, his lips latching onto your ears and neck, his cock drilling into you.

“Come with me, baby.“ Curtis’s breathing became labored as well, as his own pleasure began to crescendo. He walked the two of you into the tiled wall, your back arched, your breast against the wetness, your hips clasped in Curtis’s hands.

“Like that, just like that, Curtis.” You felt your pussy twitching as his wet cock slid in and out of you, quicker and quicker, each stroke hitting your sweet spot. Curtis laid his head on your shoulder, his own moaning mixing with yours as you  pushed your left hand against the wall for balance.

“Baby I’m close.“ He entwined his fingers with yours, his right hand returning to your swollen clit as he picked up the speed “I want to you come with me. Can you come with me?”

“Yes...Yes! Curtis, yes!“ You feel waves of pleasure shooting through you as he buried his face in your neck, his dick stretching your walls, his fingers taking your clit to the limit. You could hold on no longer--your legs started shaking, your pussy clenched down on his cock, and your entire body shook as the orgasm came crashing down on you, taking Curtis right over the limit as well.

As his cock twitched inside you, he caught your lips and kissed you deeply, both of you catching your breath. The warm water raining down on you as you lingered on this fading ecstasy, trying to make it last before returning to the cruel world beyond.

---

After you eventually did the actual washing up and got dressed again--Curtis had to go back to the Protein Block section to borrow Paul’s clothes again, since your own clothes were practically soaked in blood--the two of you tiptoed back to your sleeping spots.

Lying on his coat, with your head cushioned on his chest, Curtis remembered snippets of his conversation with Gilliam: “It’s much better to hold a woman with two arms, don’t you think?” But this really wasn't just any woman, was it. This was you. He looked down at you and held you tighter. You didn't look up--she must have drifted off, Curtis thought as he buried his nose in your hair and stole a quick kiss.

You, however, were quite awake. After Curtis's breath evened, and his heartbeat slowed down, you looked up at the sleeping man, tracing his long-lashed-eyes, his well-defined nose, and his soft-pillow lips with your gaze. An entirely different conversation was haunting you:

“When the time comes, don’t let anyone stand in your way, not the tail-sectioners, not Gilliam, not even Mason. You’ve gotta learn to make some difficult decisions, my child,” Wilford looked at you with his piercing blue eyes, “for one day this train will be yours to run.”

Taglist: @torntaltos @emmalbg @ajosieface 

[jumoonjae]

Gashina

YonngixReaderxMino

She was a wreck who cover it all with her prettiest smile. When she thought everything was settle when she moved away from hometown and live with her dream, she was wrong. Her past found his way to her and she was positive it was impossible for her to love again. But God has greater plan for her. 

A sheer of the prettiest shades of red emerged with orange filled the skyline that evening which framed perfectly like a painting on the art-studio’s window. 

Its almost dark outside and its her favorite view from the art room. She was alone working for her project for hours now. Then she heard a footstep and didn’t bother to look back as she already saw Jin’s reflection on the window.

“Aren’t you too early for the stargazing thing Y/N?” Jin mocked playfully while skipping a bit to her side. She shrugged ignoring her best friend mockery because he always did that. She let him wander around the art room as usual, circling her around. She then saw him at the corner of the room looking at the painting with eyebrow crooked, hands on chin as if he trying to solve something mystery in the painting.

“Are you playing find the hidden thing again oppa?” She chuckled by the sight of her elder friend stood like a philosopher trying to define the painting and about to spit some philosophy shits.

“No, I’m bored. Hungry. Tired. Etcetera. Etcetera. Can we go now? Its already 8. I need to eat Y/N. Have mercy please.” He leaned back on the wall with the back of his hand rested on his forehead, eyes  closed and another hand on his tummy. She rolled her eyes and laugh at his dramatic posture. 

“Don’t pressure yourself to much for the upcoming art exhibition. You’re going to do great Y/N.” He fixed his stance and walked to her intended to help her packing up at first but ended up eating her sneakers bar that he saw poked out from her bag pocket. She let him eat her last bar so he can stay in silent for a minute while she cleaning up her work station.

“You think?” She asked after a while and gained an eager nod right away from him which made her chuckle again. “Let me clean my stuff first.” She stand up collecting her brush to clean them up.

Jin was ranting nonsense when they were walking past the dance studio. The music was louder than usual because its after school. There was a few people inside which she recognize as Hoseok, the dance senior, Jimin, second year student and Jungkook, the freshman.

“Y/N! Jin hyung!” Hoseok who was in the middle of packing his stuff and about to turn off the large speaker waving at them in glee which Jin waved back in the same fashion.

“Where to?” Hoseok asked after locking the dance studio with both Jimin and Jungkook standing behind him lost in their own conversation. They always tag along but she never had a long talk with them, she just know a thing or two about them but they’re still in her circle of friends.

“I’m kind of hungry too. But I think I need to clean up first. I smell like I’ve made of paint.” She chuckled.

“Oh why don’t you just cook dinner for us Y/N? You’ve made a promise remember? Besides, You haven’t officially introduce your housemate to me.” Jin said.  Hoseok nodded eagerly to Jin’s word.

“You know I can’t cook Jin.” Her statement made all four boys burst into laughter. “Besides my housemate don’t really like company. Maybe next time okay.” She paused. “Next time when he wasn’t around.”

“He? Your housemate is a guy?” Hoseok half gasp. “Yea. You know him. Suga? Yoongi? Whatever his name is.” She try not to care so much about him. Its not that both of them not in a good term. Its just that he’s someone who doesn’t speak or even bother to have any eye contact with her.

“It’s the only place that I can afford right now after you know.” She shrugged a little. “Yea after you punch your roommate for being so loud. Unbelieveble.” Jin mocked which make her to smack on the back of his head real hard and he winced like a girl. 

“I need to work on my important project that week and she really need to took her friends to stay in the room till midnight and you know ‘girls’. They giggled and laugh and whispers. Its freaking annoying.” She gritted her teeth in frustration while fisting the air gaining a good laugh from the boys. 

After dinner with the boys, she decided to sketch for another idea for her slot at the upcoming exhibition at the living room balcony where the night sky and the city light are visible. The thing she really loves about the apartment. A good split of pay with Yoongi, and a nice view from the balcony. It’s on the 16th floor by the way, she couldn’t hear any unwanted noise from any vehicles during the morning and night and Yoongi always worked in his room only out to eat or drink something. 

She started to sketch anything that came up to her mind. Letting her mind take control of her hand and its almost midnight when she heard someone knocked on the main door. 

“Did he forgot the password or something.” She left the one seated couch and place her tools scrambled on top of the coffee table before hurried to the door. Without checking on the peek hole, she opened the door and her eyes met a gaze that once become the reason she left hometown for good.

“Kyungsoo?” She managed to whisper before a hard punch landed on her left cheek. It was so strong making her body stumbled down on the floor producing a loud thud. She landed on her butt and sprained her right wrist while trying to support her body. She could taste blood inside her mouth and the inside of her cheeks stings like hell.

“You still remember me princess? I’m fucking honored.” He step forward, and a kick landed on her ribcage. A small grunt escaped her lips and she couldn’t think of doing anything other than drag her body with her sprained wrist away from him. Run. Is the solution she could only think of. Just like in the past. Run.

“You still take my hit pretty well aren’t you.” He snickered moving forward toward her. “What do you want Kyungsoo.” It wasn’t a question, and it came out stronger that she intended it to be. Her voice trembled in fear, anger and hatred. She curse herself to not cry and giving him the satisfaction to see her being so weak. 

“I found you. How long do you think you could run away from me?” Yet another punch landed on her face, another kick on her body non stop. She tried her best to shield herself from his strong punches and kicks. 

“Till death do us apart. Remember?” His last word and those intimidating stare send shiver down to her spine. He pull her collar but her energy was already drained to fight back or even shield herself from his attack because she couldn’t even move her limbs. She was staring straight to his eyes before he gave another smug smirk and his last punch hit her face. The last thing she could remember is the sound of the bone inside her nose cracked and she was chocked by her own blood before passing out.

“Y/N-ah.” A plump pinkish lips smile that shaped like a heart greets her. A smile that she miss dearly. She didn’t see anything except for him. There was a room. A blinding white room. The smile never left his face. She was about to take a step towards him then suddenly everything turns black. Everything was gone.

“Y/N. Save me.” His voice whispered.

“Kyungsoo.” She muttered as her eyes shot open. She was catching her breath through her pained broken nose and she suddenly felt pain start surging all over her body. She then heard a faint sound of machine and indistinct chattering which made her head to throb painfully.

“Y/N-sshi? You awake?” A deep voice ring in her head replacing Kyungsoo’s. It was awfully familiar but she cant recall who was the voice belong to. Suddenly she felt a cold hand touches her arm caused her to flinch. Her eyes trace the pale hand that was so cold to his face. His black locks hidden inside his beanie. She never notice his detailed feature and maybe forgot how sharp his jawline was. Or how small his eyes were. She try to smile but she could feel how hard her cheek was. The skin on her face were all tight and she couldn’t talk or move the muscle on her face properly.

“Y/N-sshi?” He called again this time managed to gain her attention. “How do you feel? You want me to call the doctor?” His deep voice were soft and welcoming. Unlike the first time they met, cold and distant. She shake her head and try to sit on the bed with his help.

“How long am I out?” She asked and even blurting the short questing cause so much pain on her face. “Since midnight. I’m glad I came home last night.” A glint of guilt written all over his face. 

“What happened when you came back?” She asked again ignoring the throbbing pain on her face this time. “I came back last night and saw a guy wearing all black came out from our apartment. I thought it was your boyfriend so I just ignored it. But when I came in, I saw you laying on the floor unconscious and bleeding so bad I thought you’re dead but I saw your body still moving a bit. I carried you to my car and drive straight here..” He paused. 

“Who was he by the way? Nothing in our apartment went missing. I don’t know about yours, but everything was in place except at the front where I found you.” He asked warily trying not to barge at her personal life.

“He’s just someone from the past..” Her word trailed. Yoongi decided to just stop asking since she starting to zooned out. 

After a few words from the police and agreement with the university to keep the matter as a secret, they both went back to their shared apartment.

“I can just grab a cab you know. You’ve done enough for me.” She look for his gaze but his eyes were on the road. “Nah, don’t bother. I feel guilty for not make it in time last night. Well you know I should take care of you as a house mate.” A great silence engulf them suddenly. Its awkward and her eyes wavered to anywhere else except to him.

“I mean we should care of each other as a housemate. Sorry its awkward since we never bat an eye on eachother’s matter. But you know what I mean. Right?” His words stumbled a bit but she get it.

“Yea. I got you. But thank you anyway.” She give him a small smile which he replies back with his. She turn her head back to the streets again. It’s the first time she saw him smiling since they met. Almost three month living together they never talked except for the first day she moved in. They both busy with classes as they both are on their last year and participating as the bureau at the art exhibition, she notice him during the meeting but never had the chance to spoke each other. 

“If you need anything just knock on my door.” Yoongi scratch the back of his head as they both got into their apartment. “Or you can just call me you know. I left my phone number at the fridge if you notice.” His gestured his hand to the fridge and she just nod. Finally giving up to the pain on her face and decided to just shut up. 

She waved him good night after eating dinner together which Yoongi insisted to cook by himself after she cut the onion way too thick and spend more time wiping her tear than cutting the little onion. He’s a great cook though. They didn’t spoke during the dinner only exchanging awkward eye contact.

 As her hand reach for her doorknob and trying to speed up the process of entering her room because she couldn’t stand the awkward air surrounding the living room, her room was locked. She tried to turn the knob again but couldn’t. She heaved a long sigh before leaning her forehead on the door. 

“Yoongi.” She called. Head still leaned on her unopened door. She heard him hum to her calling. “Do you happen to have the duplicate key to my room?” she asked voice full with hope. There’s a silence and yoongi was already standing behind her trying to help what he can. But seeing her slumped shoulder and hand still on the knob he understand how a simple question could be a burden to her in this moment. 

“You can sleep in my room. I take the couch.” She immediately turn her body facing him and shake her head violently then regret it almost instantly. Her body wobbled and she leaned her body on the door while massaging her temple. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she know whats going to happen next.

“The couch’s quite comfy you know. My uncle gave it to me when I first move in. It’s a antique but.. yeah. I’ll be fine until I call the owner tomorrow ask for your key.” He know she couldn’t argue and walked her to his room.

His room is the master bedroom, so it was big and he made it almost looked like a studio. There’s a single sized bed at the small corner near the closet and the rest is his equipment which she dind’t recognize any of it, keyboard, two seated couch that might belong to the same set with the one at the balcony and the living room. He noticed her stare.

“Sorry its kinda messy. I didn’t have time to tidy this place up since the preparation with the exhibition thingy.” He nervously scratch the back of his head.

“No its great. You haven’t seen mine.” She wanted to explain more but is too tired to say more. She let out a thanked him after Yoongi took his sheet and blanket before replacing it with a clean one and left her with his clean clothes on his bed to clean up and rest.

I wrote this one way before Stargazing, but I got stuck with the plot and here it is half way done. Enjoy..

[capbucky-0506]

Protecting Their Own (Riverdale CrewxReader)

This fic deals with emotional and physical abuse, so if you're suffering from that, just know that you have the power to stop it. Make sure to tell someone so they can help. Ily guys💕

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Your heels clicked as you walked into Pop's Chock-Lit Shop, searching for your favorite mystery in all of Riverdale: Jughead Jones. You've been friends since birth, your father being best friends with his father. They were both Serpents, so you and Jughead saw each other often. He was more than just a regular friend, he was your brother. Until 2 years ago. After your father died, your Socialite mother decided that Riverdale wasn't a good environment for you. In her words, "A small town like that is an embarrassment for any daughter of mine." So, she made you pack up and move to England with her, attending a stuffy private school. To say you didn't like your mom was an understatement. She left your father after you were born and ran off with some rich old dude that already died, so she was left with all the money. And, to make matters worse, she ripped you from your home and made you move in with her, then verbally abused you ever since you got there. But now, you were back. Your mom decided you were a hopeless case and sent you packing, the best decision she's ever made. You practically bolted to the airport, crying tears of joy on the plane ride. When you got off, you took a good look in the mirror and smiled softly. In the past two years, you've gained a figure, changed your hairstyle, and adopted a British accent. You were no longer the girl with glasses and bad acne. After throwing your bags in your car, the one you left hidden before you left, you started to drive around in your search for Jughead, which is how you ended up in Pop's. You used to work here before you moved. Pop Tate's face lit up as soon as you walked through the door. "Is that who I think it is?" You giggled. "I'm back!" "Y/N!" Pop pulled you into a hug. When he pulled away, he spun you around. "Look at you! What happened to the Converse and the leather jacket?" "Ugh, believe me, I'm changing right back into that later. In England, my mother always made me wear heels until my feet gave out and dresses until I couldn't breathe anymore. I couldn't even eat what I wanted! I'd kill for a burger right now." "Anything for my Y/N. Thinkin' about workin' here again?" "Is my job still available?" "It always has been. I expect you here after school on Monday. But for now, settle down and I'll have a burger with fries and a milkshake ready in no time." You beamed. "Thanks, Pop!" "You got it. And love the accent, by the way." Laughing, you look around until you see a familiar beanie in one of the booths, the only person in the entire diner. Pulling down the sleeves of your long-sleeved dress, you walk over to where Jughead has his back to you and headphones in his ears, typing away on his laptop. You lightly tapped his shoulder. He took out his headphones and looked to you. "One newly British best friend for a Juggie Jones?" He had a shocked expression on his face. "Y/N?" "That's me." He got up from the booth and engulfed you in a hug, spinning you around. "Holy shit, Y/N! You're back!" You laughed out loud. "Just got back today!" He set you down and placed his hands on your shoulders. "What happened? Did you run away? Escape your mom? Why are you dressed like this? What's with the accent? Are you okay? Are you saf-"

"Juggie! Calm down! The Wicked Bitch sent me packing. Apparently, I wasn't meeting her standards for a perfect daughter, which is fine by me! I haven't changed yet, so I'm wearing what she usually made me wear in England. She always said, 'The tighter the better'. And as for the accent, it's just something I've picked up in boarding school." He pulled you into a hug. "The tighter the better? Y/N, you look like you haven't eaten in forever." "I feel like I haven't eaten in forever. Pop Tate is already getting me some food, which I've been dying for." Jughead let you go and you both slid into the booth, sitting across from each other. He took your hand in his. "I haven't heard from you in forever. I thought I'd lost you." "You never lost me, Juggie. She took away my phone and reprogrammed it so I could only call her or any person I met in boarding school that 'met her standards'. It was barbaric." Pop Tate brought over your burger, fries, and milkshake. "It's on the house, Y/N. And if you don't mind closing up as I leave-" You smiled. "I got it, Pop." When he walked out, Jughead took one of your fries as you started devouring your burger. "Y/N, what she did to you is actual torture. You need to tell someone." "I'm telling you?" "I mean, you need to get her arrested. Do you have any proof that she abused you?" You pulled out your phone, which you reprogrammed so you could now call anyone. "I have these messages she sent me. They were...verbally abusive. It won't be enough to prove anything, though. Honestly, Jug, I just want to forget England ever happened. It's fine, we don't need to fight my mothe-" "Y/N, what's that?" He pulled up your sleeve to reveal scars on your wrist. "Juggie-" "What. Is. That?" He pulled up the sleeve on your other arm to reveal more scars. You feel your face start to get hot. "Juggie, please-" "Did she do this?" He was trying unsuccessfully to stay calm. You feel tears forming in your eyes as you mutter out, "Yes." That one word set him off. He grabbed his jacket and he stormed out. "Jughead, wait!" You run out of the diner, anxiety kicking in. You catch up to Jughead opening the door to a truck and slam the door before he could climb in. You snatch the key out of his hand. "JUGHEAD JONES, PLEASE LISTEN TO ME!" "How'd she give you those scars, Y/N? HOW?" You felt tears falling on your face. "I tried to escape, okay?! I tried almost every trick in the book just to get back to you and Betty and Archie! But you know what she did? She found out every fucking time! Finally, she started chaining me to the bed! She would sedate me just to shut me up! That's why I have these scars! I also have scars on my stomach from when she hit me with a belt for getting second place in a goddamn beauty pageant! SECOND FUCKING PLACE! I don't want to face her again, Jughead! I WON'T!" At this point, you were sobbing into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you and wasn't about to let go. A few moments later, he pulled you away and took your face in his hands, wiping away your tears. "We're going to fix this. She's going to pay, because you didn't deserve anything she did to you. You're my best friend and I love you, and I'm going to protect you. She's not gonna hurt you anymore." Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him. In this moment, right now, you've never felt safer. After a few seconds, he pulls away. "Let me go grab my laptop and lock up and I'll drive you someplace." You nod, climbing into the car as he runs back into the diner. After a few minutes, he comes back with his laptop and your milkshake and locks up the place. He hands you the shake as he starts the car and takes off.

"Juggie, where are we going?" "There are a few people you have to see." He parks in front of the Andrews' house and opens the car door for you. You leave the empty milkshake glass in the car and step out, holding onto him as he leads you to the front door. Without even having to knock, the door flings open, Archie on the other side. "Y/N!" "Archie!" He engulfs you in a hug, bringing you close to his chest. You immediately notice how buff he's gotten, and how grown up he looks. He pulls away and leads you both inside. "Jughead told us everything, and we're all here to help." "All?" The boys lead you into the living room and you audibly gasp. In the short time it took to drive over here, Jughead and Archie had managed to gather their dads, Betty, Polly (who was now pregnant?), her parents, Kevin, Sheriff Keller, Josie, Valerie, Melody, Mayor McCoy, Cheryl, a raven-haired girl you've never met before, and a woman who you guessed was her mom. "Y/N!" Everyone who was there gave you a hug. You put your hand on Polly's stomach to feel the baby-or babies-kick and you congratulated her. You found out about Jason and told Cheryl how sorry you were. After greeting FP, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You whipped around to see the raven-haired girl behind you. "Hi, I'm Veronica Lodge," she said, shaking your hand. "My mom and I moved here not too long ago." Her mom stood next to her and shook your hand as well. "Hermione Lodge. It's nice to meet you, Y/N. Everyone doesn't stop talking about you."

You smiled. "It's nice to meet you both." Archie walked up to Veronica and put an arm around her. "Ronnie, Y/N is the girl I was telling you about. My friend since we were in diapers." "Hopefully you have plenty of embarrassing stories about him." You laughed. "Believe me, I do." "Okay, everyone," Mayor McCoy announces. "Let's all settle down now." Everyone took a seat, you sitting between Cheryl and Josie. You notice Betty cuddling up to Jughead and you smile. You've been wanting those two to get together for the longest! Sheriff Keller and Mayor McCoy stood up in front of everyone. Mayor McCoy clears her throat. "Y/N L/N has been the heart and soul of Riverdale for as long as I can remember. She's managed to charm everyone she meets, she's contributed to this town in a way no one else has, and she has been a top student throughout her life." You smile as she says this, resting your head on Cheryl's shoulder. "But she is the daughter of a Southside Serpent and the women who attempted to ruin Riverdale's reputation. That could cause people to gravitate away from her, but it never does. Why? Because she has a kind heart. And while we've learned that the Serpents are not to be judged, especially not her father, may he rest in peace, her mother is still a problem. Sheriff Keller?" He steps forward. "Amelia L/N has been an enemy of Riverdale for a long time, but none of us had ever thought she was capable of this type of abuse. She took away one of our best and hurt her in ways that are unthinkable." Josie grabs your hand as he says this, while Cheryl wipes away a few stray tears from your face. "Amelia used to be one of us before she turned against us. And while I'm only in charge of crimes within the town, I will be the first to fight for justice. Y/N, we are all gathered here today for you. Kevin and I will personally go to England, if we have to. Your mom won't be a problem anymore." The rest of the parents-Fred Andrews, Hermione Lodge, Alice Cooper, Hal Cooper, and FP Jones- all got up and stood next to Mayor McCoy and Sheriff Keller. "We are all here to protect you kids," Fred says. "And Y/N, Y/N is one of ours." "Y/N, I've known your dad for a very long time," FP says. "I've watched you grow up. And I'll fight for justice however long it takes." Hal held Alice's hand as she spoke. "Y/N, you've been so good to Betty and Polly. The past two years have felt so empty without you in our home. I've despised Amelia for years now, and I'll stop at nothing to see her in a jail cell." Hermione spoke last. "Y/N, I've been talking to everyone, and we've come to the decision that, instead of going back to your father's trailer, you come stay with me and Veronica. We have plenty of room." "I can lend you my clothes and help you catch up with current events," Veronica adds. "What do you say?" You stood up, looking around the room. Finally, you spoke, switching back to your American accent. "I'm in." Everyone cheered and you hugged Veronica. "I have a feeling we're going to be good friends."

She beamed. "Me too." That night, you walked out of Archie's house with Veronica, Betty, Jughead, Archie, Kevin, Cheryl, Josie, Valerie, and Melody. "I've missed you guys," you say to them. "We've missed you too." And with that, you all parted with your parents to your houses, yours now being the Pembrooke. When you finally got there, their butler, Smithers, took your bags and went inside with Veronica and Hermione. "Coming, Miss L/N?" "In a minute." When you were finally alone, you held up the leather jacket FP handed you before you left. "Serpents protect their own." Smiling, you pulled it on and looked at the stars. "Goodbye, daddy," you mutter. "I'll tell your story." You finally walked into the Pembrooke, ready to start your new life.

[derangedsanity]

Home (Chapter Four)

Title: Home (Chapter Four) Pairing(s); Jughead Jones x Reader, Jughead Jones x Betty Cooper (bughead), Archie Andrews x Veronica Lodge Warnings: Maybe some slight cursing. Summary: The reader finally decides to talk to Jughead once again, things seem to go pleasantly this time. Veronica makes a new friend. A/N; As always feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you all enjoy! This is unedited and it took a little longer to write because I’m tired. But if you find any mistakes please let me know. :) Tag List; @nafa1604 @day-dreaming-nightmare @dempsey-mantle @sunshine51879 @emotional-wrek-hello @theselfishllama

You took a deep breath before knocking on the front door of the now all too familiar yellow house, waiting for an answer that didn’t take too long to come. Jughead stood before you, wearing the beanie you hadn’t seen him wear since you had gotten here. You quirked a brow but decided to ask about that later. You had come here for another reason and it needed to be taken care of right now. “I didn’t come here to argue.” You made quick to state. “I came here to talk.” You added. He nodded, stepping aside and invited you inside. Your eyes landed on a very particular spot where a very new couch sat. You remembered the old couch that used to be there, though. The one that you had woken up once and found Juggie lying on the floor next to you. You looked back at him to find him looking in the same direction until you looked at him, pulling him away from what you sure was the same thoughts. “Listen-” “No, really, you don’t owe me an explanation. I just...I have a ticket for a plane that doesn’t leave for another five days.” You lied, “And I thought I didn’t want to spend the rest of my five days here being angry at you for no good reason. We weren’t just two teenagers in love for the first time, you know? We were best friends, too. I want to leave that way.” He nodded understandingly, “Good.” “You’re wearing your hat.” You found yourself blurting out, pointing towards the famous beanie. He nodded, “I missed it.” You tilted your head at him, “Why didn’t you wear it then?” He shrugged, “Betty isn’t too fond of it anymore. Says it still makes me look like a seventeen year old.” He was so calm about it. You bit your tongue, trying not to make another comment that was sure to start another argument. You only nodded. “I smell something cooking.” “Pizza. You wanna stay?” He asked, “I have more than enough.” You smiled, “Why not?” ~~ Veronica had decided to let you and Jughead settle things by yourself, and instead went on to adventure the new, small town. She went into the old vintage shops, and any other shops she could find, really. She walked so far into the town that she stumbled into something called a chock-lit shoppe and decided that she needed herself a milkshake, anyway and walked inside. “Hi, can I get a double chocolate shake? Thanks.” She threw a five dollar bill on the counter and began walking over to a booth. She stopped short when she noticed a red haired boy who couldn’t be any older or younger than her sitting by himself. He looked dirty and his hair was a mess from some sort of hat, she guessed. He was wearing just a white tank top with dirt stains all over it. She found herself intrigued by the pretty boy and dragged herself over to where he sat. “You look like you could use some company.” She spoke loud and clear, drawing him from whatever he had been day dreaming from as he looked out the window. He looked at her and paused everything, examining her before quirking a brow. “Do I know you?” He asked, setting his burger down on the tray in front of him. She shook her head, “I’m visiting town with a friend of mine and discovered this lovely little place.” She shrugged, “You don’t know me but I’d love to know you. Everyone in this town is such a stranger. It’d be nice to know at least someone in this small town.” He nodded then, a small smile on his face. “Take a seat then.” “Gladly.” ~~ “Remember when we decided riding our bikes down here would be a good idea?” You laughed. Jughead nodded, chuckling. “It was not one of my brightest moments.” “Mine either. I broke my wrist. All you got was a broken nose.” You pointed out before taking another slice of pizza from the tray. “We had to walk all the way back to town with blood all over us. It must’ve looked like a murder scene.” He shook his head at the now fond memory. Silence fell over the two of you. It was such a comfortable silence, however, that you could’ve wrapped it around you like a blanket. “I remember when they finally got the bleeding to stop and to where it was healing you kissed it better and told me that you were sorry because the bike riding had been your idea.” His voice was softer this time. You nodded, setting the pizza back down on your plate. “And when it got better I threw a little party for just the two of us even though my arm wasn’t better yet.” You smiled at him. “I told you that the party was formal and you couldn’t wear the beanie. But really it was just because I loved your hair so much. I was going through a hair phase then.” You laughed softly. “I don’t think I truly appreciated...everything before.” “Everything?” He prompted. “Yeah. Everything. This town and the people in it. My mom and my dad. You. I didn’t even realize how much I love all of it before.” “It?” “You.” You looked up at him and realized how close he had gotten. You watched as his eyes wandered down to your lips. You began leaning forward slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he wanted to. And then the phone rang. Of course. The two of you jumped back, startled by everything, not just the phone ringing. “I need to get that.” He announced. You nodded. “I should probably go, anyway. Thanks for the pizza.” You quickly grabbed your bag and headed for the door. Just as the door closed behind you, you heard him clear as day as he answered the phone. “Hey, babe.” ~~ When you went to your motel room you only half expected V to be waiting for you. The other half of you, knowing your best friend, knew that she had went out to adventure the ‘vintage’ town. When you opened the door, she wasn’t there. You looked up at the clock and realized it was almost nine and hoped she hadn’t found the old club. You wondered if that thing was even still open or not. About five minutes after you walked through the door you heard Veronica come in. You sat up on your bed and gave her a questioning look at the big ass smile spread across her face. “I have something to tell you. But you go first.” You spoke, suddenly finding yourself smiling too. “Okay!” She squealed, clapping her hands and taking a seat next to you on the bed. “I met a guy.” “No way! You’ve only been here for a day and you met a guy? Who?” You pressed, turning around to face her better. “He says he knows you well.” She began, trying to see if you would know who she was talking about. “Well, I know a lot of people. Expand a bit.” “Archie Andrews.” “V! Oh, my god. He is the best guy friend a girl could ask for.” You smiled a bit, nudging her arm. “Well, I approve.” She scoffed, “I didn’t come here to get approval.” “Too bad.” “So, what about you? You had something to tell me?” “We almost kissed.” You breathed out, pulling at the bed sheets absentmindedly. “Almost?” She gasped. “Why didn’t you?” “Oh, I dunno. Maybe because I have a boyfriend back home and he’s engaged.” She gave you a knowing look, urging you to continue. “And Betty called.” “Ha! I knew it.” She shook her head, letting her hair down from her headband. “I’m so fucking doomed.” You mumbled. “No, sweetie, you’re in love.”

[believe-that-you-can-my-friend]

Center of Gravity

Summary: A small scene about the aftermath of Betty’s and Jughead’s kiss. Takes place after they find Jason’s car and notify Sherriff Keller.

(I’m not neglecting you prompts, I promise!! Just this idea came to my head and I had to write it! Hope you all like it!!!)

They are at the police station and the air is filled with questions and disapproving looks towards both of them but mostly towards him, the boy with the jet black hair and the funny looking beanie. He gets it; being the son of Forsythe Jones isn’t really appreciated in the Riverdale police department. But he is here to help, both of them are, so the Sherriff has the good sense to offer them some hot tea and two blankets to warm their soaked forms as they explain again and again how they knew about Jason’s car, who told them, why they went there, where this there was.

The off the record interrogation is finally over and they are let alone in the small office, watching from the semi glass wall as Sherriff Keller is pacing up and down in his own office across them, giving orders to some deputies, making calls and writing down theories and facts. Jughead steals a small glance at the blonde next to him, slouching at the very end of the olive green leather couch, uncharacteristically away from him and his personal space, clutching her mug on her freezing hands and having her green eyes focused on the man across them, studying his every move. She fears that he’s going to involve her parents again, that he will let them now about their daughter’s Nancy Drew activities, but what she fears more is how involved in this will be her sister; the last thing Polly needs right now is police officers marching on her room and pestering her with questions during her grieving state.

Jughead brings his own eyes to examine his fingers. Is she shocked by what they found in the woods? Is she bumped that she didn’t have the change to fawn over Archie on stage? Or, worse, is she avoiding him? He had sure blown it. He made a move on her way too fast, she probably isn’t even over Archie yet and definitely she sees him as a close friend and nothing more. Stupid Jughead with your stupid urges and your stupid hopes getting up for nothing.

He doesn’t regret it. If anything he got a glimpse of what it is to have a taste of the perfection that is Betty Cooper; to catch a small moment of raw intensity and brush his fingertips against the edges of his long-term fantasy about him and her sharing the same level of affection. He felt alive in that kiss, like a new man, exhilarated and born again, like all those years before her didn’t exist, like he was just living in grey and that moment he got drowned in colors. What he does regret is this feeling of bitter emptiness that fills his chest at that very moment and it stings badly, even though he felt it a lot of times in the past and even though part of him was prepared for facing emotional rock bottom once again.

He steals another glance; she still looks focused on the action out of the small room they occupy. He hates the silence; he of all people hates the silence. He wants her to say something, even reject him and his earlier confession of heart. That way he will have something concrete, something that will shutter his heart in million pieces but at least it would make him stop thinking and overanalyzing and being in that constant loop of thinking that he knows everything but in the end he knows nothing.

“I’m sorry I ruined the moment.” Her words come crashing down between them and Jughead gets startled by her soft voice that breaks the unwanted silence and disrupts his sea of thoughts.

He opens his mouth to say something but he feels a chock paralyzing his tongue so he just nods curtly, hoping to not appear as hurt as he feels.

“I wish we had that kiss at another time, in another place.” Jughead finds her voice rather steady and sure and he thinks that she doesn’t have second thoughts about maybe giving him a chance. There is another nod from his part; he was never good with spoken words and right now even a pen and paper wouldn’t help him express the rollercoaster of emotions he is feeling.

“Because truly that was the best kiss someone could experience in a lifetime.” Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence and it throws him off, sending his head flying to face her for the first time since they had set foot in that ugly colored room.

“You think so?” he doesn’t even recognize his voice, small and softer than it was earlier in her room, the emotions giving it an odd thickness. His heart flatters as he waits for her next answer and at that moment he knows he is doomed, a hopeless victim to her breathtaking green eyes and their hints of blues and greys. Their color is a mystery to him, his feeling for her the same.

Betty only nods, chin wobbling and head dropping to the floor, as two tears form a straight line from her eyelashes to the rusty tiles that lie underneath her ankle boots. “I’m so caught up in this bubble that’s seconds from being popped violently and that seems to make me pass out on things that are big events in my life.”

His heart flatters again at the description she sets for their electrifying moment. She is definitely the biggest event in his lonesome and boring life. But big is everything around them right now, big secrets, big scandals, big revelations and big scares them both, two sixteen year old kids trying to find themselves in a world that everyone labels as big. “We can go small, timid. One step at a time, even half if you want.” He proposes with soft eyes gazing her profile and, for the first time it seems that life decides to offer him a smile in the form of an agreeing nod from the girl that, up until now, only got to have in his wildest dreams.  

“You keep me grounded, Juggie. Just like gravity; you’re pulling me to your safe place when everything is madly twirling around me.” Betty looks him in the eyes and he understands. There’s a pull, an unbreakable urge to stay connected and he relishes to it, even if the heavy feeling against his chest scares the hell out of him. “When you’re in the room, it’s impossible for me to look away.” Yeah, he understands that very much so.

“I wanted to kiss you for a very long time.” The raven haired boy confesses and sends her one of his signature glares, those intense ones that he only keeps for her and they cause a gorgeous chaos of intense emotions inside her chest.

“Now I came to understand that I did want that too, badly.” She shivers and it’s not from the cold or the clingy wet clothes she wears; it’s from his stare and the rerun of their first kiss inside her head. She finds herself closing the space that she had left between them on the couch and brings her hand on his cheek, caressing the cold skin and brushing away some dripping black waves.

He keeps staring down at her and he isn’t sure what to do. His body is telling him to go for it once again but his mind interferes and advices him to hold his horses, be timid as he promised. He feels the feather light breath of hers against his lips and his eyes flatter close, and if he still had a heart he would swear that it will jump off his chest and escape. But his heart is on her hands now and he prays that she is delicate with it because he doesn’t know how many more plasters and stitches it can handle.

She finally closes the inch between them, soft lips meeting sore and chapped ones, and the feel is indeed magnetic, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly with each other. It brings a tiny whine on Betty’s lips and Jughead sighs all his nerves and his frustration away, slender fingers coming to dance over her waist lightly, him testing the waters and wanting to touch her, to confirm that she is real. She loves it and her thump brushes lightly over his cheekbone, both angling their heads and sharing some sweet, loving pecks with each other.

“My very own center of gravity…” Jughead murmurs inside the kiss and he feels her hum on his thirsty lips, a pleased smile curling her rosy bubblegum ones and being the sight Jughead comes across as he decides to step back into reality and open his eyes. They put their love on hold once again, the world around them revolving in spinning circles and leaving them no choice but to hop on for a ride, but this time they are going to be ok.

Gravity is an unbreakable force.