request: Hiya! Love your blog! Maybe a jughead one where he is dating you but is more in love with Betty than he is with you. He tells you this and just a lot of angst. Thanks!!
warning: there’s a curse word in this, if anyone cares. also this is super depressing, yikes, sorry.
On that fateful day, there were three things you knew for certain.
The first, was that you were in love with Jughead Jones.
You really wish you could just say it was a stupid, teenage infatuation— a high school boyfriend that was nothing serious, but every time you looked at him you felt something that you couldn’t even place into words. Every time you saw his face in the hallways, pictures, down the street, in the distance, or up close— your heart would light up in some way. You remembered that looking at him when you first met felt like your heart was full of Christmas lights. You remembered very clearly, the feeling of sitting across from him at Pop’s, each of you doing your own thing, but sometimes you would look up at him and notice how beautiful he looked when he was concentrating: blue eyes reflecting computer screen colors, biting his soft lip harshly. Even worse, when he looked up at you and smiled.
You couldn’t help it: he was your first everything. Your first kiss, your first boyfriend, first everything. Sure, he was not the first person to call you beautiful, but he was the first person who made you believe it. He would often find you sitting on the roof of his tiny room at the drive-in, crying. You would always say it was because of the movie, but he would always know when it wasn’t. He would bring his hand up to your face, the pad of his thumb wiping a stray tear away. He gave you such a fierce look of sincerity in his eyes when he said it, “You’re so beautiful,” it was impossible not to believe him.
Jemma opens one eye, taking a deep breath only when she sees that it really is him in her arms. She’s bone tired, of course, but she finds herself drifting in and out of sleep with a need to see the curve of his ear or the rise and fall of his cheekbones as he breathes. Her hands lay directly over his chest, and the drumming of his heart provides an all-encompassing relief more powerful than sleep. She selfishly hugs him tighter and releases the air from her lungs.
He is breathing.
His heart is beating.
He is here.
He is hers.
There may be a day when she takes this for granted. One day, she’ll be so used to waking up tangled in him that it will simply be a part of her morning routine, that they will wake up and smile at each other with no need to hold on tight. Maybe they’ll simply continue living the life they built together without worrying that it will all fall apart.
Today, though, she treasures these golden moments when the sky isn’t falling, when he is Fitz and she is Simmons. They’ve been separated too many times but together, they make something magnificent.
She feels him begin to stir, knowing he is squinting against the sunlight even though she can’t see him. His body must be heavy from sleep and warm from being wrapped up in her, as even her ice bucket hands have melted into him. His hand covers hers where it lays on his chest, and he groans.
“Can we stay here?”
She’s not sure if he’s talking to her or just talking in his sleep, so she buries her face into his neck and waits.
“I know you made your plans,” he mumbles,
“but we can finish tomorrow.”
Realization dawns on her as she lets her world grow wider than the two of them and this bed, until it encompasses the mountain of boxes that lay at their feet. There’s a similar mountain in each room of their new flat, each one a carefully-labeled stack that is to be dismantled in a pre-determined sequence. It was a different Jemma who made that plan, one who was so fixated on securing their future that she lost her grip on their present. As sound as the plan may be, it doesn’t account for exhaustion or naps, and it certainly doesn’t anticipate her current need to hold on to this moment as tightly as she’s holding on to him. If she’s learned anything in the past few years, it’s that some plans are meant fall into ruins.
“It doesn’t bother me,” she whispers into his ear, and it really doesn’t. She has a timetable, but this is bigger than time. “We can sleep if you want.”
“I do,” he groans, now hugging the arms that are hugging him. “Just a little bit longer.”
She smiles into his neck as she feels him slip back into his dreams, wishing at once that she could go with him and stay here, cherishing each moment she has at the same time she yearns for a thousand more.
How she could ever take this for granted, she doesn’t know. Maybe they’ll stay like this, but maybe their edges will soften until they can hold each other close without the fear of getting ripped away. Maybe their wounds will heal into the kinds of scars that make them stronger. For now, she will let herself have both the things she wants, snuggling even closer to him as she dreams about the future they’ll have.
She closes her eyes and lets a vision unfold before her, letting their flat get covered in vines as it grows large enough to stand on its own. Sleep marches towards her to the beat of his heart, and as her body gets heavy, she knows this may be another plan destined for change.
But as she breathes in his scent, reveling in him as her dreams overtake her, she finds that this doesn’t bother her, either.
After all, everything she wants is already in her arms.
Peggy sighed and dropped the last report on the top of the stack. She didn’t mind going through them as long as they provided her with decent information. Three weeks and no intel to show for it. She was starting to think they’d hit a dead end. All that was left was for Steve and his squad to return, hopefully with the information the SSR so desperately sought. Until then she could do nothing else but sleep.
Her tent was a short distance away. She was lucky when they were in the field; she had a tent all to herself. That didn’t stop the droning snores of the men from reaching her ears, however.
She had just started to remove her uniform jacket when she heard a scuffling noise outside her tent. She scrambled for her pistol, disengaging the safety, when she heard familiar whispers.
“Peg? You awake?”
She ripped the tent flap aside to see Steve poised to knock. He smiled sheepishly when he noticed her rage.
“You do realize I could have shot you.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t,” he waved off.
She was relieved he was alive and well in one piece but that didn’t mean her sleep had to suffer. She was about to retreat inside her tent when she noticed his wrist. Her hand shot out to grab it.
“What happened to you? Was it Hydra? Were those chemical weapon reports correct?”
Steve could barely slow her questions down to answer them. He didn’t have to. Bucky appeared behind Steve.
“So far no chemical weapons, Carter,” he interrupted with a laugh. Steve looked down, his face flushing with color. Bucky cleared up her confusion.
“This idiot thought he could drink a cup of coffee drivin’ like the devil in the dark. Had coffee all over himself when we met up.”
“I woulda been fine if that ditch hadn’t come outta nowhere.”
With a final clap of Steve’s shoulder, Bucky faded into the dark.
Shaking her head, she moved aside for him to enter the tent.
“I’m fine, really,” he assured. He gingerly found a seat on her cot. “Luckily it wasn’t a full cup. I didn’t even think it would burn me to be honest. I think that’s the first time that’s happened.”
“That better be the only time it happens.” She fished around her footlocker until she found the salve she was looking for. His face showed confusion when she turned around. She sighed.
“You do realize that a burn caused by oneself, such as from the sun or coffee in this instance, is a direct violation of article 115?”
“’Damaging government property,’“ she cited. She rubbed the salve soothingly over his skin. She noticed it already looked better than a few minutes ago. “As a solider, you are government property.”
His eyes were fixed on her hand. The salve had long since been absorbed by his skin but she didn’t want to give up the contact.
“I guess I’ll have to deal with any punishment you want to dole out,” he murmured slowly, his voice languid and sleepy.
“Oh no, it won’t be me this time. I’ll leave that to Colonel Phillips. It’s been far too long since he’s yelled at anyone.”
She almost laughed at his crestfallen face. She didn’t bother mentioning his wrist would have long since healed by the time Phillips saw him. At any rate, a few kisses would surely take his mind off his coffee mishap.
Article 115 - Malingering (1) feigns illness, physical disablement, mental lapse or derangement; or(2) intentionally inflects self-injury. Doubtless that it’s actually enforced in a case such as this except by commanders looking to mess with his or her troops.