been staring at this for a while

Wife

Wife.

She was his wife now. He couldn’t stop beaming at her, as she smiled and twirled and glowed with happiness.

Captain Hook, a married man. Married to the Savior no less, but even so: married.

He recalled the days when he pined after this woman, wondering if she might ever see him as something more than just a pirate.

Only in his most wondrous dreams did he ever think she would be his wife.


Wife.

He stared at the ring on his hand. Somehow, the curse had left it untouched.

A wedding band. His wedding band.

It had been real. No curse could take that from him.

But it could take something else from him: his wife.


Wife.

Climbing the beanstalk without his wife was eerie.

Bloody hell, he’d been teasing her at the time, hoping to unsettle her enough to get her to reveal more information about herself. The more he understood her, the better he could use her.

You never forget your first. How little he’d realized how much that would come to mean.

Last he’d been here, she’d been a reluctant ally who had, hours earlier, been fully prepared to let him die at the hands of ogres.

Now, she was his wife.


Wife.

He was about to see his wife die.

There had been a small glimmer of hope this whole time, that she could defeat prophecy and visions as surely as she’d defeated so much darkness before.

But not now. She’d tossed aside her sword. Gideon was going to run her through, while the rest of them just watched.

While he just watched.

Watched as someone killed his wife.


Wife.

His wife lay in his arms, with her head on his chest. He stared down at her left hand, which rested on top of his right; they’d found her rings in the little ring dish in the bathroom, much to her relief.

He was lying in bed with his wife. He chuckled weakly.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re my wife.”

She laughed gently. “Yeah, I know. And you’re my husband.”

He smiled.

Husband.

Sportacus: Hey Robbie, my husband’s better than yours!

Robbie grabbing his face, foreheads touching as he stares into his eyes: Now listen here Sportaflop, we’ve been married for three years, you are the sun that shines my life, you are my everything. Everyday I wonder how is it possible for someone like me to deserve someone as perfect as you. I love you so very much, even more than cake and I will give it up if it means I can spend even one more day with you. So if I have to hear you say anything deprecating about yourself in this household, I will need you to pick out the movie while I grab the special sweater and blanket for obligatory cheer up cuddles because you’re not staying sad on my hecking watch

Sportacus:

Robbie: Did I stutter? 

Warm Me Up ch. 38

*Note: if you can’t read the full thing, go to the OP. Mobile doesn’t show the read more link for some reason. 

Extra note: Everyone is free to stop reading any time they don’t feel comfortable :)


Click Here for Ch. 1

Click Here for Ch. 37

index

Over the last couple of days, Nico hadn’t told Will many details about how his reunion with his father went. When Will got home, he found Nico listening to music, writing in his journal, his eyes puffy and bloodshot. Despite it, there had been a small smile playing on his lips and a kind of serenity in his eyes. He had looked at Will, smiled, then continued to write.

Will had showered and laid beside him, asking if he was okay, leaning against him as he wrote. He didn’t want to press if Nico didn’t want to talk. The best Will could deduce was that their talk had gone decently well.

Now, two days later, Nico seemed distracted as he walked around the house, mindlessly picking at small things- arranging the drapes, twisting the blinds open or shut a little, moving the salt and pepper from the table to the counter to the stove and back, and rearranging pillows or couch placements. Meanwhile, Will was catching up on Once Upon a Time. The most surprising thing had been the fact that Nico hadn’t snorted or made a sarcastic comment yet.  

Suddenly, Nico plopped down beside him. He didn’t say anything, but Will grabbed the remote and paused his show. Then he turned to Nico and raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked.

Nico’s legs started bobbing up and down anxiously until he pulled them onto the couch and folded them beneath him to sit cross-legged. “I want to do something.”

Will furrowed his eyebrows. “Okay.”

Nico took a breath and began fidgeting his hands. “When I went with my dad, it was really awkward. Then we got back here, and I started arguing with him. There was… a lot of crying and yelling…. He apologized a lot.” Nico frowned and looked down. “I don’t know if I want to forgive him just yet. I feel like I have to figure out if he means it.” He glanced up with ebony, mysterious eyes right into Will’s soul, leaving him breathless. “I want him to meet you. As my boyfriend. And if he’s okay with it, I’ll start forgiving. I’ll let him try again. If not…. I don’t want him in my life.”

Will’s eyes widened and he twitched back in surprise. The reality of what Nico had said settled and left Will as anxious as Nico had been all day. He was going to meet Nico’s father?

“If you’re not comfortable, it’s okay,” Nico assured. “I just… I figured this was the best way to figure out if he truly wants to try to be a good dad for me.” He shrugged, eyes downcast, hands weaving together and coming apart nervously.

Slowly, Will lifted his boyfriend’s chin and smiled. “Okay,” he said with more strength and certainty than he felt. “I’ll meet him. When?”

Keep reading

John paused in his typing to look up at his flatmate across the sitting room. The telly was on, but the volume was turned down, so it was more of an ambient noise. Neither of them had been watching anyway. John had been typing up their latest case, while Sherlock had been sprawled in their armchair with his fingers steepled together underneath his chin.

It was disconcerting how quiet Sherlock had been since they had returned from Scotland Yard. He seemed to be staring at nothing, and the bluish-white glow coming from the telly danced eerily across his pale features. Even as John had been struggling with the right words to put on his blog, he had also been bracing himself for another of Sherlock’s dark moods following the close of another case. And even though John should’ve already been used to it, the way Sherlock had been watching him closely for the past several minutes still gave John an uneasy feeling, like he was another one of those organisms being placed on a glass slide and examined under Sherlock’s microscope.

He wondered what was occupying Sherlock’s mind at the moment for him to be so deep in thought. And he wondered what Sherlock was deducing about him now. As he ducked his head to return to his writing, however, it was then that Sherlock finally decided to break his silence.

“Why do you always follow me?”

John’s fingers froze over the keyboard. Slowly, he raised his head to meet Sherlock’s piercing eyes. “Would you care to be more specific than that?” John frowned as his gaze settled on the bandages circling Sherlock’s left hand. “How’s your wrist?”

“The swelling has reduced considerably. I’ve been keeping it elevated above my heart like you’ve said. Why do you always follow me? Why do you always go where I go, even when I don’t ask you to?”

Of course Sherlock would be as direct and blunt in this as he was in everything else. John rubbed his eyebrows tiredly. He carefully saved his blog entry for him to edit later and closed his laptop to give Sherlock his full attention. “What brought this on, Sherlock?” he asked gently. “Why are you suddenly asking me this?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re being irrational.” John pursed his lips. “Is this about last night? Did you not want me to be there?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Sherlock said curtly. “You could’ve been shot. Again.

“And you could’ve broken something worse than your wrist,” John snapped. “You jumped out of a window, for Christ’s sake!”

“I wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t been there to be an easy target!” Sherlock shot back.

John inhaled sharply, and Sherlock clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” John said quietly, his voice suddenly made of steel.

Sherlock glared at him for a few more seconds before he resolutely turned his head to stare broodingly out the window. John pressed his lips together indignantly before he reached for the remote and turned off the television. Dimly he noted that his left hand was steady as it slowly replaced the remote on the table. Then with a deep breath, he turned his attention back to Sherlock and silently waited for the storm to pass.

He didn’t have long to wait. “Did it ever occur to you, John,” said Sherlock, “That it might be wrong for you to follow me?”

John narrowed his eyes in apprehension. The anger and the hurt were still simmering low in his gut, but he could feel his pulse quickening with worry. “Why are you saying this, Sherlock?”

“Because I don’t always know.”

And it was this simple, quiet admission that stole the breath out of John. “What?

Slowly, Sherlock turned to face him again. Sadness, frustration, doubt, and self-pity were all warring within his grey gaze. “I don’t always know what I’m doing, John. Sometimes it seems like I do, but I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t know everything all the time.”

And underneath it all, John realized with a jolt of surprise, was guilt.

“Of course you don’t, Sherlock, that’s not why I—”

“I can’t always anticipate what will happen next. I can’t always accurately predict what the next move should be. I don’t always know where we should go or what we should do or who we should trust.” John’s eyes were widening at the almost hysterical note Sherlock’s words were escalating to. “I don’t always know what’s right or what’s true and if you follow me all the time I might lead you to a mistake, John. Because sometimes I’m wrong and—”

Sherlock abruptly stopped to catch his breath, and John unconsciously inhaled along with him. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath along with Sherlock.

“And it might cost you your life,” Sherlock finished softly.

And there it was: the crux of the matter, the source of this ridiculously convoluted misunderstanding. Sherlock’s eyes were oddly bright and he turned away, blinking furiously.

“Sherlock, you self-righteous twat,” John whispered. “I don’t follow you because you’re right all the time. I follow you because—”

He felt his throat suddenly constrict, and he swallowed, unable to continue speaking.

The chain felt heavy against his chest.

“Because what, John?” Sherlock quietly asked.

He turned at the sound of a clinking chain, unnaturally loud in the quiet that descended upon the room. Sherlock blinked as he realized that John had loosened his shirt at the collar and was clutching at the end of a chain that dangled from his neck. John caught his inquisitive gaze and smiled at him tentatively.

“Do you know what this is?” John asked.

“Yes,” answered Sherlock, before he hesitantly added, “It’s your dog tag from your days in Afghanistan.”

He watched as John stared at it with an unreadable expression on his face. “Did you know I was still wearing it?”

“I’ve… always suspected,” Sherlock began slowly, “but you always wore your shirts buttoned up to the collar, so I never really had proof.” He straightened in his seat and let his hands fold delicately onto his lap. “Until now.”

John’s gaze rose to steadily meet his. “Do you know what it’s for?”

Sherlock took his time in answering, suddenly wary of the direction the conversation was heading. “It’s worn by military personnel, required at all times especially while on the field,” he said. When John remained silent, and seemed to wait for him to continue, Sherlock took a deep breath before he elaborated. “It contains the bearer’s basic medical information, such as blood type and history of inoculations, as well as the bearer’s religious preferences. Its primary use is for identification of the dead or the wounded should they ever be left out in the battlefield.”

“And with these tags, the bodies can be properly treated or disposed,” John quietly added. He ran his fingers over the twin pendants. “If the bearer is killed, the second tag is collected for notification, and the first remains with the body for later identification. That is, if they even come back for it.”

Sherlock felt his chest suddenly tighten. “Why are you telling me this?”

John smiled at him, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You’re the genius, Sherlock. Why don’t you tell me the reason why I’m still wearing it?”

Sherlock frowned anxiously, but the intrigue of solving this puzzle – the enigmatic Dr. John Watson – proved too tempting to resist. He leaned forward in his seat and let his elbows rest on his knees as his steepled fingers touched his lips. He peered at John closely.

“It’s definitely not because of a fashion statement,” Sherlock declared. “It’s not exactly something you like putting on display for people to notice since you’ve been hiding it underneath your clothes all this time.”

The corners of John’s eyes crinkled in suppressed amusement, and he nodded for Sherlock to continue.

He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowed in deep thought. “And it’s not because of sentimental attachment either,” Sherlock said slowly. “You’ve been having nightmares about the war, and it’s not something you enjoy reliving.” This time, John’s eyes widened in surprise. “Some of these memories… are things you’d rather forget.”

Sherlock noted with satisfaction the way John’s jaw clenched and the way his fist tightened around the chain. He probably didn’t expect that Sherlock knew that much about him.

“But wearing that dog tag isn’t helping you forget these nightmares,” Sherlock mused. “So why not just discard it or put it away? Why hold on to it?”

John was silent. Sherlock watched him closely, determined to know the answer. Then his gaze flickered to the gun resting beside John’s laptop, and he breathed out, “Oh.”

John tilted his head. “Figured it out, then?”

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes. “It’s for security. Wearing it gives you a sense of comfort.” He glanced briefly at the silver pendants. “It somehow makes you feel… safer.”

John was looking at him as if he was expecting more. When it seemed that Sherlock was done speaking, John slowly let out the breath he had been holding and shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

“So close, Sherlock,” John murmured. “So very, very close… but not quite.”

Mesmerized, Sherlock watched as John rolled his neck and raised his fist above and around his head to remove the necklace. The chains clinked against each other as John dropped his arm, the tags clutched firmly in his left hand.

John’s eyes were a deep, dark blue as he opened his fingers and gazed at the engravings. Sherlock couldn’t help but notice that, under the dim light of their sitting room, John looked more tired and world-weary than ever.

“I was scared to be without this identification, Sherlock,” John finally admitted quietly. “That’s the simplest and most basic truth, summed up for your judgment. I was scared.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because,” John said softly, “I was scared I might disappear.”

Sherlock swore he literally felt and heard his mind grind to a halt. “What?”

Desperately, he tried to catch John’s gaze, but already John was somewhere far away, caught between a desert sun and a rain of bullets, a place where Sherlock had no hope of following.

“I went to join the war in Afghanistan because I wanted to be somebody. Not in the sense that I wanted fame or recognition, but… I wanted to be useful in this world. I don’t want to waste my life just standing by and doing nothing. I wanted to matter.”

His right hand reached over to clutch his left shoulder. “And then this happened, and I was sent back to London before I was done fighting, like some discarded piece of broken weaponry and—”

The chains rattled as John’s left hand trembled of its own accord.

“And then I was a nobody again,” John whispered. “I was a limping, wretched waste of space, whose hard-earned medical degree had been useless in curing the pain that didn’t even exist.

“John,” Sherlock interjected, and he inwardly cursed himself for being truly at a loss for words. Helpless, he could only watch as John curled his right hand over his left in an effort to control the tremors. John let out a shaky breath as he dropped his gaze and stared at the floor as he spoke.

“Did you know, Sherlock,” John murmured. “I used to stare at the walls of my old flat and think, ‘I could die here, and no one would even know. No one would even remember who I am, or what I did in my short, pathetic life.’”

And then suddenly, the gears clicked together in Sherlock’s mind, and the reason became glaringly, horrifyingly clear.

John,” Sherlock whispered.

“I figured if I’m wearing these tags when I die,” John said softly, “At least they’d know my name.”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat when John suddenly raised his head to smile at him. “You know, I think your brother figured me out even before you did, Sherlock. Hell, I think he knew even before I did.”

Sherlock frowned. “What does Mycroft have to do with anything?”

“He told me the truth,” John said simply. “‘When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield.’”

Sherlock’s brows creased. He had been watching John closely all this time, and after that strange pronouncement, he couldn’t understand why John looked so… at peace with it. “Because I always lead you to danger?” Sherlock asked tentatively. “Because I risk your life everyday when I ask you to follow me?”

John stared at him for a long moment. And then impossibly, against all reason, John’s smile widened. “You were right.”

“I was right.” Sherlock blinked. “Right about what?”

“You really don’t always know.” John was grinning now, and the change that overcame his previously solemn features was staggering. “So you better listen closely, because I’m going to tell you something I can’t believe you still don’t know.”

John stood up and walked to the center of the sitting room. “And I’m actually glad you asked, because I realized…”

And Sherlock could only gape in shock as John promptly dropped his dog tag in a carton box in the middle of the floor.

“I don’t need this anymore.”

Sherlock stared at the twin pieces of metal resting against his leather gloves. “Why?”

John straightened, his shoulders thrown back. His whole body felt suddenly, immeasurably lighter without the added weight around his neck. “Because your brother is right. I do see the battlefield in you. And you’re a war worth fighting for. Because regardless of what other people think of you, or what you think of yourself, you’re a good man, Sherlock Holmes. And I follow you,” John paused, reevaluated his words, and amended, “I choose to walk with you, beside you, because…”

He turned to face Sherlock fully.

“You’re my greatest victory. You’re the battle I’ve already won.”

Stormy grey eyes met a calm sea of blue as Sherlock swallowed and asked, “And what were you fighting against?”

And John’s weathered face broke into a gentle smile. “Being forgotten.”

The spell that had wrapped around them was suddenly broken by the jarring sound of a ringing phone. Both men stared at each other stupidly for a moment before John realized that the sound was coming from his own pocket. He reached inside his jacket and fumbled with his phone as he stared at the name flashing across the screen. “It’s one of my patients,” John muttered. “Hang on, Sherlock, I have to take this call, excuse me for a moment.” He stepped out into the hallway to answer.

Several minutes later, John hanged up, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Sorry, Sherlock, but I think I have to head out tonight.” He replaced his phone back in his pocket and turned towards Sherlock.   “I have to go visit this patient of mine, he seems to be having complications with his… medication…”

John’s words trailed off. He stood in the hallway, transfixed, not trusting himself to speak, not even daring to breathe.

Sherlock was now standing in the middle of the sitting room, his body half-turned away from John. His head was bowed, and his unruly curls had fallen across his face, partially obscuring John’s view of his eyes. In his bandaged hand, he was clutching John’s dog tag.

And with agonizing slowness, Sherlock raised the twin pendants to his mouth and pressed his lips tenderly against them.

I’ll remember.” The words were murmured against the cold metal in an intimate caress, a solemn promise, a heartfelt truth. “I’ll remember.

Separation Anxiety

265 Word Drabble

I wrote this intending to use it in a multichapter, but decided it really didn’t work.  So… here, have a random drabble with little to no context!


(Three days, fifteen hours and thirty-eight minutes after the TARDIS dematerialized from Pete’s World for the last time.)

At first, the Doctor just stood there, staring at the door that Rose had just closed behind her.  If he hadn’t been hardwired with a Time Lord’s time sense, he wouldn’t have been aware of just how much time had passed before he finally sighed and turned away, glancing about the room aimlessly, not exactly knowing what to do with himself.

(Forty-two minutes, sixteen seconds later.)

He paced the different rooms in the house for a while in an attempt to dispell his nervous energy, turning on both televisions and the radio for some distraction, then turning them off again when he found himself extraordinarily annoyed by the content.  He continued pacing in silence.

(One hour, forty-seven minutes, thirty-three seconds later.)

He noticed Rose’s bookshelf wasn’t organized, so he pulled all the books down and arranged them in alphabetical order.  He then decided they ought to be arranged by genre as well, so he pulled them down and sorted them again.

(2 hours, 31 minutes, forty-two seconds later.)

He ran his hands through his hair, glancing at the phone by the tea tins.  But no.  He shouldn’t interrupt Rose’s meeting.  The rational Doctor knew she was safe; knew she would call if anything happened. She was safe.  Safe.  And she would be home soon.  In approximately… one hour, twenty-eight minutes, seven seconds.

When Rose came home one hour, fifty-six minutes, forty-one seconds later, she found the Doctor sitting on the curb with the phone clutched in his hands, thumbs poised above the call button.

5

봄날 / spring day - bts (lyrics)

9

“I will come as the rain.
I will come as the first snowfall.
I will beg the Heavens
to let me do just that.

Sunday Morning

Summary: A young man and a young woman run into one another on a Sunday morning at a coffee shop, both of them heartbroken, and rediscover what it means to love and be loved. Bucky x Reader 

 Author’s Note: I’ve been working on this one for a bit. It’s basically the feel-good romance no one ever expected me to write (me included) 

 Words: ~2900

Originally posted by writingandcoffeehouse

Bucky used to love Sunday mornings. They were meant for sleeping in, for curling against the soft, tender body that slept next to him.

They’d had five years of Sunday mornings, of her soft sighs in his ear as she stirred from her sleep, bright green eyes blinking sleepily up at him as he kissed her plush, pink lips. Five years of Sunday mornings, of making coffee in a pair of boxers; of her arms wrapping around him from behind, a soft cheek against his bare back. Five years of Sunday mornings, of sitting at the breakfast bar in their pajamas, her thumb wiping jelly off the corners of his mouth.

Five years of Sunday mornings, wasted.

Keep reading

Marinette is probably rambling about how her crush on Adrien is gonna land her in jail while Alya just stares into the camera like she’s on the office.

One day Naruto looses his memory on a mission.

It’s not that bad really, he still remembers his name and that he’s from Konoha he just…doesn’t remember all his friends or anything like that. He doesn’t remember how close he is to all of them. But Kakashi tells them as long as they tell him small stories about their relationships and how it was all like with him.

So Naruto is extremely confused and hardly remembers any of what they tell him, though it strikes a cord in his mind. 

Meanwhile Sasuke, who’s devastated at this development, has been avoiding Naruto, but it’s Sakura who pushes him to visit. 

And Naruto recognizes him. Not his name, or who he is exactly but he just feels familiar to him. 

Everyone decides to leave them alone but Sasuke sits with him and tells him their story. And there’s just so much and Naruto just soaks it right up. 

But then while Naruto is sitting there, watching Sasuke tell him everything they’ve been through he just asks,

“Did you love me?” 

And Sasuke is frozen because he’s staring at Naruto and Naruto is staring at him and they both know the answer but Sasuke just…can’t say it. Finally, Naruto just mutters, 

“Because I think I loved you.”

Sasuke leaves. He avoids Naruto and these feelings because there’s no way Naruto loves him back. There’s no way he could remember loving him because how could someone as bright as Naruto want him? 

Of course, Naruto eventually does get his memories back and the first thing he does it find Sasuke. He corners him and looks him straight in the eye.

“You never answered my question.” He says.

“Do I have to?”

“Just please…do you love me?”

And Sasuke can’t lie. He can’t say no because he’s been bottling that up for years. And the smile on Naruto’s face makes it worth it. Especially now they had a new promise of forever

Your Body Is My Wonderland (smut)

MASTERLIST

Requested: no (Fluff in the beginning) 

Word count: 4,224

I was resting my back against Shawn’s broad chest, while his fingers were running through my wet newly washed hair. We were chilling in bed, watching movies after a long day for the both of us. We were sipping beers, celebrating this day finally coming to an end.

I was tucked tightly into a blanket, feeling Shawn place tender kisses on my neck once in a while. His arms were tightly shut around my body, making every inch of my skin feel tickly just by his faint yet loving touches.

Keep reading

Guys My Age (1)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Words: 2554

Warnings: Lap dancing. ANGST.

Summary: You’re playing truth or dare with the Avengers when Nat asks you when the last time you got laid was  and Sam dares you to pick a song that perfectly grasps why you haven’t had sex in so long.

A/N: Thanks for the anon who recommended this song. I thank the heavens I found it because it’s so fucking relevant. I can’t seem to write smut without just a tinsy bit of a plot. But here you go.

Permanent tag list: @meganlane84

Part 2

Originally posted by haidaspicciare

Keep reading

A 2D Bendy Fanfiction

An AU of 2D Bendy, inspired by @squigglydigglydoo and @shinyzango. Written and illustrated by myself, accompanied by chocolate. Enjoy!

“Dear Henry,

It seems like a lifetime since we last worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn’t it?

If you’re back in town, come visit the old workshop.

There’s something I need to show you.

Your best pal,

Joey Drew”

CHAPTER ONE

Keep reading

Harry Styles - “Confessions”

I completely left this open(and have already planned) for a part two. So… if you would like a part two let me know! Enjoy! And be ready to have your heart broken.

Part Two - Part Three - Part Four


Harry sat on the edge of his bed in Los Angeles, his head in his hands, as he tried to hold back the tears and will his breathing to stay even and calm. His phone lay beside him, the screen still lit up to show him his recent calls - the last of which had just turned his world upside down. 

He eventually sits up, letting out a large sigh as his large ringed hands push through his short floppy hair, pushing it back from his forehead. His green eyes look across the room where on top of the chest of drawers sat a picture of the person he cared about most in the world. He stared at your smiling face, his own smiling face next to you and that’s when the tears came. He was going to lose you, he knew that he was. 

Just then his phone began to ring beside him. He dreaded it was her, the person who had called a few minutes before him and broke the news but instead he saw your face appear on the screen and that, in that moment, may have been worse. He picks up the phone, staring down at your picture as the phone continues to ring. 

He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t hear your voice, happy and still in love with him, when he now knew what he did. He couldn’t tell you over the phone. He had messed up, he knew that, and he had to say it to your face. After the phone finally stopped ringing he gave a sigh and pulled himself up and off the bed. 

He had things he needed to do in LA, meetings to attend, interviews to be done but he couldn’t. He needed to get to you and tell you as soon as he could so he called Jeff. He couldn’t say it though, he couldn’t tell him exactly the situation, just that he had to go home - and now. 

Once he landed in London the next day, his hands were shaking, his palms were sweaty and his breathing was shallow as he sat in the back of the car headed towards your house. He kept trying to play out and plan his words for this conversation. How would he go about it? Where could he possibly start? He had so many confessions to make and what he was most afraid of was the inevitable - losing you. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that hurt, devastated, and heart-broken face that he was soon going to see before him. 

The idea brought tears to his eyes. He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, grinding away the tears harshly. He hated himself, his entire body was full of regret, remorse, and dread knowing that he could never take this back. 

“Hello?” Harry calls a few moments later as he enters your shared home. He knew you were home, it being your day off work and your car was parked out front but he heard nothing. “Love?” He calls out again. 

“Harry?” He finally hears from the kitchen. He couldn’t will himself to move towards your voice. He wanted to run back out the door to never have to face this situation, he wanted to pretend everything was okay. But it just wasn’t. And never would be again. “Harry!” You gasp once you see your tall, tattooed and handsome boyfriend standing in the entryway of the living room. 

“Hey.” He mutters, barely able to get his voice above a low gravel. He clears his throat and puts his bag down at his feet, sliding off his jacket. He was trying to delay this, anything to keep the truth from coming out. 

“What are you doing home? Why haven’t you answered my calls in two days?” You were full of questions but then in that moment you didn’t care. You had missed Harry so much and if he was home - that was all that mattered. So, you cross the room and burrow yourself into his chest. You wrap your arms tight around his torso, taking in that familiar scent of his cologne while his arms wrap around your shoulders. He buries his face in your hair, his eyes closing as the tears began to slide down his cheeks. This was surely the last moment he would hold you in his arms and he wanted it to last as long as possible. “What’s going on?” You question, looking up at him. You gasp when you take in his tears. “Harry, what is it?” Your mind was racing. What possibly could have happened to cause him to act like this? You reach up, brushing your thumbs under his eyes along the tracks his tears were making. 

“I messed up, love.” He finally says, his voice a quiet whisper as he stares down into your eyes. You frown, shaking your head a bit in confusion. 

“What do yo-” 

“I slept with someone.” The words were out before he could over think it. He watched the gears turn in your head as you processed this. As soon as he saw it click, you backed out of his arms, distancing yourself from him just as he knew that you would. “Please, love, i’ was while we were going through tha’ rough patch a few weeks ago. I was angry, you were angry, I didn’ know where we stood-” 

“So you fucked someone else and never told me?!” You interrupt as your blood began to boil. “You came back here acting like it was all okay?! As if nothing ever happened!” You also felt your heart break, a dull ache began in the center of your chest. Harry was the love of your life, the man you were going to spend forever with and yet .. he had hurt you in the way he always vowed he never would. 

“I jus’…” He scratches at the back of his neck, shaking his head a little as he gave a sigh. He looks at the floor, anywhere but at the hurt and angry face before him. He also noted the fact that your eyes, those gorgeous eyes of yours that he loved so much, had begun to well up with tears. “I don’ know how to make up for this bu’ tha’ isn’t all.” He knew he had to say it, he had to get everything out so just maybe, maybe, the two of you could start trying to work it out. 

“What else is there?” You cross your arms over your chest as the tears slide down your cheeks. What else could there be? Had he slept with her again? Was he leaving you for her? Your mind was racing and you weren’t sure you would be able to handle anymore of this. Harry was your life and even with him standing in front of you still you felt it might not be for too much longer and you already felt lost. 

“She called me yesterday mornin’,” He began, his eyes peaking at you through his lashes as he kept his head slightly down. 

“Okay?” You urged but felt that sense of dread begin to creep up in your head as you surely knew what was coming next. Why would you contact the man you slept with weeks before? There was really only two reasons - wanting to get together again or being pregnant. Your blood ran cold at the latter possibility. It couldn’t be that, it just couldn’t. 

“She’s… she’s pregnan’.” The words pained him to say out loud. He hadn’t spoken it since he heard her mumble it through her sobs on the other end of the phone the morning before. He saw your face crumble then. Your eyebrows furrowed together, your eyes swimming with tears, and he saw your breath hitch in your throat. 

“You got another girl pregnant.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t accusatory, it was just a statement as you took to trying to process this. Harry was going to be a father, and it wasn’t with you. This just couldn’t possibly be happening. 

“I don’ know what I’m goin’ to do, bu’ what I wan’ first is to try and make things work with you. Please, love…” He trailed off when you shook your head vigorously, the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. 

“You expect me to just forgive you for this?” You give another shake of your head. “Would you forgive me if I got pregnant by another man? If I cheated on you and got knocked up? Would you be willing to move past that?” Harry bit at his lower lip and stared at the carpet under your feet. He knew you were right, he would probably never be able to move past it if you had someone else’s child. 

“You won’ even try? For us? We’ve been together for-”

“I don’t need you to remind me how long we’ve been together, Harry! I don’t need you telling me about the life we’ve started here together because I remember, I know!” You felt your anger begin to flare up. “It was you that seems to have forgotten the life we have together while you were busy fucking someone else!” He cringes at your choice of wording as well as your now raised voice but he knew he deserved it all. You were of course right, after all. 

“Please,” He takes a step towards you, holding his large hands out towards you, his cheeks wet with his still falling tears. He felt a sob building in his chest as he felt this was it, knowing you would most likely never forgive him. “I made a mistake, I will pay for tha’ for the rest of my life but I need you.” His voice dropped off to a whisper. “Don’ give up on me.” It was then that the sob finally fell from his lips and he felt his knees give out. 

“Harry,” You whisper as you watch the man you loved fall to his knees right there in front of you, his face pressing into his hands as large gasping sobs fell from his mouth. You feel a sob of your own and you take a step closer to Harry. You fall to your knees in front of him and bring a hand up to brush through his brown hair. He lifts his head up, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes meet yours. “I don’t think I can ever forgive you.” You watch his face crumble even more as he takes in your words. 

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers and the sobs resume. He then falls into your chest, his cheek burrowing into your t-shirt and his arms wrap tightly around your waist. You support his weight, your arms going around his shoulders, your fingers brushing at the hair on the back of his neck. “I’ll never forgive myself either.” He whispers through his sobs. 

You sat and held Harry, both of you crying and clinging to one another, knowing that this was it, for a good while until finally you pried him off of you and both of you stood up. 

“I think it’s best if you left.” You whisper as the two of you stood awkwardly facing each other. Harry gives a small nod, closing his eyes for a second. His eyes burned, the tears drying his eyes out but he knew he would probably spend the entire night crying. 

“Can I do somethin’, one las’ time?” You frown at him but he then takes a step closer to you and as his hand comes up to rest on your cheek you understood what he wanted. You don’t move as his face dips towards yours. You try not to return the pressure his lips press into yours but you couldn’t help it. As if by reflex you were kissing him back and bowing your body against his as your arms wrap around each other. It was as the kiss intensified and his tongue slid against yours that the reason this was to be your last kiss together reared back into your mind and you pulled away from him, breaking all contact together. 

“I can’t. I can’t do this, Harry.” You mutter, seeing that hurt and aching look in his green eyes as his chest heaved. He had hoped there for a second as he held you close again, your lips melded together perfectly like they always had, that just maybe you could forgive him. “I can’t be with you, I’m just going to picture you with her every time and I just can’t.” 

“I understand.” He gives a nod, hanging his head a bit. He pushes his fingers through his hair and looks back up at you. “I’m so sorry that I hur’ you.” He stares at you for a few seconds before backing towards the door. “I’ll always be jus’ a phone call away. I love you, with every piece of my soul.” You ignore the fresh tears sliding down your cheeks and simply give a nod. You look away from his heartbroken face and look anywhere but at him as he reaches for his bags and then a minute later was gone from the house. 

You fall to your knees right there where you stood and begin to cry into your hands, feeling like a piece of your heart had just walked out that door with Harry. 

Harry meanwhile had gone into the garage and got into his Range Rover but as soon as he was behind the wheel he rested his forehead against the steering while and let the sobs return. They were loud, chest heaving, sobs. Not only had he just lost the love of his life but he also now had to decide what he was going to do about his child on the way. 

Our First Time (smut)

She felt the cool metal of the cabinet drawers hit her back, his long fingers weaving through her loose blonde strands. Was it possible to die from ecstasy? If so, what a way to go. His lips trailed a path from her neck to her collar bone as she squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her long legs around him, pulling him even tighter against her body.

Her hands moved to unbuckle the belt around his waist, but they were quickly knocked out of the moment by an obnoxiously loud banging on the door of the trailer.

“Is that your mom!?” Jughead ripped away from his sexy girlfriend and pulled his shirt back on, heading for the door.

She hadn’t witnessed the whole interaction, just the exchange of jackets and his surprised face when she called his name. Heading back into the trailer, Betty started to gather her things, leaving Jughead to speak to his new “friends”. She had to get out of here, what was she thinking? Hanging around Serpent territory after everything that had happened in the past month. Buttoning her jacket and searching for her bag she hardly registered Jughead walking towards her, she never even heard him speak her name. She jumped when he placed a hand on her shoulder

“Betty..” he started before she cut him off

“I should go. It’s late, It’s not too far from here.. I’ll walk, the fresh air will be good for me.” She moved towards the door but he quickly put his hand out to stop her

“You’re not going out there on your own, talk to me. Let’s talk about this.” He begged, his hands playing with the buttons on her jacket.

“There’s nothing to talk about, you made your decision.” She wrapped her arms around herself, it was what she did when she was bidding from someone, it made Jughead heart ache to see her hide herself from him.

“Nothing’s been decided, it’s just a stupid jacket. It doesn’t matter, you matter, we matter” he emphasized the we as she stepped back finally getting a look at him in the jacket.

Fuck. It was sexy as hell.

Obviously not the criminalistic activities tagged along with the logo but the way the jacket wrapped around his broad shoulders, his tossled black hair falling in his face, as he stared at her with wide, scared eyes. This was still Jughead, this was still the boy who had declared his love for her a mere minutes ago, the boy who had made her ache in places she didn’t know possible. He was still her Jughead, just an incredibly sexy version.

His eyes ducked to meet hers before she mumbled under her breath

“Screw it”

The long pink peacoat hit the ground in seconds flat and before Jughead could even catch his balance, Betty was wrapped around him, her fingers tangled in his hair before running over the swirly snake emblazed on his back.

“I want you” She growled into his ear, her hands pulling the leather from his body as they stumbled into his bedroom.

Jughead pulled back, looking into his girlfriends glazed and lust filled eyes as she pulled off her tank top , revealing the lacy pink bra he had admired a few minutes ago. As he stared down at the perfect specimen laying on her back on his old mattress, he couldn’t think of his father or the Southside or his future, all he could think of was being with Betty completely, showing their love in the most absolute way.

“Are you sure?” He asked quickly, his own shirt now laying on the floor as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes

“Never been so sure” she whispered

That was all it took for him to dive into her, lifting her by the hips and tugging her into the headboard, his jeans hanging loose on his hips while she unzipped her skirt letting him tug it all the way down his fingers tracing her long smooth legs. She whined from above him, her hands reaching for him, he dragged his palms the entire length of her body and moaned when she pressed her chest into his hands

“Right there” she let out on a breathy sigh, he glanced up to find her eyes closed as he quickly disposed of her bra, taking the time to admire her breasts before letting his inexperienced fingers wander, by the way she sighed he assumed he was doing something right. Betty could feel how excited he was digging into her thigh

“Protection, do you have it?” She asked dazed as he pulled something from the side drawer

“Never thought this would happen, dad wanted me to be prepared just in case. Never imagined it’d be with you, only dreamed it” he mumbled against her neck, grinding into her, his soft cotton boxers causing friction with the lace of her panties.

She watched as he pulled the condom on, and slowly pulled the lace away, staring intently at something she was certain he had never seen before. Her eyes took in all of him, once he finished he looked up at her with unsure eyes

“I love you Jughead Jones, no matter what you are, who you become. I love you” she encouraged, wrapping her legs around his waist and bringing him inside of her. She winced at the pain, it hurt more than she expected, but hearing the deep guttural groan of her normally composed boyfriend, eased the ache a bit.

“I love you. God I love you” he moaned into her neck, pulling in and out of her excruciatingly slow. It al happened so fast she wasn’t even sure when she had hit her high, only coming down from it just in time to see Jugheads eyes roll back and his shoulders shake. He slumped beside her, dragging her into his side and peppering kisses to her hair

“Thankyou, I love you. That was.. did I hurt you? Was it awful..” he trailed off suddenly stiffening as he tried to pull away.

Betty shook her head quickly, pulling him back down and nuzzling against his bare chest
“It was perfect. Absolutely perfect” she whispered and smiled when she felt him sigh in relief.

“Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. I won’t join the serpents, I’ll… I’ll figure something else out” his hands played with her sweaty strands.

Betty sighed softly
“You do what you have to do. I meant what I said, I love you Jughead, no matter what you are, I’m going to love you.” She turned her cheek to look at him and went breathless at the intense look of love in his eyes.

“Besides” she continued, a teasing smirk on her face “we’ll finally be the real Romeo and Juliet you’re always talking about” she giggled.

Jughead rolled his eyes, pulling the covers tighter around the couple

“Except no one dies, alright?.”

Betty yawned, slowly closing her eyes

“Deal” she whispered before both the love sick teens fell into their dreams.