#bughead fic

You’ll find Riverdale Bughead, 9-1-1 BuckTommy and soon finishing my old work of Riverdale SweetBee/SweetBetts (SweetPea and Betty Cooper)

I will be writing more this summer and every chance I get. Everyone has been inspiring me so much that I wanna continue to put together some works of art 🥰

More to come:

Klamille Fic -TVDU/The Originals

Prompt: Undercover Lovers or (the one where she is a police detective and he is an FBI agent).

Betty Cooper had been working with the local police department for nearly four years and she’d finally been promoted to detective earlier in the year.  She was taken aback when they’d assigned an FBI agent to her case. She was even more surprised that said agent was her ex-boyfriend Jughead Jones. They had been on the job for about a month. The two of them had managed to keep things professional. No recounting of old memories or reasons for their break. Reasons that she couldn’t quite remember since it had been so long ago. The one thing that hadn’t changed due to time was the pull of attraction she felt for him.  The situation began to escalate one evening when they were in the precinct pouring over case notes.

 Betty was bent over looking over another crime scene photo when she felt his hot breath against her skin.

“Do you have a lead?”

She hitched a breath. “Nothing, the victims have so little in common.”

Jughead ran his forefinger along the length of her neck and whispered “There has to be something. We just need to dig deeper.”

Betty turns to face him and sees the hunger that she is feeling mirrored in his eyes. Her breath catches when he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. His hand is lingering on her collarbone and she finds herself standing up. They are face to face now, he places a hand to her waist and pulls her closer.

Betty wraps her hands around his neck and insists, “No one can know. It might cost me my job.”

three conversations about one thing

He’d known there would be consequences when he made this decision. But he hadn’t realized how quickly they might steamroll right over him.

(Jughead & Veronica & Cheryl & Betty & memories of the future. Set post-7x19.)

yes! :) I haven't written too much of the s7 fic yet...and i've only watched one actual episode of s7 (the musical, which was honestly boring as shit)...but here's a snippet. the story builds off of that ~look Jughead had after they kissed at the party early on in the season.

-

Betty startles when he raps his knuckles against the metal door of the locker beside hers. “Oh! Hi, Jughead. How was your weekend?”

“It was swell, thanks.” 

He leans against the row of lockers, crossing his arms over his chest. The polite thing would be to ask how hers was, too, but they’ve only got two minutes before the bell rings for homeroom, and he’s got to do this before he loses his nerve. “Say, I’ve been thinking — I know we don’t know one another all that well, but — I was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab a milkshake at Pop’s with me sometime.” He swallows. “My treat.”

Betty freezes, her algebra textbook in hand. “You mean…like a date?” Her brow furrows. “You know I’m going steady with Kevin, right?”

Based on the uncomfortable looks they’d been giving each other at the party, Jughead had figured there was a fifty-fifty shot that might no longer be the case by this point, but it seems they’ve stuck it out. For now. 

“Of course. I’m no bird dog.” He shrugs a little. “It’s just as pals.”

“Just pals.” Betty seems skeptical. 

Jughead straightens up and leans in closer, lowering his voice when he says, “Look, you obviously know what’s been going on with Ethel, and…I still think she’s innocent, but…all this trouble has made me realize that maybe it’d be good for me to expand my social horizons a little. Nothing against those guys, but I think I’d be better off spending time with some of Riverdale’s more upstanding citizens, if you know what I mean.”

That seems to do the trick. Betty closes her locker door, straightening her spine as she turns back to face him. “Well, in that case, I’d love to get a milkshake with you, Jughead. As pals.”

It’s just past eight in the evening. She’s dragging the trash bins from the garage out to the sidewalk for tomorrow morning’s pickup when she sees him standing in the driveway next door, struggling to wrestle an oversized duffle bag into the storage compartment of his motorcycle.

“Jug. Hey.” She’s already halfway across the yard between their houses by the time he notices her. His eyes soften from surprise to mild concern as she approaches.

“Hey. How are you holding up?”

Betty mulls for a moment over her response. It’s a fair question to ask someone three weeks after they found their sister’s body rotting in the trunk of a rusting, broken junkyard sedan. She doesn't especially want to answer; she's just tired of coming up with ways to change the subject.

Thankfully the scene she's stumbled upon makes it easy. She gestures to the bag. "Hanging in there. What’s this?”

Jughead sighs, giving the duffel bag another half-hearted shove, to no avail. “I’m heading to Ohio for JB’s graduation.”

Recognition flickers dimly in her memory. He’d mentioned this to her weeks ago, when they were deep in investigation mode, one of probably a thousand things he’d said that had filtered in and out of her brain like water through a sieve. She’d said something like oh, my god, she’s graduating already? we’re so old! in response, and then promptly returned to obsessing over their latest clue in the hunt for the highway killer.

“But I guess the gift I got her is too big for this stupid thing –” 

“You’re driving all the way to Ohio on a motorcycle?” she interrupts. “In the middle of the night? Isn’t that, like, a seven hour drive?”

He shifts his gaze away from her, towards the Andrews house, which she interprets as yes, I know this is a dumb fucking idea and no, I don’t want to talk about it. 

After the last few months she's had, she can relate.

“It’s tomorrow,” he says. “I was supposed to leave yesterday, but – I kind of got distracted, with everything that’s been going on.” 

Betty tries not to react to that. He must mean “everything” that’s been going on with Tabitha – her parents’ arrival in town, their burgeoning relationship. Kevin had seen them out at a restaurant together with the Tates, holding hands at the dinner table. Betty wishes they’d just make it public already, post a couple's photo on Instagram or something. It’s getting uncomfortable, pretending she doesn’t know.

He's muttering to himself, hoisting the duffel bag out of the storage compartment and onto his shoulder. "Maybe if I repack this into a backpack instead…"

“You can take my car, if you want,” she offers, and then, without allowing herself to actually consider what she’s proposing, adds, “Or…I could come with you.”

Jughead freezes, his eyes darting from her face to her car where it sits in the opposite driveway, and then back again. “Oh, no – I couldn’t ask –” 

“We could tag-team the driving. And I’d love to see JB and your dad, and…everyone.” She doesn’t actually know if Gladys is still in the picture or not. “To be honest, I – I really need to get out of this house for a few days.”

She knows how she sounds: desperate. But she also knows that if anyone in her life can come anywhere close to understanding what this is like – what it means to be the child of a parent who is a walking, weeping open wound, a gaping hole of need that cannot possibly be filled – it’s Jughead. 

(And she feels guilty for thinking of her grieving mother in those terms, she really does, but the truth is she’s suffocating. Put on your own oxygen mask first, Dr. Glass told her all those years ago. It was just about the only useful thing he'd imparted to her in a cumulative sixteen hours of therapy, other than a prescription for Adderall.) 

“At least take the car,” she insists. “You can’t even fit your stuff in here.”

Jughead’s lips press together. His eyes flit back towards the house again – only the garage light is on, which is where he’s been staying. “You’re sure you want to sit in a car with me for seven hours? I’ve got terrible taste in music.”

Her face breaks out into a tremulous smile. It feels weird, but good – the first uncontrolled display of emotion she’s had in weeks that wasn’t borne of despair.