#prep bughead

Prep!Bughead 🙅‍♀️ and 🔪 (and 🖋!)

It all happened so fast. The mystery, the river, the siren. And now here she was, dodging her boyfriend’s attacks as she tried reaching beyond his clouded mind.

Looking into his eyes, Betty could see he was in too deep. The hypnotism made his once shining crystal orbs into blank blues.

“It’s no use, human. Nothing can break my charm,” The siren’s voice echoed all around the thick mist. “Not until he kills you, anyway.”

Betty winced as the sharp metal grazed her cheek. Even so, she did not let it deter her from her main objective.

“Can he even see what he’s doing?!” She asked.

A sinister giggle replied. “Why, of course! That’s the best part. It’s always fun seeing you heathens be hit with grief by something that you couldn’t help but do. So, yes, while he’s damaging you from the outside, he’s fully aware of his actions, enough that it’s torturing him from the inside.”

“Got it. Thanks!” The blonde sighed and grinned.

She stopped dodging Jughead’s blows and gave in when he tackled her to the ground. ‘Just as long as I’m aware, I can fight it off,’ was what he once told her and Betty let herself give in.

She stared back at his empty eyes as soon as he raised his knife to the side—a signature move he had when his goal was to slice and not stab—and brought it swing down in less than a second.

Betty didn’t flinch. Not even when the cold blade slightly grazed the side of her neck, the same one Jughead had in his trembling clenched fist, before it was suddenly lifted away and thrown head first like a lethal dart into a random direction in the fog.

The siren’s scream could be heard for miles but Betty only focused on the man above her. His eyes were still clouded and he was still like a breathing rock. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to anything anymore, Betty lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

“Jug?” She asked, carefully sitting up with both her hands now supporting his cheeks.

He didn’t answer, though as the Siren’s cries ceased, Jughead’s shoulders went limp and he slowly slumped forward until he had his head buried into the crook of her neck—the same side he almost cut.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.