#forgot how painful it is to be in jp fandoms because idk if people on here do last names or first names first in tags

[hexaes]

mfw rivals

[malereader-inserts]

Strip My Soul

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Jughead Jones & Brother!Reader, FP Jones & Son!Reader Summary: Death wasn’t pretty but Life isn’t a fool either. Word Count: 1607 Request: “as always i’m down for any son!reader either be it Cullen or jones reader! -JP” Warning: death, blood, injury A/n: Someone request angst but idk if they wanted Cullen family angst so I just made angst. You guys really want angst but idk if this is written well because I know I can do better.

Joneses were always good at running away

Running away from threats, from their problems, from their own mistake.

Jughead was the king of mistakes, he didn’t know how to rule the Serpents and you knew full well that he was struggling. You never said a word, offered advice, helped around a little but you could tell that your father was judging Jughead’s moves as if it was the judgement day.

But no matter what the Joneses always stuck together. You defended your family to the grave, and it seemed like you did. 

Somewhere along the way, the three of you had gone out to the Riverdale’s dance. Mayor Lodge put it on at the school’s hall as a distraction of the wrecking of the Town. The three of you had separated ways at the dance, hearing rumours about Hiram planning an attack.

You took guard of the entrance door to the hall, pacing the corridors as you felt jitters run up and down your spine. You knew something wasn’t right, something was going to happen and you didn’t know what. Jughead was close by as he was down the corridor with your dad at the entrance of the school.

Your hand shoved into your suit pockets. Leaning against the locker with one foot propped against the blue mental cabinets, you can hear the music blasting from the inside, people enjoying the night away with their dresses and fancy suits - feeling like a normal town.

You looked up from your phone when you see the door open, a man you had recognised left the dance.

“Hey man,” You called out, he stopped suddenly looking at you, “If you’re looking for the gents’ room, it’s that way-”

You stopped yourself short when you realised that he was Hiram’s man. You see his eyes connecting the dots as you both lunged into each other.

“Jughead!” You called, being thrown against the locker, “Umph.”

You wheezed out as the henchman’s fist came colliding to your face, your head smacking the metal. Dazed and confused, you see his knuckles coming your way before managing to duck down, allowing you to uppercut the man.

“(Y/n)!” Jughead calls out, dashing down the hallway with your dad hot on his heels.

Kneeing the man, his back collides with the wall. Realising he was up against three Joneses he takes out a gun. The three of you froze, trying not to get in the way of his aim - the rumours were right. Someone was going to attack the dance, though the target was still unknown. 

It was a tangled mess, you didn’t remember anything and Jughead forgot the whole ordeal. All you remember a gunshot ringing out and FP finally able to take down the man, smacking his head against the flooring of the school - rendering him unconscious.

FP calls out for his police force to keep on patrol. Jughead sneering down at the man, not realising you standing behind your father and your brother. How you heard a gunshot but didn’t know where the bullet landed. The adrenaline was wearing off, you could feel your arms become heavy and sore, you can feel the areas the man had landed good punches.

But there was a searing pain under your jacket coat. You pulled your suit jacket back and you finally noticed how it was stained red. Your white shirt was slowly becoming red. You looked up as you met eyes with your brother.

Real blood is nothing like movie blood, just as real death is nothing like movie death. There is no amount of horror that can prepare a person for seeing the life ebb from another, the hopelessness, the tearing at the soul that is the departing of the other. 

“(Y/n)-”

Your knees crumbled as Jughead caught you, placing you gently on the ground and his hands immediately flying to the wound. 

“Dad!” There was a painful scream, his voice broke - he was terrified, “Someone call 911!”

Jughead looked back down at you, you had become paler than usual. Your hand gripped your brother’s wrist. FP was quick to look over his shoulders, his eyes widening and his heart missing a beat when he sees a small pool of blood form around your lying body, he noticed how Jughead was staining his suit pants.

FP was quick to handcuff the man, in hopes that he was unconscious long enough for one of his employees was going to retrieve the man. He was quick to move to sit across Jughead, quick to try and comfort you, stroke your hair as he speaks softly.

“(Y/n)?” He spoke softly, noticing you blink so slowly.

“Am I dying?” You whispered, eyes glazed over but there was panic in your voice.

“Absolutely not, you’re-” FP paused for a moment, “You’re not going to die.”

This was the first time you had ever heard your father cry, it wasn’t like him really. He never cried when he lost your sister and your mother. You were never present when Jughead almost got murdered, he refused to show himself to you. But, my god, he was scared and there is so much blood.

“I don’t want to die.”

You whispered, soft yet there was so much fright. Your pupils dilate, your skin becomes cold and suddenly your out of breath.

“He’s going into shock,” Jughead noted, before putting more pressure on the wound, “Someone help!” 

Jughead’s cried almost were drowned out, Jughead’s grip was becoming weak. How his eyes were full of tears, he was gasping for air. He couldn’t have a panic attack whilst you were bleeding to death.

“I don’t want to die,” You mumbled, again and again, the pain was spreading around as you heard footsteps coming closer to you, “Make it stop, i-it hurts!”

“Jughead?” It was Betty’s voice, “We called 911, they’re on their way.”

“Do you hear that boy?” FP asked, trying to calm himself down, “They’re on their way,”

You nodded, but only so weakly as Jughead bit his lip. It was his fault, he should have protected you better. Jughead knew it was his fault, or rather that he was convinced it was his mistake.

Your body was screaming, it was practically on fire. Your ribs felt like enclosing into your organs as your vision became blurred. Blinking the blur away but you just couldn’t, your head was buzzing as if there was a permanent static blaring.

Breathing was hard and your family was cursing how slow the emergency service was taking. Your grip on Jughead’s wrist loosen, it suddenly dropped from his wrist to your stomach.

Jughead finally blinked away the tears away, noticing the lack of your murmurs, your groans of pain. He looks at you and dread filled him up. Death wasn't kind. Jughead knew that. It snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good. It didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. The hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. It had never touched Jughead quite so close. 

Death had ripped away a part of him, the part of him that was most loved, his beloved brother never deserves this.

“No, no, come back to me-” Jughead cried, sobbed even, his hands leaving your wound and grabbing the lapels of your suit jacket, “(Y/n)!”

FP snapped his head to you, everything stopped. His heart ached to see your dull eyes staring at his. He wished he could see the rise and fall of your chest, even if they were shallow breaths yet nothing came about. 

Death stalked the town of Riverdale. There was no abode he wouldn't enter, no school or church. He stood as the life was choked out of almost every man, woman and child. He felt no joy or emotion of any kind, there was no heart to beat in his skeletal chest or tears to well in his black sockets. 

FP had to stay strong, he couldn’t but he had to, especially when the police arrived. Betty watched shocked as FP choked back his tears, watching his only son cry on his brother. 

“Please, p-lease,” Jughead begged, oh how did he beg. He would wish upon every star and moon just for you to be breathing, to be alive.

“Jug-” FP spoke from behind his son, no matter how he wanted to stay there and hold his son for one last time he couldn’t, “You have to let him go-”

“No!” Jughead wailed, gripping your clothes tighter, “That’s my brother! Don’t take him away from me!”

FP’s hands were shaking as he grabs Jughead’s arm and pulls him away from your body. He had to hold Jughead back, his arms flying everywhere, trying to struggle out and run back to you.

Jughead screamed, like a little boy, he was begging and pleading.

“That’s my brother! Give him back!” 

FP couldn’t do anything because he remembers the first time he held you as a baby, alcohol seemed to be a great idea - to drown the lost.

Jughead wanted you again, his struggling stopped as he holds onto his dad. His hands were shaking, stained with your blood, he closes his eyes trying to forget the image from his mind. It was burned into him as FP holds Jughead strongly, refusing to let him go. Betty stalked off, telling the news to her mother, Archie and Fred Andrews. 

The rumour was true, someone was going to attack at the dance. The suspect? 

(Y/n) Jones.

The boy who knows far too much.

Death was cruel yet Life was crueller.