#there was meant to be a bit where he goes back in and smooches veronica in the middle of the room but i couldn't fit it in neatly

[sprnklersplashes]

fic comissioned by @willofadeadgirl thank you for your generous donation to esims for gaza! to find out about commissioning a fic from me, the info is here

based on this idea I had a year (?) ago:

JD spiralling shortly after he and Veronica get engaged because he's scared to hurt her the way his dad hurt his mum. Claire is there to remind him that he's okay.

getting to delve back into nbr universe again and this relationship specifically was so rewarding and I also got to sprinkle in a bit of claire's backstory which is neat.

The party is amazing.

Claire has outdone herself. While JD was out with Veronica she single-handedly rearranged all of the tables and threw white rugs over the bare wooden floors. Then she either robbed a florist or had one owe her something, because they came back to the most amazing centrepiece on the dining room table, along with garlands of lilies and white roses hung around the doors and stairway. And of course, no function thrown by Claire Munroe is complete without food, and holy hell, did she deliver. When the party is for him and Veronica’s engagement, but all anyone can talk about is her espresso martini cheesecake, that’s how you know it’s a winner.

It’s wonderful. Although the event is small, a strict family and friends affair, the house feels alive, the two stories teeming with pure, unfiltered happiness. He couldn’t ask for anything better.

He hates himself. He really fucking hates himself.

With a bitter sigh, JD tosses the empty bottle he’d been fidgeting with. It crashes somewhere in the garden, followed shortly by a frantic rustling in the hedge. He might have just frightened the shit out of some poor raccoon.

And that thought should not scare him the way it does; shouldn’t cause the pit in his stomach to plunge deeper. He closes his eyes, locks every limb, pulls himself inward like he can ward off the thoughts invading his mind.

It was like someone had flipped a switch. One minute he was standing in the kitchen, his arm securely around Veronica’s waist, listening to her laughing and feeling like the night would never end. Then he went to the kitchen to get another drink and just like that, everything stopped. Once he wasn’t surrounded by bodies and the laughing and chatting was muted, the protective barrier dropped. Suddenly, all he could think about was the blood in his veins and where it came from, and then he was 8 again watching his mother wave at him through a window and then he was 9, 10, 11, 12 smashing plates to get his dad’s attention and he was 3, 4, 5 and 6 and 7 listening by the stairs because his dad was yelling again, again, and his mom wasn’t saying anything-.

And then he was running, and he was on his knees in the grass. 

He lets out a steady exhale, white smoke stark against the night sky. Shadows blanket the garden; the greens of the grass and the rainbow hues of Claire’s flower bushes are smothered in greys. Behind him, the house is still glowing from within, gentle oranges making its own sunset in there. He doesn’t want it. He never wants to see it again.

With a cold pang, he hopes Claire never leaves the house to him. Some of the best memories of his life are in that house. It’s lovelier than he would ever deserve, and he would just ruin it like he will ruin Veronica and like his dad ruined him. Claire said she moved into that house alone and renovated it with her own bare hands. Giving it to him would feel wrong, backwards. What will he do other than destroy it? That’s what his hands were made for.

Breathe Jason a voice in his head says. He tries, opens his mouth but nothing comes in, because there’s barbed wire around his throat and his lungs and it hurts when he tries. He tries, and he chokes, and hot tears are racing down his cheeks and he bites his hand before he can start screaming. Breathe Jason.

I can’t! I can’t! The darkness presses in around him and it’s hot-since when was darkness hot? His dad’s voice-his voice-is roaring in his ears, it sounds like his dad but it scrapes his throat like its him and it’s burning. He needs to get out and-

“Hiding out here?”

Crap. 

Trembling, JD turns around, squinting against the brightness. At first, all he can see is the small frame, the chunky knit sweater hanging off it. His eyes follow her as she comes over, but he looks away as she settles herself on the grass beside him.

“We miss you in there.” He nods, slowly. If he was still seventeen, he would shoot a sarcastic remark at her in the hopes that she would leave. But he knows better now. Or more accurately, the idea of her leaving pulls at a very specific part of his heart. So, while his instincts still protest, he lets her stay.

“Well I hope it wasn’t my lasagne that made you leave.” That gets a half-smile from him, even if it feels foreign on his face. Behind his back, he can feel her eyes bore into him. He used to think he could hide anything from anyone, and then he met her. “Jason? Everything okay?”

How does he answer? He takes a deep breath in, slowly. Pulls at the grass and lets it fall between his fingers. Listens to the pounding staccato rhythm of his heart. 

“I just freaked out,” he mutters. Claire nods behind him and, carefully, as if he’s made of glass, places her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “I’m here.” He squeezes the grass in his hand. “Anything in particular freak you out?”

He doesn’t want to say it. He wants to keep it inside and find something to numb it. If it stays inside, he can freeze it, escape from it. 

He can’t though. Because he’s come too far and owes Claire and Veronica too much. There’s only one good way out.

“My dad,” he whispers. Claire inhales sharply and her hand tenses against his back. 

“Did he-did he try to-”

“No.” He cuts her off with a shake of his head. “No, he hasn’t contacted me.” Ever. He hasn’t heard from his father since 1984. He laughs, short and bitter. “I just can’t stop thinking about him. And my mom. And everything.”

“Oh kid,” Claire sighs. Her arm comes around his shoulders, her small frame presses into his side. “I’m so sorry.”

“And suddenly it was…. Everywhere.” He hears the tremble in his voice and he hates it. In that moment, he wonders why he ever stopped numbing himself. It made everything so much easier. He looks down at his hands. The ring Veronica gave him glimmers on his finger, silver winking in the half-light. He gives a self-deprecating scoff. “I don’t know how to be married. I don’t-I can’t be that to her.”

“You’ve been a pretty spectacular boyfriend so far,” Claire tells him matter-of-factly. “And from what I can tell, being married is just a longer version of that. That it’s you and her forever.” She squeezes his shoulder. “You’ve been with her three years and you haven’t messed up yet.”

“You don’t know that I won’t!” he tells her, voice rising sharply, and then everything spills out, a putrid ugly mess in front of them. “He’s my dad, Claire. I’m 50% him. My whole childhood I just sat and watched as he wore her down and she was hurting and I didn’t do anything about it! I just let him keep going and keep going until one day-” He closes his eyes. The library explodes behind his eyelids. When he opens them, he can still see the smoke. “What if it’s just a matter of time before I do it to her?” He looks back at the house. He can’t find her; she’s lost in a maze of other people.

“I might do something worse,” he says. The admission is broken and cracked on his tongue, terrified to step into the light. But it’s here.

“Oh, Jason,” Claire breathes. Her touch is gentle, loving, against his skin and part of him wants to shove it away and put as much distance between her and him as possible. He hates that he still feels that way, even as he leans into her touch. 

“I know you were dealt such a bad hand with your dad,” she tells him. “But you are not him, Jason.”

“I’m his son.”

“And I’m my parents’ child,” Claire says firmly. “Do you think I’m anything like they are?”

That gets him. Like a lighthouse beacon, it cuts through the fog in his mind and catches him.

He’s never met Claire’s parents-his grandparents, he supposes. They know about him, but the contact never goes past the ‘To Claire and Jason’ on the annual Christmas guard. Claire won’t delve into the specifics, just that her parents wanted her to have a life she never intended to java. Years before he came into the picture, it came to a head over some argument and when she declared her intention to move out, they didn’t stop her. 

They communicate via Christmas cards. When Claire’s dad was in hospital, she didn’t find out until weeks later.

So, his response is a small shake of his head. Claire is nothing like her parents and never will be. She is warm and loving and generous, she understands him without him having to say anything. How her parents created a person like her he will never understand.

“You’re not like your parents.”

“And you are not like your dad, Jason.”

“I am,” he mumbles. “I get angry. I think about… I think about running away.” He presses his thumb into his palm. “I pull away from her.”

“And then you go back,” Claire says. Slowly, her hand comes over his. Her skin is warm, her palm calloused and rough. “That’s what makes you different from your dad, JD. Your dad never cared about the damage he was causing. You do. You get knocked down and you get back up.” Her fingers curl around his. Startled, he squeezes her fingers. “Look how far you’ve come in the past few years. That’s something he never ever did.”

JD doesn’t know when the tears started but they’re here, running like rivers down his face. 

“And to be honest, I’ve never seen a person love someone else the way you love Veronica. You love her like she’s the last person on Earth. You love her like you’d never love anyone else.”

Well, he wouldn’t. It’s just a plain fact to him. No matter what happens, Veronica exists and he’s in love with her. Simple as that really. After everything she has done for him, it feels like the least he can do.

“And,” Claire continues, reading his mind again. “Don’t you owe it to her to keep trying?” Before he can even respond, she scoots closer, rests her chin on his shoulder. “Maybe you owe it to yourself too.”

There. That’s when she does it, that magical thing where she looks inside him and pulls out something he never thought existed. 

If he walks away now, he leaves Veronica at her own engagement party. He leaves her in the dust after promising to stand by her forever. And doing that to her… it hurts him more than anything else could.

He turns. Claire is still beside him, pressed against his side. 

“Maybe I owe it to you too.” She smiles then, laugh lines creasing her face.

“You’ve never owed me anything, kid.”

(It isn’t true. He owes her more than he’ll ever be able to pay back. But that’s okay, she’s not expecting him to).

Looking out at their garden, he lowers his head onto her shoulder. It’s a little awkward because at some point he got taller than her, but neither of them mind. She rubs her hand up and down his arm and they sit there, listening to the muffled sounds of the party behind them.

“I love you,” he tells her. He doesn’t need to look up to see the way her face softens at that. 

“I love you too, kid,” she whispers. She tugs on his arm. “Come on. If we hurry there may still be profiteroles left.”

JD laughs; the feeling is solid and warm in his chest. He offers Claire his arm and together, they walk back into their house. 

Before he goes in, he gives it one last try. He breathes in. The air is cold and crisp and it fills his lungs. He breathes out, slow and steady, and the white smoke disappears into the orange porchlight. Claire squeezes his hand, firm and rough and more real than anything that came before.

He’ll be okay, he thinks. They’ll be okay. 

[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

I have a prompt for one of my hopes for season 2. I hope it makes some sense... But, I want Sabrina to become friends with Jug (not too close of friends, but enough to cause some suspicions from Bughead's friend group) and Betty becomes super insecure/jealous/distant. ONLY to find out Sabrina is interested in Cheryl. A girl can dream... You're amazing! xoxoxo Mallory

Betty couldn’t stop the light flutter in her chest as Jughead’s name appeared on her phone screen.

Pop’s?

That was all the text said but it was enough. Betty bit her lip as she clutched her phone tightly against her, giddy at the prospect of getting to spend some time with her newly removed boyfriend.

It had been tough, tougher than she’d expected. But she wasn’t one known for giving up - hardly, if ever, and she was willing to do everything in her power to stick to that.

Betty had been sceptical about Jughead’s motorcycle at first. A generous gift, he’d told her. She couldn’t help but notice that he’d been getting quite a few gifts recently and the thought sat uneasily in her stomach. Where the Serpent’s were involved, gifts came wrapped up with less than pretty strings attached. The last thing she wanted was for Jughead to be tethered to something with no room for escape. However, the trips he was managing to make over during their aligning lunch periods some days made her warm to the vehicle somewhat.

There were many stolen moments where possible, their frequency ranging from not quite enough to frustratingly few. Betty tried not to complain, though, taking anything she could get if it meant that she got to feel his hands caressing her cheeks, his cool lips brushing against hers. One look into his impossibly blue eyes could instantly lay all her insecurities to rest.

When she pushed the door open, eyes searching for that all too familiar beanie, her heart stopped. Betty’s brow furrowed as she walked slowly towards the booth he occupied - that he was not sitting alone at. Opposite him was the prettiest, petite blonde with short platinum hair, leather jacket draped over her fragile shoulders and ripped purple tights peeking out from beneath the table. Betty approached the pair, eyes darting from the mystery girl to Jughead as he turned, feeling her presence besides him.

“Hey, Betty,” he greeted enthusiastically, lifting his arm in an invitation for her to slide into his embrace. She did so hastily, settling herself against his side, fingers coming up to play with the lapel of his jacket in a move she hoped wasn’t too noticeably possessive.

“Hi, Juggie,” she murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiled into the action, pulling back to gaze down at her with unbridled affection. “Who’s this?” she asked, addressing not so much the elephant in the room but the bombshell at the table. The girl smiled, dimples appearing on either cheek.

“This is Sabrina, she goes to Southside High,” Jughead introduced. “Sabrina, this is…”

“The infamous Betty Cooper. I’ve heard so much about you, seriously Jughead won’t shut up about you,” Sabrina teased, throwing a smirk his way. Jughead blushed, ducking his head in embarrassment but not before sending her a threatening glare. Betty can’t suppress the smile that creeps across her features at this admission, burrowing even further into Jughead’s warm hold. The uneasiness still lingers, however.

“We were just discussing which Quentin Tarantino film is the best,” Jughead said, quickly turning the conversation away from they way he gushes about his girlfriend when she’s not around. Betty stilled.

“Discussion isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Sabrina replied, narrowing her eyes at him. “I believe I was successfully arguing my case for Pulp Fiction while you were floundering somewhere behind with your attempts to let Inglorious Basterds secure the top spot.” Jughead scoffed, clearly disagreeing with her assessment of their conversation.

Betty has gone quiet beside them. When she mentioned how few Tarantino films she’d seen in her life, Jughead had grandly informed her that it would be his mission to make sure she had the best complete viewing experience under his knowledgeable guise. Cuddled together beneath blankets, in the dark, sharing slices of pizza while watching Tarantino movies in FP’s trailer had become their thing. She knew is was irrational but hearing Jug even discuss them with someone else - let alone someone so beautiful and outgoing - just rubbed her the wrong way.

Sabrina seemed to be a perfect match for Jughead, a role that she used to think belonged wholeheartedly to her.

“Betts?” his voice pulled her from her reverie. She blinked, looking up at him. He raised an eyebrow, thumb rubbing against her shoulder. “You good?” She nodded, not trusting her voice and hoping that her smile wasn’t too watery.

“Bughead. Stranger.” Cheryl’s voice cut through the air as she suddenly appeared at the edge of the booth. Jughead sighed, turning his eyes to her. The grimace he usually saved for Hurricane Blossom - as he liked to call her - had been mysteriously absent in recent weeks. Betty liked to think that Jughead related a little bit more to the fiery redhead than he first realised.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Cheryl,” Jughead asked dryly. Cheryl smiled affectionately.

“I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging the importance of my presence,” she said, placing one hand dramatically over her heart. Jughead huffed out a laugh, shaking his head but not making a move to argue. “I’m here for Betty. Don’t forget, we have a pep rally after school tomorrow. If you’re even a second late because of secret Southside smooches with Lord Byron over here you’ll be doing so many high kicks you’ll begin to think your leg belongs up there, capiche?” Betty nodded, knowing it was futile to even address Cheryl’s domineering, somewhat impolite, manner.

“A joy, as always,” Jughead muttered after she’d spun on her heel and stalked away, long hair flying behind her. Betty poked him in the side, pressing her lips together against a smile, his eyes glistening mischievously.

“Okay, who was that?” Sabrina asked, leaning forward over the table, eyes wide.

“Surely you’ve heard of the Blossoms?” Jughead began to explain.

***

Betty checked her phone one last time before sighing and chucking it in her bag, knowing that if she wasted any more time waiting for Jughead’s reply Cheryl would have her by the neck. He said he’d try and come by to see her cheer, adding a less than clean remark about how he loved to watch her spin in her cheerleading uniform, but he wasn’t making any promises.

Betty trudged dejectedly towards the rest of the Vixens, getting ready to take her position in the first number.

A flash of black from the edge of the stands caught her eye, heart leaping into her throat as his handsome face came into view, emerging from the shadows. The feeling turned sour when another body stepped out from behind him, Sabrina standing with her arms folded over her chest and a feline expression across her features.

“Who’s that with Jughead?” Veronica asked, suddenly appearing at her shoulder.

“Sabrina,” Betty replied, acid permeating her usually sunny tone. Veronica blanched, looking at her best friend in concern.

“Is she…?” she asked, trailing off, not really sure where to go. Surely, Jughead would never…

“Looks like it,” Betty supplied bitterly, wrenching her eyes from the Southside couple. Veronica looked after her pitifully.

Betty stumbled her way through the routine, not caring that she would probably be getting it in the neck from Cheryl the moment they finished. What was she doing here? Why would he bring her? Tears stung her eyes as they threatened to spill down her cheeks with every passing second.

Finally free of the first number, Betty stalked towards her bag, purposefully ignoring Jughead. His brow furrowed, a look of adorable confusion crossing his face as he slowly walked towards her.

“Betty?” he asked, stopping a few feet from her.

“Jughead,“ she replied, busying herself with doing absolutely nothing, fiddling aimlessly with the contents of her bag.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. Betty just shrugged, lips pressed together tightly.

“Yeah, everything is fine. Are you having a good time with your new friend?” she asked, eyes flicking briefly towards Sabrina before turning back to avoiding his gaze.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused by her frosty demeanour.

“Look, I get it, Jug. She’s more your type anyway. She’s seen all of Tarantino’s movies, and she goes to the same school as you, and doesn’t ask you to come to stupid pep rallies that she knows you hate anyway, and she’s beautiful and-” Betty is cut off by the rough press of his lips to hers. She squeaked, surprised by his actions before she can’t help but melt into the kiss, hands fisting in the material of his tshirt under his jacket. “What was that for?” she asked breathlessly, once they’ve parted.

“A twisted part of me likes how jealously looks on you,” Jughead smirked, rubbing his thumbs across her reddened cheeks. She swatted him playfully before looking up at him with wide, sad eyes.

“I’m serious, Jughead,” she whispered, all of the fight leaving her beneath his hands. Jughead’s face turned serious, his eyes burning as he holds her gaze firmly.

“There’s only ever been you, Betty. There only ever will be. No girl holds even a candle to how beautiful you are, inside and out. I like that I get to show you Tarantino for the first time, and that I can watch you prance around in this ridiculously short skirt,” he mumbled appreciatively and Betty let out a shaky laugh. “And part of me even likes that we’re apart because it makes it all the more worth while when we are together.” He pressed one more kiss to her soft lips, tender yet bruising. Her hands fiddled nervously with the fabric between her fingers.

“I’m sorry, I’m just used to having you all to myself,” she murmured, feeling silly for her outburst. “And who can blame me? You’re a catch, Jughead Jones,” she said, looking up at him from beneath thick lashes. Jughead rolled his eyes in response.

“Count yourself lucky,” he quipped, relishing in her resounding laugh.

“What is Sabrina doing here, though?” Betty couldn’t help but ask. Jughead shook his head, smile dancing across his lips.

“Seems like she took a shining to Cheryl when they met at the diner,” he told her around a smirk. “Wanted to come and watch the show.” Betty bursts out laughing, suddenly noticing the direction of Sabrina’s prowling gaze. They’d make a cute couple…