Bughead soulmate au please? :)
Here you go, anon!
Title: The Girl From the Journal
Soulmate AU: Jughead Jones has been writing about a girl he has never met before, but when he leaves his journal at his favorite coffee shop one day, an unsuspecting young woman finds it without knowing that the stranger who wrote it was actually writing about her
She wears her hair held high in an off-the-face-neat-and-tidy sort of way that shows the world she’s ready to concur it. Her mind drifts from one idea to the next without stopping to take a breath. And although she doesn’t know it, she impacts every single person she meets just by being exactly who she is.
24-year-old, Jughead Jones III looked up from the beat-up journal that his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday eight years ago, turning in his seat to thank the waitress for the cup of coffee she had just set on the table in front of him. He had been writing an entry a day since he had found it sitting on his bed with a big red bow tied around the front cover when he got home from school, and he hadn’t missed a day since.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress, all fluttery eyelashes and puckered lips, asked in the sweetest voice she could possibly muster as she smoothed out her apron and turned to smile sweetly at him.
“No, that’ll be all, thanks,” Jughead dismissed her without a second glance, taking a small sip of his coffee and immediately picking up his fountain pen to continue writing.
“Well, if you need anything else, my name is Naomi,” the waitress informed him, taking a step back from the table and gesturing towards the front of the coffee shop. “I’ll be behind the counter for a while, so just let me know if-”
“Got it,” Jughead cut her off before she could finish, and Naomi sunk back behind the counter without another word.
Jughead focused his attention back to his journal entry for the day, furrowing his brow as he waited for more words about his mystery girl to flow from pen to page like they’d always done so naturally. He had been writing about this girl for years, and although she was nameless, she had distinct features that made her almost impossible to miss if he were ever to meet her in real life. She had become somewhat of an obsession of his over the past few months, distracting him from work and relationships to the point where he was beginning to believe that this girl he created in his mind, was actually out there somewhere waiting to be found.
Just as he was about to tackle his next paragraph, his phone began buzzing frantically on the table, causing the cup of coffee to shake and shimmy all across the table in the process.
“Mr. Dawson,” Jughead answered, his voice rising an octave the way it always did whenever he spoke to his boss. “Yes, I understand that there’s a deadline and I’m - no sir, I wasn’t aware that I took you for granted - yes, sir - yes, and I’ll be there in an hour - now I’ll be there right now, I’m on my way. Okay, see you soon - in ten minutes, I’ll see you in ten minutes, goodbye!”
Jughead clicked off his phone and scooped up his messenger bag from beside him in the booth before sliding out of his seat. Taking one last gulp of his coffee, he carelessly tossed his journal into his bag before hurrying to the front of the shop to pay his bill.
Just as he reached the counter, a woman carrying an overflowing box of what looked to be gardening tools came barreling into the coffee shop without any control of her feet or the box she held in front of her.
“Sorry, excuse me, if you’d just - oops - sorry, sir, are you okay?” With the box partly obstructing her view, the woman nearly slammed straight into an older man carrying a to-go cup, dodging him by only just a hair and knocking her elbow into the counter as a result. “Ow!”
Still in a hurry, Jughead tried to block out the woman’s incessant apologies and turned to the employee behind the counter. “Hi, I’m ready to pay, if that’s alright.”
“Sure, just one moment,” she smiled at Jughead, but then turned to the crazed woman with the box, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene that was unfolding before her.
“I actually don’t have a moment, I’m-” Jughead tried to protest, but the woman behind the counter was already heading over to inspect what was happening near the front door.
“Betty, what on earth are you carrying?”
“Hey, Polly, I’m just… Hold on a second,” the crazed woman, now known as Betty, dropped her box onto one end of the counter and quickly dusted her hands off. “Ah, that’s better.”
“Okay, start explaining,” Polly instructed, nodding to the box of gardening tools and raising a curious eyebrow. “What is all this?”
“My third graders are learning about rocks and minerals this week,” Betty explained. “So I’ve been going around the neighborhood looking for different kinds of stones and varieties of soil to-”
“Sorry,” Jughead interrupted, pulling on his messenger bag impatiently and flapping his check in the air. “I don’t mean to be that guy, but if I don’t get back to my office in seven and a half minutes, my boss has threatened to strap a rocket to my back and send me flying to some unknown universe so if I could just-”
“Yes, sorry,” Polly hurried back over the the cash register and took Jughead’s credit card, quickly ringing him up and tearing off a piece of paper from the machine next to her and handing it to him. “Here’s your receipt, enjoy the rest of your day!”
“Thank you,” Jughead nodded at Polly and turned to head out the door, but before pushing it open to brave the cold morning air, Jughead stopped suddenly and turned back to Betty. “Good luck with the rock thing by the way. There’s some good ones by the lake just off Kingston Drive, if you’re still looking. It’s a gold mine down there trust me!”
With that, Jughead left the coffee shop, leaving Betty to turn back to Polly with a surprised smile on her face.
“Well, that was unexpectedly kind of him. Most guys in suits like that aren’t usually so friendly,” Betty pointed out, thinking back to all the guys she knew in college who were crazed, wannabe business tycoons with a bad attitude.
“He comes in here every morning. Sometimes in the evening too if he’s trying to meet a deadline,” Polly informed her, wiping the counter down with a cloth and leaning forward on the surface with her elbows. “Yet I still have no idea what his name is.”
“He’s a writer?” Betty guessed, trying her best to conceal the interest that had seemed to pop up in her voice.
“Yeah, some kind of hotshot news editor by the looks of it,” Polly explained, pushing off the counter and bending down to fix an out-of-place pastry in the display case.
“Interesting,” Betty muttered, turning back to the door and looking out the window intently. “I wonder if - uh oh.”
An object on the floor in front of the welcome mat caught Betty’s attention, and she hurried over to investigate.
“What is it?” Polly asked, her brows furrowing together as she took in the old journal that her sister was gently holding in her hands.
“Looks like Cinder-editor left his notebook behind,” Betty concluded, holding up the journal for Polly to see.
“Well, hurry, go track him down before he turns into a pumpkin!” Polly joked, gesturing to the door and ushering for her to leave.
Betty knew that there was no way he would still be around, but she also knew that she had to take a chance. Pushing through the front door, Betty hurried out onto the streets, searching both ways for any sign of the journal’s owner. Spotting the same old beanie that she remembered seeing the man wearing at the end of the sidewalk one street over, Betty moved quickly to catch up to him.
“Wait!” she called out to him, but he was already joining the crowd of people in front of him and crossing the street. “Wait, you forgot you’re-”
With all the chaos happening around her, Betty got swept up into a group of school kids heading to their bus stop and ran straight into a woman walking her poodle in the opposite direction.
“Watch where you’re going!” the woman snapped, glancing back at Betty to glare at her before heading into the apartment building behind them.
“Ow, why does that keep happening to me?” Betty rubbed her shoulder, standing on her tiptoes to see if she could spot the beanie again, but it was nowhere to be found.
Glancing down at the journal in her hands, a thought crossed her mind that she knew was unethical, but kept popping back up to the forefront the longer she stared at its worn cover.
“Betty, don’t read it, that would be an invasion of privacy,” she muttered to herself, quickly shaking the thought from her mind and tucking the journal safely under her arm. “But then again, maybe he has his name written somewhere in the front cover. I mean, how else am I going to get this back to him if I don’t know his name?”
Betty slowly slipped the journal back into her hands, glancing behind her shoulder in case anyone passing her on the street could tell how much of a snoop she was being.
“Oh, what the heck,” she conceded, flipping open the book to check for a name. Written in thick letters were the words: Property of Forsythe Pendleton Jones III and scribbled underneath it in tinier, childlike handwriting was the name Jughead.
“Odd,” Betty mumbled, thinking about how strange the name Jughead sounded in her mind. Yet, there was a familiarity to it that made it seem ordinary somehow. Like it was the most common, natural-sounding name she had ever heard.
Having found the name she was hoping to find, Betty prepared her hands to close the journal and head back to her sister’s coffee shop. But before she could follow through, and even though she could never explain it, something stopped her. It was as if there was a pull in the universe causing her eyes to wander over to the next page and read the story that was scribbled carelessly onto the white paper.
“No way,” Betty breathed, letting the words sink in as she flipped to the next page. After reading several entries all about the same girl, Betty slammed the journal and sprinted back to the coffee shop.
“Polly!” she exclaimed as she threw open the door, dodging several customers as she made her way back to the counter.
“What?” Polly’s eyes went wide as she took in her sister, all wild eyes and heavy breathing. “Did you give that guy his journal back?”
“Not yet,” Betty admitted, her breath coming in heavy spurts as she tried to slow her heart rate. “But I was looking through it and-”
“You read it?” Polly gasped. “Elizabeth Cooper, you should be ashamed.”
“I know, I know, but listen to this,” Betty opened to a random page in the journal and started to read the man’s words that had made her heart lurch in her throat.
“’She wanted to shape young minds. To show them that there was a place for them in the world that was better than what they might have seen in the past. And while she was never quite sure of her ability to succeed, she was positive in her ability to teach them that they could.’”
“Okay, that’s beautiful and all, but I’m not really sure I’m getting your point,” Polly told her, tossing a rag over her shoulder and leaning against the counter.
“This entry, and every entry after that, they’re all describing this girl,” Betty explained, holding out the journal for her sister to see. “But the way he writes about her - it never seems like she’s someone that he knows. She’s just this person that exists in this journal but not in real life except-”
“Except I think that she does,” Betty concluded. “And I think that I’m her.”
“Betty, you realize you sound psychotic correct?” Polly threw the rag at her sister, who lunged forward to catch it at the exact wrong moment and let the piece of cloth fall to the floor.
“I know how it sounds, but do you remember that story I wrote for English class in the tenth grade?” Betty asked, bending down to scoop up the rag and set it on the counter. “The one that mom hated?”
“Yeah, it was that piece about the boy who’s father was never around because he was some sort of drug dealer or something. And then he gave the boy a present for his birthday that changed his life before he left town for good and never came back,” Polly recounted the story and looked up to raise her eyebrows at Betty as if to say, ‘so what?’ “Yeah, I remember. Why?”
“Read this,” Betty shoved the journal in Polly’s direction and pointed to the description on the back cover. Rolling her eyes, Polly quickly read about how the owner of the journal got that very book from his father on his sixteenth birthday and then never saw him again after that day.
“It has to be some sort of coincidence,” Polly concluded, shutting the journal and handing it back to Betty.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Betty whispered, running her fingers along the etchings on the front cover. “I think that I was writing about this man - Jughead - and I think that he was writing about me.”
“That’s insane, Betty, you don’t even know each other,” Polly reminded her.
“I know that,” Betty sighed. “But I think that this is a sign - finding this journal, meeting him today - I think that I was meant to know him.”
“Okay, let’s say that’s true,” Polly cautiously gave in, folding her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at Betty. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find him,” Betty declared, grabbing her purse from the stool she had left it on and shoved the journal safely inside. “And then he’s going to explain to me how he’s been writing about me for eight years when I only just met him this morning.”
Before her sister could protest, Betty headed out the door and made her way to the only newsroom in town, determined to find the man who owned the journal. The man who, she knew in her heart, she was meant to know. And the man who was about to change her entire world.