nights for celebrations - jughead jones
Prompt: requested by an anon from my songfic list. Jughead and the gang have a night out with their Irish friend.
A/N (please read): YAY SO IM FROM IRELAND AND I GOT TRY WRITE THIS YAY THANKS ANIN. This ended up being deeply personal as I myself am Irish and so this ended up being my favourite thing I’ve ever written (surprise, surprise the irish river dale obsessed girl likes the jughead x irish reader thing she wrote Also, Y/N ended up being super like me so apologies but I did try to keep her as ambiguous as I could). I hope you guys enjoy it and the extra bits (actual, not stereotypical or made up) culture I put in. The Irish stereotypes really pisses me off (and to be honest I don’t really like St. Patrick’s Day. I know, blasphem), so there are parts of me mentioning this in here.
Warning: Cursing, drinking.
Words: 2014 oh god sorry it’s so long lol
It had been 10 months since Y/N Y/L/N had arrived on the scene from her native Ireland and if you said that she hadn’t stirred some variety into the small town of Riverdale, you’d be lying.
The night after herself and her family had arrived into town, she took a notion and fancied a burger. She found herself in your typical diner on the edge of town.
“Hiya, how’s it going? A burger and chips please. Sorry, fries.” You said to the dark haired lady behind the counter who smiled and you and took your order. Looking around the diner, you saw the place was busy enough, with one group of teenagers around her age sitting a few botths down. They were eyeing her out of the side of their eyes. Deciding to sit down and get out of their vantage point, Y/N pulled out a stool at the counter. Several moments later, an older man handed her the food and she thanked him as he looked at her with a quizzical smile. She noted they musn’t have many outsiders come into the town.
Just as she was finishing up her meal, a figure plopped into the seat opposite her. “Hey! I’m Veronica Lodge and I’m going to guess by the accent and the fact I don’t recognise you that you’re new around here.” The forwardness of the girl took you back a bit, but you laughed anyway.
“The accent stick out that much, huh? I’m Y/N” You extended her hand to Veronica to shake.
“I love it. I grew up in New York and I’m going to guess by the sound of it that you’re Irish?” Tilting her head at you and smiling, you immedietley liked this girl who was quizzing you even though you had just met.
“Yes, I am. We just got in yesterday. Economy is terrible at home so we needed a change.” Veronica nodded at you.
“Would you like to come sit with my friends? I was the only one brave enough to come and talk to you.” You nodded eagerly, desperate to try and make friends.
As she picked up your meal, she made your way to the booth of teenagers who were eyeing her earlier.
“Guys, this is Y/N. She’s Irish and just moved here yesterday. We’re her new friends.” You waved at the group and smiled a hello.
“Y/N this is Betty Cooper. Ultimate sweetheart and secret badass.” The blonde girl waved at her as her ponytail bobbed up and down.
“This is Archie Andrews, musician and football player. Your real-life Troy Bolton.” She smirked at the ginger boy
“Hey. Jaysus, with that hair they’ll think you’re the Irish one, not me.” The others in the group laughed at this.
The beanie-clad boy spoke before Veronica had the chance to introduce him.
“Jughead. Jones. The Third. Nice to meet you.” Y/N quirked an eyebrow at the funny name, then realised she had heard worse at home.
Since that fateful day, much had happened. Y/N quickly integrated herself to the group and the became fast friends, enjoying her typical Irish sense of humour: sharp, witty and willing to take the piss out of everything, including herself. Herself and Jughead had become very close, and after 6 months, he kissed her and they’ve been dating ever since.
As March rolled around, so did St. Patrick’s Day, and Y/N may not be at home but she was sure as hell going to celebrate in style. She gathered the troops to her house and pulled out a 6 pack of cans of Guinness.
“Right lads. I’m not at home for our national holiday and I miss it so we’re heading down to the bar. First, I got the family to send me these over. Not the same as a good pulled pint but they’ll do. Drink up.” She handed out the cans and as she gave Jughead his she also gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Y/N, darling, I thought you hated the Irish stereotypes of drinking? Because, right now you’re certainly living up to it.” Kevin giggled, taking a swig.
“Now now Keller. I may not like the stereotypes but I’m still deeply patriotic and proud of my heritage. I don’t live up to any of the stereotypes; I’m not ginger, a leprechaun, I hate cabbage, I DO NOT say ‘Top of the morning to you’ and I do not have a hidden pot of gold no matter how much you ask Jug. Now c’mon, away we go! ” Jughead laughed at his girlfriends antics but followed her anyway. He usually hated the social scene, but, as this was a local bar and not a club; he could do it (for Y/N at least.)
She took Jamie as a chaser, Jack for the fun
She got Arthur on the table, with Johnny riding as shotgun
Chatted some more, one more drink at the bar
Then put Van on the jukebox, got up to dance, you know
After an hour at the bar, Y/N had everyone in the bar celebrating Ireland. The party was in full swing with the whiskey and Guinness flowing. They were all chatting when Y/N stood up and walked over to the jukebox. Next thing, the music changed and on came Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison. She walked over to Jughead and with all the strength in her body, pulled him onto the dance floor. After the song played, the young couple played some darts and some pool, in which Y/N beat Jughead at both. During some discussion of whether or not it was an 18 or 20 point difference between the in the darts, she pulled him in for a kiss. No matter how many times they kissed, he still felt like they were the only two people in the room when they did.
You know she beat me at darts and then she beat me at pool
And then she kissed me like there was nobody else in the room
As last orders were called, was when she stood on the stool
After dancing to Cèilidh, singing to trad tunes
I never heard Carrickfergus ever sung so sweet
Acapella in the bar using her feet for a beat
Oh I could have that voice playing on repeat for a week
And in this packed out room, swear she was singing to me, you know
It was near closing time when the bar had quieted down a little that a slightly tipsy Veronica called out for Y/N to sing us an Irish song. Of course, the whole bar had heard and everyone was now chanting “SING!” at a very red Y/N. Giving in, she stood up on a bar stool as everyone fell quiet. Jughead was sitting right below her perch on the stool. He realised in this moment that he had never heard her sing.
Y/N opened her mouth, singing Carrickfergus, and it sounded like the soft ripple of a brook through a quiet forest. The whole bar was silent as she tapped her feet to give herself a beat and sang without a backing tune. Her voice was smooth, silvery and thick with emotion, with a hint of grit. Though there were over 50 people in that room, he could have sworn it was just the two of them, as through the whole song she never broke eye contact.
As she finished, she was met with whistles and applause from the crowd and pure shock from her friends. After many a ‘I had no idea you could sing’ and an incredibly bashful Y/N, she turned to Jughead.
“No idea how you hid a voice that criminally beautiful like that from a detective like me you lady.” She laughed at his words, throwing her head back and wrapping her arms around his neck.
The group said their goodbyes outside the bar, and Jughead and Y/N began to make their way back to hers, hand in hand. Both taking a deep breath of the cool spring night air to rid themselves of the smell of smoke, whiskey and wine that had attached itself to their coats.
Now we’ve outstayed our welcome and it’s closing time
I was holding her hand, her hand was holding mine
Our coats both smell of smoke, whisky and wine
As we fill up our lungs with the cold air of the night
They laughed and joked around the whole way home, and upon reaching Y/N’s door; it was decided that Jug would stay the night. Her parents loved him anyway so that wasn’t an issue.
“I’m fucking starving, do you want anything from the kitchen” She called over her shoulder.
“Me too. It’s me Y/N, I’ll honestly eat whatever is in your kitchen and lots of it.” He heard her glorious, melodic laugh from the other room.
She walked out with a packet of Doritos and sat on the sofa with him.
“Jesus Jug, that was one of the best bloody nights of my life. I can’t thank you enough for coming with me, I know it’s not either of our scenes but I had to make an exception for St. Patrick’s Day. I love you.” She smiled up at him from her place beside him.
I walked her home then she took me inside
Finish some Doritos and another bottle of wine
I swear I’m going to put you in a song that I write
About a Galway girl and a perfect night
“I love you too. You know, I feel a short story coming on about tonight. A perfect girl and perfect night. I’ll call it Galway Girl.” He laughed at her face.
“You know there are places in Ireland apart from Galway right? I’m not even from Galway.” She nudged his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.
“Alliteration, Y/N. Alliteration. I have poetic license with this stuff.” Jughead smirked at his giggling girlfriend.
“You know, I just thought. I speak another language and I could say anything I want about you in it.” Y/N laughed at the false scandalized look on her boyfriends face.
“Is pian so thóin tú.” She kisses his nose as she says this.
“Does that mean ‘I Love You’?” He cocked an eyebrow and looked at her smugly.
“No. It means you’re a pain in the ass.” She doubled over laughing as he slapped a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. She climbed onto his lap and pushed the beanie off his head and brushed back the stray hairs. Studying his beautiful face and staring into his eyes, she kissed him, soft and slow and filled with love.
“Tá mé in ngrá leat” She whispers, foreheads touching.
“Does that mean I love you?” He whispers back, breathlessly.
“Yes, that means I love you.” She chuckled.
“Well then tá mé i ngrá leat as well.”
For the rest of the night, the young couple lay in stitches, with Y/N trying to teach Jughead her native tongue. By the end of the night, he had the important stuff down perfectly.
Y/N was drifting off to sleep, head on his chest and legs tangled together.
“Hey Y/N/N?” The girl hummed in response.
“Tá mé i ngrá leat.” He whispered into her hair.
A smile broke out on the girls face, as she felt so at home in this boy’s arms, and he felt the same.
“Tá mé i ngrá leat freisin.” And with those final words whispered, the young couple drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.
My pretty little Galway girl