Request: Can you do one where jughead cares about the reader and he’s worried about her with all the drama and the now murder in riverdale so he goes over to her house one night with some excuse to cover that hes really just worried about her and doesn’t want her alone
A/N: This is such a cute idea. I think it’s so true to his character and I like it a lot. Thanks for requesting and feel free to request other ideas in my inbox!
Word count: 1254
Warnings: Mentions of murder, anxiety, cursing
There was something disturbing about dark and stormy nights. When didn’t they go wrong? They always did. Sunny days? Sure bad things happen, but not every time. Every time it rains, it pours, and every time it pours, the darkness is absolute and the creaks in your house are never just the results of years of wear. And thus, why you were hiding in your closet, clinging to a chilly aluminum bat as your only source of protection.
Moments earlier, the storm had blown your door open, and there had been hard footsteps on the fake wooden slatted floors. You had to clench the bat between your thighs for a moment, removing your hands so your quivering fingers wouldn’t clink against the hollow body. You took as deep a breath as you could, trying to get the image of the hole in Jason Blossom’s head out of your own mind.
Everyone in Riverdale who said they weren’t on edge after the discovery that Jason was murdered and not just taken by the currents were lying. The air seemed colder and stiffer, no dead body correlations intended, however… this was the reality. Somebody had been… murdered. Anyone who carried on with business as usual, block party with the Joneses, couldn’t have a grain of brain, or at least in your opinion, couldn’t have a grain of brain.
A murder meant a murderer. A murderer meant that someone who everyone knew was suddenly capable of killing anyone. Especially if they had wanted to and succeeding in killing Jason Blossom. You had certainly done worse to the community than Jason. You stole from convenience stores during puberty, like everyone else. And this acknowledgement that there was more reason to murder you than the person who was already dead and decaying sent your heart deeper and deeper into your stomach with each thudding footstep up your stairs.
The creak of your bedroom door was accompanied by a soft whimper, which you soon realized, you had let out.
“Shit,” you whispered, feeling tears well in the corners of your eyes at the realization that every shaky breath you tried to inhale could be your last. The intruder in your room murmured something, but the words were too low and you were too preoccupied trying to remember your seventh grade gym class lessons on self defense and if they had taught you how to be bulletproof to understand what was being said. But before you knew it, the door to your closet was thrown open, the aluminum bat slipping from your weak grip on it and clattering to the floor with an echoing ring.
“Y/N?” You looked up, making eye contact with the person who had, literally, broken into your house just a minute or so ago.
“Jughead?” You groaned, dropping your head to your hands. Now that you realized that the only person in danger here right now was Jughead, whose neck you pictured in your grip as you tried to regulate your breathing.
“Are you okay?” You heard him lean down, his voice softer and closer to your face now.
“I thought you generally had an issue with people who asked questions they knew the answer to.” Jughead nodded to himself, lips pursed. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. Thought I’d surprise you.” A prominent snarl on your face, you looked up to him again. Sarcastically he continued, “Surprise.” His eyebrows lifted in a friendly gesture, his blue eyes pools of comfort for you as he offered you his hand. You took it, him lifting you to a standing position, grasping the bat and placing it back into your closet before closing it. “Anything you want to talk about? Maybe about why you were hiding in your closet?”
“Funny.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “I thought you were some crazy murderer!” He cocked his head to the left, a look in his eyes that only said, really? “It’s not my fault you have the gait of a serial killer.”
“What is a serial killer gait?” He walked over to your window, looking at the rain falling outside.
“That! That gait!”
He turned to you, leaning his head from one side to the other in thought. “Do you have anything to eat?” It was your turn to act surprised, however, in all honesty, you were always certain of only one thing: Jughead would choose a cheeseburger over anybody.
“I don’t know.” Following behind him down the stairs to the kitchen. “Haven’t been to the grocery store since you were here yesterday.”
“Oh! There’s still leftover Pop’s in the fridge.” He pulled out two styrofoam containers from your fridge that you didn’t even know you had. The oven beeped a little tune as he turned it on to reheat his food.
“Well, takeout. From last night.”
“You have any onion rings?”
“Do you know who you’re speaking to?” You stared at him, deadpan. “Of course I got you onion rings.” He opened the smaller of the two takeout boxes, revealing a full pile of onion rings.
“Oh, just for me, huh?”
“No really do you even know who I am?” You rolled your eyes now. “Of course I got more for myself than you.” You hummed in understanding, collapsing into a stool at the breakfast bar, the cool granite chilling you to your bones. Shuddering, you lifted your head.
“Jug?” He had left the kitchen for a second, returning a moment later with a blanket from the living room, wrapping it around your shoulders. You moaned softly, tightening the plush throw around you and reveling in its warmth. “Thank you.” He nodded. Jughead had always been bad at the grandiose gestures, but you never questioned his love for you. Especially with the little things, that in your mind always added up. “Why’d you really stop by, Juggy?”
“I told you, you were on the way.” He insisted, turning away from your inquisitive gaze.
“Mmhmm.” You made a quick pillow out of your arm wrapped in blanket, laying down. “Scared me shitless, just ‘cause.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he mumbled, finishing with a few more words you missed.
“I said I didn’t mean to scare you,” he repeated.
“Well you did. I think I peed myself a little. And I cried.”
“You cried?” He asked. “Well it’s good I came to check on you, then.”
“Aha!” You lifted your head sharply. “You were worried about me.”
“No, you can take care of yourself. I know you’re capable of that.” You nodded mockingly. “Okay. You’re home alone! Someone was killed just a few months ago, yes I was worried about you. It was dark and rainy and you were home all by yourself on a Friday night. Figured checking up on you was better than not.”
“That’s real sweet, Jughead.” He swatted you away, turning back to the food that was slowly heating up in the oven. You two stayed that way, in silence for a few minutes, before the loud ring of the timer disturbed the peace. Your gaze, fixed on the marbled granite counter top, was soon consumed by the visual of a nearly disgusting portion of onion rings.
“Soup’s on,” he joked wryly, sitting beside you. You lifted your arm, engulfing him in the blanket too. “Why thank you.” And the two of you ate peacefully, the only sounds the drops of rain hitting the pavement outside.
Maybe not all stormy nights were all bad.