bughead-quotes
Bughead Quotes
All the best quotes found in Bughead fanfiction. Send your favorites, anonymously or not, here. Managed by good-night-dodger. Header by fyeahbughead.
253 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
jewelpetspam
jewelpet images!
kodeinlipasta
GoldenShot
niceyarte-blog
Untitled
whakeupdreamer
𝕰𝖝𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖗_𝖘𝖎𝖓_𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖗
Text
He’s not sure what he feels for her is love, not exactly, but it’s bigger than a regular crush, for sure. It’s more of a faith. She’s been his religion since they were kids. He believes in Betty, and in turn she never fails to provide him daily comfort. That’s just who Betty is.
— Election Day by @synonymsforchocolate (submitted by @jandjsalmon)
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
“I’m in love with you Betty. I’ve been in love with you since God knows when and I’m a dumbass for not realizing it sooner...”
“You’re not a dumbass,” she sniffles and he can’t help grinning as he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.
“I am and you know it. But I’m done with that crap. I love you and I want you if you’ll have me for real.”
She laughs out and swats him on the arm, “Of course I’ll have you, you dumbass.“
“Ok then... this me asking you if you’ll be my girlfriend, Betty Cooper, for real, so I can date the hell out of you.”
Betty simply throws her arms around him and straddles him while kissing him with so much enthusiasm it makes his head spin.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he pants.
When she finally pulls away, she giggles and murmurs, “Of course it’s a yes. I’m in love with you too, Juggie.”
“Thank God!” Jughead sighs dramatically, although the degree of relieved pleasure at her words is beyond anything he’s ever felt.
— Fuck it, I love you ( I really do) by @honestlyhappymoon (submitted by @bettyminicoop)
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Realistically, he would be a most unsuitable beau. At Thanksgiving his collar was clean but well worn and rather frayed. When he walks there is a slight rustling which convinces me that he uses newspaper to cover the holes in his boots. His office is in a most unfashionable part of the city and I am almost sure that he sleeps there. A corner of some kind of horse blanket protruded from a cabinet when I first called in order to commission his services. And yet … his eyes are compassionate and intelligent, a rare combination. His hair is as dark and shiny as a jet brooch. His voice is low and masculine, his fingers tapered and artistic. He is, in all things, exactly as a man should be, gentle but with steel behind the softness, clever but humble, determined but sensitive and, of course, he is wonderfully handsome. Perhaps, above all else, I am attracted by the way in which he asked for my observations before offering his own and when I began to explain my concerns he listened with great attention, even making notes. To be heard by a man is, surprisingly, quite thrilling. I kept looking into his eyes and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I was able to wrest away my gaze.
— The Case of the Bandaged Man by @thepointoftheneedle (submitted by @bughead-bones)
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
They sit at a small, tall table, their chairs high enough that their feet don’t touch the ground. They give their orders to a bored-looking waitress: Jughead asks for a pint of a beer that’s on tap, and Betty gets a gin martini. He’d been looking forward to movie snacks, and he considers suggesting that they order nachos, but something about the tension in the planes of Betty’s face makes the idea die on his tongue.
He reaches across the table and takes both of Betty’s hands in his own, giving them what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. She’s wearing her ring, as usual. He’s come to love the feeling of the cool metal against his own hands.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asks.
“I have to tell you something.”
Jughead nods and prompts, “I’m listening.”
She licks her lips nervously. “I got a job offer.” She exhales through her nose, her breath coming out in quick, uneven bursts. “A real newspaper job, not just a gig writing about feral cats or circus school or other things that no one really reads. My own beat.”
He feels his eyes widen slightly, and he smiles at her, feeling warm with pride. “Betty, that’s amazing. Congrats.”
“Thanks,” she whispers.
His smile fades and he lifts one of his hands, tucking a knuckle under her chin and raising it slightly so that she’ll meet his eyes. “We should be celebrating, baby, shouldn’t we?”
She releases another one of those shaky breaths. “It’s at the Globe.”
For a few seconds, Jughead doesn’t understand, and then, abruptly, he does. “In Boston.”
Betty nods. The waitress returns and deposits their drinks in front of them.
“I applied a couple months ago,” Betty explains. “I’ve just - I’ve felt so terrible about my job lately, I feel like I’m getting nowhere. I’ve been applying to everything I can find. I didn’t think I’d get an interview, and then, when I did get the interview… I didn’t tell you because I thought there was no way they’d actually offer it to me.”
“But they did.”
She nods again, looking down into her martini. “They did.”
Jughead grips his glass for something to do with his hands. “You have to take it,” he manages to say after a moment of silence.
Betty lifts her head, eyes flying to his face. “Jug - ”
“No - Betty, you have to,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “You know that.”
“But - ” Her face is the picture of uncertainty, her eyes shining.
“You have to,” he says steadily, his voice still quiet.
“But Juggie,” she says, and now the shininess in her eyes is accompanied by a tightness in her throat that he can hear in her voice, “we’ve just really started to…”
He shrugs and tries to make it look casual, ignoring how his own throat constricts slightly. “Betts, you’re not the girl who gives up her career for a guy. No matter how good he is in bed,” he adds, attempting to tease. “Right?”
Her face crumples slightly, so Jughead powers on. “Boston’s not even that far. It’s what, four hours?”
In a small, miserable voice, she says, “It can be closer to five with traffic.”
“Great,” he says cavalierly, “it’ll give me time to catch up on podcasts.”
“Juggie,” she whispers. She looks so sad, so young, beneath her carefully-applied makeup, her eyes wide like she’s staring down the barrel of heartbreak.
Jughead is scared that he’ll cry if she does. He clears his throat. “This is good, Betty. I - I’m so proud of you.” When her lips press together, turning white at their seam, he lifts his glass and proposes a toast. “To you. Getting out there and kicking ass.”
Looking somewhat reluctant, she lifts her own glass and touches it lightly to his. “Thanks,” she murmurs.
— shaking landings by @anniemurphys (submitted by @bughead-bones)
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
“He did have me for a while, Jug,” Betty spoke. “But not really. Arch was a character in a fairytale for me. Top athlete boy next door falls for the blonde, peppy cheerleader, has 2.5 kids, and lives happily ever after. But he never knew me. Not the way you do. That’s why I fell for you. In a way I guess he never had me if you think about it. Archie never knew how depressed I’d get sometimes, or how when my anxiety got to be too much that I’d dig my nails into my hands. He never saw the carnage leftover after a brawl with Alice Cooper. Somewhere along the line, I realized I was more of a fractured fairytale kind of girl, Jug.”
He kissed her then, light and soft, a public appropriate kiss if there ever was.
“Does that make me your Rumplestiltskin?”
Betty grimaced at his comparison. “Wouldn’t that make you a conniving, greedy monster wanting to capture my firstborn?”
“No,” he shrugged. “I always read it differently. He was her last hope. He may have been a bit damaged and reclusive, and okay, maybe his demands were a bit… extreme, but he gave her what she needed when she had nothing left.”
“And there is where you are wrong, my wonderful, self-deprecating, handsome Jughead Jones,” Betty sighed. “You aren’t my last hope and I’m not in a spot where I have nothing left. I have never been more hopeful and I have everything , finally.”
A shell brushed at their joined toes again and he reached forward triumphantly to grab it from the greedy waves, already retreating with it in their grasp.
“Ah, broken,” he frowned.
“Wait!” Grabbing the shell, Betty washed the sand off in the next gush of seawater. In her hand she held one-half of a former bivalve dwelling; a pink-tinted scallop shell. The fins where the two halves joined had broken off and the top of the shell had a little crack, a small crevice swooping its way downward.
“Look, Jug,” she smiled. “It’s a heart. Even the ocean can see how much I love you.”
Betty turned and placed the shell on the smooth sand behind them, away from the rest of their pile. With her pointer finger, she danced through the damp ground, drawing a ‘B’ on one side of the shell and a ‘J’ on the other.
“Fractured, but still beautiful,” she declared, leaning over to kiss him again, in what Jughead could only describe at the least fractured fairytale and most actual fairytale moment of his life.
— Waking Druantia by @likemereckless (submitted by @bughead-bones)
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Where are we going?” Betty asks for approximately the fifth time. They’re certainly not at Polly’s house, where they were supposed to have arrived ten minutes ago. They’ve been driving through the Hudson Valley, past identical-looking scenery that Betty can’t distinguish, for what feels like hours.
“We’re almost there,” Jughead says, a sly grin on his face that Betty wants to kiss off. What is he up to?
Suddenly, Betty notices a familiar stand on the side of the road. One she and Jug had stopped at on their trip out here a couple months ago, when they’d...but wait. He couldn’t be taking her there, could he?
They pull up outside the familiar house only a few minutes later. It’s two stories with a wraparound front porch, peeling purple paint that Betty dreams of covering with a bright and soothing turquoise.
For a couple years now, Betty and Jughead had been slowly taking the steps to open their own bookstore. It was a dream they’d concocted sometime in between Jughead finishing his MFA and Betty growing sick of freelancing. They wanted a home base, a place to call their own. A bookstore is what kept calling out to them. So much so in fact that they’d put off getting engaged, saving their money and making plans. They have dreams of writer’s groups, a space for readings and book signings, classes full of inspired writers sharing words and emotions.
It’s why this little house had felt like the perfect spot—enough space for a cozy shop with space for recreational activities. An upstairs where they could live, carve out a home, maybe even start a family. They’d put a bid in on the spot a couple months ago and had been stuck in an endless waiting game ever since.
But now, as they ride up to the house and Jughead puts the car into park in the driveway, Betty doesn’t know what to think.
“Jug…?” she asks, tears already filling her eyes at the quiet and deliberate way Jughead rests a hand in her lap, the glint in his eye when he smiles at her. And then, the way he says: “just follow me.” She knows something big is about to happen.
When they leave the car he brandishes keys and Betty almost forgets to breathe. Inside, he’s trailed flower petals up to the bedroom, where they’d stood together and imagined a new life beginning.
Betty looks out the window again, at the beautiful view she’d fallen in love with a few weeks earlier. When she turns around, Jughead is down on his knee and her vision quickly becomes blurry.
“We wanted to build a home together, right?” Jughead says, and she can hear that he’s choked up too.
Betty nods rapidly, looking from the shining ring in Jughead’s outstretched hand to his loving gaze. “Ever since that first Christmas seven years ago, when you welcomed me into your home even though we’d only been dating a couple months, it’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Jughead continues. “So today seemed like the perfect day to tell you that we own this place. It’s ours. Our home, our store to build from the ground up.”
Betty’s hands fly to her mouth as she lets out an excited sob. “Oh my God!”
“And it seemed like an even more perfect day to ask you this: Betty Cooper, the love of my life, will you marry me?”
They’re both crying as Betty cries out her “yes,” crouches down to meet him on the floor and kisses him senseless, knocking him to the ground before he can even slide the ring on her finger.
“You know one thing this means, right?” Betty says when she finally comes up for air, laughing through watery eyes.
“What?”
“We’ll be forced to hear Wham! at our wedding,” Betty says, giggling.
Jughead sighs. “You’re absolutely right. No way the Lodge-Andrews’ will pass that chance up.”
“Worth it?”
“A million times worth it.” Jughead kisses the top of her head before leaning in to whisper exactly what he wants to do to her and where. The feeling of his breath tickling her neck, the thrill of a secret whispered in her ear. It’ll never get old.
— a merry little retail christmas by @stonerbughead (submitted by @bughead-bones)
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Knowing that Jughead, too, did his due diligence, makes something uncoil inside of her. She steps up to him and, with the simplicity of a gesture that’s rooted only in want, presses a kiss to his mouth.
He kisses her back, hands hovering by her hips but not quite landing. Betty’s own hands stay by her sides, but her fingers are loose, unclenched.
When they pull apart, she meets his eyes. She feels like she’s riding a rollercoaster: valleys of shyness, hills of bravery. “Hi,” she whispers.
“Hey there,” he says.
— (my youth ain't) tangled up in bad decisions by @anniemurphys (submitted by @bugheadcuddles)
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Betty is happy to just be left with Jughead, his arm dutifully wrapped around her as she leans into his chest. He leans into her so he can whisper in her ear, “That doesn’t freak you out, does it?”
“What?” Betty asks, though she thinks she knows what he means. She just wants to hear him say it.
“That I’m thinking about marrying you,” he replies. “One day.”
“No,” Betty says. “I’ve been thinking about marrying you for a long time.”
“Ten! Nine!”
Betty and Jughead start counting along with the rest of the guests, and for once, Betty isn’t dreading the new year. All she sees are days and days ahead of her when she gets to kiss Jughead and know how it feels to be nestled in his arms.
“Eight! Seven!”
They’ll make up for all the lost time they spent being just friends, hours and hours of rolling around in the bedsheets and going on dates and making plans.
“Six! Five!”
They’ll get lost in the bookstore and take long walks around Prospect Park. They’ll say “I love you” over and over again, just because they can.
“Four! Three!”
They’ll move too fast and also not fast enough at the same time. They’ll read each other’s writing with a green pen in hand, because Betty always finds red too harsh.
“Two! One! Happy New Year!”
Jughead reaches down to capture Betty’s lips in a passionate kiss. Though she doesn’t usually do this, Betty uses her one free hand to take a selfie. She wants to remember this one forever.
— you can count on me by @stonerbughead (submitted by @bughead-bones)
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sometimes Betty felt all wrong, like she was acting a part, pretending to be the circular block that fitted the space that had been chiselled out for her before she even existed. It meant that she had to pull in her rough edges, the parts of her that didn’t belong in that gap. She’d been doing it for so long that she would have imagined that those awkward edges would have been snapped off and shredded away away by being slotted back into her place so many times, but it didn’t ever happen. She worried sometimes that her roughness would break the whole structure apart, shatter her world leaving her nowhere else to go, so she drew herself in tight, tried to fit, pretended to be comfortable, when all the time she was screaming inside. Now, in the arms of this boy, she had found the space that fitted exactly who she really was. She sighed in relief.
— Game Over by @thepointoftheneedle (submitted by @bughead-bones)
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
She didn’t think it was possible to be even more in love with him, but with each stroke, she fell deeper, more madly in love with Jughead Jones. Clinging to him, she couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have him now, to have him forever if she had anything to do with it.
“Don’t let me go, Juggie,” she whispered. “Don’t let me wander out of your sight ever again, okay?”
“I promise Betty.” He combed his fingers through her hair and kissed the crown of her head. “Wherever you go, I wanna know because I’m going to be right beside you. From now on, it’s you and me, baby.”
— wherever you go by @whaticameherefor (submitted by @bettyminicoop)
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
The thing that surprises Betty the most about dating Jughead Jones isn’t that his famously voracious appetite extends to things other than food, too. It isn’t that his kisses make her toes curl, or that his hands on her skin make her knees weak. It isn’t that when he presses his lips against the scars on her palms, she understands the words he’s not speaking as clearly as if he’d whispered them in her ear.
It’s that once they’re together, she can’t remember how she ever imagined there might be another boy who’d make her feel this way, this good, this often – this loved.
— boy problems by @imreallyloveleee (submitted by @bughead-bones)
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
“I just want you, Betty,” he whispers. “Will you let me have you?”
She nods. “You do have me.” As much as any one person can have or hold another, she thinks Jughead does. He must.
Maybe it is more typical than she realizes, to feel such overwhelming emotions. Maybe it is for other people to help carry the weight of one’s humanity. So much of being a woman in this modern time is left to the whims of others more powerful.
Maybe there is power in a different kind of surrender. Maybe it’s not a surrendering at all. Perhaps Jughead, like her, feels this overbearing sensation of life, too.
Perhaps she can be the one to have him.
“Then that’s enough,” he says.
— Betty Cooper, Girl Reporter by @sullypants (submitted by @stillhidden)
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s the weekend! Now is the perfect time to submit your favorite quote to @bughead-quotes, don’t you think?
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
We’ll be okay, he thinks. He’s incapable of not loving her. And that is that. That is all he needs. The rest will come and the world may burn, but he’s looked through the cracks of her perfection and his imperfect parts fit, just as hers in his.
— Dancing in a Snow Globe by @like-romeoandjuliet-love (submitted by @good-night-dodger)
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Do you know what you should have said?” he asks, shaking his head at pit Betty, for whom he feels terribly sorry. “You should have asked me – again, as many times as it took – to forgive you. You should have asked me to give you another chance. When I said no, you should have kept trying until I agreed. I would have, you know.”
He gulps at the air, steeling himself to absolve her. “I would have forgiven you. You deserved it.” Still lying for her sake.
Pit Betty weeps bitterly at his pity and his kindness.
“I see you, Betts,” he says as he evaporates, the flat of his forehead and the planes of his cheeks going first, and his fading lips moving without melody.
— Our Futures Selves (Staring Back at Us) by @middleagedresidentofriverdale (submitted by @literarygetaway21)
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hearts start popping up in the hallways, but he barely notices them in favor of the one beating in the chest of the girl next door. Archie finally says something, a cheap paper cutout dangling between them, asking how Betty and Jughead’s relationship is even real. Only fictional relationships are so entirely tethered, loving, burning as the two of them. It doesn’t escape Jughead that the fictional examples of all-consuming love usually end in tragedy.
The fantasy that’s been escaping Archie his whole life has found two of his best friends, and now he’s asking how to get it, if normal people are even capable of it. Archie thought he’d been in love before. Spent time with girls, curled up with them and thought they were pretty and nice and made him feel special enough to write songs, but they never burst into his life like fireworks and turned the world into something impossibly chaotic and beautiful.
Jughead never expected it, never even dared to hope this would be his life. It didn’t just happen, and it’s not hard work. Loving Betty comes easily, inevitably. It’s loving himself that’s harder. But Betty celebrates him every single day, every night. He doesn’t exist for her, but most days it feels like she inspires him to come alive, to be present and tangible and real. Maybe there’s some chemical reaction in their blood, in their quiet understanding of the great and terrible power inside of them. That with each other, they never have to hold back even when they ache to hold each other. He doesn’t have an easy answer for Archie, some cliché about hanging in there. Because on some level, Archie knows. He has to know. Inspiration is like the vague cousin of love's rhapsody. It strikes people differently, sometimes not at all. And he's been singed to the bone, the soul, by what he feels for Betty.
Betty can transfer emotion like it’s air, intensify it until the atmosphere cackles. Even though he’s never been romantically interested in anyone else, Jughead’s always been a passionate person. Combined and amplified with someone like Betty…that makes for magic. They see, feel each other with some invisible tether that’s so incredibly palpable that he wonders if they braid thicker layers into it every time they meet. He hopes so. As if on cue, Betty looks over and smiles, and he feels whatever hold they have on each other tighten in satisfaction.
The clatter of feet, the tapping of keys by @lovedinapastlife (submitted by @bughead-bones)
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
After the trials and tribulations of last night’s quest, it felt eerily quiet in the once-Cooper, now-Jones house. Betty settled into the familiarity of her bed and watched Jughead double-check the lock before turning to gaze at her in the lamplight.
“You okay?” he said softly as he shrugged his shirt off and lied down in the bed, immediately gathering Betty up in his arms as she automatically shifted her head to rest on his chest. Here, in Jughead’s arms, was truly the only place that felt like home anymore.
“I’m...parentless,” Betty finally said, skirting around answering Jughead’s question as she tried not to think again of Penelope holding the gun to her father’s head, falling to her knees as she pulled the trigger. The sight of Kevin sitting alone in the cold and dank Sisters of Quiet Mercy, abandoned by the cult that had her sister and mother firmly in its clutches...
“Hey, we don’t know that,” Jughead said, cupping her chin and looking down at her, breaking her out of a spiral in the way he’s always been able to do, with his voice, with his gentle touch. “The Farm goonies could show up back in town any day now. Or, we can go find Alice. If she doesn’t turn up soon.”
Betty nodded gratefully. He was so good to her. “That’s true,” she said softly. “I just feel so alone. I...officially have no family left.”
“Hey, look at me,” Jughead said, his voice hoarse with emotion. Betty finally let herself meet his bruising gaze. “I’m your family. You’re gonna stay here, in this bed, with me, okay?” he said insistently.
She nodded, tears pricking at her eyes at the love she saw reflected back in Jughead’s eyes. No one else had ever looked at her like that, ever made her feel completely safe. “Okay,” she said shakily.
“I’ll keep you safe, I promise,” he said, bringing his forehead down to meet hers. “Don’t you remember what I said in September? We’re partners. In all of it.”
“Always?”
“Forever,” he said, reaching down to capture her lips in an intense kiss, as if he was sealing the promise.
As she settled back on his chest, she thought about how she never wanted to leave this place, the only place where she felt seen and safe and whole.
— if it feels like a home by @stonerbughead (sumbitted by @bughead-bones)
22 notes
·
View notes