Bughead Oneshots

Unchained

Betty sat on the stone steps of what was once Southside High, now little more than a hollow skeleton awaiting its bleak fate. The ground was wet beneath her feet and there was a nip in the air. 

She looked to her side, where, with heavy chains weighing him down, sat Forsythe Pendleton Jones the third. His face was waxy and pale, his fingers trembled around the cup that held just enough hot water to keep him from freezing or collapsing. Strands of his hair spilled out of his beanie, they were matted and struck a sharp contrast against his pale ghost-like condition.

But in his eyes was a strength, a fire that came from within, burning away the cold. She thought of who had been a mere year ago. He had changed, grown. She admitted there were times when she had been worried about him, terrified that his new life would draw a rift between them. She couldn't lose him after everything that had happened, she wouldn't. 

But seeing him in his serpent jacket, she knew it fit him better than his own skin. Jughead Jones, who had never fit in, who had always been the outsider, finally belonged. The chains on his back couldn't stop him, they were nothing compared to the chains he had already broken through.

He'd found a family, he'd found a purpose, he'd found himself.

He was a Serpent. A rebel. A writer. 

He was broken. A lover. A fighter. 

He was ice. He was fire. He was strong. 

And she loved him.

Every.Single.Part.