Bughead Oneshots

||I know you more than you think||

• About how sometimes people surprisingly connect about their struggles
• referenced self-harm
• freshly established Bughead (so somewhere in early season 1)

Jughead had never understood the appeal of picnics. Food belonged on tables. Ants belonged... elsewhere. Sitting on the ground felt like an open invitation to discomfort, embarrassment, or both.

And yet.

He adjusted the blanket for the third time, smoothing out a wrinkle that didn't actually matter, because Betty was watching him with that small, fond smile she'd been wearing ever since he'd picked her up.

"You know, it's okay if this isn't your natural habitat," Betty teased, taking off her slippers before sitting down on the blanket.

"I feel like I'm being judged by nature."

"By squirrels?" Betty asked with a chuckle.

"Especially by squirrels."

Betty laughed, a soft, unguarded sound that still caught him off-guard every time. Not because he hadn't heard her laugh before — but because now it felt like it was for him.

Or at least with him.

They sat with their legs brushing. The kind of contact that was accidental on the surface and deliberate underneath.

Betty opened the basket then.

"I tried to keep it simple. Sandwiches, some fruit, and snacks."

Jughead peeked inside.

"And a thermos. Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee. I know how you love that stuff."

"Oh yes. My eternal love," Jughead teased, causing Betty to roll her eyes before pouring him a cup.

"There you go. Black, like your humor."

"Thanks, Betts," Jughead said before taking a sip of the hot beverage. "Could be stronger, but I love it."

"Stronger? I already poured, like, half a cup of milk into mine."

They ate in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant sound of traffic. Jughead found himself hyperaware of everything: the way Betty tucked her hair behind her ear, the way her knee bumped his when she reached for the strawberries, the way the sunlight caught the gold in her eyes.

It was beautiful.

"Jug?" She asked once they were done and just lying on the blanket, staring up at the sky.

He hummed, turning to face her.

"I've been wanting to tell you something."

"Something good or something bad?" He whispered back, reaching over to intertwine their fingers.

"I don't know. That depends."

"Okay... what's going on, Betts?"

"I..." She took a shaky breath before sitting up. Jughead followed suit, brows furrowing in concern. "There's... something you need to know about me, now that we're getting closer to each other."

"You can tell me whatever you want, Betts. You're worrying me right now."

"Okay, I... I-" She paused, pulling her hands away to close them into fists. "I haven't been feeling so good, especially recently, and... sometimes things are too much for me."

"I... I had no idea you were feeling that way."

"I didn't want you to," Betty said quickly, eyes fixed on where their knees touched. "I'm really good at... keeping it together. Or at least making it look like I am."