A/N: This is a tiny glimpse into the future of Betty and Jughead from the fic Coop de Grâce.
I mean tiny, though. I just needed a serotonin boost, and I wound up here.
His stomach was lodged somewhere near his Adam's apple; Betty must have felt his spike in adrenaline as the noise of the crowd continued to press down on them like a wet blanket.
"Juggie, hey," she whispered, reaching out for him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, taking her hands in his. "I know you hate these things—"
"I don't hate them."
"Maybe not now," he stressed. "But they had to grow on you. And I know things have been really chaotic and busy, with this, and with moving and the renos—"
"Jughead, seriously, I'm fine. Just take—"
"Mr. Jones, Ms. Cooper, 30 second warning!" a bustling assistant popped out from behind some equipment cases before spinning on her heel and disappearing out of sight again.
"—a breath. Take a deep breath," Betty continued, barely pausing before pushing past the interruption. "Remember what we talked about: thank you all for your support, thanks for letting us keep our privacy, we know it's been confusing, but we are so grateful for your patience."
Betty coached him through a deep breath, their joint exhales settling the majority of the roiling in his gut.
He had never had this problem before, not at any of the previous panels or conventions he'd spoken at. However, he knew without a doubt what the difference was. Things in the last two years had changed so much that even he had trouble believing the cosmos would gift him with so many wonderful things—ever, if at all. Announcing it to the world felt like daring the universe to take it all away.
"It's ours to keep, always, Jug. No one can change that. But it's also time to be honest. Do you still agree?"
Jughead took one more long breath, holding her clear green gaze and brushing a thumb along the curve of her cheek.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"—And it is with great pleasure that we invite Jughead Jones and Betty Cooper to the stage!"
Unclasping their hands, they made their way up the narrow set stairs and onto the wide expanse of platform, where they were handed microphones before stepping out into the bright glare of the lights. The roar of the crowd rose and rose—every time Jughead thought it couldn't get louder, it did.
"Well, aren't you guys welcoming!" Betty chirruped, her voice louder and carrying. Jughead raised a hand, giving a little wave, and concentrated on following after the pink heels in front of him.
"We missed you!" came a screech from somewhere close by, and Jughead watched Betty's grin split her face nearly in two.
"We missed you, too! Right, Jug?" She threw a glance over her shoulder as they approached the pair of chairs set out for them. Jughead offered his hand to her, and she took it, boosting herself up and into the seat easily.
"Absolutely, we did," he answered, making sure she was settled before he turned back to face everyone. "This has been a long time coming, huh? Sorry we missed last year!"
"And for those of you who are probably wondering why we haven't been vlogging as much since then"—the yelling increased as Betty spoke, confirming what they already knew from the hundreds and hundreds of YouTube comments and tweets—"well…"
"It's because," Jughead leaned forward a bit, pausing for effect, "we've been keeping a secret." Jughead turned his head to look at Betty, who sent him the cutest pretend shocked expression, her fingers coming up to cover her open mouth. When she lowered her chin a moment later, eyes still locked on his, she gave him the tiniest nod of encouragement to keep going. "It's a heavy one."
"I'll say," Betty laughed.
"Tell us!" and "Please tell us!" echoed out over everyone's heads as the crowd jostled back and forth.
"We should be empirical about it, Betts. The last time we weighed the secret, the scale said about sixteen pounds, give or take."
"Oh, but she's sixteen pounds and six months of pure joy, though, isn't she?" Betty's eyes shone.
"She sure is," Jughead answered, nodding, his cheeks burning from trying to keep from smiling so hard he couldn't talk. "VidCon, meet Julia."
There was a beat of hushed silence as the black and white picture appeared on the giant display behind them—his own shot, a very unrehearsed close up of Betty with sweat-plastered hair and a look of adoration so intense that it made his heart ache, holding a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms—before the venue erupted.
A/N: Brief though she is, please leave a comment for me.
Note: I can't pay for any cavity work you may need done after this, sorry.
