As the morning sun begins to shine, peaking through the blinds to cast a warm orange glow over the room, Jughead begins to stir. Non intelligible mumblings fall from his lips, his back stretching with the shift of his position before he sits straight up in bed. His eyes groggily scan the room, his surroundings entirely unfamiliar and far too warm before he remembers where he is.
"You ok," Betty questions sleepily as she props herself up on her elbow.
"Hm? Yea, yea fine," he nods.
"Sleep good," she wonders with a lazily smile on her lips.
"Uh, yea," he nods, finding her all too adorable as she fights the downward pull of her eyelids. Unsure what to do now, and feeling a bit odd about going back to sleep, Jughead gets out of bed.
"You know we don't have to be up for another half hour," she says as he begins to rifle through his bag for clothes.
"Yea," he nods. "I'm just gonna-"
"Come back to bed," she groans as she drops back down to her pillow.
"Betty, I should-"
"Come back to bed," she says again, not shifting an ounce from her lazy position beneath the covers.
Jughead sighs. Unable to articulate a reason as to why he should go, thanks to morning brain fog, he cautiously retakes his place in her bed.
"How's your bruise," Betty questions softly, her fingertips startling him as they carefully brush against his injured skin.
"It's fine," he assures her.
"Juggy-"
"Ok, it hurts," he sighs. "But it's fine."
Betty only nods, her eyes still closed and a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she rolls towards him on her side. Her fingers remain on his abdomen as she nuzzles her nose against his ribs.
As much as he'd like to, he doesn't question it, finding her closeness grounding in some way. Paired with the warmth of the room and the soft glow of the rising sun, he quickly finds himself drifting back to sleep.
When Betty's alarm goes off a little less than half an hour later, the two of them get up and prepare for school without a word between them. They descend the stairs in a similar fashion, Betty grabbing a couple of toaster pastries and urging Jughead out the door. It's not until they reach his bike, parked in the driveway beside her mother's already empty spot, that their silence is broken.
"You want a ride," he asks cautiously.
"Oh, uhm," she looks back at the house, contemplating how much trouble she'd be in if one of her neighbors were to tell her mother she'd gotten on the back of a motorcycle in broad daylight. "I shouldn't."
"Figures," he huffs under his breath as he throws a leg over his bike.
"Jug-"
"It's fine. Walk. What do I care?"
"Seriously," she scolds, her arms folding over her chest.
"Seriously what Betty," he replies sharply. "You don't want to be seen with me at school, fine."
"What? That's not-"
Before she can finish, she's promptly cut off by the roar of Jughead's bike. With her brow set, she smacks him in the arm and settles behind him expectantly. Her arms wrap around his waist, as he shakes his head in annoyance before they're off for school.
After parking his bike, Betty gets off the back, using his shoulders to support herself. He doesn't even look at her and she's quickly growing annoyed with his hot and cold behavior. She lingers a moment, wondering how he can be so sweet at times yet so closed off at others before she heads inside.
Jughead watches her go, a discontent grimace on his lips as he sticks a cigarette between them. She offers him kindness, puts him in his place when he's being an ass, and the way she'd touched him last night, and this morning even; she'd been so gentle with him, so, dare he say it, loving, yet she had been hesitant to take his simple offer of a ride to school. He wonders briefly if she's ashamed, only allowing herself to like him behind closed doors before stuffing it down and stomping his smoke out beneath his boot. This would never work anyways.
"You have some explaining to do," Veronica threatens with an eager grin as Betty digs her books out of her locker. "I was planning on yelling at you for leaving me with Cheryl yesterday, but... Did you have sex?"
"What? No," she scoffs, her eyes wide as she shuts her locker door. She glances around the hall and tugs Veronica closer. "He's staying with me."
Veronica's eyes go wide, "like in your house?"
"Like in my room," she corrects.
"Ay, dios mio," she says under her breath. "Is your mom like officially off her rocker?"
Betty laughs. "It took some convincing, but I guess she knows his dad or something," she shrugs. "I don't know. She was muttering something about strength in unity and said he could stay as long as he needed to."
"Weird," Veronica comments, her expression entirely perplexed as they make their way to first period.
During lunch, Jughead takes up his usual seat in the English room, taking the time to finish the chapter he'd forgotten to read last night. Not two pages in does his phone begin to vibrate. With a sigh, he closes his book and digs it out of his pocket.
Dad: Power's back on.
Dad: Gonna need your help with the debt.
Dad: I'm excusing you from school. Meet me at the Wyrm asap.
With a pained groan, Jughead gets up from his seat to put his book back into his bag.
"Jug- Are you leaving," Betty questions in confusion as she enters the room.
Jughead nods.
"Ok? And where are you going," she pries as she comes nearer.
"Don't worry about it," he grits as he slings his bag over his shoulder.
"Seriously," she huffs.
"I've got shit to do that doesn't concern you, now move."
"Not until you tell me where you're going," she says firmly, her arms folded over her chest as she blocks his path.
Jughead growls in frustration. "The Wyrm. Now get out of my way."
"The Wyrm," she questions. "Why are you going there now?"
"Because I have to," he grits. He pauses, taking a steadying breath with the pinch of his nose before facing her with less hostility. "I have to go Betty."
Betty nods in understanding. "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine," he nods.
"Will you be ok?"
Jughead sighs, "I don't know."
Betty nods slowly, her gaze dropping as her lips downturn before she's suddenly wrapped around him, his arms raising in surprise as she hugs him tight. He lowers his arms slowly, one hand patting her awkwardly on the back before she removes herself from his chest. They stand there for a fraction of a second, waves of confusion and concern swaying between their wary eyes before Jughead takes his leave with nothing more than a curt nod in her direction.
On his way to the Whyte Wyrm, the cool spring air whipping all around him, Jughead's thoughts are on Betty. She has a way of throwing him for a loop, that's for certain. A part of him wishes he could have told her what he's doing, but even if he knew himself, there's no way she would understand. It's one thing for her to accept the fact that he's a serpent, only knowing the surface level of leather jackets and motorcycles, but if she knew what lies beneath, at the deepest depths of gang life, she'd turn away in an instant. As much time as he's spent trying to scare her off, the thought of her actually being afraid of him nearly makes him sick.
"Close that door," FP instructs as Jughead steps into his office.
Jughead nods, closing the door before taking a seat in front of his desk.
"I cut a deal with a buddy of mine in Greendale," FP starts. "He's got product to move and gave me an advance with my assurance that we can move it."
"We? As in the serpents," Jughead questions.
FP shakes his head. "It's more of a personal loan. I'm not involving the guys in anything they don't need to be a part of, but I am going to need your help."
Jughead nods. "What kind of product?"
"It's just blow," he shrugs, "but there's a lot of it."
Jughead nods again, a burning, sinking feeling in the pit of his gut as his father explains the details of their plan.
Within the hour, Jughead finds himself holed up in a musty motel room with his father under the instruction of his Greendale buddy, Skitch. The job is easy enough, Skitch already having an established clientele and they come and go rapidly, paying their price and leaving satisfied customers with product in hand. Everything goes smoothly into the evening and by 5:00 pm Jughead is confident that they're going to make it out of here without any hiccups.
A hard knock sounds at the door, a booming voice calling, "RSD. Open up!"
Jughead's eyes go wide, the bile in his stomach rising into his throat as he looks to his father in a panic.
"Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking," he grits through his teeth as he reaches for the door.
"Sherriff Keller," he greets upon opening it.
"FP," he nods, his arms folding over his chest. "Got a tip you're dealing again. We can do this the hard way or you can come down to the station of your own will."
Without a word, FP hold out his hands to be cuffed and Sheriff Keller gives the signal with a nod of his head, one of his associates cuffing him and two others ceasing their product.
"The boy too," Sheriff Keller says with a regretful nod of his head in Jughead's direction.
"He had nothing to do with it," FP spits with venom.
"FP," Sheriff Keller warns. "Your boy is here, just as you are. We have to bring him in."
FP sucks up his anger, giving only a nod of his head, his eyes burning with rage as he watches his son be cuffed and hauled out the door.
At the station, Jughead sits alone in a cold interrogation room, cuffed to the table with his head in his hands. His life is over. He's going to prison and he's never going to see Betty again. Of all the things he should be worried about right now, she's all he can think of. Stupidly, he wishes she were here; wishes they could just argue and bicker one last time; wishes he could feel her lips against his, her body pressed close-
"Jughead," Sheriff Keller addresses as he enters the room, snapping him out of his hormone fueled thoughts. "Your dad's taking the fall on this."
"What!"
Sheriff Keller holds up his hand. "After much discussion, the both of us think it's best that you weren't there today."
"But-"
"More pressing matters are at hand," he interrupts. "You, young man, are supposed to be on the east end of Riverdale with the Bloom family, are you not?"
Jughead falls silent, his head dropping as he nods guiltily.
"How long have you been staying with your dad?"
"I never stayed with the Blooms," he admits quietly.
Sheriff Keller nods, leaning back in his chair to scratch at his chin. "Well, they'll likely lose their rights to foster in the future, assuming they're aware of your whereabouts?"
Jughead nods.
"Anyone you can call to come get you?"
Jughead shrugs, shaking his head as he comes up short on friends.
"No one," Sheriff Keller questions again.
"Maybe one person, but I don't have her number," he shrugs.
Sheriff Keller leans his elbows on the table, waiting for him to go on.
"Uhm, Betty Cooper," he says hesitantly.
Sheriff Keller nods thoughtfully, his intrigue clear across his brow though it never passes his lips. "I'll give her mother a call."
And just like that, he's alone again, still cuffed to the table in the cold interrogation room as he awaits Sheriff Keller's return with news of Betty wanting nothing to do with him.
Late into the night, the hallway telephone in the Cooper household rings with no answer. It's not until Sheriff Keller's second try that Alice shuffles sleepily down the stairs.
"Hello," she croaks, tugging her robe tight around her chest.
"Alice. It's Sheriff Keller."
"Tom," she says in surprise, glancing over her shoulder at the clock on the far wall. "It's nearly midnight."
"I know," he says apologetically, "and I wouldn't be calling if it weren't important."
"Is everything alright?"
"It's FP," he sighs. "He's going to be facing five to ten years this time and his son-"
"Jughead," she mutters sympathetically.
"He was with him," Sheriff Keller informs her. "We're burying it. The kid's gonna be alright, but he's got nowhere to go."
Alice nods rapidly to herself. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
Just as she'd promised, Alice arrives at the sheriff's station ten minutes later.
"I'd like to speak with FP," she tells Sheriff Keller the moment he steps into the hall.
It's against protocol, but if there's anything he knows about Alice, it's that she doesn't give up until she's won. Saving himself the argument, he leads her back to the holding cell where FP sits with his head in his hands.
"FP," she calls softly.
His head snaps up, his back straightening as he rises to his feet. "Ali Cat?"
Alice stops just short of the bars where FP has them gripped in his hands, leaning towards her as far as they'll allow.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to take Jughead," she tells him gently.
FP nods, his eyes teary but he's quick to wipe it away.
"I want you to sign over your rights."
"What," he exclaims in outrage. "He's my son!"
"And if you want to protect him you'll let me take him," she says firmly. "Right now, he's sitting in a room, alone, more than likely scared, wondering where he's going to go and from what my daughter has told me, foster care hasn't exactly worked out for him."
"Your daughter," he questions. "What's Betty got to do with this?"
"Their… friends," she says with uncertainty. "I don't know exactly, but Tom called me. Not Gladys, not CPS, me, and I can only assume Betty has something to do with that."
FP nods, sighing as he paces his cell. "He's my son Ali. I can't just give him up."
"He's not a kid anymore FP," she sighs. "He'll be eighteen soon and we both know he's been on his own a long time."
FP grimaces, his guilt for allowing his struggles with alcohol to impair his abilities to provide for his son bringing tears to his eyes.
"Sign over your rights to me FP," she tries again. "Let me get him through the rest of the school year in a stable place. He doesn't need to spend his last three months of high school in the system."
"Fine," FP sighs, "for Jug."
Down the hall, Jughead sits upright in his seat with the opening of the interrogation room's door. He watches cautiously as Sheriff Keller crosses the room, his keys jingling at his side as he finds the right one.
"Alice is waiting outside," he says as he frees his hand from its cuff.
Jughead rubs his wrist, his brow furrowing and his lip trembling slightly as he gets up from his seat. Sheriff Keller takes a step back, his thumbs in his belt with his nod of assurance. He takes a slow back step towards the door, pausing in the door frame to nod in appreciation before heading out to the main lobby where Alice awaits him.
The car ride to the Cooper's is a silent one. Alice doesn't seem particularly upset, but Jughead already feels like a burden. She pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, remaining seated, staring straight ahead to the garage until the headlights go out.
"Mrs. Cooper-"
"Alice," she corrects quietly. "Your father and I, we loved each other once. Maybe it's because I never really stopped loving him that I'm doing this, but I want you to have a home here. I don't know what your relationship is with my daughter, whether your friends or dating, or whatever it is, but she's fond of you and I can't in good conscience allow you to struggle knowing that she cares for you."
"Alice," he sighs. "I can take care of myself."
"But you don't have to," she says, grasping his hand in hers to give it a firm squeeze.
Jughead only nods and follows her lead out of the car and into the house.
Inside, Alice instructs him to go upstairs with the nod of her head. He does so cautiously, looking back at her when he reaches the top and only continues on to Betty's room with a second nod of her head.
"Betty," he calls softly as he nears the bed.
"Juggy," she questions sleepily, rubbing at her tired eyes as she scoots up against the headboard. "You ok? She pats the bed beside her as she takes in his wary posture.
Jughead shrugs, kicking off his boots as he sits on the bed beside her.
"At least you didn't get beat up," she teases gently.
Jughead smirks only slightly before letting a heavy sigh and dropping back against the pillows. "My dad's going to jail."
Betty stays quiet, offering a look of sympathy before joining him on the pillows.
"Your mom picked me up from the sheriff's station."
At this, Betty's eyes momentarily go wide in surprise, giving way to a gentle smile on her lips.
"Why don't you get changed and come to bed," she suggests.
Jughead only nods, and gets up from the bed. He lingers there, glancing at his backpack beside her desk then cautiously back at her before tugging his shirt over his head. He looks to her once more, finding her to be watching him intently as he opens the closure on his jeans. His face heats up under her gaze, his heart beginning to race as they drop to his ankles. He steps out of them slowly, now only covered by the thin cotton of his boxers. With his eyes fixed on hers, he crawls into bed beside her. Without hesitation, she curls into him, her head on his chest as he brings his arm around her waist to pull her close.
The first week that Jughead spends at the Cooper household feels a bit awkward. It's a strange thing to wake up to breakfast every morning, whether Alice has prepared a meal of some sort or he grabs something from the cupboards that actually have food in them. On most nights, they have dinner at the table and he's found he enjoys telling Alice about his day. No one's ever really asked before. After dinner, he gladly helps Betty with the dishes, the two of them growing closer as they bicker over how to properly load a dishwasher. When it's finally time for bed, Jughead crawls beneath Betty's plush floral comforter and pulls her close. More often than not, they fall asleep just like that, wrapped up in each other's arms and for Jughead, it's everything.
At the end of what could be referred to as a honeymoon stage, things get a bit choppy again. Though things have been pretty easy at home, Jughead and Betty resume they're strained relationship during school hours, uncertain where they stand in public. Jughead continues to take lunch in the English room, not at all comfortable with the idea of mingling with Betty's friends in the lunch room. Not that she'd asked him to join them anyways. At the very least, he has a lunch to eat. More strain comes to their relationship; friendship? Regardless of their unknown status, Betty is none too happy when Serpent duties arise. It's a sore subject, and he can't really blame her, but it always ends with her chewing him out, him yelling at her for yelling at him, and one of them ending it with silence.
Such a matter arises late one Friday night, while Alice is out of town at a journalism conference. Both Betty and Jughead are woken by a frantic knock at the door. Jughead rises first, Betty following close behind as they make their way down the stairs. The knock sounds again before they reach it and Betty is clearly panicked with its urgency at such a late hour.
"Pea," Jughead questions sleepily, stepping out of the way as Sweet Pea lets himself inside.
"It's bad Jug," he worries, his hands in his hair as he paces the floor.
"What is," he questions firmly as he tucks Betty protectively behind him. "What the hell is going on."
"The Ghoulies," he huffs. "They're still pissed. They Jumped Joaquin in our own parking lot and declared a fucking turf war. They want the Wyrm."
"Fuck," Jughead curses under his breath.
"What are you gonna do," he questions, his eyes hopeful as he awaits a reply.
"Me," Jughead questions.
"It's your call," he nods. "With FP out, King falls to you."
"Fuck," he curses again.
"Jug," Betty worries from where she's been silently gripping his arm from behind his back.
"Shit. Betty." He sighs heavily. "Go back upstairs and stay there."
"What? No," she says in outrage.
"Please just go," he pleads.
"I'm not going upstairs," she argues, her arms folding over her chest. "I want to help."
Jughead laughs bitterly. "You can't. You're not a serpent and this doesn't involve you."
"Yes it does," she bites, her tone growing louder as she grows more frustrated.
"No, it doesn't," he tries again, pushing her in the direction of the stairs.
"Yes, it does!" She fights back with a hard shove to his chest and again a bitter laugh slips through the angered smirk on his lips.
"Tell me how this involves you," he nearly yells.
"Because I fucking care about you," she yells back. "Don't you get it yet?" With the threat of tears on her lashes she storms off up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door shut and leaving Jughead speechless below.
Without the time to mend things, Jughead leaves them as they are, following Sweet Pea to the Wyrm with a heavy block of lead in is gut.
It's nearly two in the morning by the time their meeting is through and Jughead is entirely exhausted. They'd created a plan to help Joaquin's grandmother pay for his medical expenses, some of the older serpents volunteering to strip a few cars and make a decent sum running parts to their fellow serpents up state. The more pressing matter of the turf war concluded with a declaration of a good old fashioned street race. It's a sure bet, the Ghoulies having a reputation of never backing down from a street race.
As Jughead sits down to the bar, beer in hand, he can't help but to think back to his argument with Betty. Would it really have been so bad for her to be here tonight? Maybe not, but she doesn't approve of this aspect of his life... or maybe it's just that she doesn't approve of being excluded from it.
"You really think you can take them," Sweet Pea questions as he settles into the seat beside Jughead. "Far as I know, Malachai's never lost a race."
Jughead shrugs "Worst case we have to find a new bar."
Sweet Pea only nods, easily picking up the uncertainty of Jughead's tone.
"Hey, uh, I think I know what I want to do," Pea says with suppressed excitement. "Like for a job or whatever."
"What's that," Jughead questions through a yawn.
With a huge grin on his face, Sweet Pea hikes up his pant leg to reveal a freshly inked skull on the inner portion of his calf. It's cleanly lined, shaded just enough to give it a bit of realism and Sweet Pea is clearly very proud.
"You did that," Jughead questions as he takes a closer look.
Sweet Pea nods. "I've been messing around with a machine for a bit, but... I think I want to maybe apprentice somewhere."
"Good for you man," Jughead offers with a pat on the back.
If anyone deserves to catch a break, it's Sweet Pea, and he's honestly proud of his friend for wanting to do something more than spend his life running down the wrong path with the Serpents.
As the two boys sip their beers in a celebratory fashion, an idea pops into Jughead's head.
"Hey, you want to get a little more practice in?"
Sweet Pea nods, an eager smile brightening his usually hardened features as he urges Jughead to follow him out.
The next morning, Betty wakes alone in her bed, her eyes swollen and dry from tears the night before. She looks to the empty space beside her, her gut twisting with guilt for Jughead's absence. He'd been stressed enough with Sweet Pea's news and she'd only managed to add to his troubles. All she wanted to do was help his stubborn ass, even just be there for him, but she should have known better.
Downstairs, Betty shuffles sleepily in her sock feet towards the kitchen. She pauses in the living room, a frown turning down her lips with the sight of Jughead curled up on the couch in his jeans and leather jacket, his arms crossed over his chest and his features pained even with sleep. She contemplates waking him, telling him to go up to bed, but she leaves him be, resuming her path to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, she watches the coffee brew, her arms folded atop the counter and her chin balanced between them as it drips, one smooth black drop at a time. She listens to the faint plunk of the coffee dripping, tinking as it hits the glass bottom until it becomes more of a soft splash as it pools.
"You still mad?"
Nearly jumping out of her skin with Jughead's rough voice, she whirls around to face him, her eyes wide with her start before her face settles into something of shame.
"I'm sorry," she says softly as he comes to lean against the counter at her side.
"What are you sorry for," he questions. "I'm the one who should be sorry."
Betty shakes her head. "You had a lot to deal with and instead of helping I just made it more stressful."
"You didn't," he assures her. "I just-" he pauses to scratch his head. "Why do you hate that I'm a serpent?"
"I don't," she says in surprise. "I hate what being a serpent does to you."
"What do you mean?"
"I know who you are when you're not all leather and raised defenses," she starts, a gentle smile touching her lips. "You're sweet and gentle, and you feel things deeply, but when you put that jacket on, it's like that part of you doesn't even exist and I can see how much it pains you."
Jughead only nods, unable to meet her gaze as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet.
"I hate that you shut me out," she continues, drawing his gaze upward with a gentle hand at his jaw. "Whatever it is you're trying to protect me from, don't. I can handle it."
With her soft, lingering gaze, his eyes dart between hers, his heartbeat drumming in his ears and without thinking he dives forward, pressing his lips hard against hers. She accepts him easily, her hands at his cheeks and one of his own threading into the hair at the back of her head before they part, their foreheads rested gently together as their breathing slows. Leaving the full coffee pot forgotten on the counter, Betty leads Jughead upstairs where they go back to bed, curled up in one another's arms.
Monday comes, and with it a different kind of strain on Jughead and Betty's relationship. After the hiccup in their weekend, they'd spent the rest of it in comfort, growing closer over movies and endless bowls of popcorn. Jughead can't even begin to count the number of times he had wanted to kiss her, curled up together in bed with a mountain of snacks between them, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It's easy to take what he wants when he's full of pent up emotions, but the intimacy of domesticity brought far too much vulnerability for his liking. Even now, sitting together in an empty classroom, their lunches long since eaten, he's unable to muster the courage. He's uncertain where they stand after they'd shared their first kiss not fueled by anger and Betty is feeling much the same.
Later that evening, after dinner conversation over plates of lasagna, Betty and Jughead find themselves awkwardly dancing around one another as they get ready for bed. Betty is watchful as he removes his shirt, a curious brow raising as he purposefully keeps his back to her and quickly pulls on a clean shirt. She's seen him shirtless, plenty of times and it's not until now that she realizes he hadn't taken his shirt off in front of her once all weekend. Brushing it off, she steps out to brush her teeth down the hall. On her way back, she nearly collides with Jughead, his hands hurrying to grip her shoulders to stabilize her.
"Sorry," she breathes, her eyes catching his and their quick drop to her lips.
Jughead only nods, clearing his throat with the simultaneous rub of his hand at the back of his neck. They part carefully, casting shy glances over their shoulders until both disappear into separate rooms.
Inside her bedroom, Betty cringes at her own fumbling. What is wrong with her? She's been sharing a room with him for nearly a month now and suddenly she's acting like a bumbling oaf?
Jughead is feeling much the same as he brushes his teeth, scolding himself for acting so weird. He'd practically assaulted her in a classroom a few weeks ago and here he is blushing over thoughts of her soft pink lips. He lets a heavy sigh as he rinses his toothbrush, steadying himself with a stern glare in the mirror before going back to her room.
Betty is already in bed when he enters the room, only her bedside lamp casting a warm glow over the room. He meets her gaze with a tight lipped smile, her body positioned to face his side of the bed with her elbow tucked beneath her head. With the return of her similarly tight lipped smile, he crawls beneath the covers and lies down beside her, mirroring her position. Their eyes linger for only a moment before Betty reaches out to turn off the light. He hears, rather than sees, her turn back over, feels her knees shift upward slightly as she inches just a bit closer and it brings a lump to sit high in his throat.
"Juggy," she questions just above a whisper.
"Yea Betts," he replies shakily.
"Kiss me."
Without hesitation, his lips are on hers, his tongue eagerly seeking entry as she presses herself flush against him. Her hands are in his hair, tugging at the luscious dark locks only bared for her and he sighs against her lips, hauling her closer to grind against her. She can feel his arousal, thick and hard beneath his boxers where it's pressed up against her thigh and it brings a surge of intense heat to her core. As their mouths move together, tongues dancing between them, Betty grows near desperate to touch him. His sudden groan with the rut of his hips against her forces their lips to part, his head dropping to her shoulder as he tries desperately to steady his breathing. A second groan escapes him, broken through a gasp as she grips him over his boxers. She rubs him with the palm of her hand, carefully at first but becoming more firm as he rocks against her.
"Fuck," he breathes out, his voice barely audible against the skin of her neck. His grip around her waist tightens his groans muffled by her shoulder as she continues to rub his straining erection.
Feeling empowered by his groans of appreciation, she dares to slip her hand beneath his waistband, earning a sharp gasp, a guttural moan following as her fingers encircle his length. With every pump of her hand he lets the most sinful of sounds, hiding his face in the crook of her neck as he loses himself, coating her hand in a sticky sheen of white. He remains there for a while, nervous to look at her after what they've just done and she's more than willing to hold him, regardless of the sticky mess drying between her fingers.
When Jughead finally gets up, Betty tip toes to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He's so much more confused about their relationship now, but he doesn't allow himself to question it, forcing himself to sleep before Betty returns.
The next morning, Jughead rises in a sudden panic, his eyes falling to the mess of blonde waves on the pillow beside him. She doesn't stir, not even an ounce as he slips carefully out of bed and tip toes backwards to the door, silently swiping his backpack along the way. He pulls the door closed as he exits, wincing as it creaks slightly on its hinges. With his turn towards the stairs, he's frozen in place by the sight of Alice emerging from her bedroom.
"You're up early," she comments, tugging her robe closed as she casually crosses her arms over her chest.
"Uh, I, school," he rambles, making his way to the stairs with an odd sort of side shuffle.
Alice only raises a curious brow, watching as he nearly trips down the stairs in his haste. The slam of the front door, followed by a slew of hushed curses as it reopens and slams once more brings a frown to her lips as she questions what exactly has just occurred. She's well aware that Betty and Jughead are often at odds and can only assume they've had another fight of some sort. She glances warily down the hall to Betty's door, her eyes shifting to the one before it as a thought comes to mind.
Two hours later, Betty wakes to the sound of her alarm buzzing from her phone on her bedside table. Her arms stretch over her head with the arch of her back as she rolls over, the contented smile on her lips falling away as she realizes she's alone. Her eyes pop open, searching the empty bed for the boy who'd been beside her before she sits up in confusion.
"Jug," she calls out in question.
With no reply, she gets out of bed, assuming he'd gone down for breakfast. She readies herself for school, a part of her knowing that Jughead isn't going to be downstairs when she's finished, but she allows herself to remain hopeful. With the tightening of her ponytail, she skips down the stairs to the kitchen, disappointment hitting her hard when she finds it empty. She skips breakfast, not much in the mood to eat with the hollow twisting in her gut and heads out the door for school.
Upon her arrival to school, her head hung low, she spots Jughead's bike in the parking lot. She hadn't even heard it start. With a sigh, she heads inside, going straight to her locker to collect her books for first period.
"Ok, B, why the long face," Veronica questions with a pouted lip. "I could practically hear your inner turmoil from over there." With her nod to the left, Betty's eyes follow a short way down the hall to where Archie and Kevin are leaned back against the wall, concern etched into both their features..
"It's nothing," Betty sighs with the gentle closure of her locker.
"Betty, you forget, we're besties," Veronica reminds her with a doubtful smirk. "Does this have something to do with the brooding Serpent you're currently housing in your room?"
Betty only gives a roll of her eyes.
"Ooh, this has everything to do with him," she all but squeals. "What did he do? Did you see him naked? Ooh, was he in the shower all wet and soapy, his abs-"
"Veronica," Betty scolds, tugging her to a stop with the duck of her head as her voice lowers to a near whisper. "We did some- things. Well one thing, and he just left."
"Things," she questions, "please Betty spare me the details."
With another roll of her eyes, Betty elaborates. "I gave him a handjob. Well, sort of. I don't know it was intimate. We were kissing and he was, you know, and I was practically on fire and I sort of just went for it, and now," she sighs. "I think he's avoiding me."
"Ay, dios mio," Veronica sighs, linking her arm through Betty's as they walk in stride together towards their first class.
V: Did he want it?
Betty looks up from her phone to glare across the room at a shrugging Veronica before furiously typing away beneath her desk.
B: Are you seriously implying I assaulted him?! I can't even! He was on top and he absolutely did not protest.
V: I'm not implying anything, I'm just weighing the possibilities. So his feeling violated is definitely not plausible?
B: Absolutely not!
V: Ok... What about embarrassment? Was he a quick shot?
B: What? No! So not helping.
The loud clearing of a throat startles both girls, their eyes darting to the front where Mrs. Hewitt stands glaring from the board. With the turn of her back, her hand returning to write equations on the board, Betty and Veronica exchange silent laughter.
V: You have English with him right? He can't get away then. Just force him talk to you.
With a sigh, Betty nods in her direction and drops her head into her hands. Why do things always have to be so difficult between her and Jughead?
With the sound of the lunch bell, Jughead makes a beeline for the English room as usual, stopping dead in his tracks in the doorway. There waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest and in unimpressed scowl on her face sits Betty at his desk. He clears his throat, his fingers tugging down the rim of his beanie as he cautiously steps towards her.
"You left," she scolds. She shakes her head upon his silence, getting up from her seat to meet him halfway. "Well, don't you have anything to say?"
"I'm sorry," he shrugs, slipping around her to get to his desk.
"You're sorry," she almost laughs. "Jug, we- I-"
"I know," he groans, sinking down in his seat. "I know ok? I freaked. It was weird and I felt weird and I just-"
"Left," she finishes. "Did you not want to? Did I read that wrong?"
"What? No," he shakes his head furiously. "No, god no. I," he clears his throat, getting up from his seat. "Betty, I really wanted to. You have no idea how badly I wanted to but it was..." He trails off with a flustered shake of his head.
"Intimate," she questions shyly.
"Yea," he breathes, his cheeks flush with the memory.
A wave of uncertainty ebbs between them, their weight shifting from foot to foot as their eyes flit from place to place. Jughead tugs awkwardly at his beanie as Betty smooths an invisible wrinkle from her skirt.
"Did you like it," She questions under her breath.
Jughead nearly chokes on his spit, surprised by her bold question.
"Uh," he swallows hard as his head begins to nod, "yea."
Betty nods slowly, taking a few steps closer until she's just beneath his nose, her fingers toying with his t-shirt at his chest. She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze soft and shy with the emerald twinkle of her eyes. As if pulled by a magnetic force, his lips draw nearer to hers, his fingers tilting her chin upward to capture her mouth in a languid kiss. They draw apart, chests heaving with the raw emotion of it all. In an instant, he has her against the wall, much the same as he had once before, this time unashamedly bringing her hand to the bulge rapidly forming behind his zipper. Her lips smack against his, their tongues swapping spit as she grips him, earning a low groan with the drop of his head to her shoulder. His gaze drops between them, his eyes fixated on her fingers as they work the closure of his jeans.
"Betty wait," he breathes, his hand clasping easily over both her wrists to draw her hands away from his zipper.
"What? What's wrong," she worries, her eyes panicked as she searches his wary gaze.
"Not here," he pleads.
Betty releases her held breath with a nod of understanding, allowing him to step back with the release of her wrists. She watches, disappointed as he does up his jeans, wincing at the confinement of his current condition.
"Later," he assures her. "At home."
Betty only nods, startled by the sound of the bell before she takes her seat.
After school, Betty heads straight to the locker room, excitement bubbling in her chest. Veronica arrives shortly, a huge smile adorning her lips at the clear joy on Betty's face.
"So," she questions through a squeal.
"It's good," she beams. "More than good."
"Ah," she squeals, the two of them jumping up and down with the giddiness of young children.
"I know," Betty beams. "I guess he just felt weird about it," she shrugs. "I mean, had he been there this morning, I don't really know what I would have said to him either."
"Who cares," Veronica all but squeals as she quickly changes into her practice clothes alongside Betty. "Point is he liked it, yes?"
Betty nods, capturing her lower lip in a poor attempt to hide her grin. "We're doing it again, tonight," she admits shyly. "I mean, I don't know what we're doing, but whatever it is-"
The two girls break into a hushed squeal, giggling as the locker room begins to flood with their teammates.
Across town, Jughead sits at his father's desk inside the Wyrm, rubbing his temples as he focuses his eyes on the nicotine stained wall.
"Friday," he repeats in question.
"Friday," Sweet Pea nods.
"Why not Saturday," he groans as he slinks down in his chair.
"I don't know," Sweet Pea shrugs. "Bad for business?"
Jughead sighs. "Fine, Friday, but we do this on our terms. We race past the old bridge to dead man's curve and back. Winner gets the Wyrm."
Sweet Pea only nods, setting off to convey the message to the Ghoulies himself.
With the closing of the door, Jughead collapses atop the desk, a frustrated groan more akin to a growl escaping his lips as he bangs his forehead against the tabletop in slow motion. Of course Malachai would pick Friday to race. Of course he would have to miss school and worst of all, he would have to explain himself to Betty. With a heavy sigh, he takes his leave, locking up his father's office behind him. At least he gets to go home to the certainty of dinner and the comfort of his... Well, he doesn't really know, but Betty.
As Jughead walks through the front door of the place that has quickly become home, the smell of pizza draws him to the kitchen. His stomach growls with the discovery of a fresh, unopened box on the island. He's quick to grab a slice, foregoing a plate and opting to fold it over like a taco as he follows the sounds coming from upstairs. He reaches the top of the stairs with a quirked brow, his curiosity peaking as he notices the middle bedroom door to be open for the first time since he's been here.
"Alice," he questions from the doorway.
"Oh, goodness. You scared me," she startles with a laugh. "I didn't expect you back for another half hour or so."
"What's all this," he questions through a mouthful.
Alice glances over her shoulder at her handiwork before turning to him with a smile. "Your room."
"My room," he questions, stepping inside to take in the space. It's much larger than his bedroom at home, the queen sized bed adorned with navy striped sheets and a grey quilt still allowing plenty of space for a desk and a large oak dresser with room to spare.
"I thought, since you're staying here, and you and Betty seem at odds quite often, that maybe you'd like your own space," she offers hopefully.
Jughead nods thoughtfully, his eyes still wandering around the room.
"Mom?"
Both Jughead and Alice's attentions fall to Betty, her lip trembling as her backpack falls from her shoulder to the floor.
"How could you," she cries, darting down the hall as tears break over her lashes.
Alice winces with the slam of her bedroom door, Jughead entirely confused as she takes a steadying breath and disappears down the hall. He cautiously takes a seat at the edge of the bed, listening as Betty goes head to head with her mother behind her closed door. He catches mention of Polly, getting up from the bed in horror with Alice's retort of its having been four years.
"Shit," he mutters to himself, his hands falling behind his head as he slowly backs himself towards the door.
He makes it into the hallway in time to watch Alice storm into her own room in a huff, his eyes catching Betty's teary glare. Both doors slam almost simultaneously, Jughead left groaning to himself as he slides down the wall to the floor, tugging his beanie down over his eyes.
It's eerily quiet for a long time, not a peep coming from either room and Jughead can't seem to remove himself from the floor. He should have known the middle bedroom belonged to Polly, and yet he hadn't even made the connection. Even so, he never would have guessed Betty would react so badly. She's always seemed as though she's made her peace with the tragedy of her sister's demise, he couldn't have known.
"Betty," he calls softly with a gentle tap of his knuckles on her door.
"Go away," she yells, a thud sounding as what he assumes to be a pillow hitting the door.
With a sigh, he opens her door, ducking as she hurls a book at his head.
"Christ Betty," he scolds.
"Get out," she hollers, tears still streaming down her face as she removes her sneaker and throws it at him.
"Betty," he scolds, narrowly avoiding the sneaker as it bounces off the doorframe and drops to the floor.
"This is all your fault," she shouts removing the other shoe and hitting him square in the chest.
"My fault," he questions in defense, rubbing his chest as he stalks nearer.
"She got rid of everything," she cries, "for you."
"I didn't ask her to do that," he argues, grabbing her wrists to halt her assault on his chest.
"I thought you cared about me," she sobs pitifully. "You were just sitting there, in Polly's room. How could you?"
"I didn't know."
"How could you not," she scoffs, ripping her hands away from him.
"Betty-"
"Just go," she grits.
"Betty," he tries again.
"I said go."
Jughead nods, accepting defeat as he leaves the room. With the door closed behind him, he paces the hallway, tugging at his beanie and debating whether or not to find somewhere else to stay. With a disgruntled sigh, he enters Polly's room, figuring Betty already hates him, and shuts the door.
For three days, Betty ignores Jughead entirely. She won't talk to him, hell, she won't even look at him and it's eating him up inside. Alice has apologized to no end for upsetting their friendship, Jughead assuring her that her intentions were good. Alice had explained that for over a year now, she's wanted to go through Polly's things as the final bit of closure she needs to accept her daughter's death. With Jughead needing his own space, she'd thought it her window of opportunity. She assumed much the same as Jughead, that Betty had made her peace, and hadn't even thought to mention it to her. In the four years since her passing, Betty has never once set foot in Polly's room and Alice had assumed it to be a closed chapter in her mourning process. She had been sorely mistaken.
