#Betty needs a last name damnit

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Ten — Settling

Was it Mom? Was it what happened in the alley? My eyes trailed off, looking away — I couldn’t stand seeing Dad like that — and instead landed on the height chart of him and his brother. Reggie. Dad never told us much about him beyond his name, a few stories about how he always bailed Dad out of trouble — but I didn’t know how he died. Did this run deeper than just Mom? Was Dad haunted by his brother? Could be his parents too — if they died from the Ray Field Plague, then that means they weren’t Conduits. He didn’t…he couldn’t be blaming himself for that either, right?

3.2 words | 10 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: familial loss

We all eventually collapsed on our various spaces in the living room, Dad taking the couch and sleeping at our heads after we had a huddled movie night around Dad’s phone. Morning came with the sudden noisy hum of the fridge and the HVAC’s heating pushing through, that weird stench of it not being used recently filling the house. “Oh, electricity’s on, good,” Dad mumbled huskily, relaxing. “We can do the basement today.”

Well, we were gonna, until Dad forced study time on us.

I don’t know how he could expect us to be able to study for exams with everything that had happened. And to think this was literally all I wanted to do — study, stress about exams, only have the mundane to worry about. It felt superficial now to frantically try to find study material for AP Lit since my textbook was a state away.

Dad made us split his phone, Brent stealing it to open up tabs on Chemistry while I sort of fumbled around. At least I had a study packet — otherwise this would have been useless. Dad took to disappearing through a door in the hall while we slummed away at our studying, trying hard to actually pretend to care.“This is stupid,” I heard Brent mutter.

“You’re one to talk,” I whispered back, “Architecture just got way easier for you. You can just make your little buildings whenever you want. How the fuck am I supposed to use water in art?”

“Watercolors.” He tried to deadpan, failing as an amused smirk slid on his face. “It’s in the name.”

I raised a hand and flicked my fingers towards him, water condensing on their tips and flinging onto his face. He sputtered, flinching with the splash and then warning me how I was so lucky he couldn’t do the same.

Betty eventually saved us from the torture, the trunk of her little Beetle full of refrigerated essentials; milk, eggs. A tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream she insisted counted. Dad emerged, a box in hand, greeting Betty with a joking, “Finally — thought you were trying to get out of helping us unpack,”

“I would never!” Betty balked. “I’m not one to pass up being nosy, Delsin, you know that.”

“And yet you’d always yell at me for it,” Dad rolled his eyes.

“Well it was my job to make sure you grew up better than me, after all,”

Dad made Brent help with moving the mattresses into the master bedroom, a task made far easier and yet absolutely hectic as he went to pull the mattress up and instead launched it towards the ceiling, knocking the spinning fan and making it wobble around.

The sound made poor Betty jump in place, her ankles popping with the sudden movement as Dad launched forward to catch the mattress before it tumbled into the fireplace. “Jesus Christ, Brent,” Dad breathed out on a laugh, struggling to balance the mattress in the air before pushing it to the side, away from the fire.

Brent was 3 shades redder than normal, muttering apologies that Dad waved off. But he wasn’t willing to drop the subject yet. “I mean, I got stronger when I got my powers, but not like this,”

“Do you think it’s his powers, perhaps?” Betty chimed in, hand still clasped to her chest.

“I mean, if his skin can turn metal, why not muscles?” I added.

Dad nodded slowly, messing with the 5 o’clock shadow that was overgrowing on him quick like a yard after a storm before suddenly slapping his hand on Brent’s bicep. “Flex.” He demanded.

“Dad—“ Brent stressed, somehow getting redder.

“C’mon son,” Dad insisted. “I’m not asking you to strip or anything,”

Way he was acting though, Dad may as well have.

Brent was the sporty one, football in the fall and baseball in the spring with weightlifting in between, and has always been on the stronger side. The bigger side. But now, with the room being warm enough to not need a carhart and with his sleeves rolled up, I realized he did look different. Not bigger, but like…defined, I guess. The muscles in his arm were showing more now instead of coexisting with his skin, straining the hem on the arm of his Akomish Rez shirt.

Brent relented, tensing his arm under Dad’s grip. His hand moved violently, his skin refusing to dimple under Dad’s grip when he gave a gentle squeeze. “Holy shit, Brent, I think Jean is right,”

Brent became our sideshow, being poked and prodded as we realized his muscles were, literally, solid steel. I copied Dad when Brent was doing his full mimicry, flicking his bicep and flinching away at the pain of hitting steel. “That’s not fair! Why didn’t I get that?” I complained. Why does he get to be the cool superhero with the pecks and the bull-like strength?

These Conduit powers better have at least erased my lactose intolerance.

Betty took my place, asking Brent and Dad a million questions like your power is steel? and are you doing that voluntarily? I moved back a few steps, leaned back against the same wall I was on when they pulled into the driveway, watching Dad and Betty fuss over him, encouraging him to go full steel to see if it would affect anything.

Dad and Brent were in the middle of seeing if he could concentrate making only a single part of his body a normal epidermis when he yelped, jumping suddenly as the little circular red magnet I threw stuck itself to his forehead with a loud CLACK.

“Huh,” I said, smirking a bit as Brent glared at me. “So you’re probably not stainless steel,”

“You couldn’t think of any other way to test that?”

“Shut up before I stick a report card on you.”

“She has a point,” Dad said, peeling the magnet off of Brent’s forehead. “Aren’t there a bunch of different kinds of steel? We should test and see if you have any limitations. In fact,” he looked over at me. “I want to do that for both of you, later today. See how far you can take your powers. After that, we’ll have to…well, we’ll have to train you to fight—“

“Oh, Delsin, you don’t think that’s necessary—“ Betty began.

“They need to. Whoever sent those Akurans to attack us in Portland isn’t going to give up.” Dad looked at Betty, something pleading in his eyes. “They’ve got to learn to protect themselves in case I…if I can’t…”

I never understood what people meant when they said silence could be deafening. Yeah, sure, there've been instances that the silence seemed to speak louder than words; that bad comedy bit during the talent show that one time, the assembly when we were told our 3rd grade teacher had passed. But deafening? I hadn’t really gotten that until now. Dad’s voice died off, his face almost distressed as he shot back to whatever memory was holding him captive.

Was it Mom? Was it what happened in the alley? My eyes trailed off, looking away — I couldn’t stand seeing Dad like that — and instead landed on the height chart of him and his brother. Reggie. Dad never told us much about him beyond his name, a few stories about how he always bailed Dad out of trouble — but I didn’t know how he died. Did this run deeper than just Mom? Was Dad haunted by his brother? Could be his parents too — if they died from the Ray Field Plague, then that means they weren’t Conduits. He didn’t…he couldn’t be blaming himself for that either, right?

Brent turned full human again, the action pulling Betty’s attention from Dad’s gaze and prompting her to say, “Well, let’s at least get the house more livable before you do any of that. You two move the beds to the room, Regina and I will start bringing up boxes from the basement.”

That was enough to change the atmosphere of the room, Dad nodding and then making a joke of warning Brent not to send the bed through the roof the next time he lifts it. Betty motioned for me to follow her, us leaving the boys to begin trying to fit the mattresses down the narrow hallway as she led me to the same door Dad emerged from earlier.

Most of the house was wood, a sort of vintage vibe stocked with paneling and patterned shag carpet that I imagine was older than Dad. Which is why the sudden dive into a modern looking staircase, followed by a steeled blue and gray hallway took me by surprise. It was like stepping back into the 21st century. There were three doors, Betty choosing the first on the right, which was already cracked open.

There weren’t as many boxes as I thought there’d be — sure, there were a good dozen, but they only took up half of the room. The other half was empty save for a yellow and white striped surfboard propped up against the soft artichoke colored walls, a pile of gray and white bedding absolutely covered in dust on the ground beside it. “Huh, I didn’t know Dad could surf!” I exclaimed, going to grip the board. Whenever we got to go to the beach, he’d never avoid the waves — but he never volunteered himself to try surfing, even when Brent did.

Betty, looking between two boxes and their labels, simply replied, “He doesn’t.”

Dad…doesn’t? Then whose…

I took a better look at the room: green, split halfway down the wall with a partitioned border that gave away to an eggshell shade. Dad hated green, to a comedic degree. The only time I’d ever gotten him in anything remotely green was my 6th grade Father Daughter Dance, and honestly, that was just for the fun of hearing his sarcastic quips about how he looked like Shrek the Ogre. All over a shirt! The entire suit wasn’t even green! His room wouldn’t willingly be green, not in a million years.

It was around this time that I noticed another box, a lone, small one helping hold the surfboard up. Gently leaning the board forward, I looked at the box, Reggie’s photography stuff written in a shaky form of Dad’s handwriting on top.

This was Reggie’s room.

A thousand questions ran through my head. Dad’s past was always sort of illusive; he’d shut down whenever we’d ask him about his past, would sort of trail off in the middle of a story when he did reveal anything, falling into nothing but pursed lips and sad eyes. At least, now I understood there was a layer of safety to why we never knew anything about anyone. But I just wanted to know, with the proof all right here; who was Reggie?

Betty definitely wasn’t the person to ask, though. She probably knew him, but Dad deserved the chance to make good on that honesty promise.

Instead of satiating a single question, I asked Betty, “What kind of stuff are we unpacking? What should I leave?”

She heaved a box against her hip, spinning to face me. “Any of them, really. They’re mostly old house supplies, so hopefully they will help you all settle in easier.”

“And Reggie’s things?”

Betty’s eyes trailed over to the surfboard, and the box I exposed by moving it. “Leave it for your father to decide.”

Betty began out the room, leaving me to scramble for a box and rush behind, almost tripping on the first step. Dad and Brent were just emerging from the nursery as I entered the hall, Dad immediately offering to take the box I held and sending me back down with Brent.

I led him back down, Brent cracking a joke at how modern the basement looked. “Wonder why they didn’t do the whole house? Upstairs looks like a scene from That 70’s Show.”

“Can’t imagine it’s cheap. Plus, I dunno,” I opened Reggie’s door, “Kind of gives it a sweet rustic vibe.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, rolling his eyes, “Okay,”

It wasn’t surprising when Brent rushed over to the surfboard; out of us three, he was the only one that ever had the nerve to get on one. “Woah, look at this,” he hummed, gripping the board and turning it in his hands. “Hey, Jean, think you can make waves in the Sound?”

I paused for only a moment while grabbing a box: waves? That would be awesome. But we needed to lie low, and I wasn’t sure messing around and accidentally causing a tsunami or something was discreet. So instead, I teased, “Sure you’re not just gonna sink like lead?”

Brent sort of tossed his head aside, contemplating the possibility as he looked back at the board — and down at the box. I could see him go through the same realization I did, looking around, back at the box, then to the board, which he gently replaced.

But Brent wasn’t one to be serious for so long, settling the info somewhere deep in his mind as he asked, “So is it too late to call dibs on this room? I like the colors,”

We cleaned out Reggie’s old bedroom, the only thing left being the small corner of his possessions, which grew to gain two more boxes. Unopened. We seemed to be in silent agreement that it wasn’t our right to open those. “I should get Dad,” Brent said. “Ask him what to do with all this.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, wiping my brow. Definitely didn’t gain any fun strength powers. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go start on the other room.”

So we left, Brent walking down the hall while I walked across to what I assumed was the door to the other bedroom. I entered a surprising fight with the hinges, them screaming in protest as I made them move for the first time in nearly 18 years; but finally, after a good shoulder check, I stuck my head in—

And lost all fight once I looked around.

Without a doubt, this was Dad’s room. It was graffitied to hell, only little splotches of white peaking through the blues and reds and blacks as negative space. Even the ceiling wasn’t spared, his name tagged against the texture of the popcorn, faded from who knows how long. The work around the room reflected Delsin Rowe — er, Dad’s — style found in Seattle, a bunch of tongue-in-cheek bits: a man using a red-and-blue tinged stock line as a whip on poor retail workers, a traditional Akomish with red warpaint that looked more like blood than paint, especially with the pile of bodies in the background with a politician standing atop them like that pic of Iwo Jima. The red stripes of the American flag acting as a jail cell for a black man.

It was all Rowe, but it looked…wrong? Like a case of uncanny valley. And it took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize it was because these pieces were rough around the edges, a testament of a budding artist.

These were the firsts of his work. Him finding his style, his expression.

“Jesus, these look bad,” Dad laughed behind me, making me jump so hard I knocked my head against the doorframe. I slipped up, cursing, receiving a, “Jean, words,” from Dad as he turned me to face him, checking my temple.

“You scared me,” I laughed, trying to shake away the pain in my head. What was it about door frames that seemed to increase the pain?

“Well, if you weren’t standing in the middle of the hallway,” he jokingly chastised, releasing his gaze on me and laying a hand on the door, pushing it open further with an annoyed grunt. We’d definitely have to invest in some WD-40.

I walked in at Dad’s insistence, looking at the wall the door was a part of for the bit of art I missed. There was more hiding behind the piles of cardboard, I imagine — but what I saw was enough to leave my mouth agape.

At least, until Dad cleared his throat behind me and I spun on him, crossing my arms. “So, this whole time — every time I’d talk about Delsin Rowe’s art—“

“Oh, yeah, that was uh,” Dad laughed breathlessly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Quite the ego boost, lemme tell you.”

“I hate you.” But there was no malice; the words were followed by chuckling, me rolling my eyes as Dad shoved his hands in his pockets. “And you used to yell at me about drawing on the walls,”

“Hey, to be fair, my parents weren’t exactly excited about me doing this, either.” Dad walked past, running a finger along a stream of blue paint to see if it would give away. “This room used to smell terrible, too. I probably have some kind of disease from sleeping in here with those paint fumes.”

God, spray paint smell in a basement room? I’m surprised he didn’t asphyxiate.

But Dad, the Rowland I once was convinced he was…that man never did art. Always said he was bad at it. “Dad? When was the last time you did something like this?”

Dad hummed, brows furrowing for only a moment as he processed what I meant. This. Art. “Oh. Well, the last big project I had was…well, the nursery.”

18 years. Has he not done anything else in 18 years?

Dad must have seen my shock, because he rushed to say, “I mean, I’ve done some sketches. I actually have a journal hiding in my file cabinet at COLE. But I haven’t been able to…to do anything that could be seen by someone. What if they saw my art style and traced it back to Delsin Rowe, y’know?” He shrugged, obviously bothered and trying his hardest to appear not to be. “Had to be safe.”

That list just kept growing. There was so much of Dad he had to leave behind to keep Brent and I safe. I didn’t even know he was Akomish until we rolled up on the reservation! He told us we were Italian!

He practically scrubbed himself from existence, put on this façade of a man to…keep us safe. How lonely was that? Unable to even say ‘hey, I like to draw!’ without worrying it’ll kill your entire family. It sounded so isolating. The fact that he didn’t just explode at the seams from holding so much of himself captive was a mystery to me.

But we were in the midst of honesty, right? And I think I was being too selfish, wanting all his truths for myself; maybe we needed to reserve some for him. Which is why, after another glance around, I asked, “You mind, well…” God, why was I suddenly bashful? This was Dad. “Well, I’ve always thought tagging was cool. Maybe we could…”

He cocked his head to the side, confused for only a moment at what I was asking before, slowly, a wide grin spread on his face. “Sure, if you want. ‘Course, we have to figure out a way to do it legally. Can’t tell you how many times I was arrested while tagging.” He shook his head, chuckling gently. “You sure you want to try graffiti, though? Don’t think watercolors would be a better choice?”

“Brent already made that joke,”

“Damnit.”

[soyforramen]

Reality Show

The room swam into view in front of her, black spots dancing on the outskirts of her vision.  Blinking her eyes, Betty slowly came to the realization that she was bound to a chair when she couldn’t grip her pounding head.  She retched as her sight went black again.  

“Stop with the dramatics, Elizabeth,” a woman’s voice sighed behind her.  “It’s only a little hemlock.”

Betty forced herself to sit up and squint against the moving black blobs that had taken up residence in her eyes.  Dark red curtains, dusty from age; an old hardwood stage littered with scratches and stains; and a room full of silent figures in front of her, staring blankly at her.

“Where -“  

Her words were garbled, muzzy and difficult to catch hold of.  A flash of pain erupted at the back of her head and she tried to piece together what happened.  It was near impossible, though, as none of her thoughts stayed still long enough to line them up.  

(Something about cats in queues.  Or was it tutus?  Bald cats dress all in white, offering her a plate of hummus and nirvana, warning her against the dangers of keeping Oregon.  Or was it Ontario?

(Ah.  A concussion then.  She’d heard about those once.  Maybe twice.  Or was it -)

The slap rang out around her and her vision flared into a Lead Zepplin light show, the ones Trev had always tried to get her to go to.  Or was it more like the Fourth of July, where fireworks flared against the dead black sky to -

“Damnit, I told you to use only a touch of hemlock. What did you two incompetents do?” the woman snapped.

Flat, sluggish voices groveled with apologies until one sounded out above the rest.  “We’re sorry, priestess, but she wouldn’t eat our food.  We thought it was best to try alternative methods.”

“What did you do?”

“Light of the Moon used a few techniques from our previous life. We assured ourselves that it would leave no lasting damage, and from our expertise -“

“Just,” the woman took a deep breath, “go take your spot in the crowd.”  

They shuffled off, cloth rustling around them and Betty remembered thinking she’d had a bad idea once.  More than one, even.  But why would that matter now?  Something about fake brownies and a recipe book?

Betty was shoved back against the seat and she gagged at the sudden movement.  A redheaded woman came into focus, freckles scattered across her cheeks like a dusting of cinnamon (“Purification, love, lust, but no more than two teaspoons…”), her eyebrows drawn together in frustration (“Lavender and chamomile to turn away the nightmares, demons won’t come near you when I’m around…”).  Betty knew her from somewhere.  This woman was important, but something about her was wrong.  She had to remember, even with the shadows pressing pain into every nook of her head.

“Evie?”

Evelyn snorted at the nickname.  “That’s Priestess to you.”    

She held up a vial of foul smelling liquid to Betty’s lips (“Potions are the quickest to work, but don’t forget to take the vial with you when you leave…”).  Betty parted her lips, the same as she did every night in childhood, and let the liquid fall down her throat without a fight. (“It’s awful, huh?  But it’s the only way for the runes to take, Lizzie.  I promised your mother…”)

(What was so important about Evelyn?  It was vital she remember, but everything felt as if her insides had been replaced by clouds of cotton and nothing was real.  All she could remember was Evie curling up around her and reading her bedtime stories when her mother was out; Evie doing Polly’s makeup for the initiation ceremony; Evie disappearing before Betty’s fourteenth birthday; Evie -)

“Happy Day!  He is risen!” Evelyn said, throwing her hands in the air.  A chorus of voices repeated her words back at her, the noise echoing around the gymnasium.  It bounced around in Betty’s skull until it came to rest in the pit of her stomach, fetid in its existence.  This was a farce; it had to be.  Some strange reality show where nothing was true and everything was true; ghosts of the past returning to haunt her; her mother’s sins hanging above the daughter, the Sword of Inherited Damocles trembling among the voices.  

“We have a treat for tonight, my brethren.  An unbeliever.  A heretic.  A spiritual murderer in our midst!”

The crowd stamped their feet once.  As the sound died down an unnatural silence took its place and Betty shifted against the ropes, trying to find some weakness in the knots.  

Evelyn came closer (what was it she’d forgotten) and placed a hand on Betty’s shoulder.

“In another life, this woman, this witch,” Evelyn spat, as if the word itself was unfit for her congregation, “was my sister in all ways but blood.  I raised her.  I cared for her.  I laughed with her, broke bread with her, cried with her.  

“And yet when I found the light, when I found the true path,” Evelyn yanked Betty’s ponytail and forced her to face the crowd.  

Betty’s vision danced with the darkness.  She wavered in and out of consciousness, Evelyn’s words as muffled as a party three doors down, the words muffled against the pain.

“- and yet she and her kind would try to stop our glorious plan.  They don’t want us to be free.  They don’t want us to reach our full potential.  Because if we do -“

“We will rule!” came the resounding response.  

Betty’s vision came back into focus and with it came the memory of Evelyn walking out of the coven along with ten other women, among them Alice.  Evelyn had spun tales of an eternal life of happiness; promised them power and independence divorced from magic. It was a siren’s call to those who’d felt unheard in the coven, those looked over for positions of power, those whose own magic had fizzled over the years or who’d never been that adept in shaping it to their will.

As for why Alice had left…

Ten years on and Betty still wondered why her mother had gone with Evelyn.  If it was a strange sense of loyalty, a belief in the mad prophet’s promises, or if she really did feel as if she’d never been needed within the coven.  It had to be something big enough for her to leave two teenage daughters alone.  At least, Betty hoped it was something big enough.

Betty’s eyes scanned the faces closest to her, squinting against the stage light.  It was hard to distinguish one cultist from another.  Harder still when her mind pressed Alice’s eyes, nose, mouth onto each face she saw.  

Evelyn’s shouts cut through to Betty and warning klaxons sounded off in her head.

“And what do we do to our enemies?”

“Drink their blood!  Eat their organs!  Lay them at his feet in praise of him!”

Betty shuddered at their conviction.  Belief was one thing; slavish, violent devotion another.  She shifted, trying to reach the knife she always kept in her back pocket, but the ropes held her tight.  In front of her, Evelyn raised a cup and a sword high above her head, the silver casting beams of light on her congregation.  A hush fell over the crowd once more and she closed her eyes in ecstasy.  

Seeing her like this, it was easy enough to see why she was called priestess.  Robed in lose linen, her feet and hands bare, her copper ringlets danced among the shifting rays of light.  An ancient druid steeped in ancient beliefs, her voice held no doubts, no question, no uncertainty as to her cause.  

“Hallowed be his name, our one true savior sent to cleanse this earth,” she said softly.  

She repeated it, her voice rising each time.  The crowd murmured along with her, their eyes locked on her.  As their voices raised to a fever pitch the lights went out around them and everything went deadly quiet.

Betty tugged harder on her bindings, desperate to get free.  Her gasping breath and desperate attempts were the only sounds in the dark.  As the rope dug further into her wrists and ankles she cursed herself for going back to the restaurant alone.  She knew she should have waited.  But Jughead had gone off on his own, refusing to tell her why, and the thought that perhaps they’d missed something nagged at her conscious.  The whole restaurant had a bad aura, lies and deceit running through their cheery facade.  

Frustrated with the lack of progress, and frustrated with Jughead’s lack of faith in her own abilities (even though she’d saved him from a demon last week; especially because she’d saved him) Betty went back under the guise of wanting another taste of their bland, flaky desserts and, perhaps, an introduction to their beliefs.  Her food hadn’t been in front of her for more than ten minutes before… well before she was hit in the head, she supposed.  

The lights went back up again and an icepick of pain shot through her left temple, blinding her.  The space behind her eyes throbbed and she leaned forward, her stomach heaving.  Ice ran along her wrists and she stifled a scream.

“Don’t make a sound, there’s no telling when they’ll be back,” Jughead’s familiar voice whispered.  

Her heart fluttered as the rope dropped from her wrists.  Betty looked around and found that the room was completely empty, a psychological tactic no doubt.  Evelyn always did like to play head games rather than work things out like a normal person.

“Where did they go?” Betty asked, scanning the room for any sign of life.

“Purification ritual.”

Not that the ropes were gone from her ankles, Betty stood.  Pins and needles waltzed down her limbs and she caught herself against Jughead’s shoulder.  With a stony expression he slipped off his grey beanie and handed it to her.

“Your head’s still bleeding,” he said in a flat tone.  

The rough wool scraped at her raw scalp, but she was grateful for the gesture.  

Jughead nodded towards a door tucked away against the wall on the far side of the room and she followed silently, still unsteady on her feet.  The third time she stumbled he picked her up and jogged almost noiselessly to the door.

“You didn’t bring any baubles with you, did you?”

She pursed her lips, confused.  “Baubles?”

“Marbles, rocks.  Whatever those bombs you make are.”

Those charms were anything but baubles, and she’d hate to see what they did in another’s hands.  She’d poured years of research into refining the shaky art of imbuing, years she might have better spent pursuing other pursuits.  Yet this was where she’d excelled, all for it to be refined down to ‘baubles.’

Laughter threatened to escape her at his ridiculous descriptions.  A side effect of the concussion, no doubt.  She’d have to seek out Dr. Curdle.  Herbs and potions and spells did little against this sort of injury and despite the opinions of most witches, modern medicine did have its own place in their arsenal.  

“No, they would have seen right through me if I’d brought anything like that,” Betty said.  “Though I suppose they did regardless.”

She stifled a gasp when Jughead shifted her to lean out the door, the sudden rush of blood into her hand rippling with a thousand sharp, tiny pinpricks.  Ignoring her discomfort, he slipped down the hallway, navigating his way through the strange maze of white, florescent lit hallways.  They slipped out of the building into a common brick alleyway, littered with trash.  Steam rose into the chilly morning air and Betty shivered.

In the dim light, she realized Jughead was seething.  Strangely, she wanted both to apologize for getting into this situation and yell at him that she didn’t need saving.  

Instead, she did neither and thanked him for his help.

He narrowed his eyes at her, inspecting her as if for deceit.  Without another word, he slung his jacket around her shoulders and walked past her into the street.  It smelled of cold fields and damp earth, coffee and ancient leather.  A blush came to her cheeks as she realized how much she’d missed the scent.  

It was the concussion, she decided.  And the kidnapping and potential of being sacrificed to a madman claiming to be divine.  Otherwise she’d never have thought of so many descriptors of how Jughead smelled, walked, and talked.  She’d never wonder why he’d come to save her, nor why he seemed so angry about having to do so.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind Betty pulled the jacket on and trailed behind him, wondering how well the suggestion of waffles would go over.

[ironfidus]

Every Fifteen Minutes (1)

Summary: 

“In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker,” the obituary reads. “2001 - 2017. Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony can't finish reading. He swears his heart stops. “FRIDAY,” he croaks.

He doesn’t have to finish the order; FRIDAY, as if reading his mind, activates his Iron Man suit and sends it to envelop his body. Tony is shooting through the skies before he even fully realizes it.

OR: Peter Parker was in a car crash—except... he wasn’t. One forgetful Spider-Kid, one sleepy best friend, and one misleading post on social media all lead to a disastrous turn of events, culminating in the arrival of an unexpected guest at Midtown High.

Read here on AO3 (@a_matter_of_loyalty)

:::

Chapter 1: count the ways I let you down

Every fifteen minutes, someone dies from an alcohol-related collision.

:::

“The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them.”

—L.J. Smith

:::

“All right, class,” Roger Harrington calls out over the sound of murmuring students. He is standing impatiently at the front of the classroom, leaning back against his desk as he flips through a pile of pamphlets in his hands. “Settle down.”

The students either don’t hear him or are simply content with ignoring him, continuing to chatter amongst themselves.

Did Ms. Warren assign us any homework for tomorrow?

Oh my god, did you hear about Lucas and Brooke? Apparently they broke up—

Can you believe what she’s wearing—

“I said settle down!” Mr. Harrington barks, restraint snapping in half. His students descend into a hush immediately, scrambling to attention with more than a little annoyance. Truthfully, despite his show of impatience, Mr. Harrington can’t find it in himself to blame them: it is their last class of the day, their “advisory period” as it’s named on their schedule, and it is typically the one period in the week where they can simply sit back and relax with their friends. He himself is dismayed by the disruption to their regularly scheduled programming (read: their “chill time” as Jason calls it)—he’s tired of dealing with students 24/7, damnit, and he needs a break, so sue him—but Principal Morita personally approached him with instructions earlier in the day, and he can’t exactly disobey.

So like any good teacher, Mr. Harrington shoves down his exhaustion and schools his face into a mild smile. “A few weeks from now, we will be participating in an educational program known as Every Fifteen Minutes,” he announces. “It is designed to teach students the severe, life-changing consequences of drinking and driving.”

The students burst out into hushed whispers. No doubt they all remember this program from the previous year, though it will be their first time participating. Mr. Harrington sends them all a pointed look, and they dutifully quiet once more.

“Now, for today,” he continues once he has their undivided attention, “all of you will be using this period to choose one person in your class who you admire. I will be passing out blank sheets of paper shortly. As soon as you receive one, please write down the name of your chosen classmate, and a short paragraph detailing your reason for picking them.”

Betty Brant’s hand immediately shoots up. Mr. Harrington stifles a sigh, giving her a halfhearted nod that signals go on, and she promptly asks, “What does this exercise have to do with the program?”

Mr. Harrington’s smile grows strained. “You’ll find out why we’re doing this later on in the program,” he replies vaguely. Before anyone else can come up with any questions, Mr. Harrington says stiffly, “Let’s get started.”

He sets the pamphlets back down onto his desk—they’ll come in handy later—and picks up another pile of paper; this time, the blank sheets he promised earlier. He hands the pile to the student at the front of the class, and immediately retreats to his seat as his students begin passing out paper to each other.

His part done, Mr. Harrington happily returns to grading last week’s tests, blissfully tuning out his restless students as they go about their task.

Once everyone has a blank sheet of paper in front of them, the voices recede to a trickle once more as they all rack their brains for a name. Some students steal considering glances around the room, appraising their classmates in their minds.

Peter Parker, Midtown High’s awkward disaster by day and Queens’ beloved Spider-Man by night, doesn’t need to give it any thought. He plucks a pen from out of his pencil case and immediately begins writing about his best friend. 

Ned’s been my best friend since I was seven years old. I’d just transferred to Midtown after losing my parents, and as soon as I met him, he took me by the hand and invited me to play on the monkey bars with him. I wasn’t very good at it, but he kept inviting me anyway. It was the first time I smiled since my parents’ funeral. Since then, Ned has given me a thousand more reasons to smile. That is why I admire him: no matter what, Ned never loses hope or happiness. He always looks on the bright side, and…

Beside him, Ned is putting pen to paper just as easily, his choice coming naturally to him as well. He wishes he could write about Spider-Man—write about how his best friend is a real-life hero, how his best friend unhesitatingly puts his life at risk every night to fight crime, how his best friend swung into his room last night with a bleeding wound but also a blinding smile because there was this woman, Ned, and she needed my help, I couldn’t just do nothing!

But he knows Peter keeps his identity a secret for a reason, so Ned locks that desire away firmly. It’s not as if he can’t think of tons to write about, anyway, even with Spider-Man out of the question. After all, even before he discovered his best friend’s alter ego, he’s always known Peter is special. Because even before Spider-Man, Peter was already the strongest, most resilient, most selfless person Ned knew.

(Peter Parker was a hero long before Spider-Man was born.)

Peter’s had a difficult life. Time after time, life kicks him down and refuses to let him up. He lost his parents at such a young age, and then his uncle a few years later. But no matter what life throws at him, Peter always, always gets up. He never stops trying; he never stops fighting. I admire him because of his unyielding tenacity and his refusal to give in to life’s cruelties. Despite the hardships he’s faced, Peter is still the kindest, happiest person I know. He’s always willing to lend others a hand in whatever way he can…

:::

“Time’s up!” Mr. Harrington announces seconds before the bell rings. The students let out a quiet cheer as they drop their pens and gather their bags, and Mr. Harrington allows himself a small smile of his own. Still, he doesn’t let them run off quite yet. “I hope you’ve all finished writing your paragraphs,” he warns before they can rush out.

Their mumbled agreements make him roll his eyes. “All right, all right, I won’t keep you any longer,” he relents. “On your way out, please pick up one of these Every Fifteen Minutes pamphlets”—he taps the pile of pamphlets with his pen—“and make sure to read those over sometime during the next couple of weeks. That’ll be all, class.”

:::

The students had it easy, Mr. Harrington muses to himself as he shuffles through the papers with their choices. He, along with the other teachers, are required to stay after school hours and assess each student’s note to determine which of the kids should be selected to participate in the program as a “casualty.” 

Principal Morita advised them to choose a popular, well-liked kid to ensure that the effects of Every Fifteen Minutes are profound and widely-felt. If it’s a popular kid you want, Mr. Harrington thinks, the choice is obvious.

As if to confirm his thoughts, his eyes fall onto the note at the top of the pile and zero in on the name Flash Thompson. 

Eugene “Flash” Thompson, arguably one of the most popular students in his class due to his parents’ wealth and his own sophisticated attitude, has created a “following” for himself within the halls of Midtown High. His cronies tend to stick to Flash like glue, following their ringleader around like thoughtless ducks. But as popular as Flash is, Mr. Harrington feels reluctant to pick him. He doubts Flash fits the criteria of “well-liked” amongst the majority of his peers, despite his popularity. Flash is a bully of the “high school jackass” variety, and his snobbish attitude repels just as many people as it attracts, if not more.

Mr. Harrington shakes his head and tucks the note with Flash’s name under all of the other papers. He resigns himself to a long afternoon of sorting through the notes, keeping an eye out for any recurring not-Flash names. The faster he finishes, the sooner he’ll be able to go home.

Betty, Cindy, Charles, Flash again, Abe, Seymour, another Flash, Ned… Mr. Harrington perks up slightly. The note dedicated to Ned Leeds is noticeably longer than all the rest before it, and Mr. Harrington recognizes the handwriting as belonging to Peter Parker immediately.

Teachers aren’t supposed to have a favorite. That is the unspoken rule. But there is also an unspoken footnote to that unspoken rule that goes like this: Teachers might not be supposed to have a favorite, but they do anyway. As long as the students don’t know, well, it can’t hurt anyone.

Peter Parker is without a doubt Mr. Harrington’s star student. Friendly and polite to everyone, Peter is a beacon of light in his class, one that everyone—even those who resent him, like Flash—can recognize. Even without Peter’s conscious effort, his generosity and thoughtfulness draw his classmates to him like moths to a flame. 

Besides his obvious goodness, Peter is also achingly smart. Ridiculously so. He is intelligent and creative and brilliant—but he never brags about it. 

And sure, Peter has changed over the last few months, turning up to class later and later and sometimes even falling asleep in the middle of his lectures, but his grades never slack. Mr. Harrington can’t deny he’s worried about the boy. He’s heard all the rumors about Peter: he’s heard the other teachers discussing Peter’s sudden decision to resign from nearly all of his extracurriculars; he’s heard Coach Wilson muttering something about bruises and scars; he’s heard students in the hallway giggling over Flash’s proclamations that Peter is a liar pretending to intern for Stark Industries.

For the most part, Mr. Harrington lets the rumors flow in one ear and out the other. He doesn’t like judging his students or making assumptions, after all. But even he can’t ignore some of the signs. He sent Peter to the guidance counselor a few weeks ago after Peter fell asleep during Academic Decathlon and woke up screaming after everyone else went home, but the rest is out of Harrington’s hands. He isn’t allowed to pry, he knows that.

That doesn’t stop him from fretting, though.

He sighs and redirects his gaze to Peter’s note. Out of curiosity—wondering what kind of traits someone as pure as Peter Parker would admire—Mr. Harrington pushes his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose and reads the whole note.

…he never fails to make me laugh or smile. Ned is one of the best and brightest things in my life. I’m lucky to have him as my best friend. 

Mr. Harrington exhales softly, the breath rushing out with an awed sort of wonder. Peter’s note about Ned is heartfelt and sentimental, nothing like the snatches of she's cute and she always wears the most fashionable outfits or I think he's really smart he caught glimpses of from the other notes.

Setting aside Peter’s note about Ned for now, Mr. Harrington flicks through the rest of the notes until he finds Ned’s note—unsurprisingly for Peter. He pulls it out of the stack, smoothing it out on top of the other notes.

…and even though he’s had it hard, Peter never takes it out on anyone else. He embodies compassion with everything he does. I know I am grateful for him, always. 

Mr. Harrington will later swear, on his life, that he wasn’t affected by the notes. But here in the relative privacy of the empty classroom, as he bears witness to Peter and Ned’s mutual devotion to one another, his eyes begrudgingly start to burn.

These kids, he suppresses a groan, blinking rapidly. He is an adult, for god’s sake. He doesn’t get mushy over touching words anymore. They’re going to be the death of me.

It is undeniable, though, that the loss of either boy will leave a crippling impact on the other and the rest of the class. Even if no one else chose Ned or Peter, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind; he’s seen the two boys’ influence on their classmates. Sure, they can both be shy and quiet at times, reserved, but the two have become irrevocably entangled in the lives of their peers. Peter, for example, never fails to provide a spot of cheer during his classes with Mr. Harrington; more often than not, Peter would spend half the class maneuvering around the tables at his classmates’ behest, occasionally bending down to talk one of his peers through a difficult problem. Ned, too, is a bright presence in the classroom, never failing to coax his classmates into raucous laughter after one of his jokes.

One of the two will probably be the best bet for the program, Mr. Harrington decides. But which one? Peter or Ned?

Mr. Harrington groans, shooting the clock a backwards glance. 4 p.m., he acknowledges to himself. He’s already spent upwards of half an hour agonizing over this choice, and he just wants to go home.

Looking back at the stack, his eyes catch on to the note right below Ned’s. The name Flash Thompson peeks out, barely visible at the corner of the note. 

Slowly, a smile settles on Mr. Harrington’s face.

Again, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind. He’s long since been aware of Flash’s tendency to pick on (read: bully) Peter. Unfortunately, when Mr. Harrington went to Principal Morita with his concerns, Morita simply dismissed him without a second thought, citing the Thompsons’ excessive donations to the school as an excuse to let it go. At the time, Mr. Harrington merely gritted his teeth and gracefully bowed out of the principal’s office, resigned to keeping his silence despite the regret sinking in his stomach.

But now…

Mr. Harrington is just a teacher. There is nothing he can do on his own, not against a pair of wealthy parents or the principal. But there is nothing to say he can’t indirectly teach Flash a lesson.

This, this he can do.

Perhaps if Flash is forced to imagine walking down their school hallways without a hint of Peter Parker anywhere for the rest of his school days, he’ll realize Peter’s value and the faults of his actions. Perhaps if Flash sees how short and finite life is, he’ll see his wrongs.

Mr Harrington can only hope so, anyway.

:::

‘Every Fifteen Minutes’

“The Every 15 Minutes Program offers real-life experiences without the real-life risks. This emotionally charged program, entitled Every 15 Minutes, is an event designed to dramatically instill into teenagers the potentially dangerous consequences of drinking alcohol and texting while driving. This powerful program will challenge students to think about drinking, texting while driving, personal safety, and the responsibility of making mature decisions when lives are involved…”

:::

Three weeks later, the program truly begins. The principal makes sure to issue a warning beforehand to prevent any genuine panic from breaking out (the teachers learned that the hard way last year). With the reassurance that it isn’t real, many students see the two-day period scheduled for the program as a chance to take a break from their classes and unwind. 

They know what is going to happen. They know it will all be fake. No one is actually dying.

But sometimes, “knowing” doesn’t really equate to “understanding” or “believing,” and the subconscious tends to work in strange ways.

Despite the principal’s briefing, the students find themselves unprepared for the emotional upheaval that surges in them with each and every student’s "death". Every fifteen minutes, a participating deputy officer enters a different classroom and takes away one student. After the student’s removal, another police officer enters the classroom to read out a prepared obituary to the silence of the class. The obituary would be posted at the front of the classroom, and that would be that.

The chosen student wouldn’t return to classes for the rest of the day. Their notable absence from their usual routine is supposed to “simulate the feeling of loss that the other students would experience in the event of a real death,” or so the pamphlet claims. 

And it works.

Some students cry, loud and blubbering, as their friends are pulled out of the room. Others are silent, disquieted, as they try to imagine what it would be like if their classmate were really dead, immediately feeling dread and tragedy seep into them.

They’re only kids. Most of them have never even felt the effects of death before.

(They’re lucky. So, so lucky.)

Finally, an hour before classes break for lunch, an officer enters Mr. Harrington’s classroom. “Peter Parker,” he calls out, eyes flicking briefly to the card he’s holding. “Mr. Parker?” he repeats in the ensuing silence.

“I’m here,” Peter replies, a little surprised as he stands up, inwardly fighting to ignore the stares of his classmates. He didn’t expect to be chosen. He likes to be invisible, to stay in the background and blend in, and this is the complete opposite of “blending in.” 

“Mr. Parker,” the officer offers him a sympathetic smile. “Please gather your things. You won’t be returning today.”

The finality of the words you won’t be returning settles like a death knell in the classroom, and the hard edge is only barely softened by the comfort of today. Peter can already hear Betty, one of the most sensitive and empathetic of all his classmates, begin to sniffle.

Fighting the urge to glance back at Betty and reassure her, Peter nods politely at the officer. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledges with a respect that has been drilled into him by his aunt. He hurriedly shoves his pencil case and books into his bag and slings the backpack over one shoulder. He takes a moment to make sure his phone and his watch are both safe on his person –

Hold on. My watch. Peter’s eyes fixate on his wrist—his bare wrist—with growing horror. Where is it? Where did I leave it? 

Mr. Stark will kill him if he’s somehow managed to lose his multimillion dollar StarkWatch. Make sure to keep it on you at all times, you hear me, Parker? Tony had threatened upon gifting it to Peter one rainy day. It cost me a fortune—I promise it’s more expensive than you. Just kidding. Not really, but that doesn’t matter. Just – wear it always, please? It’ll monitor your vitals for me, so I’ll be able to check that you’re alive and not, I don’t know, bleeding out in an alleyway or something. I have heart problems, you know.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, Peter thinks now. How the heck am I going to explain this one? He’d sworn to Mr. Stark that he’d never take the watch off except to—

Oh. Oh.

(“KAREN, remind me to put my watch back on tomorrow morning, yeah?” Peter says aloud to his AI, attaching his StarkWatch to the charging case it came with. It’s the first time he’s had to charge it so far—he doesn’t know how its battery has been able to last this long, but somehow he’s not entirely surprised, given that it is Tony Stark’s creation—and he’s more than a little concerned that his forgetfulness and Parker Luck are going to rear their ugly heads at the same time.

“Of course, Peter,” KAREN hums in reply.)

Peter calms down and resists the urge to facepalm. Of course he’d ended up forgetting it at home, even after making a genuine effort to remember to wear it. He briefly wonders how he could have missed KAREN’s notification before shrugging it off. He’ll just put it back on tonight, before going on patrol. Tony had designed the watch with Spider-Man’s trouble-magnet tendencies in mind, after all; he’s pretty sure Peter Parker can live without it for one day.

God, he must really be out of it if he managed to go half a day without realizing the heavy watch—not literally heavy, because it’s a StarkWatch and Mr. Stark is nothing if not efficient, but metaphorically heavy with the weight of Mr. Stark’s expectations—is missing from his wrist. Peter feels a yawn building in his chest and thinks, yep, still out of it. Between a long patrol spanning from late night yesterday to the early hours of the morning today, and back-to-back science and math classes with droning teachers who refused to let him nap, today has been hell.

Peter raises a hand to his mouth and stifles a yawn. Maybe I can rest my eyes for a bit now that I’m being taken out of class, he thinks hopefully. Worries about his missing StarkWatch abated and fighting drowsiness, he dutifully follows the officer out of the classroom without another word.

Mere moments later, a different officer enters the room, false obituary in hand. She stands behind Mr. Harrington’s desk as if it is a podium, and recites solemnly, “Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver. He was born on the 10th of August, 2001 in Queens, New York City, to Mary and Richard Parker. Peter is survived by his aunt, May Parker, as well as his close friends Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones.”

Betty sniffles louder. His aunt, she keens in a hushed whisper to any who will listen. The only family he has left is his aunt. If he – if he were really dead, she’d be all alone—! 

Her best friend, Cindy, reaches out between their desks and grips Betty’s hand tightly, like an anchor, a lifeline.

“At the time of his death, he was enrolled at Midtown High, where he touched many lives with his generosity and passion for life,” the officer continues, moving on to the next part of the obituary. Even as she reads, she keeps one eye on the students, her heart twinging briefly; she isn’t a mother herself—she doesn’t have kids to call her own—but she’s had to face the devastated parents of child victims before. She’s had to face child victims, period. It’s never a pretty sight. “A member of Midtown High’s Academic Decathlon, he displayed an unparalleled knack for solving problems and thinking outside the box. Peter truly lived life to the fullest through chasing simple pleasures: chatting with friends and family, eating takeout with his aunt, and reviewing any and all sci-fi themed movies. Peter had an uncanny ability to reach people in a deep and positive way; he was bright and energetic, and he was known for his tendency to help others.”

She pauses, her words sinking into the room savagely, raking through the students like a claw.

A few more students have started to shake at the sound of her words, and the image they paint—a dark-skinned boy in the corner, blinking rapidly at the mention of Peter’s tendency to help others; an Asian girl with pin-straight hair, biting her lip at the allusion to Peter’s brilliance; another boy, squeezing his eyes shut and looking away at the memory of Peter’s enthusiastic personality.

She shakes her head to clear the hesitation and adds, trying to maintain a facade of ruthless indifference: “He will be deeply missed by his family, friends, and all who knew him.”

And that final sentence, punching into the stillness of the room, makes it all so real. 

The tension in the room crumbles, much like Betty Brant does in her seat, dissolving into breathless tears. Much like Abe Brown does, burying his face in his hands and refusing to look up. Much like Cindy Moon does, trembling minutely in her chair as she remembers Peter Parker, his smile twinkling brightly at her like the north star. 

The officer trails off at last, and the room is left in silence as she gathers her composure and posts the obituary at the front of the room. The obituary has been professionally forged, made to appear real and foreboding—indeed, the dark borderings of the paper, the official lettering, and the sharp, crisp black ink all drive a nail into the proverbial coffin.

Listen, the obituary seems to whisper at them, vicious. Pay attention. You could lose him. 

Without another word, the officer exits the room and flees the morose stares of the students. With the officer gone, all that is left is the obituary. There is no other sign that Peter Parker’s alleged death ever occurred, except on the faces of those he “left behind.”

And in the empty space where he would have been sitting, smiling, laughing.

(Already, they are feeling the effects of loss, their usually boisterous gossip never starting up. Normally, Mr. Harrington would be glad for the reprieve. But today, he looks at his students, sitting dazed and numb in the midst of Peter’s stark absence, and just sighs.)

(Amidst the haze of sorrow, amidst the uncertainty, Ned Leeds slumbers on in blissful ignorance, having missed the entire scene as well as the principal’s disclaimer. Ned doesn’t usually sleep during class, he swears; he always tries to pay attention out of respect for his teachers, if nothing else.

But today, he can’t muster the energy to feign awareness. He’s tired, the liveliness sucked out of his soul after an exhausting night spent hunched above his computer, splitting his attention between listening to the police radio chatter and prattling on about any reported incidents to his web-slinging best friend.

He loves being Peter’s guy in the chair. That fact is uncontested. And he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

So Ned figures that if he has to miss a few hours of class to catch up on his much-needed sleep, then it’s worth it. What harm can it do, anyway? It’s not like he’s missing anything important.)

:::

It isn’t until the bell rings, calling for lunch time, that the students finally snap out of their stupor and Ned finally jerks awake. He yawns drowsily and blinks the sleep from his eyes, turning to Peter’s seat beside him. “Hey, Peter—”

Ned falls quiet, frowning in surprise when he doesn’t find Peter. Mumbling in confusion, he looks closer and realizes that Peter’s bags have disappeared, too. “What the—? Did he go to the cafeteria already?” he ponders aloud and tilts his head in confusion; he and Peter always get their lunch together. He can’t think of any reason why Peter wouldn’t have waited for him, especially since MJ is out sick today, leaving Peter with no one else to walk to the cafeteria with.

But where else would Peter be?

Finally, Ned just shrugs, figuring he can ferret out the why of it all later when he catches up to Peter in the lunch line. He gathers his bags in his hands and leaves the room, still puzzling over Peter’s disappearance. In his distraction, he completely misses the other students’ conversation about the very person he is seeking.

“Wow, I didn’t expect to get so emotional,” Cindy is saying to Betty. “It feels like Peter’s really gone.”

Betty nods rapidly. “I know! I mean, I guess that’s the point—to make us realize how serious this issue is. But it feels – weird, y’know? It’s not as if Peter speaks a lot normally—it isn’t any quieter now than it would be if he were still here—but he’s still an important, integral part of this class. I can’t imagine our class without him.”

“Pfft.” The derisive snort comes from Flash, who scrunches his nose at them as he overhears their murmurs. “We’re better off without that loser, anyway,” he says viciously, cuttingly.

“Wha— Flash!” Cindy scolds, straightening in her seat in anger. She was usually shy and timid, preferring to keep to herself, but her emotions run hot. Whenever she snaps, she does so with explosive force. “For once in your life, try not to be such an asshole,” she fumes. “You wouldn’t be saying that if he were really dead.”

Flash just harrumphs at that, turning up his nose with a sniff.

Cindy’s eyes glint with indignation. “Come on, Flash, stop—”

“Cindy,” Betty interjects with a pointed hum, resting a hand on her friend’s forearm. She shoots Cindy a significant look and herds the other girl to her feet. “Forget Flash. Let’s just go.”

“What?” Cindy blinks. “Betty, didn’t you hear what he said? How can you just—?”

“He isn’t worth it,” Betty shakes her head, the words cruel and dismissive, but the coldness of her gaze gentles when it sweeps past Flash again. She doesn’t say it now—doesn’t expose Flash—but she can’t forget what she saw earlier, as the officer was reading out Peter’s obituary: Flash, hunched in on himself in his corner seat, eyes downcast and red-rimmed. Flash is far more rattled by this program than he lets on, but if he wants to pretend to be a jerk to feel better about himself, Betty isn’t going to stop him.

They all have a lot to think about, after all, after today.

Cindy grumbles in annoyance, but begrudgingly follows Betty out of the room.

Flash waits until they’re both gone and he’s left alone in the sanctuary of the classroom before he lets the sneer fall from his face. Without his permission, his eyes automatically dart back to the obituary on the board. 

Goddamn Parker, he thinks, stomping down his guilt. He’s never bothered to make things right with Peter, never bothered to apologize and reach out and try, but… 

No. What am I thinking? Don’t be ridiculous, Flash. He’s not dead. He’s not. 

When he looks back up, grappling with anger at Peter and anger at himself, he realizes he’s subconsciously made his way to the front of the room, stopping only when he’s directly in front of the obituary.

He gazes at it critically. Peter looks... happy in the picture chosen for the obituary. Then again, Flash thinks, Parker is rarely ever not happy. The only times he’s ever seen Peter without a smile are – shit – when Flash is teasing him. Flash doesn’t even know why he does it, really.

Well, no, that isn’t true. He does know.

Somehow, some way, despite the background he comes from, Peter seems to have everything he wants. (Everything Flash wants.) 

Peter doesn’t come from money, Flash knows this—he knows this in the way Peter’s shoes never change even as they begin to fall apart, held together only by duct tape; he knows it in the way Peter goes through the same rotation of science pun t-shirts every once in a while; he knows it in the way Peter’s jeans still have the same stains from months ago, from when Flash shoved his lunch into his lap; he knows it in the way Ned always offers Peter half of his lunch everyday. 

Flash knows Peter’s aunt struggles to make ends meet.

And yet Peter is still so irritatingly cheerful, day after day. He has friends, too—real friends the likes of which Flash wouldn’t be able to recognize. Ned and MJ don’t stick by Peter because of his riches or his reputation, not like Flash’s friends do. 

And most of all, Peter is frustratingly intelligent. He has the Decathlon position Flash yearns for, he has the teachers’ favor (Flash sees the way Ms. Warren and Mr. Harrington smile whenever Peter raises his hand and blurts out the correct answer with record speed, even if Peter had noticeably barely been paying attention beforehand), he has the effortless straight-As.

He even has an aunt who loves him. On nights where Flash’s jealousy gets really, really ugly, Flash can’t help but think that Peter has more family than he does, despite his losses. Peter may have lost his parents and his uncle, but his aunt genuinely adores him, in ways Flash’s parents never have. The disparity has become obvious over the years: every time they have a Decathlon competition, Peter always has someone to cheer him on—a familiar vision of long brown hair and Go Peter Parker! banners and excited squeals—even though Flash has no doubt that May Parker is endlessly busy paying off the bills.

Flash’s parents are nowhere near as busy, and yet they have never once shown up to one of his competitions. And sure, he’s just an alternate, but he’s still part of the team. He wishes his parents could appreciate that.

So. Flash is jealous. He hates it, but – he doesn’t understand Peter. He doesn’t get what Peter has that he doesn’t; what makes Peter better than him. 

He can’t accept it.

(So he lashes out. He lashes out and lashes out and lashes out, using Peter’s shame and pain as a balm for his own wounds.

It doesn’t help, not really. But it makes him feel powerful. It gives him control, the sort of control he’s never had in his own home where his mother is always flitting in and out like a flighty butterfly attracted to shinier things and his father is always filling the silence with drunken shouts, and Flash can’t bring himself to stop.)

Malice and self-loathing burning within him in equal measure, the opposing sides of the same coin mingling until the lines are blurred and the two are indistinguishable, Flash pushes his guilt into a vault and locks it in, firmly. There’s no way I feel bad for Penis Parker, he tells himself sharply. He deserves it. Someone has to show him his place, after all. Besides, I have nothing to be sorry for. He’s not even dead. 

And so Flash does what he does best: he lashes out again. 

Without a word, he digs his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick picture of the obituary, Peter’s name emblazoned prominently under his picture. He logs into his Twitter account and attaches the picture to a new post, thumbs flying rapidly across the keyboard as he types out a pithy caption with harsh, angry jabs. By the time the photo has been uploaded (accompanied by the acerbic words as if anyone would even miss parker, lol), his fingers are squeezing the phone so tightly it feels like it will leave a permanent dent in his skin.

(There’s no way Flash could have known the domino effect his actions would spark. He has no idea the disaster he’s courting by posting that obituary—and without any sort of disclaimer, no less. He doesn’t even spare a moment of thought for the possible ramifications of his post.

Truthfully, Flash isn’t thinking at all when he acts, the only thing driving him his contempt.)

:::

Tony Stark is in a board meeting when it happens. He’s barely paying attention as it is, leaning back slightly and scrolling through his phone beneath the table with the ease of someone who’s done so a thousand times before. He can sense Pepper glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, but no one else seems to notice his distracted state, so he ignores her palpable annoyance. He can just get FRIDAY to replay the highlights of the meeting for him later, anyway.

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts with a smooth whirr, startling the board members. “Protocol: On the Web has been triggered.”

Tony jerks upright as if yanked by a leash, nearly losing his grip on his phone in his shock. Protocol: On the Web was designed to screen the internet for any mention of Peter Parker’s name, or any emergence of his face. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, sliding his phone into his pocket and swiping his hand across the air to signal FRIDAY to open whatever had flagged her systems.

The board members are murmuring amongst themselves by now, and Pepper’s glare has darkened, but Tony doesn’t even notice, his heart thundering in his chest. If Peter’s secret identity has been endangered—

Tony blinks.

It’s a Twitter post.

With more than a little confusion and wariness, his eyes take in the caption first: as if anyone would even miss parker, lol. 

Tony’s gut churns at the callousness of the words, an intangible and unfathomable dread sinking its claws into his soul. He can’t quite understand why those words make his heart stutter in his chest, until—

Until he can.

There’s a picture of the kid above the heartless caption. Of his kid. Peter’s smiling up at him, curls as messy and unkempt as ever, freckles dusting his cheeks in a way that makes Tony want to squeeze. And his eyes—god, his eyes—are as wide and innocent as they always are, gleaming with the cheer of youth even from the other side of a screen. 

And beneath the picture: 

In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker. 

2001 - 2017.

And Tony’s heart stops. His world starts to fall apart at the seams.

He can’t think. Can’t breathe. He collapses into his seat like the air’s been punched out of him, like he’s a marionette and his strings have been cut. 

No. No no no—

Oh, god. Not him. He can’t be gone.

Please don’t take him away from me—

Blood roars in his ears, deafening him to all else as he stares blankly—uncomprehendingly—at the picture. Beyond the ringing in his ears, Tony can hear a broken, strangled wail—

It takes him a belated moment to realize the wail came from him. 

“Tony—” Pepper’s voice is muddled in his ears. 

Tony’s standing before he even realizes what he’s doing. He pushes his chair back, staggering away from the table of board members staring at him in confusion, as if Tony’s gone mad when Tony’s pretty sure they’re the ones who are insane, to act as if the world is still spinning, as if anything else matters. “I have to – I have to go—” he chokes out, fumbling with his wristwatch until the Iron Man suit starts assembling around his body in a familiar process that does nothing to ground him. “Pep—”

He turns to her in a panic, but he doesn’t have to worry: she’s already nodding in understanding and agreement as she leans in to see FRIDAY’s alert, her face pale and ashen, one hand clapped over her mouth as if to stifle a cry. 

(Pepper has always loved Peter.)

“Go,” is all she says, but he’s never heard her voice like that before: like her reality is collapsing all around her and she’s helpless to keep it together.

(Maybe he’s the one who’s helpless.)

A few board members startle, exclaiming in protest.

Tony turns, ready to yell at them until they understand that his world’s just stopped, can’t they see, but Pepper is already on it. “Family emergency,” she says, hoarse.

And any other time, Tony would have flushed and immediately tried to deny the implications of him and Peter being “family” with a stammer, all the while feeling warm that Pepper recognized them as so.

(Why did he always deny it? Why did he never just tell Peter how he felt?

Now, he’s lost the chance to. Peter will never know how much he loved him, how much he still loves him, because nothing can take this from Tony—

Peter will never realize.) 

But this isn’t any other time, because Peter is—

Tony grits his teeth. He can’t finish the thought.

Instead, he angles himself towards the window and shoots off the ground, crashing through glass and soaring through the air with one destination in mind: “FRI,” he says, voice wrecked and unrecognizable even to his own ears, “plot a course to Midtown High.”

(Because god, it’s midday on an ordinary, unremarkable Thursday and Peter is supposed to be in school. He’s supposed to be safe.)

:::

The first thing he does is order—implore—FRIDAY to call Peter, the command hoarse and shaky in his voice. Terrified.

The phone rings once—

“Please,” Tony mouths, the plea loud and deafening in the cavern of his mind. It’s all he can hear, but no sound leaves him. He’s breathless, the air stolen from his lungs, and he doesn’t know how to return himself to solid ground. “Please. Please please please pick up.”

He’s never felt like this before, like the fate of his entire world hinges on one thing, one person, one phone call—

—Twice—

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, almost like he’s too afraid to face reality, to watch the moment of its inevitable collapse. To watch the foundations of his universe crumble to ashes, just like—

No. He can’t be. 

—It rings a third time—

A few days ago—mere days—Peter had sent Tony a flurry of memes, all punctuated by at least half a dozen exclamation marks and emojified laughter. Tony had indulgently gone through each meme, snorted a couple times, and then restrained himself to sending back one eye-roll and a disapproving don’t use your phone in class, kid. 

Peter had sent back an eye-roll of his own. 

At the time, Tony could never have imagined this—could never have imagined losing Peter. If he could have envisioned this, could have foreseen the unadulterated terror gripping his heart, he would never have told Peter to stop texting in class. He would have maybe sent a laughing emoji of his own and encouraged his rebellious use of his phone during school hours.

Maybe then, Peter would pick up now. Wouldn’t leave Tony hanging in the worst moment of his life.

But he can’t take back the text he’d sent, the reproving don’t use your phone, and now Tony’s helpless to do anything but hope against hope that—

—Ring—

Tony swallows. Don’t ignore me, he wants to yell, even though the call hasn’t connected and Peter can’t hear him. You’re not supposed to ignore me. You have to pick up—I need you to pick up—

I need you, period—

Please.

—his pleas go unheard, and the phone rings again—

The phone clicks.

“Hey!” 

Tony’s heart lurches to his throat, hope soaring—

“It’s Peter here!” A familiar, shy giggle erupts on the other end of the line—the same giggle that typically sends a burst of warmth blooming across Tony’s chest. “Sorry I missed your call.”

Tony inhales sharply, finally recognizing Peter’s familiar voicemail greeting for what it is. Peter’s voice giggles again, but this time, it brings him no joy, no contented bliss; this time, it sends his heart crashing to the ground, hope withering like unprotected primroses in the blistering desert heat.

“Please leave a message at the beep. Or, you know, just send me a text like normal people. Unless this is Mr. Stark, in which case feel free to keep calling and prove your senior status.”

Normally, Peter’s voicemail message brings an amused smile to his lips, exasperation and fondness swelling within his chest in equal measure. Peter, he’d chide, how many times do I have to tell you to change your voicemail? I’m not ancient. I’m efficient. 

Today, Peter’s teasing voice makes him choke on air, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Instead of affection, it is dread that pools inside him; he takes several deep breaths, trying hard to contain the fear, but as the phone beeps tauntingly, a vision of Peter flashes across his mind. He can almost imagine the wide, shit-eating grin that took over Peter’s face when he first recorded the voicemail greeting, lounging lazily on a hammock of webs hanging from his ceiling.

His tentative self-control shatters under the weight of that image, and his dread surges and spills over the edges, breaking through the dam that is his restraint.

“Peter,” he croaks, teetering on the edge of a cliff. Salvation on one side, damnation on the other. “Peter, where – where are you? You have to… you have to call me back when you get this. Please. I—please.”

The phone beeps again, mute in his ears, and Tony is empty. He has nothing left to give, nothing but fear and uncertainty and desperation and—

A dying hope. Please. 

Silence. There’s no one to answer his calls, to reassure him and comfort him.

Tony falls and falls and falls. He watched the sharp, jagged rocks rush up to meet him, lets the tempestuous waves swallow him whole. There is no salvation here.

:::

It isn’t until he is only a few minutes away from Midtown High that Tony finally musters the courage to order FRIDAY to reopen the post. He doesn’t want to see it—he doesn't want to face it, Peter’s death—but he needs to know.

“Boss, are you sure?” FRIDAY asks, hesitant. Sometimes, Tony can’t help but think that she knows him better than he knows himself.

This time, he blunders on, ignoring her unspoken note of caution. “Do it, FRI,” he snaps, breathless, steeling himself for the worst.

After a beat, the picture pops up in his visor.

Tony bites his lip and lets his eyes drink in the words:

“Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony’s heart stops all over again. He can’t see beyond those words—see beyond 16 and died and car crash and drunk driver.

“No,” he says, and it comes out as a broken moan. “No.” 

(Tony prepared for the worst, but this—

Nothing could have prepared him for this.)

Please, no.

A drunk driver. Drunk.

Ever the masochist, Tony can’t help but flash back to years into the past, his past, filled with an endless stream of alcohol and an equally endless line of reckless actions. Tony had been stupid as a teenager. Young and wild and dumb. 

What if he never stopped? What if he never put down the bottle?

What if it was him who killed Peter?

He’d never forgive himself.

(He already can’t forgive himself.)

Tony sucks in a harsh breath that scrapes against the inner walls of his throat like the serrated edge of a knife. A long, long time ago, the men in his life liked to say: Stark men are made of iron. 

Well, if Tony were made of iron, then he is bending and twisting, caving in on himself, turning brittle and cracking and shattering beneath the vicious, unforgiving hammer that is the words drunk driver staring mercilessly back at him. 

Tony closes his eyes and wills the obituary away with a whispered command; he’s seen enough. FRIDAY wordlessly obeys, for once quiet and unresponsive in the suit, lacking her usual sarcastic gibes. If he doesn’t know any better, he’d say she’s in mourning.

Tony mourns. He mourns Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, in the wake of the words car crash and drunk driver stampeding through his mind like a broken record. He mourns Peter’s awkward rambles and giggling laughter, Peter’s childish innocence and overeager attitude, Peter’s earnest eyes and beaming grins, so blinding in their brilliance that not even the sun can hold a candle to them—or to Peter’s radiance.

He wishes he could see Peter smile one more time. He’s always loved Peter’s smiles.

But he can’t. Now, stranded here in a world that has let him down in the worst possible way, all he’s left with are memories, memories that have been tainted by an unfeeling report and car crash… drunk driver. An accident.

An accident.

God, it was an accident. Just an accident. How strange—laughable even, in a sick, twisted way—that being Spider-Man hadn’t killed the kid (his kid, Tony thinks of him as his), but that a car had.

How strange, Tony thinks, that after years and years of torment and heartbreak, after wilting under his father’s cruel (loveless) gaze and Stane’s betrayal (a betrayal years in the making) and Steve’s deception (his eyes void of recognition and warmth, his lips downturned, his voice silent as he turns away from Tony Stark for the last time and walks out of his life), it is this that breaks the great Tony Stark.

Except it isn’t strange at all. It isn’t strange when Tony lets himself dwell on Peter and the exact curve of his smile—shy and sweet and true—the sound of his high-pitched laughter (you sound constipated, Tony mocks, like a beached whale, and Peter shoves him away with yet another constipated laugh), the way he’d tuck himself into the loop of Tony’s arm when he’s feeling anxious, his eager demeanor and unashamed declarations of you’ve always been my hero, Mr. Stark. On the exact shade of Peter’s eyes—a warm hazelnut brown, like a mug of hot chocolate by the fireplace amidst the winter storm—on the shape of his birthmark, on the nervous stammer that often befalls him.

On his kindness and his thoughtfulness and the way he lives and loves and laughs without fear. On the light that shines so effortlessly from within him, threatening to blind Tony with its virtuous incandescence.

If he weren’t Iron Man, if FRIDAY weren’t keeping him safe and engulfed within his nitinol confines, Tony doesn’t think he’d be able to keep himself upright. 

(If FRIDAY didn’t auto-lock the suit whenever he’s in it, Tony would gladly let himself fall.)

(Funny how Tony planned for nearly every eventuality. 

Keyword: nearly. 

He built Peter’s suit to be strong enough to withstand anything. He built the suit to protect the kid—just a kid—from Captain America himself, from alien weapons, from hundred-feet falls, from even the relentless cold. 

He’s never once imagined he’d have to protect Peter from a drunk driver. And, well—

And if you died, I feel like that’s on me.)

:::

(In the end, it takes less than half an hour to fly to Midtown High in the Iron Man suit.

It’s twenty minutes of flight.

It’s an eternity of torture.)

:::

Tony Stark has always known three things for certain:

One: Howard Stark is an asshole.

Two: He will never be able to repent for all the deaths his weapons have caused. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many more people he saves, it will never be enough to erase his sins or wash the blood from his hands.

And three: If Peter Parker were to die, a part of Tony would die with him.

:::

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

[chipster-21]

Sorry this is so long, but I need to say it.

I feel for the poor actress who will be playing Jughead's uhhh... what was it, trainwreck-y hipster girlfriend lol she'll just end up like Vanessa was when she was introduced. Getting death threats and hate from fans for no reason other than "ruining" Bughead. Which is insane bc it's a fictional ship from a show ANYONE can stop watching whenever they want if they don't like it. Even though she'll probably be an interesting character (again how Toni started our before she got with Cheryl) Her character description sounds intentionally toxic (even though the character will probably have a wilder fun personality than most on the show which would be actually interesting seeing as most of them have the personality of a box of stale wheat thins (a nod to the terrible army of writers for Riverdale)) AKA set up for a failure already and fans of Betty will obviously compare the two and a huge setup to see that Betty is perfect for Jughead. Despite the cheating and lying about said cheating.

At least IF Jug and his new gf break up have her with Reggie, poor bastard was shockingly single, Veronica callously dumped him for Archie's traumatized ass, was abused and none of his friends cared and most of all his crappy tickle porn storyline that came out of nowhere! And that was just in the last 2 seasons. Reggie deserves love damnit!

Don't even get me started on Veronica's new hubby, out of character for her to be with someone as borderline mysogynistic guy, she's too strong for a relationship like that considering her clear and vocal distaste for mysogynist presented clearly at least 4 times every season. A setup to get her and Archie back together, not that I mind bc I'm a fan of the couple.

Or here's a crazy idea bring in some new characters from the comics the show was based on! There are so many!! With various ethnicities Nancy Woods, Raj Patel, Frankie Gonzalez and Maria Rodriguez! Just to name a few w/ fun personalities besides the bland core four overdone storylines! And this whole 5 to 7 year gap is perfect to set up new characters from the comics in high school, give Jellybean a high school mystery with a new group! These original characters are boring, transparent and dusty as hell...

But despite all this obvious lack of thought into this new season I will be watching or at least receiving a plethora of spoilers to see if the writers actually listened to fan and actors complaints and make some positive changes. I enjoy MOST of the show when it's not focused on the crooked plotline and stilted dialogue.

[addictofsupernatural]

The Road So Far (pt. 2)

Sweet Pea x reader

Summary: Y/n Winchester and her two older brothers go to the small town of Riverdale for a case, and meets Sweet Pea on tbe way.

Riverdale + Supernatural Crossover

Word Count: 2006

Chapter 1 • Chapter 3

Sweet Pea handed Sam the drinks, and you stepped inside. "Dean." You said. He reluctantly gave you his gun that he was hiding behind him. "C'mon dude." You put the gun on the table as he closed the door.

You and Sam sat down at a small table and started eating. "So, what's up with Mr. Nice Guy?" He teased.

You smiled and looked down at your food. "I don't know. Almost everybody seems afraid of him, but he's been nothing but nice to me. I asked around about him to see if he's a player, but everyone says that he's scary or that he's loyal."

"Why do people think he's scary?"

Mm, probably because he's in a gang, and has a neck tattoo, and rides a motorcycle, and is known for hating the Northside, and his name is Sweet Pea." He stared at you, amused. "But I'm just guessing. Could be wrong."

"So it's like he's a scary mafia leader who's respected by his people but feared by everybody else, and also protects his girl and treats her right despite everybody's warning about him to her."

You sat there in silence, taking in the truth that he was saying. "I don't see the comparison at all." You said quietly, picking at your food while Sam laughed.

Meanwhile, Dean and Sweet Pea were having a conversation that was not as lighthearted. "What's your game here?"

"What?" Sweet Pea asked nervously.

"Why are you trying to get into my little sister's pants? Don't think I don't know the kind of guy you are."

"I'm really not trying anything bad." Although Dean was tall, Sweet Pea was still taller, and Dean hated the fact that he had to look up in order to face him.

Dean didn't believe him. "You know we won't be here for much long right? A week max, and the three of us will be on the road together, just like it's always been."

"Yeah, and she deserves more than that." He stepped closer, gaining some new found confidence to the Winchester. "She should be enjoying the things that's in front of her, not just saying 'Who cares, I'm gonna be gone soon' like she has been. She deserves a life, and she's not getting that."

Dean looked away and wiped his mouth with his hand in frustration. Maybe he was right. Maybe the hunting life wasn't for you. "Look, if I see or hear about you trying anything with her-"

"You'll shoot me?" He asked, some of his confidence gone.

"Oh, no, I'll be standing right next to you watching while she shoots you." He smiled at patted him hard on the back, going back inside.

"So, how'd it go?" You asked with a teasing smile.

"Where's my food?" You and Sam looked at each other. If he avoided the question, that meant that he came to a conclusion he didn't like.

You silently put his food in front of him on the table, and he pulls up a chair to eat. "Oh, by the way," you said. "After dinner I'm gonna go out to Fox Forest with a few other people from school. They have a lead."

"Sure, as long as we tag along." Dean didn't look up from his food.

"What? No." You whined. "It's fine, I can handle myself."

"And what about your friends?" Sam caught on to Dean's bitter tone. He understood that Dean didn't like it that you were attaching yourself a little too much to a town that you will be leaving.

"They've been in a lot of dangerous situations before. Jughead and Betty have caught this kid's murderer, a serial killer, and have figured out a lot of sketchy crap that goes on in this town. They're good at solving mysteries, and have stayed alive in the process."

Sam looked from you to Dean. "That's... actually impressive."

Dean ignored all of that. "Jughead? What kind of a name is Jughead?"

Your face fell. "Is that all you got from that?" He sheepishly looked at you. "I'm going. Don't worry, if anything happens I'll call. Promise."

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "Fine."

You hugged Dean, to which he grumbled and hugged you back. You then took the pie out of the bag and opened the packaging, handing Dean a plastic fork and kissed him on the top of the head in a fun manner, ruffling his hair. "It's cherry."

A small smile came onto his face as he excepted your rare, playful love. You put on your jacket, put your knife in your pocket, and headed out. "Love you guys."

"Love you too." They both called out as you close the door.

You then head out to Fox Forest, meeting with the other three. You all search around, finding nothing for a while. Once you're deep into the forest, you found some tents. "Hey guys." You said. "Over there."

We all hid, trying to see whether someone would come out or not. Someone did. "It's a Ghoulie." Sweet Pea whispered, with Jughead nodding.

"A Ghoulie?"

"It's a rival gang." Betty explained. You breathed out a small laugh. Until they shifted into their true form. You were hoping that this stake out was going to be false, but that wasn't the case. "Oh my God." Betty whispered.

You took out your phone, quickly calling Dean. "Who are you calling?" Jughead whispered harshly.

"My brothers. Trust me."

As he answered, Jughead ended the call. "No. That won't help."

"Let's all just go before they see us." You said. "We need to think about what to do next." They all agreed, swiftly leaving.

The four of you stood in the cold near the bridge. "Okay, I need to process this." Jughead said. "We'll all meet up tomorrow to talk about what we're going to do."

Jughead and Betty left together, leaving you and Sweet Pea alone. "Hey, you okay?" He gently touched your arm.

"Uh, yeah. Still processing. Are you?"

"I'm a little freaked by it, but we have to do something so I guess I should try to be calm right now. Come on, I'll give you a ride."

You both got to the motel, and you stopped him from leaving. "Wait." You put your hand on his, causing him to stop. You then take off the ring you've been wearing. "Here."

He smiled at it and put it on, taking off his dog tag and putting it on you. "I know this was a scary ass night, but I'm still not letting you get away from me. Hope you feel better."

You blankly stated at him before giving him a light hug. "Thank you. I hope you feel better too." He then took off.

You put the dog tag underneath your shirt and went inside. "So," Dean said from his bed. "How'd it go? You called me but hung up right after."

"Heh," you nervously laughed. "So funny story-"

"You saw the werewolves." He uncrossed his arms. You nodded. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing. We decided to figure out what to do about it tomorrow."

"Damnit y/n." He sighed.

"I thought it would be a dead end." You defensively said. "I didn't know that they actually knew what they were doing."

He scooted over. "Well go to sleep. We have to go to school tomorrow."

The next day at school you prayed to Chuck that Sam and Dean wouldn't do anything while you were at school. It was then that there was an announcement that you, Betty, Jughead and Sweet Pea were to go to the principal's office. Damn you Chuck.

The four of you were all sitting down in Mr. Weatherbee's office, and as soon as the principal left your two giant brothers came in. "Aren't they your brothers?" Jughead asked.

"I wish I could say no." You gave them an embarrassed look.

"Hi." Sam said. "I'm special agent Hoff. This is my partner, special agent Hassel."

You let out a snort. "I'm sorry, is there something funny?" Dean asked.

"Wow guys, that's good. Special agents Hassel and Hoff. David Hasselhoff. Nice."

Dean sighed. "Really?"

"Dean cut the crap, they know what they saw."

"You two aren't agents." Betty stated.

Sam sighed. "Y/n's right Dean. They're smarter that they look."

Jughead leaned in his seat. "Why would you two have different last names when we know that you were brothers?"

Your two brothers were silent. Dean then looked at you. "You wanna give your smart ass friends the hunter's talk?"

You looked down. "Not really." You felt Sweet Pea stare at you, but you refused to look at him. He'd want to stay far away from you now, you were sure of it.

Sam and Dean finished explaining everything. The three teenagers sitting next to you were staring at you. You kept your gaze on the floor. "So that's why you all have to stay away from that place." Dean said. "At least until we take care of them."

"No." Betty said.

"Wha- were you not just listening to what they were saying?!" You exclaimed.

"You need more people, because knowing the Ghoulies, the whole gang's probably werewolves."

"Betty's right." Jughead nodded. "Strength in numbers. You need the Serpents."

"Serpents?" Dean looked at you for answers. You put two fingers to your neck pulse. He understood that you were talking about Sweet Pea's tattoo. He huffed. "This ain't some game for kid 'gangs'."

"The Serpents aren't a kiddy gang," Jughead protested. "They're a family. And my dad is the serpent king."

You knew it was supposed to be serious, but you couldn't help but find it a bit funny. "Well shit." You said, smiling. "This town is so weird, and I love it."

"Y/n, you can't be serious." Sam said.

"Well, we have to take out a big nest. You heard them, there's about 70 Ghoulies. We need all the help we can get." You then turned to Sweet Pea. "Doesn't your gang have a law about unity or something?" You cocked your head, a smile on your face.

He nodded, feeling pumped up. "In unity, there is strength."

"In unity, there is strength." Betty and Jughead echoed.

Dean huffed. "Fine, I'll call Cas."

"I'll call Crowley." You perked up.

"No." Both your brothers said.

"Why?" You whined. "He's changed. Now that he's got human blood in him, he's good. And he has a soft spot for me. Admit it." They didn't respond. "Silence is acceptance. I'll call him right now."

"Who's Crowley?" Sweet Pea asked. "And Cas?"

"Um, they'll probably introduce themselves when they get here." As Dean left the room to call Castiel, you shifted towards Sweet Pea. "Hey, uh, I get it if you don't want to talk to me anymore. People usually stay away when they find out I'm a hunter."

"Are you kidding?" Sweet Pea asked with a smile. "You're a total badass superhero! That just makes me want to spend more time with you."

You gave him a huge grin. "Really?"

He nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. He began to lean in, and your lips were about to touch before Sam cleared him throat. "You should call Crowley now."

You felt heat spread on your face as you nodded, taking out your phone and calling The King 😈. He put that as his contact on your phone.

"Hey Crowley. Whatcha doin'?"

...

"Sounds boring. So, I was wondering if you'd wanna help out on a case. Please?"

...

"No, not demons. Werewolves. About 70 of them."

...

"As soon as Cas is here, so about two days."

...

"Perfect! You're the best Crowley."

...

"Don't get too cocky on me now. I'll let you know when he comes. Bye!"

You then hung up the phone. "He's coming!" You happily said. "So while we wait on Cas, we have two days to help these Serpents to become a hunter."

-------

Tag List:

@sgarrett49 @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e

[adeelusionaldiary]

One Shot: The Publicity Stunt

Her green eyes glanced down at the current source of her frustration, her iPhone. It was like staring down at the device would will him to respond to her plea of desperation. Instead it just said delivered. Maybe this was a sign that she should let go. After all, it’d been too many missed opportunities to talk. The constant games of phone tag. It was wearing on her because she missed the fuck outta him, plain and simple. All she wanted to do was bask in his presence but she couldn’t. Instead she caught glimpses of the happening of his life through the KINGdom Come hashtag on Instagram.

The tour looked amazing and she could tell a lot of thought went into it with all the small details. She wished she could have been present night after night to see what was happening, but after the whole fiasco of thinking they were pregnant and then it turned out to be negative Ryan thought it’d be best for them to have some space. Clearly Vander was doing it right, throwing himself into work along with the newest flavor of the month, Camilla DiBello better known as his opening act. It irked Ryan to no end because while everyone else was praising the girl for her sound and dance moves Ryan could only see the fact that she seemed like the ultimate groupie. There was no doubt in her mind that little girl would use this tour to develop a relationship with Vander, and it wouldn’t be the professional kind.

A huff escaped her lips as she threw her phone down. Fuck this sitting around being miserable shit. She was going to go out and have good time because damnit she deserved it. Walking over to the closet her eyes scoured the small space until she found exactly what she was looking for. She smiled as she held the see through dress up to her body. The same dress Evander had gifted her with that she swore she would wear just so he could take it off. Maybe another lucky guy would get the opportunity tonight and with that idea in mind, Ryan made sure to put her best effort into getting ready.

Heads turned as she made her way through the throng of bodies in the club. The DJ was playing the perfect music for her to find someone to grind up on. All she needed was a drink. Finding the bar, she ordered her signature cocktail, a Manhattan. While waiting she scoured her Instagram. The mini photoshoot she posted with the help of her Apple Watch -a birthday gift courtesy of Raven- was gaining traction, but the man of the hour still hadn’t liked it, not that necessarily expected him to. It was more likely he’d fly and snatch her ass up letting her know she was playing a very dangerous game. She locked the device as her drink was placed in front of her.

She took a much-needed sip of her Manhattan as she posted up at the bar. Eyes ran over her body from jealous women, and lustful men but she ignored it all as she finished one drink and downed another. With her third drink in hand, she made her way to the dance floor. Her hips moved in rhythm with the music before someone joined her. They may as well been fucking the way his hands roamed her bare body considering her bare breast and underwear were visible form the see through material of the dress. Several songs later she removed herself from the stranger or at least she tried to. He pulled her body into his whispering sweet nothings as he caressed her side. She giggled as her eyes scanned the club. Her lips fell into a scowl as she spotted the familiar blonde with her entourage. Maybe her name did have some bearing if she managed to make it into VIP without Evander Lynch nearby.

Excusing herself from the gentleman, who thought he had a chance, she strutted across the room making her way to the VIP area that was sectioned off. The blonde noticed her, causing a smirk to cross her lips as she made her way to the bouncer, making sure to keep the separation between the two.

“Look what the cat dragged in?” The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard and Ryan had to bite her tongue to not retort.

“Listen, we need to talk.”

“We,” the blonde said pointing her perfectly manicured finger between the duo “Don’t need to do shit.”

Ryan chuckled. “But I think we do. I promise I’ll even share some tips so you can keep our man next time.”

A smirk sat on her face as Vanessa glared at her.

“You come over here dressed like the whore you are trying to be cute. Bitch get lost.” Vanessa said, eyeing Ryan’s body with disgust.

“Aww.” Ryan cooed. “Admit that it bothers the fuck outta you no matter how many times you hop on and off the surgery table you can never look like this! Titties that actually stand up and not because they’re filled with implants. Can’t forget the natural ass that I can move and our man loves. I mean Vander picked this one out himself.” Ryan spoke rubbing her hands down her sides for emphasis. “Oh, and do me a favor please remember where those bitches got you last time.” Ryan warned. 
“Yeah, he loves you so much that’s why your ass is standing here, outside my VIP section seeking attention. I already told you, you’re a nobody.”

“And somehow I’ve still managed to get your attention.”

“Keep her away from me.” Vanessa spoke to the bouncer, ready to dismiss Ryan and enjoy the rest of her night.

“I just wanna talk.” Ryan spazzed, making Vanessa raise her arched brows, before shaking her head and walking off.

Ryan huffed, turning around storming off to the bar where she finished her last Manhattan. There was no doubt about it she was buzzed and even though Vanessa hadn’t originally been a part of the plan she was mad the girl was icing her because the blonde was probably the only person who could relate to her at the moment.

Just as she got ready to close her tab at the bar a body pressed behind her but there was no hint of familiarity, causing her to whip her head around to find the man from earlier.

“So you just left me back there earlier.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go home.”

“Without me?” He asked and Ryan fought the urge to roll her eyes. Tired ass line from the the guy who couldn’t take the hint. Placing her hands on his chest she tried to create some space between their bodies but he wouldn’t let up. Instead he placed his lips by her ears.

“You know ma, those titties look amazing I’d love to show you what I can do with them.”

She got ready to tell him off, where exactly he could fuck off at but another voice chimed in.

“Hey. back off perv.” There was blondie scooping in and saving the day. She pushed her way through forcing him to back up from Ryan’s personal space.

“I’ve been looking for you. Let’s go.” She took Ryan’s hand and brought her back to VIP this time granting her access as the bouncer let them through.

Ryan took a seat and looked to Vanessa. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The blonde said flipping her tresses and Ryan wasn’t able to decipher if she really meant it.

“I miss him.” Ryan blurted.

Vanessa look at Ryan before her phone made its way in front of them with the flash as Vanessa guided the device showing off their outfits.

“Two bad bitches.” Vanessa screamed into the phone as Ryan began dancing to the music causing Vanessa to let out an ‘ayeee’ as she tapped Ryan’s ass. She posted the video to her Instagram before turning to Ryan.

“You’re a bad bitch you better not be worried about Vander’s ass.”

“No ones worried about him.” Ryan slurred. “I could have any guy in here but my stupid ass want him.”

Vanessa laughed loudly causing Ryan’s to screw up her face in confusion.

“It’s not funny. We almost had a baby and now look at us.” Vanessa expression grew stoic before she straightened up.  She turned to one of her minions and whispered something before turning back to Ryan.

“You didn’t come here to be a sad betty. I’ll send your ass back to the bar.”

“No!” Ryan spoke. “I need your help. Didn’t you miss him? How do I get over him? I just wanna get him off my mind.”

In her drunken state Ryan didn’t even realize one of Vanessa’s minions recording in the background. Instead she running her mouth to the enemy in hope of finding common ground.

“You know how Vander is. All he does is play with people emotions. Your time is done. Time to build a bridge and get over it.”

“Why are you lying on him? He cares about me.” The sentence probably didn’t even sound coherent in her drunken and now angered state. “You play with peoples emotions, that’s why you won’t help me. You want me to be sad when all I wanna do is be happy. I just wanna be his friend.”

“Get up.” Vanessa spoke as she pulled Ryan from her seat. She squeezed Ryans face. “Get your shit together. No more Vander talk. When I’m done with you, you won’t even remember his name. We get over him, by drinking so throw this shit back. She said handing her a shot.

[all-of-the-imagines-for-eve]

Forget About It ~ Sweet Pea (Part 2)

A/n: Double post because I’m in LOVE with this. Wow it feels good to be back! Not my gif.

Word Count: 3816

MASTERLIST

'Cause I feel like a bad joke. Walk the tight rope to hold on to you. Was it real? Or a love scene, from a bad dream? I don't think I can forget about it...

"We don’t even know who you stand with! ...Us, or them? You can’t be half a Serpent. Even your boy’s kid sister picked a side. Against the North Siders, even."

"Maybe not ALL North Siders are a complete waste."

"Who said she’s a North Sider anymore?"

Jughead and I had both ignored the back and forth musing between Sweet Pea and Fangs but the words hung over my head, becoming more tangible and real and prodding and harder to ignore each and every day I spent with Jughead and the Serpents. That process quickened even more when Jughead went headlong into the trials.

Hotdog was taking to me well. We got into the habit of cuddling up to each other on the floor. Midst everything else, that was one of the great things. I didn’t need Sweet Pea’s presence and comfort anymore, which gave room for me to simply want it. We hung out and talked and got to know each other past my nonsensical craving. He became a person, not a drug. A smile and a laugh with a name. I started to notice things. How bright his smile was, no matter the setting of the room. How smooth and deep his voice was. How undeniably handsome he was. How he was good with kids - the one or two times I’d seen him with them - and how good with Hotdog he was. He was so good. To everyone and everything.

The day Toni came to warn Jughead about the last trial was tense. I moved outside the second it got serious, wrestling with Hotdog. It was my absolute favorite thing to do. He was a big dog but he was gentle too. Even when I got him all rowdy and hyper he was still well trained and old enough to immediately step back and stop when I showed signs of strain or pain. Toni found me on the ground, dirty and pinned by Hotdog who was slobbering me up with kisses as I shrieked and giggled and tried to hide from his wet love. Toni shooed the dog, offering me her hand to help me to my feet. I took it. Once I was up I used to my shirt to wipe my face. When I was done, her serious expression wiped my smile away. "What’s up Toni?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

She looked at me a few more seconds before drawing herself up to her full height, still barely reaching my chin. "Seems this house is full of people who aren’t sure. People I can’t be sure about." I rose an eyebrow. "Are you a North Sider, Y/n?" I swallowed, my mood instantly darkening. Hotdog moved to my side, his nose nudging my hand as he sensed my distress. Toni seemed to grow more angry at the sight as I pet him, accepting his comfort. "You take shelter and seek comfort here but... can we trust you? Can I trust you not to break my best friend’s heart?"

My eyes widened and I blushed. "There’s nothing going on between me and Sweet Pea."

It was her turn to raise the questioning eyebrow and I swallowed. "I never said I was talking about Sweet Pea." My eyes fell. We both knew what I'd said was a lie. Even since the night we’d met we’d been growingsteadily and quickly closer. It was obvious that I had developed some kind of crush on him and he had become protective of me at the very least. I always had the horrible feeling that he saw me as a little sister he had to watch, but what Toni was insinuating undoubtedly made my heart beat faster. The prospect of him crushing on me in return...

Toni stepped closer and despite the height difference I stepped back, intimidated. "Don’t hurt him." She said it like a warning, an unspoken, ‘or I’ll hurt you’ added to the end that I could see in her eyes and body. I nodded, swallowing, and she walked away.

Things got complicated after that. I was suddenly aware of the effect I was leaving on the Serpents. I couldn’t stay, I knew that. Eventually I had to go home. Archie seemed to be a lot better and my dad was missing me. I was missing my dad too. South Side had become a second home, full of a bunch of friendly faces and safe corners and happy moments, unlike the dredged and tainted North Side I’d left behind where the only person I could always count on to make me feel happy was my dad. I wasn’t close to Veronica except through Archie and now that we were on not talking terms, I didn’t want anything to do with either of them. Betty I’d miss, but living with Jughead meant I’d see her occasionally. Kevin and I weren’t really all that close but he might be a face I would think about when I wondered what the North Side kids were up to. I could ask Betty for updates, though. I could visit my dad on weekends. I’m sure I could even get a job and start pulling my weight around the Jones’, not just cooking food and taking care of Hotdog and keeping things tidy. But those were long term plans. Those were moving out and being gone plans. Where would they lead?

Would I join the Serpents? Go to South Side High? Would I disgrace my whole life in the North Side because my brother had cracked and pointed a gun at some Serpents I didn’t even know at the time? Would I put my dad through losing me before I was even 18 to the dangers of the South Side and it’s life style just because of Archie?

On the other hand, could I bring myself to forgive Archie if I went back? Would we ever be as we used to be, or would I always be in this middle space? Too Serpent to be North Side, too North Side to be a Serpent?

No, Sweet Pea had made it clear. I had to pick a side eventually. Was it worth shoving a wedge in mine and my dad’s relationship to seek the freedom and happiness I had unexpectedly found with a gang that should hate me?

But, above all, if I did stay... would it be for Sweet Pea? Was this a pick and choose between Sweet Pea and my dad or was I oversimplifying it?

To summarize, I had a lot of questions and a lot of reason to be asking them. I was unsure on a lot of levels and it drove me away from Sweet Pea. My confusions and worrying and overthinking made me draw back. In my attempt not to hurt him, I drove a knife into his gut and twisted. Toni shot endless glares at me and the rest of the Serpents were starting to catch on too. Sitting close and quiet whispers and stolen stares and brief flirting turned to a solid cold shoulder as I internally panicked and it was hurting everyone around me. They’d started to trust me. Started to count me as one of their own in spirit, even if I didn’t have the tattoo and the jacket.

Now it seemed that I would be running home to the North Side with my tail between my legs.

Damnit why couldn’t this be easier?!

As if hearing my silent frustrated yell into the void of the mental universe, my brother showed up and did what he always does- he lost his temper and ran his mouth. And suddenly Jughead wasn’t blocking Sweet Pea from Archie, he was blocking ME.

"Are you friends with these thugs?" He spat.

"Are you joining the Serpents?" He asked, as if accusing.

"These were he people who attacked me!"

Each time I was there to argue.

"Don’t call them thugs!" or "Attacked you? It was a consensual fight!"

Archie kept blowing me off, straight up ignoring me. My hands were already clenched into fists when it happened. Jughead asked why he came and Archie said the one thing that tipped me off. "I came to tell you to stay away from Betty. She doesn’t want to see you anymore."

I moved to Jughead's side, my shoulder brushing his, and he started after a second, his face hardening in resolve. We both knew that was total shit. "Screw you," Jughead snapped. "I just saw Betty yesterday she..." he cut off, drifting. "She was fine-"

"No, dude," Archie cut in. "She’s been wanting to break up with you for weeks. "She’s been agonizing over it. Since you crossed the dark side. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it."

I nudged Jug again, supporting him. Helping him. He blinked, thinking. "So she sent you?" Jughead scoffed. "Betty would never do that!"

Archie took a step forward. "If you don’t believe me then call her! And feel free to tell her you’re a Serpent now, too. Bet she’ll love that." He took a step forward and Jug took a step back. We were side by side now and I was staring my brother down, angry and hurt because I knew how this was killing Jughead, who had become my best friend. "She knew where you were headed, Jughead. Okay, we all did. And she knows you can’t be with them and with her. I mean, come on, man." He shook his head." You know it too."

There was a moment of silence where Archie looked at me and I felt his words hit me on a more personal level. His message was to both of us. I felt my own eyes water as Jughead managed, “Tell Betty I got the message." His voice was wet and shaky, sounding how my heart felt.

"Yeah," Archie mumbled, voice quiet and gravely now. He looked at me. "Come on, Y/n let’s go home. There’s been enough of this nonsense."

So my time had come. Just like that I felt each and every pair of eyes that belonged to a person within what seemed a mile radius trained on me. This was my cue. My cue to leave and escape and run away. My cue to ditch the Serpents and return as the North Sider they dreaded I was.... And maybe I would have if Archie had just come to me. Maybe I would have given in and put my head back in the sand and closed my eyes to the horrors happening around me.

But something had just snapped inside of me and there was no going back now. "No," I answered firmly, my voice strong even though it was quiet. Even Jughead's eyes bore into me now.

Archie scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I get it, you made your point. I’m done with the Red Circle stuff, okay? Just come home. Dad and Vegas miss you." He sighed. "I miss you." I shook my head and he grunted in frustration, that anger from before coming back. "Y/n you’re a North Sider stop acting like you’re tough just because you want to make a point!"

I snapped. My hands flattened against his chest and I shoved with all my might, stepping into it. He tumbled back, eyes widening as he almost lost his balance. Jughead didn’t move to stop me. No one was holding me back. "North Siders are so stupid! And shallow! And... TERRIBLE!" I screamed, getting in his face. He was stunned speechless. "You look at someone different than you and don’t understand them so you write them off. You do it with your own! The popular attack the nerds, the straights attack the gays. Cheryl Blossom attacks everyone because she’s got issues and you all just let her because to actually do something to change how she is would mean putting in work to help her and you’re all too self absorbed to do anything about it! The LAST decent North Sider my age just broke up with her boyfriend because he joined a family of genuinely good people you all know NOTHING about. You don’t care about his reason or thinking or anything, you’re too STUCK on your own wants and needs and preferences. You’re so SELFISH!" I shoved him again but this time he was ready, catching my wrists and shoving back so that I stumbled. He was a lot stronger than me.

Sweet Pea moved forward behind me but Jughead caught him. "Let her fight her own fights." They both stilled.

Archie didn’t like that. Didn’t like the protective way Sweet Pea looked at me. Didn’t like me fighting my own fights. Didn’t like me fighting him. So he didn’t the only thing he knew how to do. He lashed out. "You think these people care about you at all?" It was like he’d slapped me in the face. I froze, staring at him with wide eyes. "You’re just a North Sider to them, Y/n! You don’t live on the South Side! And even if you did move in, you don’t actually know them. What they grew up going through and the life style they’re used to leading. This will all be new and dangerous to you. You have to adapt and change. They could never accept the real you. The you that sits on your bed at home because you’re tired from talking to people alone. The shy, reserved, quiet you that’s scared to raise your hand in class even though you know the answer because you get anxiety when you’re called on like a kid who took a cookie they weren’t allowed to have. You’re small and scared by everything. You’ve depended on me from day one and now you’re just running to the closest big man to protect you now that you’ve deemed me unsafe for whatever reason. They’ll ditch you so fast Y/n-"

"For no reason?" I asked in a low voice. Our eyes met and all his anger was gone instantly. It was like a movie was laying in front of us, showing the events clearly. We both saw it so easily that it was like we were watching it in each other’s eyes. "The night you completely lost your shit, I watched the big brother I looked up to for everything turn into a gun toting psychopath temping people to attack him and then threatening lives when they answered the call. Then you realized you fucked up and LEFT me. Alone, at night, terrified and shaken and about to have an anxiety attack. Those people you put in danger? Those people you shrug off as trouble, as thugs? THOSE were the people who were there for me when I had no where else to go because I was terrified of going home to a brother I was afraid of." My eyes watered as we stared each other down. My knuckles were curled tight, colored white, and shaking.

Jughead put his hand on my shoulder to calm me after a long pause of brother-sister face off. "I think you should go Archie. You’ve made your point." Archie swallowed and then pushed past me and Jug, into the crowd of Serpents and back home to the North Side.

There were no cheers. No relieved sighs or smiles. I’d chosen the South Side. But I was a wreck. Archie’s words had trashed me and they didn’t even have to see my face to know. They wanted to reach out and comfort me I could practically feel Sweet Pea itching to move. But no. All that came was silence, heavy and long.

Finally, mercifully, Jughead turned to face everyone. "What?" He snapped. "Did you enjoy the show?"

Sweet Pea didn’t even pause in his reply. "Show hasn’t even started yet."

The rest of the day I stayed in the trailer, in Jug’s room. I didn’t talk not once, and only came out to watch Jughead go through the last trial. I winced and curled away from the group as they beat him up, each getting in their own hit. Each time made me hurt as if they were hitting me, but I knew that Jughead’s pain was far worse. Finally Sweet Pea got his punch, brass knuckles glinting under the moonlight. Jughead was on the ground and I gasped. But then, like the Jughead I had come to know since living with him in the South Side, he stood up, spit blood, and almost seemed to smile. Toni put an arm around me as we both watched Sweet Pea offer his hand. Toni smiled and Jug took it and it felt like the whole South Side let loose the breath it had been holding. I was there when he got his tattoo and then I was gone, outside the trailer as Toni and Jughead talked inside. When it grew very late and Toni hadn’t come out, I sighed, hanging my head. They’d had tension since day one and I hated it. I hated it because I knew he loved Betty and that meant that Toni deserved better.

Sweet Pea found me falling asleep against the side of the trailer. He sat down next to me. "Hey." I hummed in response and he chuckled. His arm fell around my shoulders and he tugged me against him. He was so warm compared to the night chill that I curled into him, pulling my knees up a bit. "I was just gonna let you be. Toni and Fangs told me to let you cool off. But... I couldn’t sleep. Are you okay?" I sighed heavily and he nodded. "Thought so." He paused. "Jughead lock you out?"

I smiled at his protective tone. "He. Toni. Inside. I needed air."

My mumbles seemed to get to him as he nodded, letting me know he understood. "Want to come to mine then?"

Leaning away so he could see my face, I smiled. "I would love that."

His smile matched mine. He stood, pausing as I went to struggle to my feet before he laughed quietly, leaning down and scooping me up bridal style. I grunted in protest but didn’t fight him, pressing against him instead because GOD he was warm. He walked in quiet for a while before he spoke. "You know, what he said. It’s all wrong. You see the North Side like we do. I’ve seen it since I first met you. You’ve always been so protective and appreciative of us. You defended us, wrote off your brother. I wouldn’t have blamed you for going back. That’s your whole life... but you didn’t. I’ve asked a few of the guys. Fangs and Toni like you. They’re glad you’re sticking around. And we all know Jughead has a mega soft spot for you. I can’t exactly speak for everyone but I can say that there are Serpents who will have your back. And then the rest will have our backs, so really the whole family is behind you."

Eyes closed, I hummed. My hand flattened against his chest. "Thanks, Sweets. I needed to hear that." Under my hand, his heartbeat quickened when I used the pet name. The rest of the fairly short walk was quiet. He took me inside and to his bed this time. He set me down, pulling the covers over me. "Sorry I took your bed," I apologized.

He chuckled. "I don’t mind. Goodnight."

"Night." I was dead asleep too fast to even create another thought, and so the day ended peacefully and happy with me safe and warm and feeling absolutely wonderful...

Of course it couldn’t last long. Jughead worked on transferring me to South Side high and it was surprisingly smooth and easy. My father signed the papers after a call where I told him my plan about visiting on weekends and sticking close to Jughead’s side. After I told him about everything Archie had said, the friends I was making, and how much Jug was hurting and how much I was helping (because even Jug had admitted that I was helping by sticking around and actively cheering him up and said I wasn’t allowed to sleepover anywhere else anymore because he missed my breakfast making) just in general, he agreed that I was needed much more where I was. For Jug and myself.

My first day at South Side High, Sweet Pea was my guide. He walked around with his arm around my shoulders, his eyes tearing down everyone who even dared to glance my way in a shady or questionable way. He actually pulled me into his lap during lunch and no one said anything about it. I was enjoying the attention from him and generally being back into our flirty little back and forth.

My first day at South Side High, I joined Jughead’s newspaper thing because I was a great editor and an okay writer if need be. I waited at Sweet Pea’s locker with said boy while he turned the entry into the teacher in charge of the newspaper. I was excited for the publishing we had both talked about and worked hard over, perfecting to both of our standards. It was guaranteed a winner.

My first day at South Side High was pleasant even though the school was pretty crap. I found myself briefly wishing I could bring better learning conditions to the kids there because people like Sweet Pea and Toni and Fangs, who were smart and actually would try it they were given the opportunity, deserves the opportunity to try. It seemed all of Riverdale had spray painted them a general loss and I didn’t approve of it.

My first day at South Side high, Sweet Pea not-so-jokingly called, “See you later, Princess,” as I blushed. Seconds before all Hell broke lose and the brief moment of peace and contentedness shattered into chaos. The halls flooded with officers and I watched my fellow students and my friends get chased and pinned down. The sound of Sweet Pea’s fist slamming on the locker seemed to echo in my brain as I was tripped and pinned, a knee digging into my back. I cried out and Sweet Pea screamed my name and we were all dragged away as I watched my brother - of ALL people - watch with Jughead as I was carted off to wherever they were taking us like I was any other student.

My first day of South Side High taught me what it meant to be a kid on the South Side. It taught me what it meant to be a Serpent, as Toni scrambled to my side, barring me from the shifty kids in the cell with me. It taught me the Not Fun part of the life I had chosen. And it fueled me, my hard eyes turning to Toni as we shared a look of half outrage and half surrender. There was nothing we could do. But still. I was a South Side kid now. And I still wasn’t going to change it.

That was reason enough for Toni to smile.

-

Forever Tag: @bitchyseawitch @chipster-21 @alexa-playafricabytoto

[allskynostars]

Strong, Chapter 7; Can’t Stay Away

Sorry for the wait everyone, this is super long to make up for it :) 

**

It took exactly two weeks for Jughead to decide to backtrack and apologize to Betty. Over text, of course, his absence on her days at the Jones household hadn't gone unnoticed. It started with a single text last Sunday night.

I'm sorry I'm such a douche bag.

Followed shortly by another;

I promise I'll make it up to you. But of course, if you want me to fuck off then just say it. Or, you know, don't say anything at all.

And so that's what she did. She ignored those original texts, and all the others that followed. He clearly hadn't taken the hint, as he started to text her like he was writing entries into a diary all week.

So Jellybean called me a Miscreant today? Did she google that?

Did I ever mention how much my English teacher looks like Nicolas Cage? It's uncanny. And distracting.

Joaquin has been moaning all day about how itchy his tattoo is. If I murder him will you be my alibi?

They were all just updates, but then Betty had woken up to a text this morning that had her heart racing all day.

I wish my pillow still smelt of you. I miss you, Coop.

He'd sent her a few more over the course of the day, but that was the one she found herself going back to read over again. Which is why, on a Thursday night in Pops, Veronica was giving Betty the death stare from hell as she stared at her phone.

"Elizabeth."

"Sorry, what?" Betty's eyes snapped up from her phone to meet the glare from Veronica sitting opposite her.

"Where's your head at today, B? You're all over the place." Veronica sounded sincere enough for Betty to feel bad about not confiding in her best friend what had been going on in her life. What was the point anymore, she thought. It was done now.

"It's nothing, just thinking about finals." She lied. She was doing that a lot lately. Lying to her best friends, her mother. Herself. She missed the bones of Jughead Jones. She wanted nothing more than to text him back and tell him she would forgive him for anything, but she knew she had to be stronger than that. She was stronger than that.

"Well," Veronica started, "I don't think you of all people have anything to worry about, Miss Valedictorian." Betty rolled her eyes. "Except for the fact that Riverdale's cheap recast of Sons of Anarchy can't stop ogling in this direction."

"Wha-" Betty's head snapped around to glance over the diner, and there in their usual corner booth the three of them sat. She hadn't officially met Cheryl or Joaquin yet, but she knew enough about them through Jughead. Who, she noticed, was staring right at her. This was the first time she had seen him since that morning she had woke in his bed, and her skin was on fire under his gaze. She quickly turned back to face Veronica, who was now giving her a glare to battle the previous.

"B, what am I missing here?" Veronica's eyes were switching between Betty and the group in the corner. "That dark haired Teller wannabe is burning a hole in the back of your head. Did something -" She lowered her voice and leaned in closer to Betty across the table "Did something happen? What are you not telling me?" Betty could not muster up the energy to explain it all, so instead she took the easy way out.

"I'll explain, I promise. I just, I have to go home. Now." Mustering up the best version of an apology on her face as she could manage, she made to leave the booth. Veronica reached out to grab at Betty's wrist as she stood.

"Hey, you know I'll be here when you're ready to tell me. Be safe, okay?" Veronica squeezed her wrist, and Betty managed a small smile before she raced quickly from the diner without a backwards glance. This reaction was not something she had been expecting, she thought she could handle seeing his stupid face again by now. Obviously she wasn't as strong as she had thought, but as she heard the bell on the door and a distant call of her name, she knew she wasn't about to let Jughead in on that fact.

"Betty, wait, please." She stopped walking, but made no move to face him. She crossed her arms last minute for dramatic affect just as he came to face her. He stood there for a moment, his hands awkwardly in his pockets, his beanie hanging further back from his head from running after her. Her fingers twitched to reach out and straighten it for him, but she knew she shouldn't. Couldn't.

"Can I help you, Forsythe?" It was a low blow, and she knew it, but she was so mad at him it just slipped out. It was too late to take it back now. It wasn't hard to figure out what his name really was once he had let Jellybeans slip. And in her defence, JB had exacted no revenge so Betty would do it for her. He winced visibly and for a split second Betty felt her heart twist in her chest.

"Okay, I deserve that." She just shrugged at him. "Betty, I am so sorry. Please, you have to believe me. I never meant to hurt you." She just continued to stare him down, her resolve wasn't going to break that easily, no matter how gorgeous his eyes look when he's pleading. "At least let me give you a ride home. I've got the truck, no need to straddle my bike." He laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension.

"No, thank you. I need the walk." As she went to walk past him Jughead reached for her elbow, pulling her arms apart and grasping for her hands. "Betty, it's dark. I care so much about you, I don't want you walking home alone. Please." There was a moment, where Jughead was looking at her like he meant all the words he had said, that she almost took him up on it.

"You don't care, Jughead." She yanked her hand from his grasp "And neither do I, about what you think you have to say now. You've said enough already." And then she stormed away from him with such purpose that her ankles ached by the time she took the steps to her front door. She had let the tears fall all the way home, but wiped away the black mascara tracks with the sleeve of her white cardigan, tugging the sleeves over her hands to hide the evidence before she stepped over the threshold. There was no need for Alice to see her in such a state, it would just probe questions that Betty had no energy to answer. So she plastered on that Stepford smile she had mastered over the years, and bid her parents goodnight.

-//-

Betty tried to fight the disappointment she felt the next day at the lack of texts from Jughead. He had sent one again last night, yet again saying sorry, which she ignored. But now, as she sat in the passenger seat of her Dads car on the way to Southside, she felt like she could learn to let it go. If she could just be friends with Jughead it would make the next few weeks of her life before graduation a lot easier. There was a lump in her throat as she walked the path to the front door and let herself in, she knew Jughead wouldn't be around, so she had time to build up some courage to finally text him back. She would tell him that she understood as best as she could, and despite her best efforts, she really did want to remain friends with him. She could do this.

That was, of course, until she saw him perched on the kitchen bench with his hand wrist deep in a bag of Doritos. So very Jughead-like, and she knew in that moment she was too far gone. It was obvious in the way she forgot to breathe when he looked up at her with those eyes, in the way she felt her heart beat so fast it almost stopped.

"Hi." He smiled sadly at her, the corners of his mouth not putting in any effort to rise. "I -"

"Where's JB?" There was no way she was talking to him, not right now. Not when all she could think about was the million other places his hands would be better suited than in a bag of fucking Doritos, damnit. He nodded his head in the direction of the lounge. Betty could feel his eyes trained on her as she crossed the kitchen. He dropped down from the bench and wiped his hands on his jeans, to which Betty tried not to roll her eyes at.

"Betty, I'm not going to push it. But, can we talk? When you're ready? Please. I'd really like for us to still be friends." His voice was soft, and Betty couldn't help but scoff at him. He raised his brow in question, to which Betty sighed and felt the tension in her shoulders lessen. She tried to ignore the nagging voice on the back of her head that screamed 'I told you so', and the growing ache in her chest from his dismissal at whatever it was they could have been. Why did she have to fall so hard for this guy, she asked herself. It was almost as if it were out of her control, and that wasn't something Betty handled well.

"Jughead, listen-"

"Hey, B." Jellybean interrupted as she walked into the room she pulled on her coat, her gaze flicking between Betty and her brother. "Wanna go for a walk?"

"A walk?" There was a tone of surprise in Betty's voice as she looked at her, as if JB knew she might need an escape route. It was the middle of October now, and it was really starting to get cold outside, but Betty would take it.

"Yeah." JB shrugged. "I've been cramming for this stupid test all week, and I could use a break."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Betty looked at Jughead, the annoyance with his sister was evident on his face. Jellybean just seemed to ignore it.

"Cool." She turned and smiled at her brother. "See ya, Jug." Then her arm was laced through Betty's and they were out the door. Betty waited until they were down the street and around the corner before she asked.

"You okay, Jelly?" Betty didn't want to presume that this was for her own benefit, or if Jellybean even knew anything of what had happened.

"I don't pretend to know anything that goes in that stupid brother of mines head. And I am not about to start now, but I've never seen him mope so much before," She sighed before continuing, and Betty wondered if she felt like she was betraying her brother by telling her this, "And you know Jug, he's a professional moper." They both shared a laugh as they walked slowly down the street, in no direction whatsoever. Betty felt JB squeeze her arm. "And as well as you hide it, I know something is up with you too, Betty. So I'm not going to pretend like I didn't hear you in my brothers bed all those weeks ago-"

"Oh, my god." Betty blurted, stopping dead in her tracks. She could feel her cheeks turning pink, and not just from the cold. "Jb, I'm -, I don't -"

"Please, Betty." Jellybean waved her free arm through the air, tugging Betty back along. "I'm not a child. But anyway, as I was saying," She carried on as if she hadn't just dropped that shameful bomb on Betty, "I thought you guys might be, you know, together after that, and then all of a sudden nada, nothing. What the hell happened?"

"That's a question for Jug." Betty replied, glancing sideways at Jellybean and wondering if she had been like this when she was 14. She doubted it. Jellybean seemed a lot more grown up than her physical age would suggest, and it made Betty a little sad.

"Yeah, well, I know he loves to loathe himself. But this, this is different. This isn't like him." Jellybean sounded thoughtful, as if she were only just now realizing that something was different about him.

"It isn't?" Betty inwardly groaned at sounding so pathetic. Jellybean shook her head lightly.

"I love my brother, Betty. I hate to see him so sad all the time." Now it was her turn to stop walking as she turned to face Betty with a worried look on her face. "Not that, not that I'm blaming you. I know it's probably all his stupid fault."

"I know, I remember how it felt to see Polly so down all the time." Betty sighed, feeling weighted down just at the thought of her sister. But there was another feeling, something else that, if you looked close enough, could resemble hope. Jughead was obviously genuinely feeling bad about it all, and Betty knew that hope was in the idea that maybe he did actually like her. "I just, I kind of don't really know what to do from here."

"Just, talk to him." Jellybean said softly, smiling up at Betty. They both started down the street again.

"God, look at me getting advice from a 14 year old." Betty laughed. "And from the guy in question's little sister, of all people."

"You're like my sister, too, B." Jellybean shot her a smile that warmed Betty's heart. "And hey," Jellybean tugged on her arm playfully, "Maybe one day you will be for real."

"Okay, JB, let's not jump the gun here." Betty replied, but there was laugh in her tone. "So, I know you wanted an excuse to get me out of the house, but I know you actually do have a test coming up. Let me do my tutor duties and ask how you're feeling about it?"

Jellybean told her she was feeling pretty confident about the test next week, thanking Betty on her advice about flash cards for studying. The girls walked around a few more blocks, talking about everything and nothing. It was nice, Betty thought, even though Gladys wouldn't be pleased to know there was no actual learning going on. But it was Friday after all. After a while they decided to turn and head back, and as Jellybean turned them down a street she reassured was a short cut, Betty noticed them straight away. Standing outside the garage of one of the houses on the street was Cheryl and Joaquin. Both of them stood out, Cheryl's hair in such a contrast to the leather on her shoulders as she lent against her bike. Joaquin looked up, and a smile grew on his face as he noticed them.

"Jelly!" He called out, ushering them over with a wave of his hand. Betty hesitated for a moment, but Jellybean pulled her along with her. She hadn't properly met either of Jugheads best friends yet. Betty felt the nerves creep up as JB let her go and hugged Joaquin. She tugged her cardigan sleeves down over her hands, her nervous tick. She had learnt the material would stop her nails from digging into the silver scars that littered her palms.

"Hey, kid." Cheryl just smiled at JB, and Betty figured she wasn't much of a huger, thinking back to the implications Jughead had made when he told her about them. Betty had been so lost in that thought for a moment she hadn't noticed the red heads gaze on her. Cheryl looked her up and down, taking her in as if she hadn't seen her numerous times before at Pops. Betty wouldn't lie, it was slightly intimidating being this close to her. "So, Betty, right?"

"Shit, sorry Betty. This is Joaquin," He gave Betty a little wave, "And this is Cheryl." Jellybean smiled at her. "And this is Betty Cooper, my tutor. Kind of." She laughed. Betty waved at the other two, an awkward smile on her face.

"And Jughead's girlfriend, right?" Cheryl asked disinterestedly as she looked for dirt under her nails.

"Uh, no-, not his girlfriend." Betty stumbled over her own words due to the bluntness of the question. She was shocked they had any idea who she was at all.

"Ignore her, Betty." Joaquin cut in, and the smile he gave her made Betty feel more comfortable in the situation. He seemed so genuine just in his facial gestures that Betty could already see the traits that Jughead had mentioned in him. "Jug keeps us in the dark anyway. But it's nice to meet you."

"You too." She mustered up her warmest smile to return to him. "He's told me a lot about you." There was no point in acting like he hadn't at this stage, they obviously knew about her. Or at least had an idea.

"All bad, I hope." Cheryl said sharply, tilting her head and smiling at Betty in a way that made her feel exposed.

"Some of it." Betty retorted. Cheryl seemed to like the way she snapped back, as she pushed herself off of her bike with a smirk and reached her hand out. Betty raised her brow at Cheryl, who let out a quiet tut.

"Your phone." Betty wasn't really sure what she was asking exactly, but she slowly reached for her phone in her pocket and handed it over. Cheryl typed away at the screen and Betty wondered to herself how you could even type with nails that length. "I'm having a party, tonight. I put my number in your phone and sent a text to myself. I'm going to send you the deats." Cheryl handed back Betty's phone, her eyes lingering on the photo of Polly and herself she had in her background.

"Oh, thanks. I don't think I'll be able to make it, but-" Betty was rushing through her words, surprised that Cheryl had just invited her to a party.

"Whatever, your call." Cheryl replied nonchalantly as she threw her leg over her bike. "Joaquin, don't be late. You have to help me set up." She gave one last curious glance towards Betty, nodded at Jellybean, then started her bike and drove out of the street.

"I promise, that's an act." Joaquin joked as they all watched her retreating form. "But, the offer is there if you want to come tonight. I could introduce you to some more of Jug's friends." Betty turned to look at him, the question of whether Jughead himself would actually be making an appearance on the tip of her tongue. But she swallowed it back, the last thing she wanted to do was come off desperate to his friends.

"Thanks, Joaquin." Betty replied.

They spoke with him for a little while longer before they headed back to the house. It was funny, Betty thought, how different her first impressions were of Jugheads best friends. But as she walked she decided she really liked Joaquin, he just seemed genuinely nice and she found herself asking why someone like him would end up in the Serpents voluntarily. Maybe there were things yet to learn, maybe she could learn them if she went to Cheryl's party tonight. She'd also decided on that walk back that she wanted to speak to Jughead, the least she could do would be to hear him out.

But he wasn't at the house when they got back, and she never got to see him again before she headed home. So she thought 'fuck it'. She would go to the party tonight, if only to get Jughead on his own and hear what he had to say with no interruptions.

-//-

As Betty walked up the drive to Thorn Hill, she tried to ignore the guilt of lying to her parents that lined her gut. She knew she could count on Veronica, so she had rung her and begged her to cover for her if the circumstance came up.

"Of course, but you have to tell me what is going on soon, B. Promise?"

And she would tell her, as soon as she had the answers. The answers she was going to get out of Jughead tonight. As she stood at the front door, Betty took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt. It was black, and fell mid thigh with faux buttons up the front. She had paired it with a dusky pink long sleeve crop that brushed just above the hem of her skirt. The cardigan was left at home in favor of a lightweight jacket. The nerves were undeniable, and as she stood there, she wasn't really sure whether to knock or just walk on in. She could hear the music booming out through the house, and suddenly felt like a fish out of water. But before she could turn and run, the door opened and there stood Cheryl, adorned in a ruby-red off the shoulder dress that left nothing at all to the imagination. Betty heard herself swallow.

"Betty, I thought that was you on the camera." Cheryl smirked, opening the door wider, letting out a laugh at the questioning look on Betty's face. "Oh come on, you think Daddy doesn't want to know who's on his property at all times?" Betty didn't really have an answer, but she presumed one. As soon she she stepped foot in the house, Cheryl ushered her into the kitchen and made her some concoction of a drink, and when Betty tried it all she could taste was cranberry. Betty was relieved to see she wasn't under dressed, and it was in fact Cheryl who had out done everyone else. But that was probably on purpose, Betty thought to herself.

"I have to mingle, but I'll be back." Cheryl gave Betty a smile, different from any of the others she had before. It looked sincere. It made her nervous. "I like you, Betty."

And then she was just a blaze of red hair among a sea of people, and Betty was left to her own devices. She wasn't surprised to see the interior matched the exterior, the snakes that adorned the top of the gates were scattered around the house; wound around the banister of the stairs, serpent heads wrapped in thorns. It gave Betty the chills. And as she took in all the leather jackets, she suddenly felt that she stood out more without one dressing her own shoulders. That was a new concept to a girl from the North side, where usually the present of a serpent would be the main attraction.

But it was her turn now, and she could feel eyes on her from all angles. So she tipped her red solo cup back, surprised they weren't all drinking out of cut crystal, and lead herself back to the drinks stand to pour another. Whatever Cheryl had put in that cup left a burn in her throat, but Betty knew she'd need some dutch courage to find Jughead and speak to him, so she welcomed the unfamiliar buzz that came from liquor.

"Betty!" She had just finished pouring herself a vodka and cranberry, because as much as she wasn't a drinker she knew enough not to change mixers. Holding back Polly's hair as she threw up the entire content of her stomach into her own bathroom so her parents wouldn't hear was something Betty never wanted to reenact herself. Betty turned to the call of her name, her face lighting up as she saw Joaquin waving in her direction. A familiar face, no matter how new, was comforting. He pulled her into a tight hug as she reached her, and even though it surprised Betty she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed back. "I see our hostess has left the new girl to fend for herself." He laughed, rolling his eyes. "Come, lets introduce you around." There was no time to object before Joaquin grabbed her hand with his own and pulled her through the crowd.

"Hey, Joaquin," Betty had to practically yell in order for him to hear her, "Is, is Jug here?"

"No, not yet." He called back over his shoulder, still trying to maneuver them through the growing crowd. He lead them out through the patio doors and pulled her off to one side with the outdoor couches and chairs. He sat back heavily onto one of the couched, yanking Betty down with him. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was a no show, really."

"A no show?" She asked. Fuck. This was all for nothing if he wasn't here. Joaquin gave her a sad look, as if she had the words 'I only came for Jughead' tattooed on her forehead.

"It's okay, we can still have fun." He playfully bumped her shoulder with his own. Betty thought for a moment that she should probably leave, but Joaquin was being so nice to her and if she was honest there was a certain thrill being somewhere she probably shouldn't be. So she stayed.

Joaquin introduced her to all the people he thought she should know, and then they played drinking game after drinking game. Betty had a knack for beer pong, and was the obvious winner in Never Have I Ever. That game had taught her some interesting, incriminating things about Joaquin. Betty could well and truly feel the buzz now, and as she stood in one of the downstairs bathrooms she took a good look at herself in the floor length mirror and realized that she was rather drunk at this point. Her lips were stained crimson from all the cranberry, and there was definitely something in her hair. Betty had never been drunk before, but she liked the confidence it gave her. As she watched herself twirling in front of the mirror she thought of Jughead, of how much he would appreciate this skirt and the way it made her legs look. She had worn it with the intention of seeing him, after all. She pulled her phone from her pocket, and when she realized there was no way she could find his number in this state she told Siri;

"Call Jughead." She slumped down against the wall of the bathroom and waited for an answer. She didn't even know what the time was, maybe he was asleep. She couldn't stop the smile that grew on her face at the thought of his bed head, the way he sleeps with his mouth open just a touch. All she wanted was to hear his voice.

"Betty?" His voice was clear, so he wasn't sleeping. But suddenly Betty was mad at him, how dare he stand her up at this party. Even if he had no idea she would be here.

"Jughead Jones. I have a bone to pick with you." She was certain she hadn't slurred, but there was concern laced in Jugheads voice and she could hear some rustling in the background, as if he was sitting up.

"Bet-, Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Where am I!" Her voice came out a lot louder then she intended. "Where are you?" She dragged out the last word.

"Coop, are you drunk?" She tried to stay mad at him, she really did, but his voice was just making her miss him when she was trying so hard not too.

"Why don't you like me, Juggie?" She asked, her voice low. "Whats wrong with me?" She heard his heavy sigh.

"Where are you?" His voice was stern.

"Why don't you want me? I know I'm not the prettiest girl but I'm decent right?" She knew she sounded pathetic but the liquor induced confidence was fading.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever known, Betty. Please tell me where you are."

"Is it about me?" She continued, ignoring him. "Or is this about you? This self deprecation is an old routine Jug, nobody is buying it anymore. I don't care if you hurt me. I don't care if you don't think you're good enough for me."

"Betty, please, you're scaring the shit out of me." That much was evident in the way his voice kept breaking.

"I get to decide. and you are good enough for me." Now that she had started she wasn't sure she could stop. "You're so pretty Jug, I just want to touch you all the time. I want you to touch me again, I think about it every day. God, every night." She closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to that night, his hands on her hips, her thighs. "Do you think about it, Juggie?"

"Every damn second." His voice was low, and it stirred something deep in Betty. She had never wanted someone this much, ever.

"Then why did you push me away?" Her voice broke, and there was no stopping the sobs that stuck in her throat from escaping. "I, I'll understand if you only want me for one thing, but please just tell me befo-"

"Fuck, baby, please don't think that for even a moment. I swear, I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just tell me where you are and I'll come pick you up. Are you by yourself?"

"I like it when you call me baby." She whispered. And just before she could speak again, Joaquin stumbled in through the bathroom door that Betty had obviously forgotten to lock. "Joaquin!" Betty giggled, forgetting for a moment about being sad, and also that Jughead was listening through the phone.

"Joaquin?" Jughead almost yelled. Betty made a face at the loud noise in her ear. "Fucking hell, are you at Cheryl's party?" Betty heard what she presumed was Jughead putting on his shoes. "I'm going to kill them. Both of them."

"Not Joaquin" Betty laughed as she made a face at the boy on his back, spread across the bathroom floor. "He's my new best friend."

"Betty, you're the best. If I was straight, I would be giving Jughead a run for his money, let me tell you that." His sentence slurred into nearly one word but Jughead had made it out clear enough through the phone.

"Put him on the phone, please Betty." She nodded, even though Jughead wouldn't see, and handed the phone to Joaquin.

"Jug!" Betty couldn't make out what it was that Jughead was saying through the phone, but the faces Joaquin were making told her enough. He didn't even get a chance to speak before Jughead had hung up.

"Hey!" Betty sulked, reaching for her phone back. "I wasn't finished with him."

"He's coming to get you." Joaquin muttered as he tried to pull himself up off the floor. "And I'm in big trouble because I didn't tell him." He had managed to get himself in a sitting position, turning to face Betty.

"Uh oh." She gave him a mock expression of fear, and the two of them burst into laughter. They were still laughing about it some 10 minutes later, when Jughead stormed in through the door, his jaw was taut with anger and as soon as Betty saw him she threw her arms in his direction.

"Juggie! You came!" Her voice was full of elation, made more obvious by the way she squealed his name. Jughead shot Joaquin a venomous look before getting on his knees next to Betty. He brushed the hair back from her face and gave her a once over, checking that she wasn't hurt in anyway. Betty reached out to run her fingers across his cheek. "I'm okay, Jug. I'm good. Especially now you're here." He gave her a soft smile, so full of affection it made Betty's breath catch.

"We're not staying, Coop." He said gently. "Come on." He placed one arm under her knees and the other under her arms and hoisted her up with him. Betty let her head fall against his chest. Joaquin stood up and smiled at the two of them.

"I love you guys." He gushed.

"Tomorrow. We need to talk." Jughead said sternly, his gaze heavy on Joaquin's face. Joaquin just rolled his eyes and nodded his head.

"Yes, boss." Joaquin replied, waving at Betty as Jughead lead them from the room. They passed Cheryl on the way out, but the look that Jughead threw her said more than any words could, so she didn't approach. Betty was relieved to see the truck, and not the bike, in the drive. Jughead somehow managed to pull open the passenger side door without dropping Betty, and then placed her slowly in the seat. He yanked on the safety belt and pulled it across Betty, clicking it in place. She used the advantage of his close proximity and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

"You really do care." She whispered against the side of his face. He turned to face her, his gaze flitting between her mouth and her eyes before he placed a hard kiss to her forehead. He shut her door and walked around the truck to climb in the drivers side. He looked at her again as he started the ignition.

"You okay?" Betty had no words for the way he was looking at her, so she just bit her bottom lip and nodded her head. He turned back to look at the road as he drove away from the house, but Betty kept her head facing his direction, her eyes trained on his face. "I'm guessing you can't go home" He glanced at her with a smirk.

"Absolutely not" She confirmed with a vigorous head nod, which was not a good idea in her state. She closed her eyes for a moment to stop the world from spinning around her.

"Coop?" Jughead spoke softly. Betty opened a single eye to look at him. "I want-, I would like to take you somewhere. If that's okay?" Betty heard the uncertainly in his voice and noticed his hands gripped the steering wheel nervously. She sat up in her seat and turned to face him properly.

"I'll go anywhere you take me." She said. Jughead smiled at her again, reaching his hand out to grab her own tightly. "And I mean literally, you're driving." That earned her a light laugh from Jughead. He held onto her hand the whole drive, not that they were in the car for every long. Granted that Betty didn't know this Southside of Riverdale all that well, but as they passed a sign that read 'Sunnyside', she knew a trailer park when she saw one.

"Jug?" She asked curiously as he pulled onto a patch of gravel in front of a trailer. From what Betty could see, is was vacant. She turned back to look at Jughead. He was just watching her, a look on his face that Betty couldn't make out. Was he nervous? Anxious? "Why are we here?"

"This is where I grew up." He said lowly, not taking his eyes away from Betty. "Before my Dad got locked up and my Mum got lucky, this was my story." He swallowed visibly and Betty wanted to reach for him, but held off. "If you want to know me, Betty, then this is a good place to start." She didn't have time to reply before he was outside her side of the car, opening the door and helping her down. She wasn't too steady on her feet, and she had almost forgotten that she was still intoxicated. Jughead took her hand and lead her to the front door. He lifted a decorative gnome that revealed a key. Jughead must have noticed the look on her face. "Don't worry, Betty. Everyone's pretty trust worthy around here, as ironic as it seems." He informed her as he unlocked the front door and stepped inside, flicking on the lights. "Plus, there's nothing in here to take anyway" He breathed a humorless laugh as he lead her in to the trailer.

It was sparse, save for a shabby couch and a single arm chair. There was an old TV set up with a DVD player, and behind her was a dining room table with two chairs. She could see into the kitchen from where she stood, and that too only had a few glasses and a single plate in the sink. Jughead pulled Betty to the couch and sat her down.

"This is where I come when I need some time to myself. Which, is a lot lately. Sit here, I'll get you some water." He said, giving her a small smile before walking into the kitchen. Betty ran her fingers along the old material of the couch, and then let her eyes wander around the room. She couldn't picture Gladys here, in a trailer. But then she guessed she didn't really know her at all. Jughead came back and handed Betty a glass of water and sat beside her, his own eyes glancing around the room. Both of their gazes fell on some empty take out containers from Pops that were on the floor in front of the TV. "Shit, sorry. I never bring anyone here, so I get lazy."

"You don't?" Betty asked, surprised. He simply nodded at her with a shy look on his face. Betty felt her heart start to race with the thought that he had bought her here, on his own accord. "Why me?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Jugheads gaze fell to her mouth briefly before trailing back to her eyes. He closed his eyes for a silent moment, and took in a deep breath before opening them again and reaching for Betty's hands.

"I don't even know, Betty. But for some reason I just can't stay away from you." He shrugged, grasping her hands tightly between his own. "So if I'm going to subject you to my terrible company, you deserve to understand why I am the way I am."

Betty gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hands. She had a few questions, but he brought her here, so this was on his terms. She wished more than anything that she hadn't been drinking tonight, she didn't want the liquor to haze her judgement or put Jughead off of telling her things. Although, she already felt much more sober just from being around him.

"Okay, Juggie. Where do you want to start?"

[queenieschronicles]

Deals Part 2

Jughead x Reader

Summary: It’s a give and take world. You and Jughead are going to have to make some deals to get to know one another.

Word Count: 2290

Warnings: Like one cuss word.

A/N: The second part turned into more of a bridge for the third part of the series. I hope you enjoy! Sorry for the length!

Originally posted by elizabethccoper

You promised your mom you’d be back after the movies, but not before you grilled you about the details. Where are you going? Twilight Drive-In. Who are you going with? Jughead, a boy from school (at least you assumed). Who names their kids Jughead? Some pretty chill people. What movie are you watching? Rebel Without A Cause. I love James Dean, maybe I should go? No, absolutely not.

You gave her one last kiss before whining that you had a movie to catch. Not to mention, you had to get there and find a good spot for the movie. You pulled up, paid your five dollars, and found yourself a spot near the front.

You locked up the 67’ mustang convertible and meandered about. It was a shame about them tearing this place down. You always enjoyed a good drive in.

Stepping under the awning of the concession stand, you propped up on the metal counter. “Hi, can I get a large popcorn and a cherry cola, please?” You laid out a five but the kid told you the concessions were being paid through the ticket sales tonight.

You nodded and tucked the five in your jacket pocket. The white screen sparked to life. A short drive in commercial started rolling. Dancing popcorn, smiling fountain drinks, and some raisinettes jumping around, nothing put a smile on your face faster.

“I’d pay to see that a thousand more times.”

A smile spread wide over your face; you folded your lower lip in, your teeth gently biting down.

“Dancing popcorn really gets me going too.” You turned your attention to Jughead, who had his eyes trained on you.

“That’s gonna be hard to emulate.” He teased. He grabbed the popcorn from the ledge and handed you the cola.

You pumped the straw dispenser and took two bendy straws. You took a sip from the smaller one and held it up to Jug’s mouth. He happily took the taller one and took a drink.

“Aren’t you the saint of generosity?”

You laughed,” I’m nothing, if not giving.”

He nodded,” Oh yeah,” He snarked,” so generous you made me work for your name.”

You nudged him with your shoulder and popped some popcorn in your mouth.

You unlocked the car,” Well, this is it.”

“Who are you?” He studied your vehicle no doubt noting the make and model. A s

You blushed,” It’s my dad’s. He bought it right out of high school. I promise, it’s not mine.”

You were vexed that you felt so awkward while he was so composed and unapologetic. He was wearing his serpent jacket again which extenuated that dastardly smirk on his lips. The soft engraving of laugh lines made him soft and real.

“You going to watch the movie or stare at me the whole night?”

“Sorry, I was trying figure out if I was Grease or not. This whole situation seems a bit familiar.” You looked around.

“What are you looking for?” He questioned with a half-smile.

“Rizzo and Kenickie. They’ve got to be around here somewhere.” He pulled you back down by the hem of your shirt. Your laughter was filled with vitality and honest humor.

He rolled his eyes at you, leaning into the corner of the seat. He focused on you with amused eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I was thinking. Are we going to get in trouble with this?” His brows knotted.

“I mean you’re a serpent,” You tugged at the lapel of the black leather,” aren’t you sworn to only date pink ladies or something? Or would they be green ladies? I don’t know, I’m not into that classification stuff.”

“So, you consider this a date?”

You took a swig of coke,” That’s the only thing you got from that whole spiel?” Out of all the important points. “Honestly, Juggie, you could have serious repercussions for not keeping to the code.”

“Am I pirate now?” His dimple shown for a just a second as he beamed through his chewing. Your heart constricted as you held his gaze.

“All I’m saying is I don’t think I can be the Sandy to your Zuko.” You looked away from him. Your chin tilted up and your smile soft. “I don’t smoke.”

“I don’t either.” He countered with a lifted brow.

“I don’t do girl groups with some really far out agenda.”

He laughed,” You’re reaching now.”

Turned back to him. His head leaned to the side as he studied you. He licked his lips in contemplation. “Well,” He folded his hands in his lap,” do you do bands of misfits?”

You brows tied in curiosity. “I’m listening.”

Jughead pointed to an old, mildly kempt truck that held a group of kids. They all seemed normal enough. One was a good looking kid, smiley and preppy. One girl with a high pony tail and clean cut clothes. Another girl with a gorgeous fur overcoat and rich silky hair. A boy with hair like embers who wore a letterman.

“Oh, I got the movie all wrong. You’re part of the breakfast club.” You teased gently.

A wry smile betrayed his disapproval of your poking. “Well, wanna join? It’s free.”

You rubbed your arm gently. His offer was upfront. You should have been excited. You looked at the group, all sharing a big blanket and laughing.

“You’re a loner.”

You blinked away your mental distance. You sighed,” I thought you might have been one too.”

“I was one.” He offered. He looked over his shoulder at the group of friends. “They wouldn’t let me be, so I decided to join them.” The fondness expressed from him was enough to make you smile.

“I thought there was only room for one loner in the group?”

“Hardly. Bender was a loner in his own right and Allison was most definitely a loner.” He displayed his knowledge of the classics with ease and confidence.

“A fellow movie buff, how comforting.” You shoveled some popcorn in your mouth.

He took the last sip of cola from your drink. “Care to accompany me to get more?”

You nodded, grabbing the popcorn for good measure. It’s not like you needed it for the movie. You hadn’t been paying attention to it anyway. The two of you weaved amongst the cars. Your shoulders brushing every other step.

His fingers brushed yours, pulling them away,” Where’s your jacket?”

“In the car.” You gave him a meek smile.

He exhaled a short puff through his nose whilst shaking his head. You curtailed him up to the concessions.

“Hey Donald, can we have a cherry cola refill?” The miserable kid behind the stand nodded. You felt bad for people who had no joy in serving. It was hard.

You leaned against the brick and stared at the screen. You felt Jug’s eyes on your face. You peeked over at him and delighted him with a grin.

“If I let you wear my jacket, will you go with me to say hi to my friends?” He had this hopeful look on his face you didn’t know how to resist.

“More deals?” You inhaled slowly.

He nodded sheepishly, a boyish grin on his soft features. The dimple that made an appearance sealed the deal. Damnit. The chill in the air nipped your nose and hugged your arms. You’d take the awkward first meeting over freezing another moment longer.

“Deal.”

You barely finished the hard ‘D’ when he held his jacket out for you to slip your arms into. His warmth immediately surrounded you. You nestled in close. It was like a hot mug of cocoa after a cold day. Jughead took the lapels in hand and tugged it into place.

You stepped into him, looking up,” Is it a good fit?”

“I’ve decided you make all clothing look better.” He let you go after a quick wink.

You shivered with delight. He was unaware and collecting the snacks. You held the drink in one hand and he cradled the popcorn. You had almost forgotten the deal back there, but as you fell into step with Jughead toward the truck full of strangers, you could feel the hairs on your arm stand on end.

You thought you might faint. You bit your lower lip anxiously. The static of your nerves must have spread to him, because he took your hand and gave it a squeeze.

You two exchanged a dynamic look. His confidence was reassuring. You didn’t know what you had to be worried about. It was then you realized the leather jacket didn’t give him

You could already see the curious looks from Jughead’s friends. You were riddled with nerves. You released a shaky breath before giving them all a big smile. Jughead held your hand gently. He waved at his friends, who all exchanged glances with a mix of astonished joy and curiosity.

“Jughead, who is this lovely lady?” The brunette chirped while giving Jughead a delighted smile.

“Hey Kev. Guys, this is (Y/N).” He smiled at you.

Kevin took your hand in his and gave it a warm shake,” I’m Kevin. You must tell me all about yourself.”

You laughed bashfully. The raven-haired girl piped up,” Down, Kev.” She loomed above you in the bed of the truck,” I’m Veronica Lodge. Welcome to Riverdale.”

“Thank you.” You shook her hand before receiving another hand. It belonged to a blond with a very comforting smile.

“I’m Betty Cooper, your guide to the ways of Riverdale High.” You felt a surge of relief. You thought you were going to be wreck on Monday. You had Jughead, but the thought of taking on a new high school was overwhelming.

“It’s so nice to meet you guys. I look forward to the tour. You’ll have to tell me the scoop on everything and everyone.” You smiled at her.

Before Archie could make his introduction, Kevin chimed in. “Oh, we have the inside on everything. We have who’s dating, who’s hating, and who’s hooking up. We’ve got the dirt on everyone.”

You laughed and Jughead rolled his eyes next to you. Veronica backed him up,” You won’t be lost at all.”

School on Monday didn’t seem so daunting. You thought in such a small town you’d have trouble being accepted. Who knew hitting a stranger in the head would turn out so well?

The redhead approached you and Jughead with a warm smile. “I’m Archie, Jughead’s best friend.”

You shook his hand,” That’s an interesting pair. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“We’d stick around guys, but there’s more room in her car.” Jughead rubbed the back of his neck after meeting the gaze of his friends. They were definitely going to talk. Actually, Kevin was going to talk.

You waved,” It was nice to meet you guys. See you Monday!” You turned with Jughead who put a hand in the air after his friends all said their goodbyes.

“That wasn’t so bad. They seem nice.” You smiled up at him.

He pulled you in,” It’s elementary, my dear Watson.”

The two of you finished the film and sat in silence for a moment.

“You never answered my question.” His voice was low and near a whisper.

You stirred next to him.

“Did you consider this a date?”

You wanted it to be a date. It felt pretty nice to be relaxing with someone who wasn’t a pusher. He made her laugh. This was part of a deal though and that was wear she tripped over the idea.

“You said I could read your manuscript if I came.”

His lips fell. He was reeling from your comment. The air between you already cooling.

“I came because I wanted to see you.”

He nodded slowly, weighing the information. He took a long drink and set it down. You could see a faint smile peeking from the straw.

You were grateful with the ease of honesty between the two of you. You were, after all, two acquaintances. Besides, you figured he’d wanted to see you. Why would he skip an evening with his friends?

“I do still owe you the manuscripts.” He looked down at your buzzing phone. “I suspect we’ll have to make another deal though for that to happen?”

You frowned staring at your mother’s name on the phone screen. “I suppose we must.”

“Let me walk you to school on Monday. I’ll bring the manuscripts.”

You nodded,” Sounds solid.” You watched a few cars drive off. “Do you need a ride, Jughead?”

He shook his head and motioned to the truck,” No need. I’ll catch a ride with them. I’m staying with Archie, but thank you.”

You began removing his jacket, but he stopped you,” Keep it for collateral.”

You shrugged back into it with a smile,” Very well.”

He exited your vehicle taking the remnants of your popcorn and soda throwing them away. He came to the driver-side and smiled down at you. “Goodnight, basket case.”

“Goodnight, criminal.” You beamed.

He began to walk away but you caught his hand. “Wait, you’re not leaving me for the second time with no way to reach you.”

He smirked playfully. He did want you to think about him all night without any word. You plucked his phone out of his hand and put your number in.

“Don’t forget to use it.” You smiled before pulling off.

You forced your mother to wait for the details of your date until the morning. You needed a shower. Maybe even a cold one. Jughead wasted no time in texting you that night. You texted him up until you crawled into your bed.

You were about to turn the light off when small, rapid pattering came at your window.

Fear gripped you as you peered out into the darkness.

[juggieheadcoopers-blog]

PROMPT: Being a serpent now meant it was easier to protect Betty too. and when something happens where she needs it most, that's exactly what he does.

Hope this is kind of what you wanted! Thanks for requesting! Enjoy!

Title: Riding Into Danger

Summary: Betty has been busy searching for her long lost brother while Jughead has spent most of his time trying to find his footing in his new role as a Serpent. When Betty and Kevin take a road trip to visit said brother, things get dangerous when a mysterious man is seen following them through a dive bar.

*Adding a keep reading cut so if you’re on mobile, the story gets cut off. Sorry!*

–

“Betty? Where are you, what’s wrong?”

Jughead could tell something was off the second he heard the odd tone in her voice - uncertain, a little high pitched, on the verge of panic. The last time he remembered her sounding like this, they were in the middle of uncovering the murder of Jason Blossom and, for reasons that warranted zero explanation, this did not sit well with him.

“I don’t know, Kevin and I were on our way to meet with my brother and-” Betty scrambled to explain their situation, her words coming out rushed and slurred from the the overload of adrenaline surging through her body.

“Wait what?” Jughead cut her off, his fingers clenching tighter around the cellphone as he tried to fathom the idea of Betty actually meeting the brother she didn’t even know she had until a few months before. “Since when?”

“You’ve been busy, Jug, we haven’t really had time to dish it out and spill our latest gossip these past few weeks,” Betty pointed out, the ancient payphone she was using crackling in protest at the unexpected movement that came with her gesticulating hands.

“I know, and I’m sorry for that but I’ve only been a Serpent for a few months, Bets,” Jughead reminded her. “I have to be around when they need me, I can’t afford to be a no-show, especially when things have been so tense around here lately.”

“Look we can talk about this later,” Betty told him, the phone pulling away from her ear slightly as she glanced behind her shoulder at the man sitting in a far corner of the building they had stumbled into looking for help. “But right now, we’re in this dive bar in the middle of nowhere, there’s this guy that’s been following us for the past two hours, and I think Kevin is on the verge of having a panic attack-”

Jughead furrowed his brows in confusion at the rustling coming from the other end of the receiver as Kevin dove forward to take the phone from Betty’s grasp.

“This place is worse than the White Worm and that fear-inducing cobra they keep as a mascot,” Kevin spat, his voice rising an octave higher with each syllable that came out of his mouth. “I swear there are rats the size of Shetland ponies crawling on this disease infested floor, get us the hell out of here!”

Betty snatched the phone away from Kevin, glaring at him from her spot in the phone booth before turning her back to him completely.

“What are you guys doing in a dive bar anyway?” Jughead asked, his brows knitting together as he pushed away the half-eaten basket of fries sitting on the counter in front of him.

“It’s a long story,” Betty sighed. “But basically Kevin forgot to fill up the tank before we left and we got stranded on some back road with no cell service where we spent most of the day pushing his Dad’s truck through the desert.”

“Okay, and the guy who’s following you?” Jughead wondered, his senses beginning to prickle with worry. “What’s the story there?”

“He followed us into the bar and hasn’t stopped watching us since,” Betty explained, her eyes wandering subtly to the man in question, but then quickly darting back to stare at the silver buttons on the payphone. “Part of me felt like he looked familiar, but I don’t think I would be able to place where I knew him from.”

“Betty, tell me where you are so I can come meet you,” Jughead told her, hopping off the stool and reaching for his leather jacket sitting on the seat next to him.

“Uh, hold on let me get an address.” There was a moment of silence in which Betty ran from the phone booth to ask the surly bartender the name of the strange place that they had stumbled into, and a second later she was back, breathing heavily into the phone as she tried to slow her heart rate.

“We’re in this little town just past Greendale and the bar we’re at is on 609 West Carm-” Before she could finish, the phone started producing an ear-splitting screeching noise, cutting in and out and making it almost impossible for Jughead to understand her.

“Betty?” Jughead yelled into the phone, holding it away from his ear slightly as the screeching increased in volume.

“Jug-? an - you- ear- me?”

“Betty, you’re breaking up I can’t-” Jughead tried to tell her, but the before he could get the words out, the screeching stopped and the phone cut out all together.

“Damnit,” he cursed, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his jeans and sliding his arms through his jacket sleeves.

“Somethin’ up, Jug?” One of the head members of the gang, Viper, asked as he emerged from one of pool rooms located at the back of the Serpents’ hangout, the White Worm, coming around Jughead to clap a firm hand on his shoulder.

“It’s my girlfriend,” Jughead explained, his brow furrowing in concern as he glanced up to meet Viper’s gaze. “I think she might be in trouble.”

“Did you get an address?” Viper wondered, stepping to the side of Jughead to lean against the counter, one massive elbow propped up on the surface as his other hand gestured for the barman to make him his usual drink. “Maybe we can be of service.”

“Half of one,” Jughead admitted, glancing up at Viper to watch him take his beer in his hands, tossing back a big swig before setting it down on the counter with a satisfied clunk. “She says they’re in some dive bar in a small town just past Greendale.”

“The Helix in Portersville,” he said without hesitation, signaling for the rest of his crew to meet him at the back door with a simple signaling of his right hand. “I know it well. Let’s ride.”

“Viper, are you sure? What about-”

“You’re family Jughead,” Viper reminded him. “That means your girl is family too. And we always help our kind out of trouble. Let’s go.” Jughead gave him a grateful nod and Viper handed him the key to the motorcycle waiting for him in the parking lot.

As they made their way out of the bar, Jughead ran a hand through his thick head of dark hair and adjusted the leather jacket on his shoulders. Swinging one leg over the bike and settling back into the seat, Jughead couldn’t help smile to himself as he started the engine and heard the motor roar to life. This feeling, riding down the open road with the wind through his beanie-less hair and a crew full of family members backing him up, made him feel powerful. It made him feel in control. And he had to admit, it felt pretty damn good.

–

“I swear I just felt something run across my foot, Betty,” Kevin squealed, scooting his chair back from the table and glancing down at the dirt and grime-coated floor. “It had toes and creepy little claws - oh god its tail just brushed my leg! We have to get out of here now.”

“I know and we will,” Betty promised, tossing her dead cellphone from one hand to the other without glancing up to witness Kevin pulling his feet up onto the chair with a look of complete and utter fear on his face. “As soon as our tow truck gets here.”

“Or Jughead,” Kevin pointed out, his voice much calmer now that his feet were off the ground and safe from any creatures roaming the bar’s floor. “You know he’s going to bring the Serpents here to come to our rescue right? You have to admit it’s kind of sexy thinking about him in that leather jacket, riding down the road on his motorcycle-”

“Kev,” Betty warned, raising an eyebrow at Kevin as she reached forward to place a reassuring hand on his jacket sleeve. “We don’t need rescuing okay? Everything’s under control.”

“Nice night for a drink, isn’t it?”

Both teenagers froze as a deep voice coming from behind them sent a chill down their spines, causing them to turn to each other with panicked eyes as the figure took a step closer to them.

“Either Jughead broke an insane amount of traffic laws getting down here or our stalker is standing right behind us,” Kevin whispered, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his teeth as Betty turned around to find the man who had been following them for the better part of the day standing a few feet from their table, his tall and broad stature looming over them in a dauntingly wicked manner.

Without wasting another second, Betty swiped the steak knife sitting on the table and pushed back from her chair, rushing forward to pin the man against the wall in one swift motion. “Why are you following us?”

“Holy shit, it’s Betty the Stalker Slayer,” Kevin muttered under his breath, pushing back from his own chair to stand behind them in fascinated horror. “I kind of love it.”

“You’re much feistier than you look, young lady,” the man admitted, lightly pushing the knife away from his throat and smiling smugly down at her. “You’re the girlfriend of one of the Southside Serpents aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Betty mumbled, her eyes boring into his as she kept one hand firmly on his chest and the other gripping the knife just in case she needed to use it at moment’s notice.

“Oh I think you do,” he whispered. “And I have a message that I’d like you to deliver to one of them.”

“We don’t have a pen and paper, sorry, try using the mail service like every other-” Kevin tried to pull Betty back so they could make a break for the door, but the man reached past her to pull Kevin by the collar of his shirt, cutting off anything else he was going to say with a strangled gasp.

“Shut up, kid,” he warned, giving him a threatening look before pushing him backwards so that he stumbled into a table.

“Shutting up,” Kevin muttered, grasping at his throat as he attempted to smooth the crumpled fabric that the man had ruined with his giant fist.

“A message for who?” Betty asked, her voice low and steady as she used every bit of strength she had left to keep this man pinned to the wall while still remaining calm.

“FP Jones,” he confessed, causing Betty’s heart to stop beating for a moment as she tried to process what he was saying. “He has something of mine that I’d like back.”

“And what is that?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business little girl,” he hissed, his thick eyebrows knitting together in anger as he met her gaze with a menacing glare.

“Anything to do with the Jones’ is my business,” she said through gritted teeth, flinging him harder against the wall and bringing the knife back up to his throat.

“I know who you are,” the man breathed, his expression softening the slightest bit as realization took over his features. “You’re Alice Cooper’s daughter, the one who’s dating the Jones boy.”

“How do you know my mother?” Betty narrowed her eyes at this stranger, trying to remember if she had ever met him before.

“So it’s true,” he concluded, a satisfied smile creeping up onto his lips. “Well this just got a lot more interesting.”

“Kevin, we’re leaving,” Betty announced, pulling away from the man and grabbing her coat from the chair behind them. “Let’s go.”

“I’m already eight steps ahead of you, get me out of this hell hole,” Kevin told her, crossing the length of the bar with long and determined strides as Betty hurried to keep up behind him.

“Not so fast,” the man yelled, pushing the tables and chairs out of his way so he could cut off Betty’s path to the door. “If you’re not going to deliver my message for me, I guess I’ll just have to make you.”

Taking her by the arms, the man started dragging her towards the back of the establishment, lifting her in the air so that her feet dangled slightly above the ground. But before he could get anywhere, Kevin picked up an empty glass sitting on the counter and lunged towards him with it raised high above his head.

“Get off her, you buck-toothed Shrek!” Kevin demanded, crashing the glass against his skull and stumbling backwards at the impact.

“Son of a bitch!” the man shrieked, clutching his head in pain as the bits of glass cascaded down his shoulders to litter the already-dirty floor.

“Go, go, go!” Kevin yelled, grabbing Betty by the arm and pushing her out of the bar as they ignored the man’s protests echoing from behind them.  

“Kev, I can’t believe you did that!” Betty gasped, her heart beating a million miles a minute as they sprinted down the dark alleyway leading to nowhere. “That was awesome!”

“Being the Sheriff’s son comes with mandatory combat training starting at the age of nine,” Kevin explained, his breath coming out in raspy spurts as he tried his best to slow his breathing. “But I totally almost peed my pants back there, that was terrifying!”

They turned to each other for a brief moment of relieved laughter, when the sound of thudding feet on pavement startled them back into reality.

“Shit, he’s following us!”

“And he brought friends!” Kevin pointed out, his neck craning to see at least a dozen surly men bounding towards them with ruthless determination and anger contorting their faces. “That’s why no one in that damn bar was stopping him, they were all a part of the gang-up-on-two-defenseless-teenagers squad! Come on, this way!”

Kevin gestured to a side street that led back to the main road, and Betty picked up her pace to sprint down the alley and away from the herd of men barreling towards them at top speed.

“Shh, Betty do you hear that?” Kevin grabbed Betty’s arm to stop her, straining his ears to hear the grumbling coming from the road they were headed for.

“Motorcycle engines,” Betty remembered the sound from the various times the Serpents had dropped Jughead off at her high school so that he could walk her home from school.

“Holy Hells Angels, your Serpent boyfriend really did come to rescue us!”

“We can’t stop moving, come on!” Betty shoved Kevin out of the alleyway and they started stumbling through the abandoned field that led up to the old highway just as a flood of headlights poured in from the darkness behind them.

“Betty!” Jughead called out to her just as she had climbed her way up the hill and was jogging down the side of the road, her pace slowing the slightest bit as she turned to look up at him with frightened eyes.

“He was sent to deliver a message to your Dad,” she explained through heavy breaths. “When he found out I was your girlfriend, he totally flipped out and started chasing us. He said that your father had something of his, Jug.”

“Shit, I knew that our relationship was going to cause trouble for you,” Jughead cursed, his hand adjusting itself on the bike’s handle as he struggled to balance its weight on the road. “I thought I was going to be able to protect you but it’s just made things worse.”

“Guys, can we have this heart to heart a little later?” Kevin shouted from behind Betty. “If you haven’t noticed, a gang of long-haired goons are chasing us and they look really angry - and I don’t meant the Serpents!”

The herd of angry men poured out of the alley just as Betty and Kevin had done only a few moments before, crawling their way up the hill at a much quicker pace than they had been keeping when they first spilled out of the dive bar.

Just then, Viper, Jughead’s mentor and close friend, pulled up from behind them. “You kids go! You take your girl, Jug, and the boy can ride with Emerson,” Viper insisted, gesturing to Kevin and pointed to the younger Serpent who was trailing behind the lot on a smaller and much skinnier bike. “We’ll take care of them. They’re Hiram Lodge’s crew. Their business is with us, not you two.”

“What are you going to do?” Jughead yelled over the roar of the engines, glancing over at Viper in concern as he met his gaze with skeptical eyes.

“That’s not your concern,” Viper reminded him. “Now go on, before you get yourselves in even more trouble!”

Viper slowed his pace to let Jughead pass him by, looping around on his motorcycle so that he was now facing the men that had been chasing Betty and Kevin.

“Hop on, Bets!” Jughead yelled, holding out his hand for her to take as they continued down the abandoned highway, the wind whipping his hair back behind him and the moonlight lighting his features in a way that made him look like a completely different person.

“What?” Betty gasped, turning slightly to eye the beast of a motorized vehicle trailing along beside her with a wave of overwhelming trepidation that caused her throat to close up in fear.

“It’s now or never,” Jughead told her, glancing back at the war unfolding in the background before turning to meet her gaze as best he could. “Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone,” Betty said without hesitation, her pace quickening to match the increasing speed of his motorcycle.

“Okay, then take my hand,” Jughead instructed, reaching out in her direction as he picked up even more speed. “One…”

Betty’s heart pounded hard in her chest, the thumping so loud that it almost drowned out the roar of motorcycle engines.

“Two,” Jughead called out, his arm ready and waiting for her to take as they continued down the road.

Betty thought about chickening out and letting the men who were still fighting their way towards them despite the Serpents’ retaliations. She thought about giving up right then and there. But this was the boy she loved. This was the boy she trusted. And if she was going to do anything so daring that it could potentially end her life, she was going to do it with him.

“Three!” Without another second of hesitation, Betty sprinted forward and took Jughead’s arm by the elbow, hoisting herself up onto the leather seat and steadying herself by clamping her arms around Jughead’s shoulders as he sped down the road and away from battle that was only just beginning.

Betty didn’t know she could ever feel this safe riding on a death trap on wheels with absolutely no padding or helmets. But as her golden hair whipped behind her shoulders, her grip tightening around her boyfriend’s shoulders as they picked up even more speed rounding a corner, she realized that for the first time in her entire sixteen years on this planet, she felt dangerous. For the first time in her life she felt free. And despite every instinct screaming at her to be afraid, she couldn’t help but tilt her head back and close her eyes, letting the chilly night air prickle her smooth skin in the best ways possible. She liked this feeling. And she never wanted it to go away.  

[memoriesoffemmefatales]

Splitting Heaven

“They live among us. Separate beings destined to bring either peace or destruction to those around. They are the balance, the chaotic center that this world spins on. And me? I’m supposed to keep them in check.” Jughead Jones is supposed to keep the world in check, he has no time for love. Yet, he can’t seem to get Betty Cooper out of his head.

Found here at:  Fanfiction.net

_

Jughead Jones

“Damnit Jughead,” Archie Andrews hissed from behind, his hands swatting at the vast amount of bugs that circled his crimson head. “I thought you said it was only three miles out.”

“I said,” I growled, my fist tightening around the flashlight. “It was probably three miles out. Do you know what ‘probably’ means Archie?”

“Don’t think I wouldn’t be opposed to letting this stupid witch eat you.” Archie snapped back.

But he wouldn’t do that. Actually, he couldn’t do that. It was in his nature to be good. He’d jump in front of a bullet and get himself killed rather than watching anyone die. After all, he’s half angel.

Yes, half-angel. As in, one of his parents was a being normally clad in white with a stupid golden glow around them. Which is just as annoying as it sounds.

And no, it isn’t his father. Fred Andrews is probably the most middle-ground man I know. Just enough good to keep himself out of serious trouble but just enough bad to have fun.

Perhaps that’s how he scored an angel.

“Next time, we are turning down the witch cases. They always live in these gross swamps.” As if the universe heard him, Archie’s foot sunk deep into the mud causing the ginger to groan with defeat.

“You said that the last time too.”

“Well, I mean it this time.”

“No, you don’t. We both know you love dealing with supernatural beings as the next fella.”

Archie snorted. “Well some of us can’t afford to–”

“Shh,” I snapped as we pushed into the clearing. There, in the middle, was a clean looking house. With a bright red roof and pristine white walls. There were even an iconic little sidewalk and a picket fence that surround the yard. It looked like the American-dream, just like Audrey would love.

If it weren’t for the fact that we were in the middle of swampy ground in the deep South or the fact that 20 kids ranging from 8-16 have gone missing in the last thirty days it would have looked normal.

“This isn’t creepy at all,” Archie rolled his eyes as we crouched in the bushes, eyeing the witch’s home.”This is just like Hansel and Gretel all over again.”

“Without the fun candy house.”

Archie nodded as he pulled out his sig p220.

“So what are we planning? Because I think we should break down the damn door and get the hell out of here.”

“And risk getting hit with a curse? I know you think you’re immortal thanks to that goody-two-shoes blood in you but I hate to tell you that a curse will fuck you up too.”

Archie shoved me, eyes narrowed.

“Okay genius,” he snapped. “What do you suggest?”

I smirked. “Operation Cinderella.”

“I fucking hate you.”

—–

The next fifteen minutes were spent convincing the stubborn half-blooded ginger that Operation Cinderella was the best option, Archie took off his gear, rolled around on the muddy ground and ripped his (apparently) favorite shirt. Which, now I am obligated to buy several as well as a milkshake. He then made his way to the door, stumbling and moaning as if he was lost. The door opened to reveal a slender woman with almond eyes and her lips the color of Japanese cherry blossoms. She was stunning which meant only one thing: she had eaten recently.

I couldn’t hear what was happening but I could see Archie leaning up against the wall as he played up his young face. I, on the other hand, was creepy around the woods to the back of the house. Moving as swiftly as I could in order to creep in the back.

Hopping the fence was easy. Opening the window and slipping in was easy. But the sight inside was anything but.

The back room was littered with bleached white bones. Small and slender, like the way a woman would sculpt her letters. It smelled like a hospital but looked like a graveyard. Grimacing, I crept towards the house where I could hear Archie’s low tone.

“Miss Chang, I really thank you for letting me use your phone.” Archie was always the better Cinderella. He was the best example of the stock-type of the golden boy. The boy scout. The one you’d leave your kids with or call when you need help. He’s the guy you’d see walking the grandma across the street and rescuing kittens from trees.

I was not that boy. And I wasn’t about to complain about it.

Gun raised, I slowly crept around the corner to see Archie bent over an old fashion phone. You know, the heavy ones with the spin dial that take so much longer to dial. And the witch. Her body was hunching and her nails were growing long. I could hear the beginnings of her alto voice murmuring and Archie pretending he didn’t hear.

Just as I was ready to pull the trigger–the floorboard gave beneath me.

The woman, going by the name Miss Chang,  whipped around giving me the perfect view of her demonic state. The eyes are what got me first. Bright like jades and narrowed. Her teeth were lined like that of a shark’s. Too many shoved into such a space. Her face was pulled, nose jutting out like it didn’t belong. She was unholy to look at, a reminder of what people like Archie and I did to protect the innocent.

“A member of the order,” her voice hissed as she pointed a shaking finger at me. An incantation, in what sounded like (based on my somewhat limited knowledge) Korean. Blue light shot out, slamming into my body and launching me into the wall.

I felt my gun leave my hand and disappear in the furnishings of the living room.

“Stupid order members getting in the way of–”

And that’s when Archie took the ancient telephone and cracked it against the old hag’s head.

She screeched, whipping around as Archie looked like a full-blown moron holding this bright yellow phone in his hands.

She swung her hands up, blue light ripping away from the floorboards and flooding over Archie as the red-headed genius tossed the phone at the witch’s head before being slammed onto the ground. The phone missed and collided a mere few inches from where I was, still dazed from being thrown against the wall as if I was no more than a damn bug.

“Anytime now, Jug,” Archie snapped as the witch loomed over him, his body twitching in the blue bonds that held him captive on the floor. “This bitch is an 8.”

The witch turned around, ready to cast the same spell as me only to find me, holding the telephone in my grip with a big, stupid grin on my face.

“Ding dong,” I snapped, cracking the telephone as hard as I could against her skull, reeling back for another hit. “The witch is dead.”

—-

HQ was not impressed.

“Jones, Andrews we’ve gone over the fact that ‘Operation Cinderella’,” Director Finley glared at us over his desk. “Isn’t an Order-approved operation.”

Director Finley isn’t a large man. He’s a short man from Kenya whose family left to Britain when he was young in order to have a better life. It’s a shame that his family was attacked by a rabid dog. Ripped to shreds…or that’s what the papers had said. The reality was his neighbor was a fae and killed his family in front of him. “Blessed” him with the sight to see the supernatural in order to show him her true form. Too bad she didn’t expect him to fight back. He stabbed her, as the story goes, 13 times. He was found by a member of the British branch of the Order and was trained from there.

After all, finding someone with sight is hard.

“But Director Finley–” Archie started as I snorted.

“The witch is dead. Why the hell do you care how we do it?”

“Because Jones,” Director Finley snapped. “Your stupid plans are  the fastest way to get one of you killed.”

“We haven’t died yet.” I snapped.

“You beat a witch’s head in with a damn telephone and Archie shot her twice. Sloppily, I might add.”

“Sorry, Director,” I rolled my eyes. “I was too busy dealing with the fact that my head was still spinning thanks to the kiss I shared with the wall and that my partner was about to be eaten by a fucking witch.”

“Which you wouldn’t have done if you just followed fucking procedure.”

I opened my mouth to snap but Archie smacked my knee.

“You’re right Director,” Archie flashed the bright white as he put on his best apologetic face. “It won’t happen again.”

They held each other’s gaze for several moments before the Director snorted.

“That’s what you always say.” He sighed as he reached for a file in his drawer and tossed it on his desk. “I’ve got another case for you. A long-term sort of case.”

I was uninterested. Long cases meant Archie and I were stuck in some shack of a safe house for several weeks passing the days looking through binocular and playing video games until we finally found what we were looking for.

“From the Higher Ups,” Director Finley gestured to the ceiling as if to remind us of that damn Angel Council.

My eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“What’s the case?”

“You need to protect a girl…An angel.”

“Oh yeah? Who is she?”

“…We actually aren’t sure.”

My eyebrows were in my hairline by now.

“What?” Archie asked, his hands grabbing the folder and flicking through.

“We have an idea. And we are almost positive it’s her.”

Her?

“Who is she? Where is she?”

“She’s in a little town called Riverdale. And her name–”

“Elizabeth Cooper.” I finished. My eyes landing on the photo of a blonde teenager with big eyes and a sweet smile.

[bitchyseawitch]

Sad, Beautiful, Tragic.

They were perfect together. The kind of perfect where you look at them and you just know that they were made to find eachother, like they were specificly put on earth just to be together. People talked about them, always something bad followed by "But damn they're goals". Their relationship wasn't "ideal", she was 18 just finishing high school and he was in his late 30's almost early 40's. He wanted to keep them in the dark where no one could see them where she wanted to be out in the open. She didn't care what anyone thought about their relationship, it was theirs not everyone else's. But sometimes not caring just isn't enough, sometimes turning your head and ignoring the stares gets old and tiring and wears you down, she didn't know just how fast that was happening. It was their third fight that week about the same thing. She wanted FP to take her out, not to the Wyrm but somewhere they hadn't been in a while, at this point Pop's would have sufficed because it wasn't a bar littered by bikers. Not that she minded, she just wanted a change of scenery. But as usual FP didn't think it was a good idea after the last time they were out. Alice Cooper had called him a craddle robber and asked him how his marriage with his wife was going, knowing fully well that she had fled and was never coming back. It wasn't y/n's fault, she just wanted to go out for a few hours with her boyfriend but as usual there was always the negative comment thrown at them. They had left, FP taking her hand and dragging her out of the diner and they hadn't been on a proper outing since. "Why don't we go? We could pack up and leave and go someplace nobody knows who we are?!" Y/n asked near tears, she didn't like the way people in Riverdale looked at FP like he was a monster, like he was a bad person when she knew deep down he was one of the most genuine people left in the small town besides Fred Andrews. "I don't know, how about because I have a son? Did you seem to forget that I've got a kid here??" The older man snapped back not even thinking twice about the idea. "Why is it so hard for you to see that I love you and I don't care what everyone else thinks?" She asked after a while, her voice shakey and her chin quivering, something she did to keep herself from crying "People say things y/n. Do you even hear the things they say about me, let alone you?!" He shouted "I don't care wh-" "That's just it, you don't care. You're so happy in your own little world that you don't stop and hear the things people say about us. About you for dating a man old enough to be your father! I think the same thing myself sometimes, what the hell could you want with me?!" He snapped cutting her off, his tone making her flinch. "I love you" she almost whispered "I don't want a guy my age, I want you. It's been that way since I was 16 and it's never going to change. I..I just wanted to show the world how much I love you because I thought if I ignored everyone then they would eventually see-you would see how great we are. I'm wrong. I'll go and I'll leave you alone, it'll be like I was never even here and we were never even together. They'll start treating you like a person again. I'm sorry" she said with no emotion to her voice. FP's heart dropped in his stomach as he watched the girl that held so much light in her eyes grab her sweater and bag from beside the door and visibly lose every ounce of hope she had for them. He turned his head as she quietly shut the door and just like she said, it was almost as if she was never there. They say you don't know what you have until its gone. FP was slowly starting to realize those words were true. Just like y/n had said the comments stopped and he was treated almost like a person again. He never seen her around, never saw her with his son and their friends, no one even spoke of her around him. It was as if the girl he spent so many nights with had vanished and never even existed. He looked for her everywhere, hung around her favorite places just to hopefully catch a glimpse of her but she was nowhere to be found. It had been weeks since anybody had seen her and little did he know his son and their friends were beginning to worry about her too. The group knew she had something going on with Jughead's dad but when the boy had told them his dad hadn't mentioned her in weeks they all began to realize that just maybe they weren't together anymore. They went to her house but no one was there. She wasn't answering her phone and sending everyone to voicemail. FP finally broke down and called her, she answered and told him she was sorry and she hung up. He didn't miss the fact that she was crying and threw on his jacket and grabbed his keys, he knew where she was. A life without FP was not a life worth living according to y/n. In her mind she was the reason people treated FP so badly so in order to make things better she wanted to do the one thing that made sense that could make everything better. She was going to erase herself completely. If things were going to be as if she wasn't even there, she needed to not be there. How do you erase yourself? You go to Sweetwater River and you break through the ice letting it swallow you whole. That seemed like thr best way to go. She put on FP's favorite dress, the black one with red flowers, something she'd normally wear in the summer. She parked her car at the edge of the woods and walked the long but bearable distance to the river that was covered in snow. The cold didn't bother her, she was already numb. It wasn't until the third time she had hit the thick ice with the spike heel of her shoes that her phone rang. It was FP. She answered, said she was sorry and hung up. Or at least she thought she did when she dropped it next to her and began hitting the ice. Little did she know, she could be heard through the phone and FP was rushing to her. At the sound of her name, her head snapped up to see Jughead, Archie, Veronica, and Betty all screaming at her to stop. She whimpered as fresh tears began falling and continued hitting the ice. It wasn't until she heard anothet voice that she stopped completely. FP was with her friends, yelling for her to stop. She stared at him and dropped her heel, just making eye contact with the man she grew to love. How nice that he wa going to be the last thing she ever saw. As the group made their way slowly to her, the ice cracked and became weak with all the weight. With one more step the ice gave and swallowed y/n just like she had wanted it to. They all ran to where she went through and frantically they searched for her. Finally the found her and FP started punching the ice, breaking his hand in the process and breaking through the ice. They grabbed her and pulled her out and got her to the hospital. When y/n woke up, she was met with brown eyes she knew so well staring at her. She went to say something but FP stopped her by putting his hand up. "I don't know what made you think something like that would fix anything but damnit baby if you ever pull something like that again I'll end you myself. Why in the hell would you even think for two seconds that I would want that, y/n?!" He almost shouted letting tears fall freely. The girl in question brought her hand to her mouth and let out a loud sob, FP slid into the bed next to her and pulled her into his chest, rocking her back and forth. "I just wanted to make everything better. If I wasn't here they wouldn't say things about you" she whimpered into his flannel "I don't fucking care about that anymore. You're the only thing that matters anymore, I love you so much, you had me ao fucking scared. I've never been so afraid of losing someone" he told her, tightening his arms around her. For a while they just laid there holding eachother. He needed her just as much as she needed him. Sometimes two people are just meant to find eachother. They don't have to make sense, they just seem to fit together. So they wander through life until they find eachother and when they do, it just makes sense. Its magic.

[allskynostars]

Ever Since New York • Pt 7

WARNING: SO MUCH SMUT. Thanks as always for reading and giving me feedback, I appreciate it so much you guys have no idea :) Edited this myself so there is probably errors, sorry I got caught up in the smut! So I'm dedicating this chapter to my new bff @lazydaizies cause she has motivated me to no end and I love her ❤️ Go and read her fic, it's bomb. Trust me. **** When Jughead woke up, he wasn't sure whether last night had been a dream or not. And when he felt the warmth of Betty in his arms, her back snuggled in so tightly to his chest, he almost thought he was still dreaming. Those were the only dreams he ever had anyway, ones of her. But no. He was wide awake. This was happening to him. And he couldn't quite believe it. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest and any given moment, beating like that. Betty stirred then, she turned around to face him, still asleep. And if he thought his heart was full before, it wasn't. For now he could see her face, so peaceful in that dream state and all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her. He didn't want to wake her, but God damnit he had to make sure she was real. He had to make sure she was really here. So he did, he ran his hand down her face, her skin so soft on his fingertips. She opened one eye slowly, a smile forming on her sleepy face. "Morning, Juggie." She whispered, her voice full with sleep but also so full with love it was like he'd never heard his name before. If he could lay here like this for the rest of his life, he may well have. "You sleep okay?" "The best sleep I've had in a long time, Betts." He smiled down at her, still stroking her face, moving to play with her hair that had curled around her face in her sleep. As she watched him with those big meadow- green eyes of hers, he was overwhelmed by how beautiful she was. His breath hitched in his throat, and all he wanted to do in that moment was kiss her. Which is exactly what he did. He placed soft little kisses all over her face, down her neck, not being able to stop himself. A laugh escaped her lips. "Jughea-" He cut her off with more kisses, all of them on her mouth. She kissed him back lightly, and still laughing, she managed to push him onto his back and sit over him, straddling his waist. "As much as I'm enjoying this, you really worked me out last night -" She blushed as she said this, quickly ducking down to kiss him again when she saw that glint in his eye "- And I am starving. Breakfast?" She didn't have to ask Jughead twice. ******* Betty had convinced Jughead that it would be safe for them to go out to a local diner she knew for breakfast. It was definitely no Pops, but it did damn good waffles, so Betty had told him. And she never went often enough for anyone to notice she was with someone who wasn't her boyfriend. "At a glance they'll think you're him, anyway" They both got dressed in the same clothes they were wearing last night, and Jughead couldn't help but smile at the thought. As he sat on the edge of the bed he watched her tie her hair back in her bedroom mirror, her shirt lifted, and he could see a blue and purple bruise the shape of his fingertips forming on her lower back. He winced, and Betty noticed in the mirror. "Oops" She lifted her shirt and turned awkwardly to see what Jughead was looking at in the mirror, her lips forming a smirk when her eyes locked on the mark he had left on her. She couldn't help but love it, heat rising in her face when she thought about the amount of times he had claimed her as his own last night. And this morning. She looked at him then, a smug look on his face that she instantly wanted to kiss off. "It's okay, you'll just have to kiss it better." She almost sung as she pranced over to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, the smile on his face as he looked up to her one that made her heart swell. He let his hands slip down to the back of her thighs, his thumb pressing into her skin. "But not yet, I need energy." She removed his hands from her and pulled on him until he stood. He placed a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose. "Me too, you took all mine. Feed me please" He wrapped his arm around her as they left her apartment. *** The soon piled into a booth at this diner, Jughead making the conscious decision to sit opposite and not beside Betty. He wasn't sure he could keep his hands to himself. But it wasn't himself he needed to worry about. "Hi there, are you guys ready to order yet? Or can I just get y'all some coffee to start?" Betty looked up at the waitress with a smile. "Actually, can I have a milkshake please? Strawberry. And waffles, too. With fruit." The waitress jots that down, then looks to Jughead with a look on her face that Betty can read a mile off. "And for you, hunny?" "I'll definitely have coffee, black, and umm, burger and fries, please." He smiled up at the waitress, oblivious to her flirting. As she sauntered away he saw the look ok Betty's face, her brow was furrowed and her mount the perfect 'o' shape. "What?" He asked, trying not to laugh at how annoyed she looked. "Uhh that pretty little thing was totally flirting with you, Jug. God, where the professionalism?" Jughead was laughing now, so much so his head hit the back of the booth. "What? What are you laughing at? Just because you were oblivious." She leaned back and crossed her arms, the cutest little pout Jughead had ever seen on her mouth. He wanted to take that lip in his teeth. "Is that a hint of jealousy I can detect there, Cooper?" Betty shoots him daggers. "Shut up, Jones." The corners of her mouth are tilting up and he can see she's trying not to smile. "Trust me, Betty. I notice, I just don't pay any attention to anyone else but you." He holds her gaze, her mouth turning into a full blown smirk at his words. There eye contact only broken because said waitress was back with their drinks. She placed Betty's milkshake in front of her with a smile, and the Jugheads coffee in front of him. "There you are hunny, nice and hot. Do you need any extra sweetness in there or are you sweet enough?" Betty can't believe her ears, she kicks Jugheads knee under the table as if to say "what the fuck?" He just smiles back and says no, as charming as ever. As soon as she's gone he burst out laughing again. "Jesus, someone needs to tell her it's not hot when you make it easy." Betty is staring daggers into the back of the waitresses head as she's walking towards the kitchen. "No, but jealousy? Totally fucking hot. Looks good on you, Coop." He's got this stupid smirk on his face and Betty can't decided whether she wants to smack it off or attack it with her mouth. "You wish, I'm just simply saying it doesn't look good for business." She pulls her shake towards her then, and knowing that Jughead is watching she purposefully drags her mouth down and back up the straw, taking long sips of her shake and swallowing slowly. She flutters her eyelashes just to vamp up the seduction. "Jesus, Betty. Are you trying to kill me woman?" Jughead can't take is eyes off her, now she's gripping the glass and nibbling ever so lightly on the end of her straw with her teeth. He could feel the warmth growing in the out of his stomach. All this girl had to do was suck on a damn straw and he was done for. Enough so that he didn't even notice the waitress come back with their food, his eyes didn't leave Betty's mouth around that straw, not even to say thank you. The waitress left with a slightly disappointed look on her face and that didn't go unnoticed by Betty, satisfied with herself. Jughead couldn't help but let out a little moan as Betty stopped hanging off her straw and started on her food. "Eat, Juggie." She just smiled up at him with that million dollar smile, and if he didn't love her so much he would hate her for winding him up so easily. They made small talk at the table as they ate, laughing and smiling. Jughead found himself continuously having to swat Betty away from stealing his fries, just like all those times at Pops. Even though he didn't mind, not really. He'd give her anything she ever wanted. They were halfway through their meals when Betty noticed the waitress coming back, probably to make sure everything was okay with their food. She reached her leg out under the table and slowly ran her foot up the inside of Jugheads leg, getting achingly close to his lap when the waitress made it to the table. Jugheads eyes went wide. "Everything okay here, guys?" She wasn't even asking Betty, it was all directed at Jughead, her head was tilted towards him for god sake. And so, with her veins running hot, Betty's foot made it to his lap, and she smirked when she could feel a slight bulge. It was working. She let her toe run a light, slow circle around his groin. She could feel him twitching through his jeans. Jughead gripped the table. "Yeah, perfect, thanks." If you didn't know him you wouldn't really notice the strain in his voice, but Betty could. She let out a light laugh and the waitress shot her a look. "Nothing else I can get you? No refil-" "No!" Jughead winced as her cut her off "No, th-thank you. We're fine." She nodded and hurried away. Jugheads eyes turned to Betty then. She let out a breath when she saw the lust clouding in them. He grabbed her food under the table. "Are you done? We need to leave. Now." His tone was firm enough to make the hairs on Betty's arms stand up. He threw the cash for the food on the table and quickly stood up from the booth and took her hand, pulling her out. He strategically placed her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders and lead her out, he didn't want anyone else to notice how excited she'd just made him over breakfast. Betty couldn't help but wink at that waitress as they walked out. ***** They headed home via the hostel Jughead was (supposed to be) staying at so he could grab his stuff and check out. Betty had told him there was no way he wasn't staying with her again. They were back at Betty's apartment now, she was telling him about how long she'd been living there and what is was like as she unlocked the front door and let them in. As soon as the door was closed, Jughead had slammed Betty back up against it, her chin firmly in his grasp. "You're super fucking sexy when you're jealous, you know that? I nearly had to take you on that damn table" He was looking down at her, his eyes darting over her face possessively. And when she bit her lip and faked a look of innocence, her green eyes wide, he held back the moan that sat in his throat. "Who, me? Oh, no. Are you gonna punish me?" She was fluttering her eyelashes at him now. He felt her leg work its way inbetween his. "I might," He licked his lips, his mouth so close to hers he could feel her breath mixing with his. "Unless you can convince me not too?" His breath hitched as she hooked a finger through his belt loop, pulling his flush again her. "No, Jug. I deserve to be punished." And without another word her mouth was on his, tongue pressing against his lips, searching for his. He let out that moan that he had been holding in and wrapped both his arms around her thighs, just below her ass, and hoisted her up. She let out a laugh again this mouth. "Atta girl." He started towards the bedroom. Betty ran her fingers through his hair as she kissed his face between her giggles, one on each side of his smile, one on his nose, his forehead, and one on his mouth as they reached the bedroom door. She reached her hands out against the frame, stopping him from taking her in. He looked up at her, a question in his eye. She brushed his hair away from his face, smiling down at him. "As much as I want you to show me how much of a bad girl I am Jug, maybe we should shower first?" His heart jumped at the use of the word we, instantly beating faster as he thought of her naked and dripping. He hoisted her up again, causing another giggle that he loved to hear escape her lips. He turned around and headed to the bathroom instead. They got clean in the shower they shared, and then dirty, and then clean again. By the time Jughead stepped out and wrapped a towel around his lower body, he was covered in mouth shaped bruises and scratches. He had wanted her to mark him, he wanted reminders everywhere that she touched him, wanted and loved him. And as she stepped out of the shower, he wanted to take a mental snapshot of her. Her lips were plump and red from all the kissing, hair wet and clinging to her face, her cheeks stained pink. She stood there naked, and Jughead wanted to follow the trail of water dripping down her body with his tongue. God, she was beautiful and even though he had just ravished her completely he wanted her again and again. He grabbed her face between his hands and kisses her long and hard, both of them breathing heavy as he pulled away. He laid his forehead against hers and trailed his fingers along her mouth. "God, Betty. I will never have enough of you." She closed her eyes and smiled sweetly. "I'm counting on that, Jug." ****** They had decided to order take out and have a movie night. They were snuggled under a blanket on the couch now, empty Chinese take out containers on the coffee table in front of them. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was playing. Betty's head was in Jugheads lap, he was absent mindedly runnning his hands through her hair. She turned her head to look up at him from his lap. "If this was a thing, like a legit thing, would you consider it?" She nodded towards the tv. "Erasing someone from your memory?" He tilted his head in thought. "Maybe if it was like, Reggie Mantle? Wouldn't mind forgetting him." Betty laughed at him and smacked him on the arm. "Serious, Jug. Would you?" He thought about it for a moment as he ran his hand down her face. But he already knew this answer, he wanted to hear hers. "Would you?" "No." Her face was serious, she hadn't even had to think about it. She grabbed his hand that was on her face and looked him straight in his eye. "Not even if you died, or told me you never wanted to see me again, nothing. Nothing would make me want to forget how much I love you. Cause it's a whole fucking lot Jug, and I would never not want to know that feeling, you know? Not everyone is as lucky as me to love someone so fiercely, even after being apart and not speaking, even with the Clara's and the Jacks" Betty felt guilty for a fleeting moment when Jacks face flashed in her mind, but she pushed it back because she didn't want to think about it. She hadn't even realised she was crying when Jughead wiped her tears from her cheek. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again. "And I never want to forget what it feels like to be loved by you." Jughead is tracing Bettys lips with his fingertips. "You never will, baby. I promise you never, ever will." She kissed his fingers before he moved them to hold her head in his hands. "And to answer your question, fuck no, I would never consider it. Why would I want to forget this face? These lips" He placed a kiss on her mouth. "This neck" Then another kiss on her neck just under her jaw. "This ass" He smirked as his hand moved down her body and pinched her. "You are the blood in my veins Elizabeth Cooper, I'm not even a functional human being without you. Seriously, ask Archie." He's laughing but he's dead serious, she can see it in his eyes. She reached up to cup his face with her hand, he nuzzles his cheek in her palm. "I love you, Jughead. Thank you for coming to me. I know I-, I know that you came here for closure and to leave it behind you and I'm sorr-" "Shh, Betty, shh it's okay. Please don't apologise to me. Ever. This is closure, Betty. This is me coming to terms with the fact that you are it for me. Even if you told me right now to leave, to not come back-" "Jug I would never." "I know, but let me finish, Betts. Even if you kicked me out right and and said you never wanted to see me again, I think I could manage. It would hurt like a bitch, sure. But I could live with that because I've come to terms with it, I'm being honest with myself now. I'm not hiding anything anymore. You are etched into my very being, and I could live every day as long as I knew you were happy and smiling and where you wanted to be." His hands are on her face again, tracing all her features. "You are the most beautiful woman in this whole world, you know that?" "Oh shush, you old romantic." But she's laughing and smiling up at him, eyes glittering with tears and he knows he's not wrong. "Never, never ever. I don't even believe in god but I will never stop thanking whoever the hell is up there for letting me have you, even if it's just for this weekend." Jughead can feel his own tears trailing down his face. "I just love you so fucking much, so fucking much it's a little bit overwhelming and I-" Betty put her finger over his mouth to shush him. "Make love to me, Jughead. Please. No more talking." He leaned his head down to kiss her, softly at first but that wasn't what she was after. She let him know that by wrapping her fingers in his hair, pulling on it so his nose was flat against hers. She used it as leverage to pull herself up into his lap until she was straddling him. Never once taking her mouth from his. His hands were pressed into her lower back, pushing he flat against him. He peppered kisses all along her jaw, down her neck to her chest. He nibbled on her collar bone, which causes a moan from Betty's throat. He runs his tongue soothingly along the bite marks he left. Her head is hung back, giving full access to Jughead. He places more kisses on the rise in her chest. One hand weaves up the back of her shirt, gripping on her bra clasp and quickly undoing it. She inhales quickly and pulls away from his mouth. "How did you do that so fast?" He smirked at her, looking smug. He leans into her automatically at the absence of her mouth on his. "It's a talent, baby. I'm full of them." She rolled her eyes at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and took his bottom lip in between her teeth. She pulled back slowly until his lip popped back. "You think so? Can I show you mine?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him, placing a quick kiss on his mouth before she trails more down his neck, only stopping to pull his t shirt over his head. And then he's pulling hers off, her bra hitting the floor next to it. His hands make to cup her breast, but she grabs them before he can. "Nuh uh, I want this all for you." He pouts at her. "But your boobs are for me!" "Not just yet, sunshine. Now don't speak unless you're moaning my name, capesh?" She quickly continued her way down his chest with kisses, right down through his navel until she's pecking at the skin along the waistband of his jeans. She runs a finger up the zipper, teasing him. She can feel him growing under her touch. She looked up at him with hooded eyes. "Is that for me?" She asks, putting on a sing-song voice, a hand on her heart. He licks his lips and tried to find his voice. "All for you, Betty." His words catch on his breath as she wraps her fingers around his waistband and shimmies his jeans down until they are on the floor next to the rest of their clothes. Now she has him just in his boxers. She climbs back in between his legs and traces down his member through the fabric. Jughead twitches under her touch, pushing his hips up towards her. "Such a tease." He breaths out. She smirks up at him, holding his gaze while she pulls down his boxers and sets him free. She still doesn't break eye contact when she slowly licks from his shaft up to the tip, and then when she takes him completely in her mouth. "Jesus, Betty." His head falls back against the couch as she moves her mouth against him, bobbing her head slowly. Swirling her tongue around his tip on her way back up. As she picked up the pace, Jugheads hand grabbed a fistful of her hair. He could feel her muffled groan against him. She wrapped her hand around his shaft as she pulled away, only so she could tell him; "Pull my hair, Juggie" before she took him in her mouth again. He did as his lady asked, almost laughing when she asked him to pull harder. "I don't want to pull your hair ou- Oh my fuck." She started to use her hand at the same time, working her hand to meet her mouth. "Betty, I'm gonna cum, you g-gotta stop." She looked up at him then, giving him a look that obviously meant she wasn't gonna stop. His head fell back again as he reached his high. Betty let him fill her mouth, making sure he was watching her as she swallowed him down. There was a sheen of sweat on Jugheads face, his cheeks read, eyes blown wide. And yet she looked like a goddess, lips slightly swollen and hair a mess. "Jesus fuck Betty, you actually are going to kill me." She climbed up into his bare lap again, and placed a kiss square on his mouth. "Not until you fuck me first, Jug." He pushed her hair out of his face, mesmerised by this girl. "Fuck you? I thought you wanted me to make love to you?" She shrugged at him. "Whatever way it comes, I just want you in me." "You, are something else." He marvels at her. "But I'm gonna need a minute here, Betts." "Need to refuel?" She laughs. "Something like that, yeah." He kisses her pouting lip. "Fair enough, I guess I can wai- Oh!" Before she even knew what was happening she was on her back on the couch, Jughead hovering between her legs. "I'm not sure you're still wearing these." He says nonchalant before pulling her shorts off. He can see her black panties are already soaked through. He runs a finger along her, her back arched up towards him in response. "Is that for me?" He mocked her, stroking her through the fabric again. Betty doesn't even have time to respond appropriately before Jughead has her panties on the floor and his tongue running through her. "God, yes." She moaned, burying her fingers in his hair. He swivels his tongue to open her, flicking along all her folds, suckling on the sensitive bud that nearly made Betty's head explode. She groans his name some more as he slips two fingers in her, curling upwards. He moves them in and out, while still stroking and suckling with his tongue. Her hips arch up in his face, begging him for more. "Deeper, Jug." He pumps his fingers faster, concentrating his tongue on her clit. "Cum for me, baby." He mutters into her, his mouth vibrating against her healing push her over the edge. She pulls his hair tight and grips the couch with her free hand. He can feel her quivering around his fingers in her release. "Fuck, oh my god." She manages through bated breath. Jughead kissed his way up her body, bracing himself over her. He kisses each of her nipples, then up her neck until he's hovering over her face. He looked her in the eye as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking them clean. Betty let out a groan. "God, you're so fucking hot." She whispered, not quite having her breath back yet. Jughead leant down to kiss her again. She wrapped her arms under his around his back, pulling him flush against her. They lay there on the couch for a moment, both catching their breath. Betty played with Jugheads hair, pushing it back from his head as he lay on her chest. She grabbed his chin and pulled his face to look at her. "I'm not done with you yet, mister." "Thank fuck for that" He smirked, that smug possessive look on his face that Betty loved so much. "I still haven't punished you, you know? From earlier today." "Mm? So are you gonna?" She wiggles her eyebrows at him. "You bet your sweet ass I'm gonna. Now shut up, you've been a bad girl." He quickly stood and took a hold of her hips, forcing her around so she was bent over the side of the couch, her feet on the floor, face pressed into the couch, and ass in the air. He gave her a little smack on her ass, not actually wanting to hit too hard and cause you pain. Betty just laughed. "Is that it?" He grunted and hit her a little harder, this time leaving a red hand-shaped mark. "That's still not enough, Jugh- Oh fuuuck!" He cut her off by slamming into her, not bothering to be slow or gentle about it. He gripped her hips so hard he knew he would bruise her but this time he wanted too. He felt a possessiveness creep over him as he slammed into her, pulling her hips back to meet his. "Fuck, yes, Juggie. Oh my god, you feel so good." He reached one hand around to grab her breast, pinching a nipple between his finger and thumb. "Harder, give me more. Please, more" He picked up the pace to his absolute maximum, dropping her nipple and instead creeps his way down to her bundle of nerves, his fingers once again opening her folds to work around her clit. He wraps his free arm around her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible. He bits her shoulder to try distract himself from letting go just yet. "Jug, I'm so close. Oh my, I'm gonna.." she doesn't manage to finish her sentence before she's letting go all over him, and he follows suit pretty quickly. He shudders into her a couple more times before he slowly draws himself out from inside her, Betty instantly feeling empty without him. He slumps on her back, still hanging over the edge of the couch. He placed light kisses on the bite mark he left on her shoulder. "Jug, that was definitely not a punishment." She giggles under him, making no point to move even though he's a dead weight on her. "I know," He pants "I just can't help myself when your wrapped around me like that." *** A little later in the night, they are back snuggled on the couch watching another movie. Neither made a move to get dressed, which was smart because Jughead had Betty bent over another couple of times since then and now. But she was sleepy now, tucked into his lap with her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Jughead isn't really watching the film, he's too busy thinking about how many times he got to make love to Betty today. There's now a whole virtual photo album in his brain full with the mental snapshots he had been taking of her all day. He wanted to take another now, of her tucked into him, this one far more innocent than the rest but just as special. He can't believe how this trip to New York had turned out. If you had told him this last week, he would have laughed in your face and told you too fuck off. His thoughts are broken by the ring of Betty's cellphone. It's on the coffee table in front of them, and from here he can see who's face and name is on the screen. He went still. It was Jack. Fuck. He had literally not had a second though to Betty's boyfriend since last night. Oh god, now he was tense worrying about the regret Betty is going to feel when he's gone and she has to face him. "I'm not gonna answer it, Jug. I'll just text him." She startles him, moving her face to look at him. "Don't look at me like that, I know what I'm doing. Im a big girl. know I should feel guilty, but I don't." "Betty, how are you gonna face him. I've had you on nearly every surface in this apartment." He laughs, running his hand through his hair nervously. She takes his face in her hands. "This is my cross to bear, not yours." She kissed him. "So please, don't worry. Don't let it ruin this time we have together." He kissed her back. "Okay, I won't. I won't." And he knows he should worry, he should feel guilty, but he's gonna be selfish and not. The woman he loves is in his lap, and she loves him back. It's been 6 years since he's been able to touch her so he's not going to stop anytime soon. Not when their future is uncertain. "Thank you, Juggie."