#fuck they played distant past and spring sun winter dread

[folklore-musings]

Camera Shy (Part Three)

Summary:  AU. Jughead is an aspiring photographer. His final project requires him to shoot nude photos of someone who inspires him. With no one else to ask Jughead asks Betty. Insecure of her body Betty is quick to shoot the idea down, until Jughead reminds her that she owes him. - Bughead leading to eventual smut.

Part One     Part Two   

Read on AO3 here

As expected here is a new chapter! I’m so tired but it was so worth staying up for. Thank you so much for all the support and interest in this. Enjoy!

Betty wakes up to the sound of footsteps in the hall. She opens one eye and groans, wondering why she’s asleep on the couch instead of in her bed. Attempting to lift herself up she winces and lies back down. Her head is throbbing, and underneath her blanket she’s wearing nothing but her underwear.

“Good morning sunshine,” Jughead says, walking past the living room and into the kitchen. Betty hears him open the fridge, suddenly realizing just how dry her mouth is. Before she has the chance to ask, Jughead enters the living room and places a water bottle on the coffee table, along with a bottle of aspirin. “In case you need this.”

Betty smiles gratefully. When she reaches for the water the blanket shifts, exposing Betty’s chest and stomach. For a brief moment she’s embarrassed, but the memories of the night before resurface like a distant dream. The wine, the pictures, agreeing to do the photoshoot. She looks up at Jughead, who’s already retreating back into the kitchen. “Thank you,” she croaks, her lips are chapped and her mouth tastes like something died inside.  Begrudgingly, she makes herself get up. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she grabs her clothes from floor and heads into the bathroom.

She returns a few minutes later, dressed and feeling more like herself. She folds up the blanket and throws it over the back of the couch and joins Jughead in the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he asks, digging into his leftover Chinese food, Lo Mein noodles dangling from his lips.

Betty glances at the clock, shocked she let herself sleep for so long. “Pop’s serves all day breakfast. And I’m craving some French toast.”

Jughead smiles and puts the Lo Mein back in the fridge. “Let me go grab my coat.” He reaches for the beanie he left on the counter the night before and shuffles into his wool lined jean jacket. The only time Betty ever sees Jughead rush is when he knows food is on the horizon. She smiles to herself and puts on her jacket and shoes, following Jughead out the door.

The walk to Pop’s is quick. Overnight another few inches of snow had fallen. What should be spring air is crisp and uninviting, but at least the snow subsided and the sun is shining. Thankfully, Pop’s isn’t too busy and they’re able to slip into their favorite corner booth.

“How did you sleep?” Jughead asks Betty as his eyes quickly scan the menu, already knowing what he’s going to order.

“Like a log.” Betty replies. Their waitress comes over and asks what they’d like to drink. “I’ll have a coffee and a glass of water please.” Jughead orders the same and returns to his menu.

“You fell asleep on the floor, you know. I picked you up and put you on the couch. You were out cold.” Jughead laughs, setting his menu aside, letting the waitress know he’s ready. Betty blushes, fully embarrassed by her crazy wine drinking ass. Jughead must think she’s nuts.

 Betty apologizes as the waitress walks over. Jughead orders the Country Boy breakfast, complete with 3 eggs, two pieces of toast, 4 slices of bacon or sausage links (Jughead opting for two of each) and a side hash browns lathered in butter and topped with grilled onions. The waitress surveys Jughead with wide eyes and thin lips, undoubtedly wondering the same thing as Betty. Where does the lanky dark haired boy put it all?

Betty settles for French toast with a side of fresh fruit, ordering an orange juice as well. “Someone’s thirsty,” Jughead notes, looking at her half empty mug of coffee and her empty glass of water.

“Just a little dehydrated.” Betty sighs. She hands over her menu to the waitress and sits back, impatiently waiting for her food.

She and Jughead make small talk, neither one mentioning the night before. Like kids, they flip over the paper placemats and play hangman and tic-tac-toe until their food arrives.

Betty’s stomach lurches, rumbling and grumbling when her French toast arrives. She unwraps her silverware and dabs some butter on the bread, before dousing the fluffy, powder sugared toast in maple syrup. Taking a bite she moans, savoring the sweet flavor on her tongue.

Halfway through the meal Jughead speaks up. “So I think we should leave the apartment around three, so I can set the studio up in time before our shoot.”

His comment catches her off guard. Betty swallows and takes a sip of her orange juice. “What? You booked the studio for this afternoon?” She looks down at her French toast, losing all the appetite she had for the abundance of sugary carbs and starts spearing the fruit in the bowl beside her.

“Yeah.”

“But how? I only agreed to this little plan last night.” The waitress comes by and fills Betty’s cup. Betty thanks her as walks away.

Jughead mumbles something under his breath, sounding a lot like “Fuck.” The heat rises in his cheeks and he opens his mouth to speak. “About that, I booked the studio two weeks ago. I’ve known about this assignment since the end of February. I’ve just been too chicken shit to ask you. That’s why I made it seem so important yesterday. I’ve been running out of time.”

Betty drops her fork, falling to the table with a clatter. She reaches for her newly refilled glass of water and twirls the straw around the edges. Her toe taps incessantly against the tiled floor, and she checks the time on her phone. She thought she’d have days to prepare, not hours. She had to go home, she had to shower, she had to shave. Her legs were furry creatures, hibernating in the winter weather and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d plucked her eyebrows. She’s starting to panic as her stomach clenches. Again, Jughead’s timing is always the worst.

“You couldn’t have told me this sooner?” Betty finally says, tugging on the neckline of her sweater uncomfortably.

Jughead shrugs sheepishly, refusing to meet her eyes. “I was afraid to ask. I’m sorry Betts.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts before speaking. “You’ll still do it, right? Because if not, at this point I’m going to have make this project a set of awkward, naked selfies.”

Betty laughs. “Now those I wouldn’t mind seeing.” She reaches for his hand across the table and caresses it gently. “I’ll still do the shoot Jug. But next time, please give me a warning at least a week in advance. I need to go home prepare.” Betty slips out of the booth, leaving Jughead to take care of the bill. “Oh, and please have her box up my French toast, I’m definitely finishing those later.”

Betty jogs home, hoping it will help burn a few of the calories she’d just consumed. The pavement is hard beneath her feet; all signs of ice from the day before melted away under the sun’s shining rays. When she reaches the apartment she’s short of breath and sweating. Hastily, she slips off her shoes and texts Ronnie.

Betty: The little fucker didn’t tell me the photoshoot was today. Help me get ready? I’m hopping in the shower now. Come by in a half hour?

Ronnie replies almost instantly.

Ronnie: Okay! You’ll be such a smoke show when I’m done with you!

Betty tosses her phone on the counter and heads for the shower, ignoring the coiling feeling in her stomach.

By the time Betty’s finished Jughead is already home. The clock on the wall in the hallway reads 1 o’clock. She has just a little over two hours for Ronnie to help doll her up. With a towel wrapped around her, Betty passes Jughead’s room on the way to her own. “You know you could just start walking around naked now.” Jughead calls through his open door.

Betty stops in her tracks and peers into his room. “You wish Jughead.”

“It’s not like I’ve never seen it before.”

She holds the towel tighter around her body. “What are you talking about?”

Jughead grins smugly. “Remember back in high school, when I lived with Archie for a few months?” Betty nods, already dreading where this is going. “Well Betts, you really should’ve kept your curtains closed more often.”

“What did you see?” She’s beginning to drip onto the wood.

“A lot of side boob. But don’t worry; it was very tasteful and pleasing to the eye. Fifteen year old me really appreciated it.”

Betty groans and stomps her feet the rest of the way to her room. Behind her back she retorts, “You know, I can still back out of this. It’s not like I’ve signed a contract.” She closes the door forcefully behind her. At least he was being honest.

To help her get ready Betty puts on some mood music to help her relax. She pulls on robe when she hears a knock on her door. “It’s open,” Betty says, reaching for her brush.

“Hey babe,” Ronnie waltzes in as if she owns the place. She turns up the stereo and grabs the brush from Betty. “I promise to make you beautiful Betty,” she says mimicking from Jughead’s voice. “He’s so gone for you, how can you be so blind?”

Betty rolls her eyes and winces as Ronnie drags the brush through her hair, showing now mercy. “You read too much into what Jughead says.”

“No, I just know when a guy is head over heels in fucking love with you. Back when I lived in New York…” Betty drones her out, focusing on the music as Ronnie plays with her hair. “…you’re not even listening to me, are you?” Betty shakes her head, guilt displayed on her face. “Fine, I won’t bore you with the glamorous lifestyle I used to live. Let’s talk about you and Jughead instead.”

Betty purses her lips. “I’d rather not.”

“Come on Betty, you can’t deny he’s dreamy in a Heath Ledger meets Leonardo DiCaprio kind of way.”

Betty’s lips form a straight line, refusing to speak. Ronnie finally drops the subject and plugs in her hair dryer. Betty sings along to the radio while Ronnie fluffs and primps her hair. There’s no wonder she ties it back every day, having to put in actual effort would take way too long.

Around two-thirty Jughead peeks his head into the room, a hand covering his eyes. “Are you ladies decent?”

“Yeah,” Betty says, and he walks right in.

“Okay. Well I just wanted to let you know I’m going to head over there now. I want to take the chance to get everything ready. You know where the Fine Arts building is, right?” The blonde nods. “Good. It’s on the third floor, Room 347. I’ll see you there.” Jughead retreats from the room, knowing when to take his exit.

Another half hour flies by and Ronnie’s just finishing up the final touches with her makeup. She had a knack for using neutral tones to make Betty’s beauty more natural and alluring. “You’re all set. Thank goodness we don’t have to worry about a wardrobe. I would have needed a full 24 hours to set that up.”

Betty sits back and admires her reflection in the mirror. She plays with her curls, gently twirling them around her fingers. “Wow Ronnie.”

“I know, it’s a gift.” She spins Betty around in her chair. “Now you listen here Betts. You are going to walk into that studio, and blow that stupid beanie off his head. Seriously, let me know what it feels like to run your fingers through his hair. I wonder what sort of conditioner he uses? His hair always looks so soft.”

“Ronnie! I’m not going to run my fingers anywhere near Jughead’s hair, or any other part of his body for that matter!” Betty cries. She tosses her hair back in a ponytail and grabs her jacket and keys. “Okay…wish me luck.”

“Buena suerta sweetie. You better tell me everything.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

Betty walks with her hands in her pockets, her mind buzzing with anticipation. She’s nervous and excited and terrified all at once. The whirlwind of emotions makes her feel dizzy and light headed. She’s donning a casual sweater and jeans, not bothering with underwear, knowing she won’t need it where she’s headed. In her bag she has a robe Ronnie let her borrow, warning her Jughead will lose his shit when he sees her in it.

With every step closer she gets her heart beats faster. She struts into the Fine Arts building with unsteady knees and shaky hands. Locating the studio Betty sneaks inside, shutting the door softly behind her.

The room is a lot smaller than she imagined. One wall is nothing but a mirror, with a barre wrapped around it. To the left there’s a small stage with a singular stool. Jughead’s standing there, messing with the lens on his tripod while another camera hangs from a strap around his neck. Two spot lights center in on a plain white black drop. Off to the side there’s a folding screen for her to change behind.

Too wrapped up in his magic, Jughead doesn’t hear Betty approach him. She taps him on the shoulder, almost startling him to death. “Betty, you’re here.”

“Were you afraid I wasn’t going to come?” she asks, swaying from side to side, unable to stand still.

“N-No of course not. Please, make yourself comfortable. You can, err, change over there.” He directs her towards the screen.

Betty disappears behind the screen, exhaling slowly, trying to steady her breath. “Here goes nothing,” she sighs. She undresses precariously, taking her time with each article of clothing. Once she’s done she takes a minute to regain her composure, ready to walk out and face the music.

꙰

Jughead forces down a swallow, watching with lidded eyes and fervent excitement as Betty steps out from behind the divider, wrapped in nothing but a sheer, floral robe. Her hair is down, tumbling in waves surrounding her face. Everything about her is enchanting, luring Jughead in. She’s a drug and he’s an addict, craving every inch of her skin beneath his fingertips.

The gleaming lights illuminate her skin, bringing to life a vision of Betty he never imagined could be real. Shadows enlighten her features, accentuating her hallowed cheeks and lavish lips. She looks at him with distant eyes, hugging herself and continuously biting her lip.

Jughead takes his first picture. She’s nervous. Her fists clutch onto the robe around her, wishing she could disappear into the shadows. “How do I look?” She whispers.

Jughead can barely breathe; barely speak as Betty stands before him. The words flow from his mouth without even thinking. “Flawless.” He searches for oxygen, hoping to clear his head before continuing. “Now let the robe fall off your shoulders, but continue to hold it the way you are.”

Betty does as she’s told, the thin fabric slipping slowly from her shoulders. She tosses her hair over her back and turns her head to face him. He snaps another photo, the flash resounding in the tiny studio.

Jughead walks away for a moment and moves to the corner of the room. He bends down and pops a CD inside an old boom box, letting the music fill the room softly; anything to help distract him from the palpable tension between them.

“I love this song.” Betty tells him with quivering lips. When Jughead turns around the robe is lying in a limp puddle on the hardwood floor. He steadies his quaking knees as he walks back towards her. A piece of dark, unruly hair falls in his face and he tucks it back into the beanie. He needs to focus.

“I’m beginning to think you love every song, Betty.” She smiles coyly, dropping her arms from around her chest. Her breasts rise and fall with the beat of every breath she takes and Jughead can’t help but stare in wonder. The way her body curves, he can hardly think, hardly breathe. Her skin is luminescent. He falls in love with the shadows she creates. From head to toe he examines her body and all the dazzling qualities it possesses.

Her hair, he wants to get lost in it. Her eyes, he wants to search until he finds her soul. Her lips, he wants kiss, breathing her in as if she’s the only thing he needs to survive. Her collar bones, he wants to bite them. Her breasts, he wants to feel the way her supple nipples perk as he drags circles around them with his tongue. Her hips, he wants to hold them forever between his fingers, leaving marks to remind her that she’s his and his only. It takes all the willpower in the world to tear his eyes away and clear the scattered fog currently residing in his mind.

“Dance for me,” he breathes, holding up the camera.

He steps around the room, capturing Betty from every angle possible. At one point he’s lying on the floor, snapping a photo of her from the hips down. “Whoa – I never said you could photograph me there.” But Jughead’s not paying any attention. He studies the way her muscles move as she stands on the tips of her toes. “Hey Jug, eyes up here.”

“Betty I’m not looking there,” but he stumbles to his feet just the same.

She continues to dance, song after song, wrapping Jughead up inside a fantasy. Everything about her is blurred lines and careless angles. She’s free and invincible inside her own skin. She moves through the 8 basic ballet poses, Jughead capturing endless photos of each. Betty pirouettes and spins around on stage, opening her arms up to the heavens and the stars.  

A new song comes on and Betty sits down on the stool he provided, crossing one leg over the other. She reaches up and pulls her hair off her shoulders and away from her face. Jughead zooms in, watching her movements through the lens. She has daring eyes and playful lips. He burns; he yearns desperately for her touch. For her lips hot on his mouth, his fingers tangled in her hair. He takes one picture after the other, fully aware that he’s taken enough to fill a full photo album with bewitchingly beautiful Betty.

He requests multiple poses of her. One with her back to him, her hands clutching the stool behind her as her hair sways to and fro. Another of her straddling the stool with her lip caught between her teeth. She looks at the camera as if she’s in love. Her blue green eyes are alight with a fire Jughead’s never seen before. She’s intense and she’s treacherous, ensnaring Jughead into a world where only the two of them exist.

Hesitantly he staggers up to her on the stage. He manages a few close ups, admiring the strong line of her jaw and the delicate way her eyes flutter every time the flash goes off.

Jughead removes the camera from around his neck and places it on a table off to the edge of the stage and out of sight. “I think I got what I needed.” His voice is low and unsteady. He wonders if she can sense the desire in his tone.

Betty grips onto the edge of the stool she’s sitting on, making no move to leave. “Are you sure?” she asks.

She draws in her lip, biting tenderly on the abused skin. Unable to handle it any longer, Jughead closes the distance between them. He reaches up, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m sure.” He breathes. His nose bumps against hers softly, just before he kisses her.