Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Excerpt from Harvest to Home, The Mighty Omelette

“What is more versatile than an omelette? It is the one perfect dish that you can make in a pinch, whether you’re low on ingredients or have an overabundance of it, the omelette can both satisfy or lean light.  All you need are eggs, salt, and a couple of ingredients that you can throw in it. You can have it with cheese or without. You can make it as rich or as healthy as you prefer.

The trick, however, is in keeping it fluffy. You may be tempted to pat an omelette down, but really, just like any other food, you have to let it come to its own at some point...”

--Betty Cooper, Riverdale Farms Bed & Breakfast

The warmth was heavenly, easing the knots on her body that she so often woke with.

Sleep, for her, had seldom given her that boneless rest. Sleep was so often a reminder of how alone she was, first after Trev’s death and then later just--

By itself.

The largeness of the bed, the heat that was so exclusively hers and no one else’s, all served as a reminder that the void remained, even when she reached out and offered herself up to the world.

But now. Now.

Between waking and sleeping, she felt cocooned in strong arms, a firm back, and limbs tangled in limbs. She moaned contentedly, nestling herself deeper into this unexpected embrace. The arms around her tightened and her ass was even more flush against his hips.

It was in her waking consciousness that she began to realize what this warmth meant. Jughead was wrapped around her, enveloping her in his arms. She also realized that she was in no hurry to get out of it.

She sank lazily into the pillows and blankets, with every intention of enjoying this for as long as she could get away with it.

“Betts,” he moaned softly.

She tensed ever so slightly. Was he awake?  

He shifted then settled, his breath slipping to an even cadence.  

She became aware of her heart beat, which was currently racing. She was now fully awake, and she supposed that now she was taking advantage, because she was in full control of her faculties.

Carefully, she tried to slide out of his arms, shimmying her hips away and turning to push herself off the bed, but he got jostled, and now he was shifting again, pulling her to him. If she ever doubted his strength, the next few seconds dispelled it. She felt herself getting dragged back in, and she found that she was right back where she started.

She sighed. Why was she trying to get away, anyway? She liked where she was and Jughead was not making it easy for her.

She checked her phone. It was five thirty in the morning, but she did not need to get up.  She was not running a farm today. In fact, she saw Kevin’s no nonsense response of “Ok. Text me when you’re headed back.” He wasn’t demanding where she was. He wasn’t going into a panic or sending out a search party. Kevin was fine. Which meant Farmer John would be fine. Cheryl would probably give zero fucks.  

She was comfortable and happy and she wanted nothing more than for this to be real.

And by real, she meant They’d Just Had Sex real.  Real, like They Were Having a Lie In real.  Real like if she turned over in his arms, she could wrap her legs around him, kiss him awake, and have him inside her in a heartbeat, real.

He stirred, and for a moment she thought he was just shifting, but as she lay there, unmoving, she felt something poking her backside.

Her eyebrow arched. Is that Jughead’s--

“Well, this is awkward,” he suddenly muttered into her hair.

She gasped softly in surprise. “Juggie! How long have you been awake?”

“Few minutes.”

“U-um, good morning?”

He groaned, peeling himself away from her and throwing an arm over his forehead. His eyes were still half-lidded from sleep, but he was smirking. “Yeah.  Let’s go with that.”

She turned over on the bed, only then realizing that one of Jughead’s arms was pinned beneath her. “Sorry.” She lifted up her hip and he slipped it out from under her.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled. “If you can forget about my morning hardon poking your back, I can forget about you putting my arm to sleep.”

She thought about it for a second. “Not equivalent.”

He sighed. “I guess not.” He covered his face with his hands. “It was all very comfortable until--”

“Until Forsythe Pendleton IV decided to make an appearance?”

He groaned, casting her a glare.  “Did dad tell you? About my name?”

“In a manner of speaking.”  She jerked her thumb at his father’s display case.  She had seen his dad’s high school diploma and it said Forsythe Pendleton Jones II, and while she hadn’t Googled Jughead very deeply, the spackled mention of FP Jones III in relation to Jughead’s search results made it easy for her to put two and two together.

“Nothing escapes you.”

She shrugged. “That much is true, Forsythe.”

“Can we pretend you never found that out?”

She giggled softly and curled up on her side, staring at his profile. She didn’t want to get up just yet. She liked this illusion of waking up with Jughead beside her.

She shifted and her foot grazed against his leg. She wasn’t sorry for it, but she said it anyway. “Sorry.”

He looked at her. “Don’t be.”

She wanted to kiss him, but aside from the feeling of stale breath, she didn’t think she could stop at a kiss, and FP was one walkout away from seeing everything.

Sighing in frustration, she threw back her covers and pushed herself out of bed.

*************

Jughead did not think he could take much more of this dancing around.

He watched her, forlornly, walk away to go the bathroom. Once she was out of earshot, he grumbled about what a huge idiot he was.

He got up, went to his father’s room, freshened up, and dressed back in his clothes while FP snored fitfully in the background.

Betty was back in her clothes from last night when he descended the stairs, the bun on her head making her neck look swan-like. She was already folding the blankets of their bed, so he tidied up with the sheets and pillows. With the sofa folded back in and the linens neatly stacked, he put away the sheets and then helped Betty in the kitchen.

“You’ve made a morning person of me,” he said, drinking coffee.

“One of my greatest accomplishments.”

He took a sip of the coffee. It was the instant stuff, as it was all FP had in his cupboards, but it served. Caffeine was caffeine. “Does the farm know you’re not there? Because Kevin and Cheryl will blame me and kill me.”

She chuckled. “They know, but they will not kill you. I’ve had to take emergency leave before. Once when Polly gave birth to the twins and another time when Chic got shot on duty. And then of course when Trev died, but the farm runs well even if a few parts of it are missing for a few days. It’ll be fine.”

Jughead looked upward to the second floor. “My emergency’s less urgent than any of that.”

She shook her head. “That’s not true. Your father’s continued sobriety is just as important as Polly giving birth, or Chic going into surgery. It’s a big deal, Jug. And I know it means so much to you. It should. Your father’s alcoholism is a lifelong struggle that no one should have to bear alone. You were right to come rushing over here. And I’m glad I was able to help you with that.”

She looked so adamant. And she meant every word of it, too. He could see it and he felt shaken by the intensity of it.

Suddenly he was recalling every single thing about her the last few hours that made him want to pull her closer, and it was a beautiful mixture of things that bombarded all of his senses—the sight of her eyes, alight with mirth, the feel of her body against his, the lavender smell of her skin and hair, the sound of her voice, and the thought of her, what she inspired in his mind and the beating heart in his chest—it was all culminating in the desperate, all consuming need to taste.

That realization, that need was about as much as he could take.

“Betts…” he said, almost nonsensically. What did he want? Permission?

Her brows knotted slightly. “What is it, Juggie?”

He set his coffee down, crossed the kitchen in two big strides, and wrapped his arms around her, his lips pressed to her head. He closed his eyes and breathed her in.

“Juggie,” she whispered, holding still.

On any other day, holding her would have been all he needed, but right now, it did not feel like enough. He needed more, and pulling away slightly, he tilted her chin up and pressed a kiss on her lips, gentle and unhurried. He held the kiss for another few heartbeats, then slowly, he pulled away.

He breathed and he opened his eyes to look at her face. Her eyes were still closed and suddenly, he didn’t want to hesitate anymore.

He kissed her again, more firmly this time, and when her lips parted, he stroked his tongue against hers. She responded and it was all he needed to keep going.

He caught her face in his hands and the temperature of the kiss heightened, climbing to near desperate.

Her fingers were in his hair and he pushed her chin up with his thumb so he can deepen the kiss even more. She moaned into his mouth and that sound broke the control he had. He breathed her in, their kiss intensifying.

He didn’t even realize he was walking her back until her back bumped the kitchen counter. Without breaking the contact of their lips, he lifted her by her waist and thigh and set her on the counter, his lips traveling to her neck.

“Juggie,” she whispered, breathless, wrapping her legs around his hips.

There was a frustrating amount of jean between him and her, so all he could really do was squeeze her ass through her pants. He nursed her mouth with his, their tongues rubbing a gentle massage against each other.

When they finally separated, they caught their breaths, foreheads touching. Jughead stole shorter kisses, in no hurry to end their makeout session.

“You don’t know how long--” he murmured between kisses “--I’ve wanted to do that.”

She smiled as she kissed him back, her arms slipping over his shoulders. “What kept you?”

He wasn’t sure he was ready to get into that, particularly about what kept her, but it was enough that she was so wonderfully responsive at this moment. “Stuff,” he said with a grin.

They came together again, and he moaned into the softness of her lips, the velvety stroke of her tongue, and just everything that was making this moment as wonderful and stimulating as he imagined it would be.

The sound of a door opening and closing loudly reverberated through the house. “Hey, kid? You awake?”

It was FP from the top of his stairs, loudly announcing himself.

Jughead pulled away, and they were both trying to catch their breaths as they exchanged knowing smiles. He gently helped her hop off the counter.  

“Yeah, dad. In the kitchen,” he called over his shoulder.

By the time FP reached them, Betty was cracking eggs into a bowl and Jughead was leaning back on the counter, ankles crossed as he sipped his coffee.

Jughead noted FP’s suspicious eyebrow arching in his direction.

“Good morning, FP!” Betty said cheerfully. “I guess Jughead got his Morning Person thing from you.”

Jughead tried not to choke on his coffee. Way to make his father even more suspicious.

“You must’ve met a different person. You ain’t talking about my kid.”

“Must’ve been the farm, then,” she quipped, chopping onions expertly.

“Need help with that?” Jughead asked.

“Peppers,” she said, sliding them in his direction.

He managed to find a second chopping board and a knife. He sliced and diced, though not nearly as well as she did.

By the time he was done, she had already ladled some eggs on a skillet and spread it perfectly on the pan’s round surface.

FP chattered animatedly about Jughead being the first Jones in several generations to finish college and how he did it all without his father’s help.

One thing about Jughead’s father, he never pretended he was there for either of his kids, particularly his eldest. Though Jughead could probably scrounge up the ways FP had been there for other things, like lying about being Jughead’s alibi for some drug charges that Jughead had been falsely accused of, or beating the shit out of some gangbangers who had tried to beat the shit out of Jughead first, but even FP recognized that these were situations that Jughead shouldn’t have been in if he had a father looking out for him in the first place.

Even Jughead was a bit loathe to admit it was things like that which made Jughead loyal to his dad. Nobody with a normal upbringing could understand that, but that had been his life. Maybe someday he could tell Betty about all of it. And oddly enough, he wasn’t afraid she’d take it badly.

She had listened to him talk about the bullet he wore around his neck without the slightest indication of judgement. He imagined she did the same for every kid that sought refuge with her. She listened and helped. Her home was a judgement free zone because she, the mistress, was.

She made three omelettes and served them with the bread she brought over, freshly warmed in FP’s oven. She had brought a bottle of preserves and a jar of butter to spread on her bread. And when they sat down to eat, it felt like brunch at a trendy restaurant.

That was the way with Betty. Every meal felt special, no matter how simple the dish was.

“So kid, if you’ve been eating this way the last few weeks, how are you not thicker in the middle?” FP asked.

Jughead grinned and winked. “The famous Jones metabolism.”

FP almost looked like he believed it.

“He works the farm, FP,” Betty said, throwing Jughead an amused look. “Pretty hard, too. I should pay him.”

“Research,” Jughead said. “For my third book. Also, I like it. The farm work.”

“That part’s the Jones in you, kid,” FP said. “We always liked getting our hands into the work. We like seeing something made.  I’ll be a blue collar worker all my life, kid, but it’s what I want to do, after all.”

Jughead smirked. “Would you disown me if I told you that I actually like artisanal mayonnaise?”

Betty stifled a laugh.

FP scoffed. “I forgive you. At least I know that when you wear flannel, it isn’t with irony. But if you start raving about deconstructed burgers, I may beat you.”

He had to laugh at that.

“So I’m guessing,” FP said, with a pointed gaze at Betty, “that you made this bread, jam, and butter yourself.”

She nodded, almost like she was guilty. “Eggs from my chickens and onions and peppers from my vegetable garden, too.”

FP nodded, impressed. “Get you a farmer and you’ll never go hungry. She’s perfect for you, Jug.”

Jughead almost choked on his coffee. Again. When did his father get into the matchmaking business?

“Something I said?”

Betty leaned her chin on her fist. “I’d like to know, too, FP.”

Jughead eyed her with an affectionate glower. “No. Nothing wrong with what you said, dad. I totally agree. I should get on that. Like, stat.”

It was in the midst of this, and him feeling Betty’s foot rubbing his leg under the table that FP got a phone call and he had to excuse himself to take it.

“So how are you going to get on that, Jones?” she asked with a quiet giggle.

He leaned over the table, rubbing her knee with his hand. “How about dinner tomorrow night? You free?”

She pretended to think about it.

He ran his hand up her thigh boldly as punishment. She bit her lip and scolded him in a whisper, her eyes dancing with suppressed merriment.

“Okay, I’m free,” she said. “I’ll just have to tell Kevin I’m skipping the gay bar this weekend.”

He laughed quietly just as FP returned.

“So good news,” FP said. “That was my stand in sponsor. He apologized for being absent last night, but he had an emergency and didn’t get his messages. He’ll come by this morning to get me through, so you can get on with your lives, but honestly, I think my crisis has passed, thanks to you both.”

“No problem, dad.”

“I’m glad,” Betty said. “We’ll stick around until he arrives. Unless you want us to go.”

“Are you kidding? I enjoy having my boy around. And you’re giving me every reason to like having you around, Betty.”

She looked extremely pleased by that, and Jughead had to fight off the weird feelings that his father’s words had invoked.  FP had always been an expressive guy, while Jughead’s tendency to over-contemplate and shut down had always been a trait he learned from his mother.  There were only two things FP didn’t talk about: The Serpents and his son’s involvement with the Serpents, everything else was pretty much fair game.  So when FP said he liked having his boy around, that wasn’t a surprise, but Jughead had to think about the last time FP said that sober.  

So much of the past had been filtered through FP’s alcoholic haze that Jughead was often caught off guard when FP was doing the same thing with his full faculties intact.  Jughead supposed he should’ve been less surprised, since alcohol could loosen the tongue of anyone, and some would argue alcohol brings out one’s true self, but while FP had often told Jughead “thanks for coming,” or “I’m glad you made it,” or “I was surprised you showed up,” to hear FP say, “I enjoy having my boy around,” so clearly and to someone else was a little surreal.

Five years sober and FP was still catching up on moments like these with Jughead.

And then there’s the bit about FP liking Betty, which was unsurprising, but mildly unnerving. He and Betty weren’t even really a thing yet. A sprout, tops. Will his dad get on his case if by some stroke of bad luck, it didn’t work out with her?  Jughead never had to worry about showing FP his report cards growing up, but this felt a little like that: like he had to do well, or else he’d have to answer to his dad if he failed.

Jughead hadn’t had to answer to his father for anything in a little over 15 years. This all felt very strange.

He caught Betty’s eye and she seemed completely unbothered by any of this, which was possibly the kind of certainty one could only acquire for being the Teacher’s Pet for most of her life. He had no doubt Betty was that student.

She smiled at him reassuringly, and he could only smile back in return.

**********

FP’s stand-in sponsor arrived just shortly after breakfast, so they were driving back to the farm by 7:30.

It was an interesting scene, watching Jughead and FP saying goodbye to one another. In the light of day, with everything working out well, father and son shook hands, patted each other’s shoulders like old buddies, and then separated.

For someone like her who took thirty minutes to say goodbye to her siblings, this was unnervingly efficient. She herself had given FP a warmer goodbye, giving him an unhurried hug, a reminder that her table at the farm was open for him, and that if he ever had a hankering for good cheese, she could drop off a basket of it. Her own goodbye had taken longer than Jughead’s.  

But then that was just the kind of person she was, and both Jughead and FP were an interesting study of relationships destroyed and rebuilt.

It felt a lot less hurried on the way back, which is why Betty took up Jughead’s offer to drive. He skipped over the shortcuts, using the longer, more direct routes by highway. Betty didn’t mind. It just meant more time spent with him without the looming presence of everyone and everything that surrounded them at the farm.

“Your dad was really sweet,” she said, making herself comfortable on the passenger seat.

A small smile lifted the corner of his lip. “He always was, drinking or not. He only got really ornery when he had to deal with the gang and since that’s all behind him… well, he’s come a long way.”

She nodded, understanding to some extent. Polly had had some problems of her own in the past. She hadn’t gotten horribly addicted, but she’d had some drug use in her history, mostly to deal with the demands of their parents. But Polly had been lucky. Their parents had money to throw at it, for one, and Polly’s support system had been stable.

It didn’t sound like FP had it quite so easy, and while that hadn’t been an excuse to subject Jughead to a shitty childhood, she respected FP’s and Jughead’s efforts to make it work. To make it better. God knows, Polly would probably be dead if they’d been as hard up as FP and Jughead were.

“It’s adorable how proud he is of you,” she remarked, smiling at the memory of how FP’s face lit up when talking about Jughead and his books. He could probably talk about his son like that the entire day.

Jughead shrugged. “I think dad would’ve been proud of me if I got tenth place at a little league baseball tournament. He doesn’t have strict standards.”

She laughed and touched his arm. “That only makes him better in my eyes.”

“This is the best of him, you know. He was a really crappy father before,” he said quietly. He wasn’t being disrespectful. Jughead was just the kind of guy who refused to be disingenuous.

She nodded, smiling kindly. “I got that. I guess you just have to give people a chance to make up for the things they did to you.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Speaking from experience?”

She shrugged. She felt that her experience with Polly didn’t much equate with Jughead’s experience with his father. “Just a little. It was nothing like your situation.”

He chuckled, sounding slightly sardonic. “Betts, after everything you’ve done for me, do you really think I’d be a dick and judge you?”

She shook her head. “Oh, it’s not that. I just don’t want to equate my petty--”

He shot her a look. “C’mon. I’m pretty sure it’s not petty.”

Sighing, Betty leaned back on her seat. “So my sister had a drug problem some years back.”

Jughead blinked, then his gaze on her softened. “So you know what this is like.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t rely on her for my well-being Juggie. She didn’t have to raise me or feed me, we had parents with money to bail us out of trouble, we had lawyers and she had rehab--”

“Hold on a second,” Jughead said, interrupting mildly. “You’re using ‘us’ and ‘we’ as if you both got in trouble.”

“We did,” Betty replied.  “She was kind of a functioning user and I didn’t know a single thing about addiction. I didn’t know people who took drugs and went about their day normally like Polly did, and even if someone else told me Polly was sniffing blow in the bathroom, I don’t think I would’ve believed it, so a lot of it was probably me denying she was acting strangely. So that one night she drove both of us home from a party, she was apparently high and she ended up crashing our car into the side of the road. It wasn’t a horrible crash, thank God, and we only suffered some minor injuries, but she had drugs in the car, Juggie. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was plenty enough that I got hauled into jail right along with her. It was just a couple of days, but I remember being completely furious with her the whole time. We were yelling at each other so loudly at one point that the guards had to come in and separate us. I got dumped into a vacant cell all by myself, which was kind of a mistake, because now she was stuck with half a dozen strange women, and between that cell and mine, there were the men. She was all alone over there with a bunch of strangers who were probably there for one bad thing or another. I was scared for her safety. Not to mention the fact that I basically had to endure drunken catcalls the entire time from a bunch of bored dudes.”

Jughead fell unnaturally silent.

She smirked. “It’s okay. You can laugh. I get that a perky blonde white girl like me in jail is the stuff of comedies.”

He did cock a grin. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at all. Being in jail is no joke, Betts. That’s some serious fucked up shit. I’m just amused at the fact that even at your angriest, you still worried about her. I think you’re too good for this world, Betty Cooper.” He reached over and rubbed her thigh, giving her an affectionate smile.

She blushed at his words and his look.

“How long did it take you to forgive your sister?” he asked.

She sighed.  “I don’t know. A while? The lawyers managed to clear me of any charges and Polly got off with a misdemeanor and community service--just a couple of privileged kids who got away with stuff because money , but I hated Polly for putting me in that position. I wanted to break out on my own, and I resented her for possibly taking that from me. It meant I had to rely on my parents for my career, which I absolutely did not want.” She gave him an embarrassed look. “I know: boohoo, my parents can get me a job. Poor me.”

He cocked a grin. “Don’t mock yourself. That’s a valid aspiration. And you did it. You broke out on your own without their help.”

She felt that glow of pride in her chest, whenever she was reminded that the success of her farm and business was her doing, with the help of Kevin and Farmer John of course. “I did, and I love doing what I’m doing. I am so lucky. And yes, obviously, I forgave Polly. She comes to the farm with her family every other year for the holidays. But whenever I need something from her and she resists, I remind her that I went to jail because of her.”

Jughead chuckled. “How long are you going to hold that over her head?”

“Probably when I need her help burying a body.”

He laughed, reaching over to take her hand. “I’ll help you bury a body.”

“Oh, no. You, I’ll plan the murder with. A crime novelist? C’mon. You’d be great at it.”

He grinned. “I ought to pick your brain for this next novel. You’re my muse, after all.”

His words gave her warm tingles. “I am?”

“Yeah. That surprises you?”

She shrugged, flushing. “A little bit. Should I be doing something to be the best kind of muse you have? Are there muse duties?”

He pretended to think about it. “Back rubs. That would be nice. And kisses. Lots of them. Maybe draw up a nice bath…”

She giggled, running her hand up his arm. “Wouldn’t that be exquisite?”

“Do those things daily and I’ll finish ten novels.” He winked.

Heat pooled at the bottom of her stomach and she felt a small thrill go through her. She wondered how they would spend the evening together, when Cheryl was asleep and the farm was free of anyone but them.

They arrived at the farm by 8:30 and Farmer John waved as they passed him. When Jughead parked the truck, Kevin and Cheryl met them at the front.

A muted gunshot sounded in the distance and Betty was reminded that Reggie was still there working the property.

“Everything alright with you, Jug?” Kevin asked as Jughead got out of the truck.

“Yeah, it’s all good, thanks to Betty.”

“I just drove you there. It was nothing.”

Cheryl put a hand to her hip, her lip curling as she arched an eyebrow. “We ate apple strudels and donuts for breakfast.”

Betty frowned. “Kevin, there was a proper breakfast in the fridge. You just had to--”

“We all wanted the apple strudel and donuts, Cheryl,” Kevin said pointedly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t!”

Cheryl sighed. “True, but I usually have hired help to look out for my diet. How do you plebes get around self-policing yourselves? I’ve called my personal trainer and he’s coming over tomorrow morning.”

Trust Cheryl to have a personal trainer who got paid enough to drive 70 miles to cater to her whims.

“So long as it isn’t Jonah,” Betty muttered. “His calorie counting drives me up the wall.”

Kevin shot her a warning look, eyes wide. “If she hears you, it’s gonna be Jonah,” he said through grit teeth.

Jughead put an arm around her shoulder. “I’m a great antidote to calorie counters.”

“I bet,” she said, giggling.

“Oh, by the way,” Kevin said. “A package came for you, Betty.”

Betty wracked her brain for any orders she might have placed online, but when Kevin pointed in the direction of the porch and she saw a huge box sitting by the door, she realized what it was.

“Oh, your wheel’s here!” she said, tugging on Jughead’s hand and getting up on the porch. The box was wide and bulky, and there were probably a few other things inside that added to the weight. It was covered in messages hastily written with markers and taped up packaging slips. It may have gotten lost at some point, which explained why it took so long. “About time, too.”

“Wheel?” Cheryl asked.

“My bike got a flat on the way here,” Jughead explained.

Cheryl arched an eyebrow. “Like, you pedaled your way here?”

“I realize that at some angles I look like a hipster, but no, I didn’t pedal my way here.”

Betty was too busy folding over in laughter to say anything clever. The idea of Jughead pedaling on a speeder was too funny and adorable. “Cheryl, it’s a Harley. See, the logo’s stamped on this side of the box.”

“You drive a motorcycle?” Cheryl exclaimed in inexplicable disbelief.

Kevin frowned. “What are you so surprised for? Everything about Jughead suggests he drives a bike.”

Jughead scowled. “Not everything.”

Betty sized up the box and asked if someone can haul it into the garage for her. Jughead jumped, of course, and it was always a pleasure to watch him lifting heavy things.

Cheryl went into the house, already disinterested in the proceedings and Kevin begged off Betty’s invitation to help fix the bike. Betty led Jughead to the garage and once there, she was glad to be alone with him.

She wasn’t the only one looking forward to their privacy. As soon as Jughead set the box down, he took her by the hand and pulled her to him. He leaned back on his bike, sitting on it comfortably as he settled her between his legs.

She was in his arms in a second and she smiled lazily at him, sliding her arms over his shoulders.

“You know, I never realized how many people were in this farm until I wanted you all to myself,” he said, pushing some stray strands of hair that had fallen on her face.

She smiled somewhat shyly. “It did feel crowded out there.”

“I just wanted to pick up where we left off in dad’s kitchen,” he said, quietly.

“So pick up, already,” she whispered, affectionately.

He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She met his tongue with her own, melting into the embrace of his body.

She pulled off his beanie, releasing his luscious dark hair so she could run her fingers through it. His hair was beautiful. It was soft. And feeling it between her fingers felt intimate.

She felt one of his hands slide down and squeeze her ass and she knew he’s wanted to do that for a while now. She was happy to let him.

The kiss lingered and his hands roamed, slowly, exploring her curves. Her gentle moans indicating her approval.

She felt something twitch against her thigh and realized he was getting excited, and it sent shockwaves of heat through her body. This was not a morning hardon. This was her eliciting his desire and it made her feel heady.

Distantly, she heard a sound. Maybe it was a gunshot. Maybe it was someone banging about in the mudroom. She didn’t really care.

Jughead pulled away, his lips reluctantly leaving hers, while his gaze was dark with lust.

“What?” she whined, trying to get their contact back with an insistent open-mouthed kiss.

He moaned and accepted the kiss, but he pulled away again, looking over her shoulder as he did. “Cheryl.”

At first what he meant didn’t register. When it slowly began to dawn on her, she craned her neck to look and saw that Cheryl just stood by the mudroom door, leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest.

Betty’s jaw dropped in shock. “Ch-Cheryl! How long--”

“Aw, you two are like chimps in captivity grooming and picking lice out of each other.”

“Are you being serious?” Betty cried, whipping around to face her. She had intended to pull away from Jughead, but he kept her there with a gentle rub of her back.

“Oh, settle down, hon,” Cheryl replied, descending the stairs to sit on one of the work benches. “Holden Caulfield over there doesn’t give a shit.”

“Of course I give a shit,” Jughead grumbled. “But by the time I noticed you, you’d seen everything, so there wasn’t a point to panicking.”

“I swear to God, Cher. Sometimes you can be creepy as hell,” Betty huffed, turning to Jughead. “I’m going to change into work clothes. You okay being alone with Cheryl?”

“Very funny,” Cheryl drawled.

Jughead chuckled, rubbing her shoulder. “I’ve got holy water in my back pocket. I’ll be fine.”

“You two think you’re so clever,” Cheryl sneered. “Just so you know, his wooden stake’s not going to be much use around me.”

Betty should’ve known better than to go head to head with Cheryl. She rolled her eyes and gave Jughead one last peck before extricating herself from his arms and making her way up the mudroom.

*********

Watching Betty fix his bike was a major turn on. She knew exactly what tools she needed and which part went where. He wasn’t much help except for the lifting and the occasional handing something over, but that didn’t bother him. He was totally fine watching her work.

“Could you imagine if Betty put up a garage full of babe mechanics?” Cheryl mused while drinking wine. “Even all the way out in the city, men and women will come over from miles around. We can market it as a Hooters for auto services.”

“Hooters? You mean that classy joint that serves buffalo wings?” Betty quipped as she cranked a bolt wrench.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. We get sexualized in whatever we do, regardless of what we’re wearing, so we may as well get money off of it. So you show some cleavage and butt cheek. Cheap thrills! The tips alone will be amazing. It’s all about agency.”

“And a good, strong bouncer,” Jughead said, sarcastically.

“You see, Jughead agrees with me.”

“That was in no way an endorsement of your ideas.” Not that he didn’t agree with Cheryl’s thoughts on agency, but he did find a bunch of guys ogling servers in a restaurant, or in this hypothetical scenario, mechanics who just wanted to do their jobs, creepy.

“Whatever, like your approval matters, weirdo. Why do you always wear that beanie, anyway?”

“He doesn’t need to explain and I like Jughead’s beanie. And his approval counts plenty.” Betty gave him a sultry wink.

He grinned and beamed at Cheryl.

“Ugh, you guys are gross.”

“Says the woman who stood watching us make out for God knows how long,” Jughead shot back.

“It was only a few seconds,” Cheryl said nonchalantly. “Can I tell Reggie?”

“Cheryl,” Betty said in a warning tone. “Stay out of it.”

Cheryl scoffed. “It’s not as if you haven’t been turning him down for years. And he’ll probably tell himself Jughead’s just temporary.”

Jughead could’ve sworn Betty paused, then she went on working. He shot Cheryl a scowl. What the fuck did she know about how long he wanted this to last? Its barely been a day. There were still many things to figure out and he wanted them to take their time. They had plenty of time.

“Thanks, Cheryl,” he said, sarcastically.

“I’m just assuming those will be his thoughts,” she replied casually. “Not a reflection of you. Can you kiss Betty in front of Reggie? I want to see his reaction.”

“We will not play parts in your sadistic screenplay, Cheryl,” he drawled.

She pouted. “Spoilsport. You all lack the killer instinct I have, that’s the problem.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Betty said, tightening a bolt then getting up and patting the newly installed perfect wheel. “All done!”

“Looks great, Betts,” he said, giving her a grateful smile. “Thank you. How much for everything?”

“Just the wheel. I don’t charge for auto repair. It’s not what I do.”

“I’m a really good tipper,” he said, winking.

She blushed, but grinned. “Oh, yeah?”

“If you keep going this route, I’m gonna need a cigarette for this,” Cheryl said.

Betty rolled her eyes exasperatedly and tried to ignore her. “Juggie, want to help me put lunch together?”

“Sure thing,” he said, grinning. “See you later Cheryl.”

“Fine. Leave me here.”

“Bye!” Betty said, pulling Jughead into the house with her.

*************

The farm was always busy during the day, so she and Jughead did not have that many opportunities to be alone. He had been considerate enough (probably much to her frustration) to actually help her prepare lunch. Except for the occasional grazing touches and flirty invasions of personal space, he didn’t actually get in the way of putting lunch together.

She supposed she should’ve been grateful for his consideration. There were people to feed, more so now with Reggie and Cheryl there, but she would not have minded a few minutes of interruption from him, especially since she felt he wanted to.

When lunch was ready, she picked up her long-range two way radio and told everyone to come back to the house for lunch.  Three different responses returned, confirming they got the message.

When she turned to Jughead, he was smirking.

“You have that grin everytime I use the walkie talkie,” she said.

He shrugged. “It just hits me how practical and inelegant that thing is. A place like this--it’s almost like you should be ringing one of those lunch bells on the porch. Or at least sending out owls.”

She laughed. “Owls? Again with the Harry Potter reference.”

“Hey, you called yourself a witch at some point.”

“True, and I wish that were possible, because if I had owl messengers, that would be how I would send out all of my mail. But the two-way radio is super practical. I don’t think I can run the farm without it.”

“I don’t believe for a minute that there’s anything you can’t do,” he said, going up to her and caging her against the counter with his arms. His lips found the underside of her jaw and she sighed, giving him access.

She eventually guided his lips upward with a gentle nudge, catching his face in her hands, pressing an open mouthed kiss on his lips. His response was immediate and he moved up against her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

She felt herself being lifted off the ground and she gasped quietly, giggling. “You are really tall, Jughead Jones.”

“Is that a complaint?” he asked, grinning.

“Heck, no. It makes you handy around the farm.”

“Well, so long as you have use for me.”

She kissed him again, but they heard footsteps from the porch so they separated, and Betty welcomed Reggie and Kevin as they lumbered noisily into the kitchen and went straight for the sink. Farmer John arrived shortly after and Betty called Cheryl, who apparently was still in the garage, chit chatting, probably with her personal trainer, on the phone.

They all sat for lunch and it was a rowdy crowd, but Betty did love it. She loved the conversation and company. She was reminded of how it used to be like this everyday with Trev alive. She remembered how he did take every opportunity to be alone with her, just like the way Jughead had just done. It pained her a little, however, that she couldn’t remember much more beyond Trev’s presence, or the gentle, loving kisses he would place on her cheek or forehead.

She was forgetting Trev’s passion for her, because the feel of Jughead’s kiss on her lips and neck were such overwhelmingly fresh memories that it sent heat throughout her body.

A single glance at Jughead and she would catch him staring at her. His eyes would flicker briefly to her lips before catching her gaze again. His small smile stroked her desire like a feather and she knew he wanted her. It made her feel beautiful and desirable, and it spread an overwhelming warmth through her body.

Had it been like that with Trev? Of course it had been, at some point, but it was becoming harder and harder to associate those feelings with him.

Jughead leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You are so gorgeous.”

God , she thought. I want this man so bad.

She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed how much she wanted to reward him for his words. He smirked back, probably getting the message.

On her other side, Cheryl leaned into her and whispered, “You are both eye-fucking so hard right now.”

She cast Cheryl a chastising glare, but one look at Kevin across the table and she realized that he had noticed, too. She felt herself blushing.

“Sorry,” she finally muttered at her sister in law.

Cheryl arched an eyebrow. “What are you apologizing for? More importantly, who are you apologizing to? Me? Why would you?”

Cheryl’s questions caught her completely off guard and she had to wonder. Why, indeed?

**********

The day easily progressed to evening. Betty tended to her soap and cheese production while checking in on the pregnant goats with Farmer John, one of which was now in labor. Barring any issues, one of the goats would be a mama by the end of the day.

Kevin’s newest project, a chicken jungle gym, was also in full swing. He clearly loved the chickens more than he let on, because with the chickens being more or less free range, they were happy enough, but something for them to climb and roost on in the open air definitely seemed like something they would enjoy, and if Kevin was making it, it was probably going to look pretty. He was a carpenter, first and foremost, so Betty loved it when he did woodwork for her farm. She checked on him, as well, making sure he had all he needed to complete the project in the time he planned for.

Jughead was back on the porch, writing. He went hours on coffee and cigarettes, interrupted only by Reggie, who eventually appeared and told her the deed’s been done and that all the foxes had been drugged and relocated, except for the ones now in his truck. Those foxes were scheduled to be released elsewhere.

She sighed, relieved that no foxes had to die for their convenience. “Thanks, Reg. Just send me the check.”

Reg saluted, heading to his truck. “Will do, B Coop!”

“Are you not staying for dinner?”

“Nope! Mom’s going to poker night this time.” He jumped into the driver seat and started his car. “Take care, lady! Tell Cheryl I’m always open to threesomes.”

“That’ll never happen, Reg.”

“You never know!” he yelled above the roar of his engine as he pulled out of Betty’s property.

Betty shook her head.  

“Is it weird that I like the guy?” Jughead said from his seat on the porch.  

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “No. He’s irritating sometimes, but he’s such a well-meaning goofball.”

“Ah,” he responded, as if suddenly remembering something. “I know. He reminds me of Archie.”

“Your best friend, right?”

Jughead nodded, whipping out his phone. “Which reminds me, I need to text Mr. and Mrs. Andrews.”

As he concentrated on his phone, she went inside and  started making preparations for dinner.  As it turned out, Kevin and Farmer John weren’t joining, either, so it was just her, Cheryl, and Jughead.  It did not, however, prevent Kevin from texting her with the foreboding, “You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady.”

She didn’t want to think much about it, since she didn’t know if she was ready to discuss this with anyone, not even Jughead.

When dinner was ready and Betty had called both her housemates to sit down, Jughead was still texting with his best friends.

“Do you mind putting that away? It’s rude!” Cheryl said loftily.

Betty shot Cheryl a scowl. “Like you never texted at the dinner table.”

Jughead hit send and put his hands up. “I just needed to send off a couple of things, that’s all.”  

Betty could have sworn Jughead and Cheryl exchanged some kind of look, which Betty found slightly suspicious, but she didn’t pry.

Just then, two pings sounded out at the same time. Cheryl’s eyes lingered on it disdainfully before she shot Jughead a glare.

“Get your shit together, Jonesy,” Cheryl scolded.

He switched off the sound of the phone and glared right back at her. “I am. Just ignore my phone, okay?”

The phone continued to light up, so he put it away.

“You should’ve texted them earlier,” Cheryl said.

“They just miss me,” he said, hastily.  

Betty rolled her eyes. “Leave him alone, Cher.”

“Just saying. If they miss you that much, you should invite them to stay here.”

“No,” Jughead said pointedly. “I have rules about that and they know it. This is my writing space. It stays sacred.”

Betty looked at him in surprise and he blushed slightly.

Cheryl’s eyebrow arched in surprise. Clearly, this was an unexpected response, in spite of her ribbing. “You’re fine writing with me around.”

Jughead sighed, eyes rolling. Again, he shot Cheryl a look, like See what you made me do? “It’s just a bunch of things I’d rather not get into,” he said. “Besides, having Archie and Veronica around where I can be creative takes me out of that headspace sometimes. I love them, but they have no boundaries around me. It’s complicated.”

Betty didn’t know why this bothered her. “So you’ll never invite them here?”

He shrugged. “To be determined.”

Betty tried not to let his words get to her. She wasn’t sure why there was a niggling thought in her brain about this. Why should it matter to her that he refused to have them here?

She didn’t know the answers yet, so she shook off her thoughts and tried to enjoy dinner with Jughead and Cheryl.

The conversation was animated, anyway. Cheryl always brought a nice touch of controversy and provocation, and Jughead, being unafraid of her, just spurred Cheryl even more.

At one point, Cheryl called him a hobo, which somewhat riled Betty up. She hardly got provoked by Cheryl anymore, but this touched a nerve with her.

“Cher!” she hissed. “Don’t call him that! It’s not funny!”

Cheryl seemed mildly surprised. “Jeez, take a chill pill! I was just kidding!”

Betty bit back her response of how Jughead had been homeless at some point because she didn’t know if Jughead wanted that to be known. “Just don’t.”

She caught Jughead’s eye and he was giving her a tiny half smile. He reached under the table and gave her knee a gentle squeeze.

After dinner, they helped her clear the plates, put away the leftovers, and wipe the table.

“I’m going to bed,” Cheryl declared, stretching her arms over her head. “My trainer’s coming early in the morning. Wanna join us for some yoga? I’ll pay for it.”

“Me and my First World options. Whatever will I do?”

Jughead actually laughed. Betty was pleased with herself but didn’t show it.

“Please,” Cheryl muttered. “You’re lucky I don’t demand for some pumpkin spiced lattes. So are you gonna yoga with me?”

“I was a trained ballet dancer, Cher. Yoga poses do nothing for me.”

“Whatever, Black Swan. It’s the meditation that you should be looking into. You got mad stuff going on in your head.”

There was that Cheryl Blossom straight talk again, and Betty resented the fact that now she was thinking about it. Stubbornly, Betty said she was good and Cheryl just shrugged.

Cheryl left and as her footsteps faded, Betty gravitated to Jughead’s side, smiling up at him with warm affection. He slipped his arm around her waist and pressed soft kisses on her lips.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, softly.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, just enjoying the feather-light touch of his lips. “A movie. In the living room. Maybe something scary, but not too scary.”

She felt the flick of his tongue along her neck and she sighed.

“Go on. I’m listening,” he said.

She could’ve sworn he was doing everything but that. “Cabin in the Woods?” she breathed.

“Great choice,” he said, cupping her face in his hands as he kissed her, his tongue coaxing her lips to part for him.

She sighed into his kiss, thinking that sooner or later, she was going to make a man out of him in this kitchen, but not tonight.

She pulled away gently, even as he made it difficult with every velvety stroke of his lips and tongue. “I’ll meet you back down in the living room, alright?”

He stared down at her, as if he couldn’t believe she was actually going to make him watch a movie with her, but she grinned up at him mischievously. “Well, I have to play a little bit hard-to-get, don’t you think?”

Chuckling, he threw his head back in frustration. “Right. Obviously.” He was smiling and rubbing her shoulders, but he did have to physically remove himself. “I think I’ll go take a shower before we start this movie. A cold shower.”

She laughed and let him go up first. They had their own bathrooms, but she didn’t think they’d make it up the stairs chastely if they climbed it together.

Only after she heard his door shut did she make her way up to her bedroom.

**********

With both of them freshly showered and some wine to cap off the evening, Betty found that snuggling with him on the couch, even with the screams of wayward characters on screen serving as a backdrop, was intensely relaxing.

He sat sprawled on one end of the couch, his long legs accommodated by the soft ottoman nearby. She curled up on his side, her head resting on the crook of his shoulder.

With her hand gently rubbing the hard planes of his stomach and his hand gently caressing the curve of her waist, it was as if they were consciously restraining themselves so they could get through this without falling victim to the wiles of an uncontrollable make-out session. It did, however, make for a very comfortable cuddle.  Keeping their eyes glued to the screen and their comical reactions to what they were seeing serving to make it all very enjoyable.  

She opted to drink wine this time, and she may have had more wine than she could handle, because towards the end of the movie, Betty felt her eyes drooping sleepily.  She was drifting between waking and sleeping when she heard Jughead’s voice in her ear.

It was a soothing, rumbling murmur, more likely to lull her back to sleep than wake her.

His chuckle reverberated through her body, sparking a small fire in the pit of her stomach. She smiled, running her fingers through his hair and arching her neck to put her mouth over his.

Now she wanted to make out with him.

Her tongue probed between his lips and he met it with his, slowly, dipping and sweeping as their lips pressed together in a hungry massage. But he chuckled again, moving away as he smoothed her silky hair back from her face.

“Betts, I want to, but you’re a little tipsy,” he said, softly.

“I’m not,” she whined, trying to catch his lips again.

“You so are.” He gently coaxed her to her feet. “Come on, I’ll take you to bed.”

She giggled softly. “Mmm, yes, take me to bed.”

Laughing, he led her up the stairs, his hands around her waist to guide her. “I will, and you’re going to sleep, while I take another cold shower.”

She just felt inebriated enough to speak more boldly. “I can help you with that.”

He sighed. “I know you can, so God help me.”

She pouted and her hands traveled south of him. “I’m not drunk, Juggie. Not completely...”

“Half is drunk enough. Now come on.”

She supposed he was right, and really, she was fully aware that he was being responsible, and that he was looking out for her. She still wished she could push him through his bedroom door and do unmentionable things to him, but yeah, she was half drunk.

Even if she had her full faculties, she couldn’t physically push him through anything.

He’s so big and strong. She giggled at the thought, pressing her hands over the muscles of his arms. “I really love the feel of these,” she said, pressing a wet kiss to his jaw.

“Archie’s smelly socks. Misused apostrophes. Michael Bolton songs…”

“What are you rambling about?”

“I am remembering things to kill my boner.”

“Bad grammar can kill your boner?”

“More than anything. Misuse of apostrophes are the worst.”

“I minored in literature. This is not making me want you less.”

He smiled lazily, leading her through her bedroom door. “And I don’t want you to want me less. Just not right now.”

He led her to her bed and he pulled her bedsheets back for her to slip into.

Sighing, she sank into her mattress and pillows, curling on her side as he pulled the covers over her.  “You’re a good man, Juggie,” she whispered, feathering the back of her hand against his cheek.

He smiled and pressed his lips to hers. She tried to deepen it but he pulled back. “Goodnight.”

She sighed. “Goodnight.”

He stood and as he left, he rubbed her back, then her ass. She giggled and he chuckled.

She heard him leave, and the last thing she remembered hearing was the click of the doorknob on her bedroom door.