#riverdalepromptathon

River’s body was warm, heated against his own - particularly where her legs straddled his waist. Jordan made an involuntary gasp as she moved her hips, and a jolt of heat shot up through his stomach. Then he swallowed as he felt her hands running up under his shirt. He pulled away from her lips only long enough to remove the offending material from his body, then sat up to join their mouths again.

He slipped one hand up to the collar of her flannel button down and clumsily popped open the first button. His heart raced in anticipation, but he only felt good, positive rushes of adrenaline as he let his hand trail down the front of her shirt and unlatched another button. Then he gripped one of her thighs and turned them both around; with his other hand he steadily leaned River back against his pillows…

It was in this position, Jordan’s body firmly wedged on top of River’s, his face dangerously close to her chest as he kissed her neck and collarbone where her now completely unbuttoned shirt exposed her red bra (and a significant amount of skin), her fingernails digging into the skin of his bare back and her legs locked suggestively around his waist, that the bedroom door - unnoticed by either of them - opened.

“What are you guys doing?” A surprised voice came from the doorway. 

Jordan stiffened; his hand froze as he realized he was holding River’s right breast. He took in her wide eyes, then slowly peered back over his shoulder… and his eyes locked with Emma’s confused emerald orbs. 

A cold and abrupt sensation, like a bucket of ice being dumped over his head, suddenly ran down Jordan’s spine. “Nothing. Get out of here.” He said quickly, hoping that his sister would just listen to him for once and close the damn door. 

Apparently this afternoon just wasn’t going to swing Jordan’s way, because mere seconds later his sister (in an obvious state of surprise and horror) raised her voice and practically shrieked: “Oh my God! Are you having sex?!”

“Emma! Get the hell out!”

Jordan didn’t have time to say anything else - nor to throw the closest reachable object at his sister - before another voice was joining her in the doorway. 

“What are you two screaming about?” Jordan’s mother asked, an annoyed expression on her face as she turned her gaze away from Emma and looked into Jordan’s bedroom. Betty took in the scene, and watched as Jordan quickly removed his hand from where it still lingered on River’s chest, before she grimaced and reached out to grab the door handle and pulled it shut with a loud thud. Through the door, River and Jordan could both hear the muffled sound of Betty chastising Emma for opening her brother’s door without knocking first.

River’s legs went limp and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God.” She choked out. She took in a little gasp. “I can’t believe…”

Jordan swallowed. The pre-interruption excitement was well and truly gone, replaced by an odd combination of guilt and embarrassment. “Yeah.” He huffed out, then moved to lay down beside her. “I’m… so sorry.”

River moved some of her fingers apart so she could stare at him from between her hands. “It’s not your fault,” she swallowed, “but we probably should have locked the door…”

“Well, to be fair, I wasn’t really expecting us to…”

“Yeah, I know.” She nodded, then sighed and moved her hands away from her face, resting them beside her as she stared mournfully up at the ceiling. Her eyes suddenly screwed up. “God, your Mom saw my bra.”

Jordan smirked. “I mean, it’s a good thing she didn’t walk in any later or she might’ve seen a lot more than that.”

“It’s not funny.” She said, glaring at him. But there was a hint of amusement still present as she sighed. “How am I meant to look her in the eyes after this?”

“Hey… don’t be embarrassed…” He said, rather hypocritically since he himself was so embarrassed he risked spontaneously combusting, and rolled onto his side to place his hand on her arm. “As you love reminding me, my Mom spent, like, three years studying why sex is good for you. She has a doctorate on the topic…” Jordan still felt his nervous emotions raging, but managed to mentally reach out and latch onto a semblance of cool logic. “I’m sure she of all people isn’t going to dwell on our moderate state of undress.”

River huffed. “That is not what your Mom’s dissertation was about.”

Jordan pursed his lips. “Well, on the bright side, Mom’s probably just going to be annoyed with me because I ‘let’ Emma walk in on us, not because we were… making out.” Jordan exhaled in a long rush… but then he frowned. He felt completely mortified that two separate members of his family had walked in on him and River in an… intimate moment. But… that was it. He didn’t feel awkward, or uncomfortable about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, nor that River was still laying beside him with her bra visible for the whole bedroom to see. He kind of just wished he’d locked the door so they could have continued their… spontaneous exploration of each other’s bodies.

His eyebrows knit together, confusion setting in when he realized his hand was still tingling from the rough feeling of the lace overlay of River’s bra… and his stomach was twisted in bubbling knots, but the sensation was more enjoyable than it was distressing…

“What will we possibly do with all these apples?”

Betty looked at Jughead with a placating grin, “I spoke with Valerie before we left this morning and promised that we would bring our haul to the castle kitchens. They will be used for breaking fast and midday refreshments I suppose.”

Jughead raised an eyebrow at her before looking down at their loaded baskets, four total, two apiece. Jughead was doing his very best not to look winded while toting his burdens down the orchard rows while Betty, however, looked as if she could add another full basket atop her head and still look unbothered.

“Is this not enough for an addition to the evening meal? She will not require us to return for more will she?” Jughead was performing adequately in this particular feat of strength, but did not believe he could replicate the endeavour.

Betty’s smile faded, “So keen to rid yourself of me?”

Jughead belatedly recognized his affront, so he stopped and placed his baskets down, grabbing at Betty to stop her forward progress as well. The entrance to the castle was in sight, and it was possible they would be seen, but Jughead thought they were well protected by both the celebration of the Sabbath and the sheltered area outside of the kitchens.

The entrance was surrounded by windowless storage rooms, and the spires that climbed above them had windows facing more scenic areas, so risk of discovery was minimal.

He would have chanced the scandal anyway.

And after last night’s feast he assumed Betty would as well, that is if he did not completely botch their building connection at this moment.

“Trust me, my lady, I will not allow you to escape my company so easily. But I would rather spend time with you for pleasure rather than work.” The double entendre was unintended, but there was enough truth in it he did not care to recant.

“Perhaps we can return to the orchards after unburdening our current bounty? Pick a few just for us to enjoy?” Her voice raised slightly at the end, betraying her uncertainty.

Jughead massaged his thumb in a circular motion on her forearm where he still held it, “I think that sounds like perfection.”

Now far more motivated to rid themselves of these apples, Jughead went to grab his baskets, when both he and Betty froze at the sound of a high pitch giggle.

----------

Jughead and Betty stayed unmoving until the giggle sounded again, this time much closer. Betty set her baskets next to Jug’s before she pulled them both behind an abandoned wagon that had been left by the storage room. Trapped between the wheel and the wall, and hidden in the shadows, they should remain unseen to the intruders.

But as the pair of gigglers entered the enclosed space she realized they could have stayed standing where they were, and the interlopers would not have noticed, as they were far more interested in each other.

With a gasp, Betty noted that the woman in the pairing wore a dressing gown; scandalous attire to be seen out with, let alone in the company of a man who held her in a tight embrace.

While the woman’s gown was well made, and spoke to some wealth, the man was dressed in the uniform of a blacksmith, though she did not recognize either.

After another high pitched laugh from the woman, the man pressed her back against the stone wall of the storeroom and kissed her soundly, his hands exploring in places most inappropriate.

Betty became very aware of Jughead’s body pressed against her back, his hands gripping her hips tightly. She was not sure he even knew that they were there. His breath was coming in warm pants upon her neck and she was suddenly far too warm in the brisk morning air.

Jughead’s grip tightened as pleasured moans became louder and more frequent from the amorous pair.

“Alright, enough of this.” Jughead grabbed at a stone lodged in the wagon wheel and tossed it forcefully at the building opposite them, near the couple.

The collision of stone was enough to rouse the couple from their...coupling. The pair looked around with wild eyes before the woman spoke, “You said no one comes here Sunday mornings during service.”

The man rubbed his hands up and down her arms, “They do not, I swear it.” But even from across the way, Betty could hear the doubt in his voice. “But for certainty perhaps we shall go to our usual spot?”

That phrase seemed to reignite the mood from earlier, as the woman planted a thorough kiss on the man before he dragged her away and out of sight.

Jughead and Betty stood silent and unmoving, even after the pair was long gone. Jughead’s hands were no longer on Betty’s hips but she could not help but notice that they were both far more out of breath now than they had been minutes earlier carrying the baskets of apples.

Another minute passed before Jughead cleared his throat. “We should, erm, get these apples to Valerie.”

They both edged out from behind the wagon to grab their burdens, and starting making their way toward the entrance, the mood charged.

They had just crossed the threshold when Jughead murmured , “Why choose the outside of the storeroom, when there are perfectly good stables abandoned at this time of day.”

The frustrated logic of Jughead pulled a laugh from Betty, breaking the tension, “Perhaps that is their normal spot. Or maybe that odd nook in the east tower?”

Jughead’s eyes glittered as they moved toward the kitchens, “I think that the study near the dining hall would be a risky reward.”

They continued trading more apt places for clandestine meetings as the mood shifted back to something far more comfortable, away from thoughts and feelings that neither was willing to address.

A hand in hers. Lips pressed to her hair. A cold golden band slipping over her ring finger. The thoughts swirled around in her barely-coherent mind as Betty attempted to wake up. Her eyelids fluttered underneath the gentle sunlight that peeked through the curtains to lay across her face and she had to turn her head to the left to get the light off of her eyelids. With a quiet yawn and a stretch of her arms she blinked her eyes open with a gentle smile when she saw her snoozing boyfriend buried underneath their light copper - almost gold - bedsheets beside her.

Betty propped herself up against the headboard and sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms for a moment. The memory (or was it her imagination?) of the golden ring made her look down at her hand, though no ring could be seen. She closed her eyes and let her head lean back against the headboard behind her. Had she been dreaming that Jughead had proposed to her?

Just the thought of him proposing made her smile warmly to herself. Betty and Jughead had been together for a good few years again after their high school sweethearts phase had ended for seven years. They had their own house, they had a cat, they both had stable jobs and things to do; far from old worries of serial killers and cults and aliens. They were finally living normal lives. Or, as normal as it could get for them.

The icing on the cake would be to get married to Jughead. It would be the perfect addition to their lives. Of course, eventually Betty also wanted children, though she knew how Jughead felt about that topic. After everything with his dad, he needed to be one-hundred percent ready before he could even think of going through with that next step in their lives, and Betty completely understood that. They had their whole lives ahead of them for that.

Jughead shifted in his sleep beside her and she opened her eyes to look at him with a soft smile. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. There was a time in their lives when the only peace either of them could get was when they were asleep in each other’s arms, and Betty was glad that they didn’t have to live like that anymore. No worry of serial killers or solving murders or devastating breakups. Just them. And their cat, of course.

Almost as if Toffee knew that Betty was thinking of her, a meow could be heard beside the bed before the fluffy creature jumped up onto the bed with Betty, meowing as she climbed into her lap.

“Good morning,” Betty mumbled with a soft smile as she scratched the back of Toffee’s neck, leaning her head down enough to allow the fluffy white cat to nudge the end of her nose with it’s own. With a fond smile towards the creature she ran her hand down her back and stopped at her tail, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “Want some breakfast?”

At the mention of food Toffee meowed again and Betty smiled, waiting for Toffee to jump off of the bed so she could get up too. Shuffling into her slippers she slipped on one of Jughead’s shirts before she followed a meowing Toffee out of the bedroom, letting Jughead sleep for a little longer.

Toffee zigzagged between Betty’s legs on the way to the kitchen, meowing loudly on the way. Managing not to trip over her cat by the time she got there Betty reached up towards one of the cabinets in the kitchen and pulled out a tin of wet food, scrunching her nose up in disgust at the smell as she emptied it into Toffee’s bowl before she sat it back on the floor.

With her cat now eating happily Betty moved around the kitchen, gathering what she would need to make scrambled eggs for breakfast. Though as she moved around the room she still couldn’t help but think back to her dream. Of course they had spoken about marriage before; when they had gotten back together again they had both agreed that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, and that certainly included marriage, right?

If they got married then she would no longer be Miss. Cooper - she would be Mrs. Jones. The thought alone had her smiling widely at the frying pan in front of her as she sat it on the stove, an egg in her other hand. It would officially make her a part of his family, although she already knew how welcome she was into the Jones household. Betty was well aware that Jughead welcomed her into his household with open arms from day one when he was living at the trailer, though over time - through staying at the trailer some nights and then living in the same house as them - she grew close with his family too. Jellybean seemed like a little sister to her, even if she took some warming up to, and FP was like a father to her - more so than her own. After everything that had happened with Hal (she refused to refer to him as dad) FP treated her just as his own. And when she saw the man for the first time in seven years he greeted her like she was his daughter. A smile and open arms to hug her immediately. A kiss to her head and a mumble of “I missed you so much, Betty.” He liked her for who she was, not just for Jughead.

If they got married would FP walk her down the aisle? Would he dance with her at the reception? Would he gladly accept her as his daughter-in-law?

Getting along with Jughead’s family would be important, of course, but simply just having Jughead as her husband would be amazing in itself. They already acted like a married couple, but she knew life with him as her husband would be perfect. She could imagine small things like him referring to her as “Mrs. Jones”, calling her his wife and not just his girlfriend, always wearing matching wedding rings so they have something to connect to even when they aren’t together. Holidays together in a secluded cabin, slow dancing at parties, anniversary celebrations; she wanted it all.

She wanted to be married to him.

“You know,” a pair of arms snaked around her waist and held her into an embrace, bringing her out of her daydream. “If you want to cook the eggs, you have to crack them into the pan and not just stare at them.” His voice, though groggy with sleep, held a teasing undertone to it, and she smiled fondly to herself as she shook her head.

“I was just daydreaming. Got away from myself.” Betty mumbled, closing her eyes with a soft sigh as she felt kisses being placed to the back of her neck and wherever her shoulder was exposed.

“Was it about me?” Jughead teased again, and moved his hands to her hips to spin her to face him with a smile.

“It was actually.” Betty giggled, slipping her arms around his waist to tuck herself into him properly, shutting her eyes again as he dropped a kiss to her temple.

“Oh yeah? I’m flattered,” Jughead held her tightly against himself, his hand running across her back underneath the shirt she was wearing. “Can I ask why?”

“I had a nice dream about you.” Betty said softly, smiling to herself as she held onto him a bit tighter, tilting her head upwards slightly to leave a gentle kiss to the bottom of his jawline.

“A nice dream or a nice dream?” He teased, and chuckled as she gently nudged his side.

“A nice dream. It was very sweet. I don’t remember much about it but I know it made me really happy.” Betty said softly.

She looked up at Jughead as he hummed and leaned back slightly, and she leaned into his hand as he lifted it to rest against her cheek. It was moments like that when she knew that being married to Jughead would be perfect. They didn’t need to go on dates all the time or do fancy things to be happy with each other. Just having each other’s company was enough for them. All they needed was each other.

His hand cupped her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her and Betty smiled against his lips as her hands gently gripped onto his shoulders. They stood there for a few minutes, enjoying gentle touches and soft whispers between each other which only they would get, before they both felt fur brushing against their legs and an impatient meow following.

Betty pulled away with a pout as she looked down at Toffee who was looking directly at Jughead. “She likes you more than me.” She complained.

Jughead chuckled as he leaned down to lift Toffee into his arms, letting the cat nudge his face as she started purring. “I am very likeable.” He joked.

Betty fondly rolled her eyes and turned away from him and back towards the stove to turn it on, actually starting to fix their breakfast that time without getting distracted. “Of all people you don’t have to tell me that.” She pointed out, and heard him laugh behind her as he pressed a kiss to her head.

“Good point.”

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”