Bughead Oneshots

"Good morning, Mr. Jones!"

This is during the time that Betty lived in the trailer with FP and Jughead.

Betty woke up with Jughead's arm slung possessively around her waist, pulling her into him. Careful not to wake him, she crawled out from his hold and tightened the duvet around him. He had snuck into her room - his old bedroom - the night before, simply because they missed each other (which, considering they're housemates, should be impossible, but what do you know?). FP had been clear about the rules, no hanky panky as long as they shared a house, and now they had broken the rules.

Normally, on Saturday mornings both FP and Jughead would be dead asleep until eleven (at least), leaving Betty to get stuff done. So, of course, she didn't expect to see a fully awake FP sitting at the dinner table, coffee mug in hand and scooping up almost black bacon (the Jones' weren't known for their cooking) with his fork. She froze. That's what happened.

Because now, FP would obviously know that Jughead had snuck into the bedroom sometime during the night, and god, he would freak.

He didn't freak.

"Good morning, Betty," he greeted, voice raspy from disuse.

"Good morning, Mr. Jones!" she said cheerily (maybe a bit too cheerily, considering the time of the day).

FP hadn't looked up from his plate of bacon yet, but when he did, he did it with a sigh, "Betty, for the thousandth time, you don't have to call me Mister anything, I'm FP to everyone, including to you."

The comment did not calm Betty's racing heart, and she glanced at the door nervously once, hoping, praying, even, that Jughead had somehow found a way to make it back to the couch without being seen.

(He didn't, obviously.)

When Jughead stumbled out a few minutes later, Betty had taken residence by the stove, making herself and Jughead some pancakes, in hopes of distracting herself as well as FP. And, maybe in the process, prove to FP that she was a serious and responsible person, and not just a hormone fueled teen.

What Jughead did next didn't help Betty in convincing FP, probably. It shouldn't, at least. Because he stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her, starting to kiss his way around her neck. And, like, it's probably the best thing Betty knows, the neck kisses, but it's in front of Jughead's dad, for God's sake.

Jughead didn't seem bothered in the least, though.

"Good morning, baby," he mumbled between kisses, starting to sway with her in his arms.

Betty tensed and turned around, pushing him away a bit, but still left a kiss atop his lips.

"Good morning to you, too."

She smiled tightly at FP over Jughead's shoulder, trying to tell him that "hey, I'm responsible", but FP only raised his eyebrows in response. It made it even more awkward.

FP ended up leaving a few short minutes later, with a nod in their direction and a "I'm going to work, don't wait up," before he stepped out of the door. As soon as the door locked behind him, Betty turned to Jughead.

"That was the most awkward thing that's ever happened to me in front of him. Like, he just stood there while you devoured my neck. God," she complained, hands covering her face.

Jughead laughed at her, pulling her hands away and intertwining them with his. "It wasn't that bad, c'mon. And hey, I only wanted to show my amazing girlfriend with mind blowing blowjob skills some love, is that not allowed?"

Betty can't help what she does next - she's never been good at controlling herself around Jughead, after all. She curls up in his arms, folding her arms around him.

"Really think so? Was it really that good?"

"It was the second best thing to happen to me, after you, of course. Like, I could see the angels sing and the stars shooting around in the sky. It blew my mind. A hundred percent," he whispered, slowly starting to trace her ear with his tongue and then slowly moving downwards.

"It blew my mind, too," she said, and he put her atop the countertop, turning off the stove with his free hand. It escalated from there, of course.

They never noticed the blushing FP sneaking back into the kitchen reaching for the keys to his bike, eyes firmly set on his feet.