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Chapter Text

“She wears strength and darkness equally well, the girl has always been half goddess, half hell.”

-Nikita Gill, Poet

She kept the uniform.

The irony of it all was that when she told him Cheryl had made her join the Vixens, he had been horrified.   Horrified.   She was going to subject herself to Cheryl’s gaggle of minions.  She might even be sucked into becoming one of them, all because Betty’s sense of honor was frighteningly strong.  She may as well have handed her soul to the devil.

And Veronica.  Oh, Veronica. She was furious.   Hopping furious.  Teeth-gnashing furious.  How did this happen? How could she have let this happen?  Couldn’t Betty have repaid Cheryl in some other way? To vote Cheryl into the captainship instead of her?  

But Jughead realized quickly how his self-righteous (probably faux ) outrage could be bought the moment she descended those front steps wearing her Vixen couture.  It had never looked so good.  

Time slowed.

He found himself laser focused on every flounce of that miniskirt that barely hid the slope of her thighs and the way her top was trying to hide the shape of her breasts, to no avail.  Even the way her ponytail was precisely placed, the curly tip of her blonde hair brushing against her turtleneck covered nape, made him think the unholiest of thoughts.

Wearing that cheerleading uniform, Betty could get him to say yes to absolutely anything.  

Not that she would ever lead him astray, but after she started wearing that uniform, she got him to attend two football games, marathoned all seasons of the Gilmore Girls, attend two yoga classes with Polly (who mocked his general lack of flexibility), and made him finish all 8 miles of an obstacle course race called Tough Mud X with her and Chic.  

Like Jesus Christ, that uniform had dark powers.

So he shouldn’t have been surprised if three years after they graduated from high school that it was in her closet, that it was wrapped in dry-cleaning plastic, and that she was probably saving it for when she really needed a favor from him.  

He wasn’t as special as he thought.  He was still just a dude that got massively turned on whenever his girlfriend put on that cheerleading uniform.

Sure, he slayed vampires and broke curses, he fought werewolves and defied the hypnotic fey, but tell Betty no while wearing that uniform?  He wasn’t that strong.

These were, incredibly, his thoughts while he and Betty were breaking and entering into a supposedly abandoned warehouse where a bunch of kids were holding coven rituals without adult supervision, which was resulting in supernatural chaos in the lower east side, like summoning murderous ghosts, disturbing otherwise reticent demons, and cursing innocent people for one small slight or other.  

“So,” he whispered as Betty carefully picked the lock—something she was surprisingly, disturbingly good at.  “When were you going to tell me you still had the uniform, babe?”

Betty was laser focused on her task, so she was a little absent-minded when she said, “What uniform?”

He gave their surroundings a cursory glance, just to make sure no one was watching them.  “You know, your Vixen uniform. I thought you got rid of it when we left Riverdale, but then I saw it hanging in your closet the other day.”

She did not remove her eyes from the lock, but he could see that she was frowning.  “Sweetie, are you seriously bringing this up now?”

Yes, was he, seriously…?  “It’s as good a time as any.  I mean, you know I love that uniform.”

“I know.”

“So you’ve been holding out on me--”

“Jug, I can’t bust it out every time we have sex.  Drycleaning is at least $7 a pop and--”

“I’m not saying you wear it all the time.   Just… you know.  It would’ve been nice for our first anniversary… second even… last year’s Hallowmas....  Yulemas… the Sabbats, basically…”

She turned the lock and the door clicked open.  She looked over her shoulder at him, finally. “Wouldn’t you get tired of it--”

“I will never get tired of it.”

She did finally begin to look annoyed.  “Can we talk about this later? We have a teenage coven to break up and I need to get my scoop for the Other Daily .”

When Betty was following a story, she was all business.  To be fair, he never brought up their playtime when they were working.  This was a first, for sure, but that uniform…

“Fine, fine.  Of course. We’re on a case.  This is serious.”

She huffed but failed to prevent an amused smile from cracking her no nonsense veneer.  “What, my roller derby outfit doesn’t do it for you anymore?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said, quickly.  The last thing he wanted is for Betty to think that he was losing interest in what they were doing in bed, currently.  “This isn’t a zero-sum game, but if I have to rank your outfits, all of which turn me on in two seconds flat, anyway...”

The red glow of a dancing fire caught his attention, and for a moment he was captivated by the bobbing shadows around.  They twitched and stretched like a macabre reflection on a dark mirror, and coupled with the low murmur of ritual chanting, was jarringly triggering.

It’s been years, to say the least, since he pushed open the doors of the Thornhill ritual hall and found Betty bound to a stone slab, an Athame poised over her chest.  There was fire and shadows, just like this. There had been chanting, too. He couldn’t recall another time he had been so goddamn terrified. And he’d had to rid himself of the nightmares.  It took months, if not longer.

How this felt so much like reliving those awful memories was revolting.  He reached out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She was there.  With him. And he wondered, even in his own turmoil, if she was okay, because he couldn’t imagine her being any less scared at the time.  She had been on the receiving end of that Athame. The point of it had been digging shallowly into her skin.

But at the moment she looked calm, and he needed that calm.  

His dread waned, and he was immediately better.  She is, and always will be, his savior.

As Jughead peeked over the pile of old warehouse crates, he saw the teen witches, two boys and two girls, between the ages of fourteen and fifteen, holding hands around a small circle, a terrified little girl in the center.  

Two of them were trust fund kids from one of New York City’s most exclusive private schools.  The other two kids went to public school, but it was their shared Otherworldness and perhaps boredom that brought them all together.  It was the addictive taste of power that was making them push their magic to the limit.

He groaned and rolled his eyes.  “Great. They’ve escalated.”

Betty sighed, her lip curling into a disappointed grimace.  “Ugh. And here I thought we’d make it to tonight’s finale of Game of Thrones.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that, comforted by the fact that she was so confident that they would be able to handle this case with swift efficiency.  She had little reason to think otherwise.

They had been a great tandem, him and her.  The Slayer and the Witch.

She dug into her backpack, fishing out the small cilice belt that fit around her arm.

Jughead rubbed her shoulder and that familiar ache in his heart each time she had to turn on her Wicked powers made itself known in his gut.  “You don’t have to do that. We can take four teenagers between us.”

She shrugged off her cardigan, exposing her arms in her tank top.  “There’s a little girl, Juggie. We can’t risk it.”

He knew this to be true.  Her magic minimized the risk of innocent bystanders getting killed.   Her pain ensured that the little girl in the center of the circle wouldn’t suffer.  

Jughead took the belt.  He always hated this part, but if he was going to let Betty do this, he was going to shoulder some of the burden of her magic.  He wasn’t going to let her tie that belt on her arm alone.

He looped the belt around her arm and poised his hands to tighten it.  “Deep breath, baby.”

She nodded and took that breath.  He pulled the belt tight and she exhaled at the pain.  He didn’t break skin. He wasn’t supposed to, but those barbs will bite in a few minutes.  It’s what made her magic effective in situations like this.

He secured the belt and it held.  He ran his fingers gently along the already reddening skin.  “Okay for now?”

She nodded, giving him that plaintive smile that said, “thank you for doing this.” He tightened his lips but returned her pained smile.  He was hardly glad he could do this for her, but at least she didn’t have to do it alone if he could help it.

“Here we go.” She splayed her fingers towards the group of witches and the child.  

A blue dome began to materialize around the little girl, making her squeal in terror.  The witches gave a start of surprise. Whatever they were doing, they hadn’t expected anything like this at all.  

One of the girls in the circle touched it and scowled upon finding that it was impenetrable.   “What did you do, Hunter?”

One of the boys, Hunter, frowned.  “I didn’t do anything! Why are you accusing me?”

“You’re the one who went all soft on us last night, trying to talk us out of doing this!”

Jughead shook his head as they watched the coven bicker and point fingers.  

“Let’s get this over with,” Betty muttered, flexing her fingers.  

The bubble exploded outward, sending all four witches flying back and skidding against the dust and grime on the surrounding floor.  

Betty and Jughead jumped out of their hiding place, standing protectively around the little girl as they faced two witches each.   

Jughead eyed the two terrified fourteen year olds at his feet.  He needed no introduction. They knew what he was just by the look of him, and they might even know exactly who he was, because out of all the Slayers in New York City, only one of them wore the black leather jacket with the snake patch on its back, and only one of them had a badass Wicked witch who rode with him.  

One of the girls threw a spell at him and he batted it away with his arm, unharmed by her magic.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” hissed the trust fund boy.  “We are going to be so grounded!”

Jughead frowned.  Did he think that was the worst that could happen to them?

“Trust me, kid,” he said.  “‘Grounded’ is the least of your worries now.”

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

So was it really about the Vixen uniform?  Or was it just that they were going into their 3rd year anniversary and that it felt huge to him, somehow.

They were Otherworlders.  Arguably, they were both witches.  The number 3 was always a big deal.  It was a number that held significance in so many big and small ways: the rule of three, 3 poppets and no more, three witches make a coven, three, three, three…

It was a magical number.

Three years since Jughead first saw her walk into Riverdale and three years since he first spoke to her in class.  Three years since that compulsion in his chest tugged at his lips to say that clever thing that popped into his head at lab, at lunch, at the library.  Oh, that library.

Three years since he first brought her home, gave her his number (as he ignored the screaming in his head that said, “you’re crossing a line, idiot!”), texted her for a ride at school, and broke her trust.

Three years since that nagging feeling in his gut, coupled with the good-natured teasing from his friends, compelled him to do the right thing and apologize.

Three years since they first went sleuthing together and three years since they first kissed in her bedroom…

That probably should’ve been their anniversary, the moment that changed it for them, the moment he actually started to think that Betty Cooper fired his mind and his body, and that he wanted that fire to keep burning.

Had it only been three years since he watched her walk into the Wyrm, only to realize that she was on some surprise blind date with some guy and that the fire in him had turned into white hot jealousy?  

It had to have only been three years because the details were as clear to him as if it had happened yesterday.  He remembered being surrounded by the noise of his friends and the bar, remembered hitting those acrylic balls with his cue stick as he aimed for pockets, but also that all of it was just background for the cyclone of thoughts permeating his brain: who the fuck does Shinji Yagami think he is?  Walking into his bar and trying to impress Betty Cooper, on HIS turf?  Was she laughing at his jokes? Did she think him clever? Was she enjoying his company?  What the fuck? What the fuck? What the—

“They’re going to the ladies room,” Sweet Pea had said, determined .  “Hold my stick.”

He had shoved the stick at Toni, and they all watched him go after Sabrina Spellman.  

Jughead may have had opinions about the way Sabrina and Sweet Pea conducted themselves, but Jughead knew that he and Sweet Pea had been hammering at the same nail all night: some guy’s with my girl and this is bullshit.

It has been three years since he asked Betty Cooper if she wanted to get out of there so that he could bring her to the restricted section of the Riverdale Public Library.  Three years since they made out in the shelves and he stopped denying that he wanted to be the only guy she was kissing.

There have been a lot since, and through the years, they’d followed both their dreams together, sharing every moment of happiness and disappointment, clinging to each other in times of contentment and need.

He has never loved anyone so deeply and so desperately in his entire life.  He has never been more sure that there would never be anyone like her again if fate would ever be so cruel as to take her away from him some way or other.  

He couldn’t imagine living a functional life without her, because if that were ever to happen, there would be a constant void, like a shadow demon in her shape,  following him around, reminding him that there would a permanent rift in his life where she had vacated it.

He didn’t want to imagine it.  Instead he indulged himself with thoughts of her being present in the future, of being with him all the days of their lives.  He also imagined more , and it hurt, sometimes, because he needed it to be true so intensely.

He liked to watch her with kids, for instance, because they looked at her and saw what he saw.  He could tell. They were often little strangers, these new humans, sometimes Lost, sometimes Otherworlder, but they went to her like they knew her—like how he knew her.

In the city, young children were vulnerable to the worst kind of Otherworlders.  The darkest, most powerful spells required their blood. He and Betty had dedicated many nights retrieving these children and he could only be grateful that they’d been successful each time.  

Every kid they’d rescued had the same reaction.  They saw her and trusted her, stretching their arms up for her to pick them up.  They sought safety in her arms when they were in danger, and they clung to her until their parents came to retrieve them.

He’d pointed it out.  It was a real phenomenon, and she’d said, “Maybe it’s the Wicked.  Or maybe Polly’s rubbing off on me.”

Maybe.  

But whatever it was, he liked to watch her with kids.  It gave him a feeling inside that made him want things he never thought of before.

So clearly, it wasn’t just about the uniform.  The uniform was probably his anniversary present.  

It was their third.  And three, after all, was a magical number.

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

Their apartment wasn’t as shitty as they thought it would be.

At least, not anymore.  

The first year they lived in New York City, their apartment was pretty awful.  The space was passably livable, the one bedroom big enough to fit a queen if you were willing to sacrifice space for anything else.  The kitchen and dining room were one shared area and the living room could accommodate no more than four people standing. Their bathroom had been the size of a coat closet.  It had a sink and toilet almost on top of each other and the shower was sectioned off by a curtain. That was it. The walls to the hallway had been thin and their roof leaked for God knows what reason.  The bottom floor had a hair salon that blared music at certain hours of the day, which made studying kind of impossible.

It wasn’t ideal, but Betty remembered being so happy, that none of these things really got her down.  She had been blissfully upbeat, making that shitty apartment their home, cuddling with Jughead on their tiny couch as they watched movies, running off to the library Jughead (naturally) worked in to study, helping him complete Slayer missions here or there when duty called, and cooking Zelda’s recipes in between bouts of takeout.  

Jughead had barely complained about it, too.  He had hardly ever expressed any ill-feelings for where they lived.  He seemed happy living with her, bringing home fresh flowers for her when he can, eagerly telling her about street fairs and farmers markets that popped up around them so they can go to them on the weekends, joining her twice a week for her daily morning runs, and generally, constantly, having incredible sex with her.

That first year they lived in the city had been no less enjoyable as their second and third, except that the next two years they saw an improvement in their living facilities.  Their latest apartment included a rooftop communal garden—shared by all the building’s residents, which was perfect for the herbs she needed for potion-making.

They’d had arguments, of course.  Maybe even a serious one or three, usually pertaining to one or the other’s careless disregard for safety, but any fight they had was always quickly resolved by a little groveling, a lot of cuddling, and substantial conversation.  

As they now sat in their much more spacious bathroom—big enough to accommodate a small tub, even, Betty was more than grateful that they had gotten this far, that they had navigated their independence and their relationship together in ways that they were both proud of.

The covered toilet and the bathtub’s wide rim were the perfect height for her and Jughead whenever one or the other needed some form of first aid.  

With a towel on her lap and her arm between them, he gently removed the cilice belt from her arm.  Her blood dripped on the towel, but the lightness of his fingers and the focus that radiated from his expression always made her weak in love.  He took such good care of her.

When the belt was completely off, he turned on the handheld showerhead, running the water until it was the perfect temperature, and helped her wash her wounds over the tub.  When the blood and grime had been washed away, he dried her arm as carefully as he could and put some antiseptic on her punctures. She didn’t exactly need the antiseptic, but the better brands had topical painkillers on them, which he knew she appreciated.  

He wrapped her wounds with padding and medical tape, his hands careful not to pinch or pull her skin.  The wound would stop bleeding soon and she would probably be healed by morning. He didn’t need to do any of this, but he did, because it gave her comfort.  She did the same thing for him and he healed even faster than she did.

“Thank you,” she told him, pressing a kiss on his lips.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

As they walked barefoot through their living room towards the kitchen, Betty was reminded even further of their domesticity, how they always kicked off their shoes at the door because it was easier to clean their floors that way, how they frantically ate their fruits because they’d bought too much and that it would be a shame to let them spoil, and how their collection of IKEA Furniture shopping bags had piled up in the closet because they never remembered to bring the last reusable one they paid for—they used those bags for everything now: laundry, grocery shopping, and trips to the beach.

It was the kind of bliss she would have never imagined happening when she and her family were constantly running and hiding.  She had, in fact, thought she would never be happy again when they buried her father.

Now she couldn’t believe how incredibly happy her life with Jughead was, simple as it had been—well, as simple as a witch and slayer’s life could be fighting errant Otherworlders.

She opened the refrigerator, looking for something to eat.  “I may have to whip something up… I honestly cannot abide by takeout tonight.”

He maneuvered around her to reach for the bottle of chilled wine.  “Sit. I’ll do the cooking.”

She smiled at him gratefully, taking a stool and settling herself as he grabbed two wine glasses from their shelves and set them in front of her.  He poured the wine into them.

She loved this man who so unhesitantly cared for her in all the ways a lover and best friend would.   Got a cut?  I’ll patch you up.  Hungry? Let me cook you something.  Tired? Have some wine, babe.

He cocked a smile as he put the wine away and slid one glass closer to her.  “What are you staring at? Something on my face?”

She hummed with ease, unembarrassed to be caught staring.  “I love your face. I love you. Are you sure you like living with me?”

He seemed amused, rolling his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.   “Stop.   I love living with you.  You’re clean, you put the toothpaste cap back on all the time, you get naked for me every once in a while…”

She buried her face on his shoulder, grinning.  “Every once in awhile?   How about all the time?”

“I’m just saying I’ve gone hours without.”

She pretended to scowl but only for a second, cupping his face so she could press a tender kiss on his lips.  “That’s because we actually have to be in school and go to our jobs.”

“Oh, right.   Those things.”

He paused another second to kiss her forehead before he slipped out of her arms to gather the materials that he needed for cooking.  

She watched him go from cupboard to refrigerator to assemble everything and pile them haphazardly on the counter.

She loved the relative chaos of how he cooked.  She liked to watch him turn disorder into beauty.  The way he cooked was never the same, chopping one thing first and then doing the other thing next, which could have been the order last week, or maybe not.  His cooking always coalesced into something delicious and often nicely plated, but how he got there was as unorthodox as how he did everything else.

With her being so organized and him thriving in the unpredictable, they probably should’ve been a match made in hell, but she liked that he was so overtly unconcerned by the status quo.  She needed that outlook in her life.  He was her ticket to stepping out of the boxes that she had been conditioned, for safety, to stay in.  And perhaps she helped him temper the wildness in him that sometimes came to the fore.

It was how he drew things, too.  The nonsensical strokes of his lines hardly seem to make sense at the beginning, but an image will eventually take shape and his illustrations become what they’re meant to be: inspiring, frightening, or informative.

A nice collection of leather-bound journals lined their shelves, filled with his knowledge and experience in words and art.  

Perhaps all this was just proof that he was on the right track.  He was an art history major in NYU, minoring in studio art at the Steinhardt School.  

Their little apartment was decorated with his work, his deft hands creating beautiful drawings and the occasional sculpture, which Betty thought were excellent pieces, but Jughead thought were shitty and pretentious.

It gave her a pleasant tingle, thinking that one day he could be a curator at a museum.  As it is, he works at the library (of course) and guards the biggest vault in the city.

Fortunately, there were more Slayers in the city than there were in Riverdale, so he took his turn at the Sabbats less frequently than he had to in Riverdale.

He still got cases sent to him by the city’s lead Slayer, but he didn’t need to patrol the streets anymore on weekends, he didn’t need to check omens regularly like he used to, and in this town, he could actually say he couldn’t because there would be at least two other Slayers who probably could.

The Blossoms still reigned over New York—that was inescapable, and their deep connections in the coven put them both in a very unique position in New York City’s Slayer hierarchy, not to mention the fact that Betty was kind of a Blossom herself who regularly brunched and shopped at SoHo with the coven heiress, but that was a given.  

The Blossoms held the east coast with corporate consistency.  Even Jason’s trial and execution didn’t bring the house down, though their stock did plunge for what Cheryl termed “a hot minute.”

Sipping her wine, she caught sight of their wall calendar and saw the scribbled image of a deck of cards beside a long, rectangular box drawn over the weekend.  “Oh, my God. Is it Game Night at Kevin’s already?”

Jughead started cracking eggs into a bowl.  “Yep.”

“And it’s Cards Against Humanity Weekend.” She pursed her lips and clenched her fist.   “Yessss…”

He chuckled as he tossed the eggshells and started whisking them.  

She felt singularly determined.  “I am going to kick everyone’s ass this weekend.  Revenge for last game night’s Avalon debacle.”

“I don’t know, babe.  Cheryl confirmed this time and we haven’t had her for Cards Against Humanity weekend.  I think you might have a tough opponent there.”

Betty scoffed.  Cheryl talked a big game, and it was easy enough to have twisted thoughts when there was nothing to hamper you, but the limitation of the cards presented a challenge that Betty had a knack for.  

“We’ll see.  Should I bake a cherry pie?  Or a strawberry cheesecake?”

He made a humming sound.  “Cheesecake. It’s your best cake so far.”

She grinned, encouraged by his praise.

He tossed together some finely chopped bell peppers, spinach, and ham before he assembled the omelette on a skillet, cooking the egg with some butter and then grating fresh gruyere over the pile of filling.  He seasoned it, folded the egg over it, then plated it, sprinkling some chopped chives to top it off.

She sighed happily when he slid the plate in front of her, loving how the cheese was melting lazily from the edges of the egg.  Full-fat. “You should’ve been a culinary arts major.”

She took two forks out of their drawer and gave him one.  

He smirked and leaned over the counter on his elbows, cutting himself a piece of omelette.  “I bet Sabrina becomes a food critic just to drag my restaurant to the ground. She already called me derivative in my last Instagram post.  Sweetpea threw me under the bus when he tagged her to it in the first place.”

Betty couldn’t help but giggle.  Sabrina never passed up the chance to roast Jughead on social media.  “I think she inadvertently gave you a compliment when she compared your work to Adonna Khare.”

“Her exact words were ‘Adonna Khare called, she wants her sketchbook back.’”

Her cousin never failed at taking that shot, and she knew the perfect mix, knowing how far she can take it with Jughead.  “That just means she’s impressed. You know Sab.”

He cocked a smile as he cut himself a piece of omelette.  “Oh, I do, and I’m going to divert this conversation before I get myself in trouble.  This omelette is so good, if I do say so myself.”

She laughed, and they ate and drank in companionable chatter until there was nothing left of the dish or their glasses of wine.

As he was putting the dishes away, he said, “So, about that Vixen uniform--”

She rolled her eyes.  Count on Jughead to ruin his own surprise.  

Their anniversary was coming up and she had asked Aunt Hilda to find it in her closet and send it over.  “What were you even doing in my closet?”

He put up his hands in a gesture of innocence.  “I was looking for your silver tipped arrows! I asked you about them, remember?”

She eyed him askance.  “I told you they were in the closet—the coat closet.”

“Sorry?  Not sorry.”

She wagged a finger at him.  “You saw that package from upstate arrive and when I didn’t tell you about it, you got curious! You’re like a kid at Yulemas trying to peek at your presents!”

There wasn’t a whisper of shame in his wide grin.  “So it was the uniform that came in the mail!”

She gave a huff and put her fork down.  “I don’t even know if it still fits me. I haven’t had non-fat anything in years—“

She was suddenly accosted at the waist, his hands hoisting her up on the kitchen counter and setting her down on the edge of it.  She giggled as he fitted himself between her thighs and draped her arms over his shoulders.

“You’re breaking the rules, baby,” he whispered, nosing her neck and feathering her throat with his kiss.  “No fat shaming, remember?”

She closed her eyes and smiled, tilting her head to give him more access.  “I remember. But really—“

She felt the pressure of his fingers on her thighs, sliding to the back of her knees so he can pull her even more securely around him.  His tongue was already making gentle circles on the crook of her shoulder.

“I love your body,” he murmured, his hands skimming her sides and slipping beneath her shirt.  “I love your curves. I never ever want to hear you say non-fat in this house.”

Betty could already feel the ache between her legs, where his hardness was pressing against her.  She sighed, cupping his jaws and pushing his chin up with both her thumbs so she could kiss him.

Their lips met, open-mouthed, while their tongue circled eagerly against each other.  They sucked in each other’s breaths, her fist clutching at his hair so she could kiss him deeper.  

His wayward hands had found their way to her breasts, cupping and squeezing eagerly before retreating and finding the edge of her shirt again to tug it up her body.

She tore her lips away from his to peel her shirt off and toss it unceremoniously on the kitchen floor.  

Distracted, momentarily, by her state of undress, he traced his finger along the lace on her bra, feeling the delicate patterns, then his lips were clamping over her and sucking the soft skin of her breasts.  

He always loved undressing her first, like the careful unwrapping of a gift, and it always felt like worship, the way he appreciated her bare skin as he unraveled her bit by bit.

Her bra loosened and the garment fell away.  His mouth and hands took instant liberties with her nipples, and as he sucked on one breast, his hand gently squeezed the other.  She gave a quiet whine of approval.

She could feel his tongue circling that spot beneath her breast, right on her ribcage where her tattoo of a crown, his crown, was inked into her skin.  It had been Anniversary Present #1.  Their lovemaking was particularly intense that night, and she knew she had hit on a primal need that night, marking herself for him.  

He still worships that tattoo, touching it with the pads of his fingers whenever they were cuddled on the couch, staring at it when they were naked and sated, kissing it when they made love.

She liked how it connected them without limiting her, liked that she can do things and go places knowing that his thoughts were never too far from her.  It felt like a psychic beacon. When she caressed her own skin in the rare times of physical separation they’d had to endure, he had called her to tell her he missed her, as if he had heard her thoughts of him adrift in the wind.  

She was sure there was no strange magic at work, just two people desperately in love with one another.  When she missed him, he was sure to miss her back.

When he had given her tattoo enough attention, he pulled back to undo her jeans, pushing them off her hips a bit before he hooked his thumbs into her panties and pulled them down with her pants.  He let her clothes drop and for a moment, all he did was stare at her.

Completely naked on the kitchen counter, she leaned back on the heels of her palms and lifted her knee along the side of his body.  “What’ll you do now, Slayer?”

His darkened eyes took her in, his hand rising to cup her face and caress her cheek with his thumb.  She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes to feel his calloused palm against her cheek then turning her face to kiss it.

He was shrugging off his hoodie and peeling off his shirt, undressing for her.  She loved watching him undress, seeing the lines of his lithe body stark in shadow and light.  

His body ink fascinated her still.  

She still loved tracing the images on his chest and arms after they made love, still liked to stare at the art on his skin when she woke up in the morning and his back happened to be turned to her.  She knew each and every mark he had and why he had them. She felt a softness inside her whenever she remembered that he had tattooed B • WICKED on the inside of his wrist so that he had a mark of her on him that he could look at and enjoy.  He told her he liked that it made people think it was some reminder for him to live life to the fullest--rules be damned.

It fit his aesthetic.

She liked that whenever he got naked and she admired the beautiful shape of his lithe body, she greedily thought of him as hers.

He undid the buttons of his jeans, shedding them, and when he had nothing but his boxers left, he stepped back into the embrace of her legs, planting her hands over the waist of his last piece of clothing so she could remove the garment, herself.

He tangled his fingers through her hair, angling her face up so he could clamp his lips over hers with unabated hunger.

She could feel his hardness against the softness of her center, and the only thing between them was the boxers’ thin fabric.  

She gave it a soft tug, her fingers wrapping around his length, as the garment fell away and her hand moved to stroke him.

His deep moan vibrated between their locked lips and she continued to move her hand around him, wanting him to want her impatiently, but he held her wrist, stilling her movements and setting her hand to her side.

“You in some kind of hurry, Cooper?” he asked against the shell of her ear.  “Keep doing that and I’ll come quick.”

She mewled in complaint.  “I want you inside me.”

“We’ll get to that,” he whispered back, this time against her mouth, and as he said this, his fingers dipped between her legs and slid into her folds.

She moaned into his kiss as pleasurable sensations spread through her body, the slow thrust of his hand coaxing gasps from her lips.

The same fingers that beautifully sketched life on paper and squeezed tubes of color onto textured palettes was making art of her desire.  

She thought about how he skillfully transferred fevered dreams to paper with graphite and expressed emotions on canvass with tinted oils and water, so it was little wonder that he was so adept with his hands, coaxing her to come with the ease of an artist mastering his medium.

Oh, my God.  

She might have screamed out his name, throwing her head back as she came, riding the wave that was rolling through her.  His lips sucked on her throat as he worked her through her orgasm, and as her cries died down, his hand slowed, easing her gently down from her high.

She bit her lip, gasping for breath.

That had felt amazing, and yet still she wanted his cock inside her.  She buried her fingers into his hair, pulling his face to hers so she could kiss him while she wrapped her legs around his body.  She tightened her thighs around him, her hips thrusting to press her pussy against his dick.

He cocked a smile, which made her stomach do somersaults.  “So impatient…”

Gritting her teeth, she tried rolling her hips to tempt him.  “Jug, I need you to fuck me.”

He hushed her, rubbing the pad of his thumb at the bottom of her lip.  She rasped her teeth against his skin just before his hand fell away from her face and slid to cup one breast, teasing her nipple with that same thumb.

He liked this control.  She liked it, too. Sometimes they switched, usually when she was in some kind of costume, but mostly he took over.  He set the pace, and she begged, because begging made it better.

He broke free of her legs, burying his face between the valley of her breasts then capturing each taut peak in his mouth.  

His hands clamped around her thighs, draping them one after another over his shoulders so she had no choice but to lie on her back on the kitchen counter.

The counter wasn’t very big and the top of her head hung over the edge, but it was difficult to care when he had his face nestled between her thighs and his tongue was licking a slow path along her pussy.

Burying her fingers in his hair, she moaned at the waves of pleasure his tongue elicited.  The deliberate way he ran his tongue against her was robbing her of reason, wanting more of this but also loving how he was drawing this out.  He groaned softly into her, and she felt the vibration of him against her core.

When his tongue circled her clit, followed by the gentle suction of his lips, she flitted on the edge of an orgasm, moaning and arching her back.  

“Jug, please do that again,” she whined, panting.

She could feel him smiling, and for a brief moment, she wanted to punish him for being so smug, but tonight he was dominant, and instead of retaliation, she heaped praises, coaxing him to give her what she needed.  She told him he was the only one who could ever make her scream this way.  

That did it.  He sucked her clit as he dipped his fingers into her and she came apart, cresting the wave of pleasure that swallowed her and crying out profanities as she let the orgasm take her.  

When the waves began to still, Jughead scooped her into his arms, her thighs wrapped around his body, and carried her to their bedroom.  

She purred as he laid her on their bed without a hint of effort.  She loved how he often used his strength to easily move her about when they made love, fucked, fooled around, and just did things together.  

He settled on top of her, never relinquishing his place between her legs, even as he reached above her at their overhead shelves to dig into a wooden cubby where they kept the condoms.  

He kissed her slowly, swirling his tongue inside her mouth.  She tilted her chin up to deepen the kiss even more, holding his face in her hands to prolong it.  When they separated, he gave her the condom and without need of further prompting, she tore the packet open and pinched the tip of it before rolling it down his dick.  

Her core ached harder than ever.  The anticipation of having him inside her probably meant he didn’t have to work that hard.  When he lowered himself onto her, he kissed her again and she moved her hips, canting them impatiently.  

“I can do this with you forever,” he murmured in her ear as he slid into her.  “God, Betts…”

Their moans mingled and Betty squeezed her eyes shut at the incredible sensations of feeling him stretch her, his cock sliding along her clit with perfect friction, and his body resting flush against hers for a blessed second, before he pulled back to rock into her again.  

“Oh, my God, yes, Jug.   Yes.”

Her mind was losing coherence as he moved into her over and over.  She could feel the pressure of his fingers, digging painfully into her thigh as he pulled her harder against him.  

Their slow and steady joining began to gain speed and force, and they moved so torridly that the top of her head was hitting their padded headboard.   

“Betts,” he gasped, turning them over so she was riding him.  She rolled her hips to continue the cadence, his hips bucking up to meets hers.  His body hit her clit with perfect pounding pressure, and within a few thrusts, he was shattering her completely.  She was coming so loudly she hardly realized that Jughead was groaning and cursing, grinding hard into her as he joined her in her oblivion.  

He was still bucking slightly as she began to come down from her high, and she saw the pleasure on his face settling like a blanket on his features.  

They were both catching their breaths.  And she’d told him a million times how amazing he was, but she never tired of saying it again.  

“Juggie, that was incredible,” she gasped, dropping to his side, exhausted but utterly sated.  

They crashed their lips together into a clumsy but hungry kiss.  It was always so intense that there was always a remnant of that heat, .  Trembling and tired, they always seemed to share that last kiss in the end.   Like they wouldn’t dare waste an ounce of passion.

She tucked herself into the crook of his arm and as was her habit, began to trace the tattoos on his body.  He stilled her hands and she looked up at him in surprise. He was staring at her, his love for her evident in the adoration in his gaze.  

She smiled.  “What--”

“I meant what I said,” he whispered.  “I can do this with you forever.”

She arched an eyebrow questioningly, not anxious, but curious.   Then she giggled.  “Oh, Jug, is that a proposal?”

She was joking, of course.  She never doubted that he was it for her, but to a certain, practical degree, even if she knew Jughead loved her enough to burn the universe down for her, she never presumed that anything more than being together was a thing.  They were pagan Otherworlders. Their parents may have needed papers and documentations to commit to one another, but how necessary was that, really?

He turned to reach for something in his bed stand.  He pulled something out of his drawer and held it out for her.  It was a little black box and Betty’s eyes widened in shock.

“Jug!” she gasped.  “Is that--?”

He swallowed, pushing himself up on his elbow to look her in the eyes.  “I’ve had it for three weeks. Saw it at a jewelry store and bought it on impulse and our anniversary--I wasn’t--” He seemed mildly frazzled, but whatever he was trying to say, it sounded like he had been thinking about it for just as long as he’s claimed to have had this box.  “Look, I know we have another year of college to get through and I clearly don’t know what I’m doing, but I just want to be completely clear about how much I love you, and how I want us to be together, and how I--” His lips pursed, and he looked like he wanted to get swallowed by the earth.  

Her non-reaction probably wasn’t helping, either.  

It took her a second, but joy began to wrap around her heart and she understood everything that he was saying.  She wanted all that. She wanted this.   He was right.  It was impulsive, but she had never been more sure of anything in her life.  

She sat up in bed and faced him.  “Ask me.”

He blinked, probably shocked that this hadn’t exploded in his face yet, but he caught up.  He was always quick to react, anyway. It was that Slayer instinct he had in spades. He sat up, too, holding the box out and opening the lid.

It was a beautiful ring with what looked like a half-karat round diamond with trinity knots centering it.  She did not have an eye for knowing silver from white gold, but that didn’t matter. Either way, it must have cost him some and she was touched that he had looked at this ring and saw her in his mind’s eye.  

“Betty Cooper,” he began, his voice only slightly trembling.  “Will you marry me?”

She smiled, reveling in the love that spread from her chest through the rest of her body.  She threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Yes,” she whispered between breaths. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He smiled into the kiss, his hands running up and down her bare back.  

They were laughing when they separated and he put the ring on her finger and she never thought it possible she was even happier than she’d been the last three years.  

“Baby,” he said, pecking more kisses on her lips.  “How about we take a day off tomorrow? I mean, I don’t even know if this is a proposal you can tell your friends about but at least you can tell them I took you out to celebrate--we can go anywhere: spend an entire day at a museum, go to the beach, find a county fair or food fest in Jersey....”

“You know who my friends are, Jug.  They’re all of them heathens and would think it incredibly romantic if I told them you proposed to me after you made me come three times.”

He paused and gave it some thought.  His upside down smile couple with the mild wag of his head was comical and she laughed.  

“Also,” she slid her arms over his shoulders.  “Tomorrow’s celebrations aren’t exactly going to be PG-13 either.  Not if I and the Vixen uniform have anything to say about it.”

It was like he melted in her arms, his shoulders going boneless and his head lolling to one side.  “Oh, baby. Oh, sweetheart… I love you so much. You have no idea.”

She giggled, dragging him back down on top of her as she lay down.  “I have some idea--oh, wow, Jesus, Jug.  Already? That has to be some record...”

He kissed her, his hardness pressing against her thigh.  “You don’t understand what that uniform does to me. I just think about my fiancée in it and I’m done…”

She grinned.  Fiancée. Not a moment too soon.  

This was going to be the best week, ever.  

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

It was.  

The best week ever.  

And it only got better in the weeks that followed.  

Nevermind that telling their parents had given them a fair bit of stress.   

Betty and Jughead had talked about it and thought it best that they tell FP and Alice at the same time in a relatively public setting, like Pop’s.

Betty could at least be sure that her mother wasn’t going to cause a scene.  While Alice was always outwardly calling Jughead her “Slayer Boyfriend”, his generally steady and responsible lifestyle, his attendance in a good university, the wonderful way he treated her daughter,and the constant good opinion her sisters had about him did win Alice over.   While she was never going to call Jughead “sweetie” (or forgive him for being FP’s son), she had taken to baking things for him and asking after him like she actually cared.

“How’s your Slayer Boyfriend doing?  Keeping his scholarship, I’d imagine?” she would ask.  

For the most part, Betty knew that her mother just didn’t want anyone suspecting she was losing her edge, so the flint and steel were never going to soften, but she did more than tolerate Jughead dating Betty.  One can even go so far as to say that Alice liked him, just that she would never admit it.

FP was the one they were really worried about.   He never softened to the idea of Jughead dating Betty.  FP was never rude to her, for sure, but Betty always got the feeling that he never really let go of his suspicions and prejudices about her kind.  

Over the last three years, she had noticed how Jughead never left her with his father by herself, and Jughead tended to be jumpy when they were in the same room with him.  

Zelda and Hilda, who surely noticed it, were clearly trying to stay out of it in their own, aggressively cheerful way.   FP never let on that he had these prejudices, and Betty was pretty sure that he was trying his best to get over them, but she sometimes understood where he was coming from.  

FP had very little reason to trust his heart to any witch again, let alone watch his son do it with what he probably considered reckless abandon.  Alice had left FP, Gladys had left them , and FP Jones the First had raised FP to believe that Wicked witches were the worse.   

Perhaps it didn’t help that Zelda and Hilda constantly threatened him with bodily boils if he screwed Jughead all over again.  The fact is, FP hadn’t left Riverdale in three years since the riots, and Betty suspected it was his fear of all three of the Spellman sisters that was keeping his butt firmly planted in the Town with PEP.

Betty and Jughead decided to tell their parents together so that Alice can put a leash on FP, if necessary.  That was the truth.

So over burgers and milkshakes, Jughead unceremoniously dropped the bomb and said, “I asked Betty to marry me and she said yes.” He then un-hid their clasped hands from beneath the table so that both Alice and FP could see the ring on Betty’s finger.  

Betty bit her lip and felt Jughead’s grip on her hand tighten.  

Alice’s eyebrow arched high enough that it could get stuck in her hairline, and FP looked so wide-eyed, like he couldn’t believe his son had done something so stupid.  

It was Alice who broke the silence when she said, “You’ve got good taste in jewelry, I’ll give you that, Jug.”

Betty stifled a grin, but FP’s “Boy!” made Betty’s stomach roil in panic.  

“Dad,” Jughead replied, his tone of voice a warning.  

Alice groaned and rolled her eyes.  “Oh, get the fuck over yourself, FP.”

Now everyone was shocked quiet.  Probably even FP had never heard Alice curse like that.  

Betty gulped.  

“If you and I are going to be in-laws, I have some rules to lay down,” Alice said, turning in her seat to face FP.   “So get comfortable, because I’ve got a lot to say.”   She said that last part with such deadly venom that FP didn’t dare interrupt.

Alice launched into a tirade, unloading on FP about how he treated Betty and how completely unfounded his prejudices were.  She unloaded on FP on how he treated his son, about how shameful his actions had been as a parent, and finally she unloaded on him about why their relationship of yore had fallen apart, and at this point, Alice turned to Betty and said, “Honey, I loved your father, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t exactly the most exciting and passionate guy in bed--”

“Oh... My... God...”

Jughead opened his mouth to say something but Alice shot him a glare.  He clamped his mouth shut.

Alice wasn’t done with FP.  She ripped into him as only an old lover could, and then when she was done pounding his ego to dust, she moved into prattling about the future, about being let into the Spellman fold, telling him that if he ever wanted to be invited to their family gatherings, possibly enjoying the company of his grandkids--

“Grandkids?”   FP cried.  “Is this what this is about?”

“No,” Jughead said in an intensely firm tone.  “Not at all. Betty is not pregnant.  But if she were —“

“As I was saying,” Alice cried above both their voices.  “If you want to be part of our family, FP--” And she put her hand atop Betty and Jughead’s joined ones, which Jughead stared at in complete shock.  “You have to check your Slayer at the door. Do you hear me, FP? You need to pick that out-dated brain of yours from the cauldron of prejudices that it’s been stewing in the last few decades and wash it off, air it out, and recognize that the world isn’t standing still for an old geezer like you.”

“Old geezer!”  he cried, incredulous.  “I’m only a year older than you, ya ol--” The words died on his lips, catching himself before he made the mistake of calling Alice an Old Hag.  Everyone knew he was going to say it. Betty could tell by the terror in Jughead’s eyes. If FP had made that mistake, that would’ve turned this situation nuclear.  

For Betty’s part, this was becoming intensely, and incredibly, funny.  All she could really do to keep from bursting into laughter was bolt out of the booth and run outside in the parking lot, collapsing behind FP’s truck as she took deep, steadying breaths.  When Jughead followed after her, he was worried. So worried, but when she started laughing, and she started repeating the things that were said in the diner between bursts of uncontrollable laughter, he started laughing with her, and instantly, everything felt better again.   And they knew that if this was the worse thing they had to deal with, they were going to absolutely fine.

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

The Spellmans and Polly were predictably thrilled, and Sabrina was in fine form roasting Jughead for it.

Chic was more reserved, but he seemed sincerely glad for his baby sister.

Chic and Jughead’s relationship had improved significantly through the years.  When it became clear to Chic that his initial fears were unfounded and that Jughead was nothing like his father, Chic became more at ease, certainly less wary.  

It helped, immensely, that Betty was happier being with Jughead than she’d ever been in her life.

With FP taking over the duties of Riverdale’s peacekeeping since Jughead left for college, most of Chic’s dealings with Otherworlder rule enforcement had been with FP.  And while the two men didn’t appear to be at odds, Chic clearly thought FP much less flexible than his son.

While Jughead had been open and willing to hear both sides before bringing down any kind of hammer, FP often took a harder line from the very start, and the burden of proof seemed to fall on the suspects.  Ultimately, FP was a fair man, but his compassion did not come as easily as Jughead’s.

Now FP was going to become an in-law, which made Chic groan at the prospect of interacting with FP on a social setting, especially knowing that FP and Alice used to date.  Passionately.

“Gonna be an interesting Yulemas,” Chic had grumbled.

If anything, Betty was surprised Chic hadn’t questioned the wisdom of this leap they were taking, but he always did have a softer spot for Betty than anyone else.

It was clear that both Chic and Jughead had been making an effort to get along, and with the engagement making it clear that Jughead would be sticking around, Chic was bound to keep that progress going at a steady pace.

Betty felt that she and Jughead were finally living the life they always wanted.

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

“Shut the front door!” Kevin cried, tears instantly springing into his eyes.   “I’m dead, do you hear me? I’m so dead! Come here, brother!”

Jughead felt his breath get knocked out of him as Kevin threw his arms around his best friend.

“Oh, my God!” Kevin said, still holding him in a bear hug.  “And I thought you such a fool, Jughead. Waiting so long. Like an absolute moron.  Like, dude, why you being so stupid? What are you waiting for? Just stop being an idiot--”

“Alright, already,” Jughead grumbled into his shoulder.   “How many more synonyms do you have for my low IQ?”

“Many, many more…”

“To be fair,” Joaquin cried above the din of the lounge music.  “Most people would be mired by practical concerns, like college… youth… babies-- jeez, how old are you guys, 22?”

“21,” Betty told him, laughing.  “When you know, you know, I guess.”

“Oh, shush, Joaquin,” Kevin said, pulling away and cupping Jughead’s face in his hands affectionately.  “Don’t act like you’re the practical one in the relationship. My baby brother’s getting married! To a hot chick who is smart enough to go to Columbia, who will probably financially support his starving artist ass for several years...   way out of his league.”

“Hey.”

“Leave some for me, dude!” Archie said, taking his turn throwing his arms around Jughead.  The back slapping was breathtaking, particularly because after only three years living as a werewolf, Archie sometimes forgot his strength, which was mostly why people got out of his way on the football field.

He was in his second year of college now in Rutgers University, and while he would have preferred to live closer to his best friends in the city, the Upadrashtas had advised him that the city was not easy for a young werewolf.  The quieter, less congested surroundings of New Brunswick allowed, not only for a more meditative environment, but more woodland, and more werewolf sanctuaries hiding in plain sight.

“Oh, Kev,” Betty crooned.  “Jughead is amazing. And just look at how gorgeous and interesting he is to look at.”

Archie grinned, giving Jughead’s face an affectionate slap.  “Isn’t he so handsome and irresistible?”

“You are spending way too much time with Kevin,” Jughead grumbled.

Archie draped an arm around Betty’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.  “Congratulations, Betty. You’re, like, glowing!”

“Stop, Arch.  You’re making me blush.”

“I am so happy for you both, truly.” Kevin said, “C’mere, girl.  Let me hug you for taking one for the team.”

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into Kevin’s embrace.   

“You’re total soulmates,” Kevin said in her ear, his voice tender and sincere.  “And he’ll take real good care of you, sweetie. I swear.”

“I know, Kev.”

“I love you, hon.”

“I love you, too.”

Kevin kissed the top of her head and looked her in the eyes.  “We’re all going home completely wasted, okay? My treat.”

“With what money?” Jughead asked.  

“Ha, money!” Kevin cracked his knuckles.  “Watch me, bitch.” He went to the bar and immediately began using his fey to extract free drinks from the bartender.  

Jughead rolled his eyes and sighed.  

“You’re not going to arrest him, are you?” Joaquin asked.  

Pursing his lips, he shook his head.  “Not my city, not my problem.”

Archie laughed.   “Right.”

Well, of course that wasn’t exactly true.  It was his obligation to put a stop to Otherworlders who basically abused their powers, and it didn’t matter where he was--if it was happening in front of him, he had to stop it, but honestly, he can let Kevin slide.  

What good was it being life long best friends with a Slayer if he didn’t let Kevin get away with an enchantment or two?

Jughead figured he could get Kevin back for calling him an idiot and awkwardly asking him and Joaquin when they were going to tie the knot, but Jughead was too stupidly happy to let thoughts of petty revenge consume him.   

He’ll get Kevin next time.  

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

They were not the squealing type, these women.  

When Betty arrived for brunch, Cheryl, Toni, and Veronica were in the middle of a heated discussion on whether the Force Awakens wanted viewers to ship Rey and Kylo.  They all took surprisingly different positions.

Not wanting to join the debate, Betty pretended she didn’t know what they were talking about and took her seat at the table.  

“Sorry I’m late, ladies,” Betty said, hanging her purse off the back of her chair and picking up the menu set atop her plate.  “Did you order yet?”

She lifted the menu at eye level, waiting for their reaction while she scanned the appetizers section.  

The silence was broken by Toni’s, “Sonofabitch, is that an engagement ring?”

“Oh, my God,” Veronica gasped, grabbing Betty’s hand to look at the ring.  “It is! Tastefully lowkey.  Symbolic--I love the trinity knots.  Classic white gold and solitaire.” She pulled a loupe out of her purse, of all things, and began to examine the diamond with it.  “Brilliant cut faceting, very good to excellent quality stone--”

“Do you just keep a loupe in your bag all the time?” Betty asked, incredulous.  

Cheryl shrugged.  “You never know when you have to shop for jewelry, Cousin Betty.  I hope Jones understands how much of a catch you are. Honestly.”

Betty frowned.  “Cheryl.”

“This cost him a pretty penny, luv,” Veronica said, still eyeing the ring.  “I approve!”

Betty snatched her hand back and planted her fists on her hips, scowling at them all.  “Are you bitches even going to congratulate me?”

Toni made a face.  “Oh, yeah, that. Congratulations!  Jones had better buy you a new helmet because the last thing he wants is for you to knock some sense into yourself.”

“Toni!” Betty gasped in a scolding tone.  

She put her hands up and shrugged, grinning.  “I kid! I’m happy for you and Jug. When’s the handfasting?”

“Jug and I haven’t finalized anything, but we were thinking between Lughnasadh and Mabon--”

“Lammas?” Veronica gasped.  “That’s barely five months from now! There’s not enough time!”

Betty laughed.  “For what? If it weren’t for my aunts and mother who would be devastated if we didn’t celebrate this thing with tons of music and flowers, Jug and I would be married today.”

Cheryl made a tutting sound.  “Nonsense. There needs to be a proper handfasting and you will celebrate it with all the pomp and grandeur befitting a Blossom.  The grounds of your ancestors are at your disposal for the ceremony and the reception, Cousin.”

“No offense, Cher, but I think Jughead would have a coronary if I told him we’d be having our handfasting at Thornhill.”

Cheryl huffed and tossed her luscious red hair over her shoulder.  “Tell Jughead he’s a fucking diva.”

“I tell him all the time, babe,” Toni said, rubbing Cheryl’s arm and kissing her shoulder.  

Veronica whipped out her phone and started scrolling.  “Do you have a wedding coordinator? Nevermind, of course you don’t.  I expect that this is going to take some intense favor pulling and precise coordination with your inner circle.  I’m calling Josie.”

Betty slapped the phone from Veronica’s hand, sending the phone bouncing to the floor.   “Stop!   V, Jug and I want this to be really low key.  Friends and family only. No Mayor McCoy and police escorts.  No Council of the Dales or the Pussycats. It will be a simple and beautiful ceremony outdoors with possibly Astanphaeus presiding.  We might have it catered and we might have some live music from a local band, but that’s as ostentatious as it’s going to get.”

“I’ve planned keggers for longer than five months,” Veronica grumbled, picking her phone off the floor.   

“Honestly,” Cheryl hissed under her breath.  “Will you at least have a proper wedding dress?  Maid of Honor and Best Man?”

Betty nodded.  “Polly and Kevin, respectively.”

“Polly!” Cheryl cried.  

Toni patted Chery’s hand.  “Yeah, honey, I love you but there was no way in hell it was going to be you.”

Cheryl motioned to speak and Toni interrupted her by adding, “Even with bribery.”

Cheryl pressed her lips together with barely repressed outrage.

Veronica took Betty’s hand in hers.  “Please, please let me help you shop for your dress.  And please tell me Jughead will wear his kilt.  He must.”

Betty stifled a sigh.  This wasn’t supposed to be any kind of overblown affair.  She wasn’t planning on trying on one hundred dresses or sit for hours at tasting tables to write a menu.  She wasn’t even going to tell Jughead to wear his kilt, though he probably will. She did, however, love the idea of having all her family and friends there to witness it—friends she only really gained moving to Riverdale.  And with a celebration like that came the decent expectation of a properly planned party.

She smiled and cupped Veronica’s hands.  “I’d love to have you shop with me, V. And I do hope that Jughead wears his kilt.”

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

Betty was thinking.

She had sage, sweetgrass, and cedar on one side and lavender, white sage, and roses on another.  She had bundled the two sets, each into attractive looking smudge sticks, but it felt impossible to decide which would work best as party favors for their wedding.

She had been thinking about this a lot.  

Their budget was tight.  They couldn’t afford to give little wine bottles, pouches of signature chocolate, or even those tiny homemade soaps.  Like, what, really would their guests do with herb-scented soap, anyway? It was good in theory but the soap at the local grocery worked just as well, if not mundanely better.

Their party favors definitely had to be something that she could make, but she wanted it to mean something.  She wanted it to be symbolic. Something all their guests would be happy to use and enjoy for longer than a minute in front of a bathroom sink.  Therefore: smudge sticks.

Witch households loved smudge sticks, for sure.  It was something they kept handy at all times, but every witchy household had their own special bundle.  Every sprig had meaning, so every smudge stick was different. Witches loved to try out other witches’ smudge sticks, and the rest of the Otherworlders would appreciate the sticks simply because they didn’t keep a supply of it like witches did.  

The more she thought of this idea, the more she loved it, and she had set two bundles side by side, determining which of the two would serve their guests best.

One was practical and effective for warding.  Green and lovely, herbal scented and earthy. The other was romantic and floral.  It looked attractive and smelled great, but it was more therapeutic—hypnotic, perhaps.  Still, there was a lot to be said about resting one’s mind.

She used both periodically, for her and Jughead’s apartment.  She grew the plants herself from their communal rooftop garden—their neighbors were constantly awed by how their plot of garden flourished so incredibly.

She heard their apartment door open and shut.  The rattle of keys being hung on hooks crinkled from the entryway and the soft thump of shoes hitting the floor followed.

Jughead was home.  That thought briefly registered as she stared at her smudge sticks, but she looked up at his approach, smiling as he sauntered across the small living room and tiredly came up behind her.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pecked a kiss on her lips, and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, sighing.  He’d have come from the library and he was probably hungry.

“Tired?” she asked.

“Exhausted.  What are you doing?”

“Deciding on our wedding favors.”

She could feel him smiling against her skin.  He pulled her closer against him, nipping at her ear and feeling a bit of tongue.  He was possibly the only guy she ever heard of getting turned on by wedding preparations.

She giggled, gently pulling away.  “Stop. You have to help me decide on this.  If I’m going to grow these plants, I need to know now what they should be.  Sit. Heel. Or you can eat. There’s spaghetti and meatballs. Have some to keep your hands and mouth busy for the meantime.  I need your full attention.”

He grinned, rubbing her arms, still.  “I thought that’s what I was doing. Giving you my full attention.”

She craned her neck to kiss him again, but immediately shooed him towards the stove, where the pot of pasta sat.

Chuckling, he did relent to the spaghetti and meatballs.  He circled the kitchen, pulling out a bowl and uncapping the pot.  The food was still hot—the puff of steam rising towards the ceiling.

As Jughead served himself, he observed the items on the counter.  “Smudge sticks? Clever. I like it.”

She nodded enthusiastically.  “It’ll hardly cost us anything to make and everyone on our guest list would appreciate it.”

He licked his thumb where some of the marinara had dripped and rounded the counter to sit beside her.  “Oh, but is this better than the individual signature cupcakes with gold leaf and caviar on top?”

She cocked a smile even as she looked at him pointedly.  “She wouldn’t be V if she didn’t suggest it, hon.”

“Like, where does she even think we’d get the money to pay $75 a piece for it?  Was she expecting me to trade in my first born for cupcakes?” He stuffed pasta and meatball in his mouth and he groaned appreciatively.  

Her smile waned ever so slightly, hit with an unexpected wave of both trepidation and joy.  It was fleeting, but intense. The mix of fear and longing a confusing swirl.

She told herself that his off-hand comment meant absolutely nothing in the context of their conversation.  The discussion of wedding souvenirs was so far removed from having kids that really, she ought to be ashamed of herself, but it came and went like a drive-by.

So she shook it off.  She was Betty Cooper. She was good at carrying on.  

She took both smudge sticks and held them up for him to see.  “So are we practical and earthy or romantic and introspective?”

His chewing had slowed and his brows knotted in concern.  His hand was on her shoulder in a second, squeezing gently.  “You okay?”

Clearly, with Alice so far away, Betty had lost some of her Cooper edge.  She couldn’t say she was fine. That’s another rule they had in their home.  They were never to use “I’m fine”. Use another word. Use precise words: “I’m feeling better,” or “I’m alright, but give me a few hours,” or “No, I feel like shit about this.”

She had to admit, however, that she wanted to say she was fine so that she didn’t have to air that fleeting feeling.  It was so fast, so unexpected, and probably unnecessary, because there was no real conflict there. Not really. Not actually.

They both wanted kids.  They both said that they would wait to have them until after they graduate and get steady jobs.  They were in agreement that they would raise kids in the suburbs, not the city.

But it did nag.  Has been nagging.  And now that he’d spotted the fissure, he would be worried, and she didn’t think she could shake this off alone.

Apparently, she had a trigger and this was it.

Her eyes watered and his shoulders dropped, setting aside his food to put an arm around her, “Betty.  Sweetheart, was it something I said? I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“Oh, God, no,” she interrupted, blinking her tears away.  Barely. “This isn’t your fault. I’m fine—“

He gave her a pointed stare.

She sighed.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.  I’m just—it came and went. And—maybe we don’t need to talk about this yet.”

He waited, his eyebrow quirking only the slightest bit, as if he were deciding whether to press her or let her slide this time.

She tried another tactic.  “You’re tired, and we can talk about this some other time.”

The softness in his expression finally won out.  He squeezed her shoulder. “Only if you really want to put it off.”

She closed her eyes, pausing to consider what she really felt.  Did she want to put this off? Why would she? Jughead was her lifemate.  He was going to find out one way or another and she didn’t have to carry the burden alone.  

“What if he or she is Wicked, Jug?” she finally said, brows knitted with worry.  “What if we have a baby girl and we find out she needs pain to make magic? I would be so devastated .”

She let out a breath, looking at her hands.  She traced the faint scars in her palms—the latest wounds still healing.  It would be gone in another day or so, but she was so used to having them that she could probably say exactly when, to the hour, these wounds would heal over.

He took her hands in his, smoothing his thumb over her scars.  The soft contact of his fingertips against her skin immediately began to soothe.  “Not gonna lie. That’ll be tough. Every time I watch you hurt yourself it still feels like a punch to the gut, and pulling that belt, Betts… I do it because I can’t bear you enduring that by yourself.”

She knew this, because he’d told her this once before, and she understood how much love it took to pretend, the way he did, that cinching that belt for her was just one of those things they had to do, instead of a bloodletting that probably pained him more than it did her.

He cupped the side of her neck, rubbing the side of her jaw.  “But you and I know better. We won’t live in fear and we’re going to make sure she loves herself and her magic.  She never has to endure pain alone—not while she has us. She’ll have everything and more and her parents are so badass that nobody will dare to hurt her.  I’ll make sure everyone knows her dad’s a leather-wearing, bike-riding gangster, who wears a stupid beanie because he can.”

She found that even through her watery gaze, she could laugh.  His smile of triumph, mixed with all the empathy of a shared future, soothed the burn of anxiety.  

“And who knows?” she added, softly.  “Maybe she’ll be a Slayer, instead. She’ll need a dirk to hang up in the Riverdale Library wall.”

His eyes twinkled, like he had a private joke to himself.  “We’ll get her a different weapon.”

She thought his dirk was impressive and sexy, but she could see in his eyes that he had an opinion about the entire thing that he wasn’t inclined to share, which was perfectly alright.  They were entitled to their own private thoughts.

“We’ll be alright, Betts,” he said, softly.  “We’ve been through hell and back. I can’t imagine loving and living for each other and our kids could be harder than that.”

Kids.  

She liked that they wanted more than one.  

“And if we get tired of the rugrats, we can ship ‘em all off to Zelda and Hilda, who will probably want to adopt them.  Everybody wins,” he added, flippantly, which made her laugh some more and feel so much lighter.

She bit her lip, thinking that she couldn’t wait to be married to this man.  Five months wasn’t soon enough.

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

They got married in three.

It was a magical number, after all.

And that aside, they were still in college with a very limited pool of disposable income.  The only thing that kept them from running to City Hall to be married by a judge was Alice and the Spellman sisters warning of a cursed honeymoon, with noisy tour buses, dirty motel bathrooms, and pickpockets.  Lots of them.

Not that anyone had to be a witch to put anyone in that situation, but given that Hilda did work in a Travel Agency…

They had their wedding, not at Thornhill, which in spite of Cheryl telling Betty was completely open for her use was definitely not, if Penelope had any say in it.

Betty was only too glad she shot down that idea before it went any further than Cheryl’s lips.

Instead, Zelda found them a catering company that had a lovely, sprawling veranda out back, overlooking Sweetwater River.  It was big enough to accommodate their reasonable guest list and they staff were nimble enough to transition from ceremony to reception in 30-40 minutes.  They were also Otherworlders, which was a plus, because then the Spellmans didn’t need to explain why they needed a bonfire.

Betty’s dress was a beautiful ivory toned gown with a lace top of flowery applique.  It’s deep V neckline and back showed just enough skin to give it a sexy flair, cinched at the waist with a satin belt.  It flowed to a skirt made of layers of sweeping, soft tulle. Small flowers twined through her golden locks and dotted the lush curls that swept her back.  

Her bridal bouquet was a splash of lovely summer flowers.  

She didn’t need a veil or a train, and because her mother wouldn’t let her go barefoot, the compromise was a pair of kitten heel silver sandals.

She looked like the fairies of myth, and in spite of living her life as a witch, she had never felt more magical.

Chic walked her down the aisle, and the whole time she never tore her eyes from her handsome fiancée.

Jughead did wear the kilt, in full regalia.  His jacket and vest made him look stunning, and he did leave out the beanie this time, though she wouldn’t have objected if he decided to wear it.

She honestly did not remember who sat where.  All she could think about was being with Jughead in front of the officiant, and clasping his hands.

When she intertwined her hands with his, she looked into his gorgeous blue eyes and knew that the promises they would speak would hold strong and true.

“You look beautiful, Betts,” he murmured, softly, as this thumb rubbed her knuckles.  “Are you ready?”

She nodded.  “I am so ready, Juggie.”

They smiled at one another, and for a moment, she forgot the rest of the world.  It was only with vague concern that she heard the officiant begin to speak.

Astanphaeus began with the wisdom of an age.  “I’ve lived for over half a millenium—“

It was at that point that both her and Jughead tore their eyes from each other in wonder of what Astanphaeus had said.  They had no idea he had been living that long.  They thought it was over 300. Half a millenium sounded impossibly long.

“—and I’ve seen the world go round a million times.  I mean that quite literally, for those of you who can’t do the math.”

Soft chuckles rose from the crowd, and he continued after an appropriate pause.

“I’ve watched human beings do the things they do and I’ve catalogued their outcomes in my mind.  I can say for certain that history does repeat itself, for better or worse. On days that I can’t be bothered to wax philosophical, I tend to think that people don’t quite change, but that is me being lazy.  If I look at the human race as a quantifiable whole, I see waves of repeating patterns, and that’s quite alright if you’re an Earth Angel. Let me digress a moment and explain to you what Earth Angels are here for.  We are here to generate happiness, or to foster it. We are here to alleviate pain and suffering. But lest you think we do it for you, I am here to tell you that we do it for our kind. We need your happiness to power our existence and our magic.  It’s not unselfish, but I do admit to being glad this is how my species survives. It could be worse. I could be a demon and thrive off chaos and destruction. That is what they do. They are the opposite of my kind. And the only reason at all that we haven’t eradicated demonkind is that balance is important for the human psyche to survive.  When people are endlessly happy, they forget what it means. When there is nothing but suffering, they die. Both pain and longing have to exist so that people understand what it is to attain bliss and contentment.”

Betty found herself enraptured by all this.  She didn’t think anyone had known about any of this at all.  

“All that said, I have never been stuck on the greater patterns.  Fostering happiness, for the most part, is my job, but the truth is I love my job.  I love people, and the reason I do is that when I know people individually—not as part of a greater picture, but a detail—I see the weavings and the colors and the things that make them who they are.  I see the stories, the complex nuances of what drives the larger patterns, and how the impact of the wave is the result of certain extraordinary individuals.   Shifts in the rock that cause the earth beneath to shake. ”

A small smile followed the look of sincere wonder on Astanphaeus’s face.  “As we gather here today to witness the union of Betty and Jughead, we are watching our world shift, for theirs is a story of light and dark, of night blue skies and shimmering gold sunrises, of changed philosophies and norms defied.  We are witnessing two people who have, in their young lives, been tested alone and together, and have come out of it better for themselves and for each other. They know exactly what happiness is, because they know the opposite of it. They come before you to profess their commitment to one another before all their friends and family, with clear intent and with eyes wide open.  No secret can tear them asunder. No pain too great to bear. No burden too heavy to carry. Some of you might think they are too young, but five hundred years living this life and I can tell you for certain that Jughead and Betty have created a strong bedrock, and should the earth shake again, it would be happening only because they want to come even closer together.”

Astanphaeus finally looked to Betty.  “Betty, did you come to this ceremony of your own free will?”

She nodded, feeling the impact of Astanphaeus’s opening words.   “Yes.”

He turned to Jughead and asked the same question.  

“Yes,” said Jughead with the same conviction.

The handfasting began.  Polly came first. Kevin next.  One by one, their loved ones came forward with chords as each vow was asked and confirmed, binding their hands, her left clasping his.  

Will you share in each other’s pain and sorrow?

Yes.

And so the chord binds thee.

Will you share in each other’s joy and triumphs?

Yes.

And so the chord binds thee.

Question after question was met by an affirmation and chord.  They were asked, loudly, about carrying burdens and sharing dreams, fostering growth and encouraging rest, of channeling anger towards betterment and remaining worthy of one another’s trust, of being truthful, as well as kind, to each other.

The bindings were made and the knots thickened around their combined hands, and as the rope grew heavier, she felt Jughead lightening the burden, shifting beneath the chords to shelter her hand in his.  She felt her eyes prickle. As Astanphaeus said, the beauty is in the details. The small things. Even in this , Jughead cared for her.  Looked out for her. She feels incredibly lucky and in love.

At the end of the handfasting, Astanphaeus looked up.  “There is nothing quite as fulfilling as binding two people together, who for all their beauty, imperfections, brilliance, or weaknesses, have decided, on this day, that they want to be together to promise to share everything from this day forward.   This is why I marvel at the human race.  The capacity to love transcends magic.” He held out his hands towards them both.  “You may now exchange your rings.”

Kevin held out the rings for Jughead and with a quite smile, he slipped one ring around Betty’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he said, smiling through glassy eyes.

She felt her own eyes fill as she took the ring from Kevin and put it on Jughead’s finger.  “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Astanphaeus smiled and nodded.  “Jughead and Betty, on behalf of all who are privileged to witness this wondrous occasion and the strength of your love, I pronounce you husband and wife.  You may now—“

They didn’t let him finish.  They kissed, with her hand in his hair and his arm around her waist.  

His lips were soft against his, the slight touch of his tongue against hers promising more, and when they smiled into the kiss together, they held on a bit longer.  

When they separated, they weren’t quite ready to part, their noses and forehead touching against the backdrop of whoops and cheering.

“I love you, ” he whispered.

She pressed another kiss on his lips.  “I love you, too.”

Better together than they are apart.

If there was anything more powerful than the magic she wielded and the strength he possessed, it would be this.  

Them.  

Jughead and Betty Jones, Slayer and Wicked Witch.