Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10466676.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017)
  Relationship:
      Betty_Cooper/Veronica_Lodge
  Character:
      Betty_Cooper, Veronica_Lodge, Hermione_Lodge, Kevin_Keller, Archie
      Andrews, Jughead_Jones
  Additional Tags:
      Breathplay, Hurt/Comfort, Angst_and_Fluff_and_Smut, First_Time,
      Consensual_Underage_Sex, Kink_Exploration, Explicit_Consent, Safe_Sane
      and_Consensual, Teen_Romance, Veronica_is_the_Tenderest_Top_and_the
      Kinkiest_Bottom_i'm_sorry_i_don't_make_the_rules, Near_Death_Experiences
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-27 Words: 11952
****** time with you is standing still ******
by ProfessorSpork
Summary
     Betty is tired of feeling out of control, and Veronica is so sick of
     having to put on a brave face.
     Somehow, they help each other find relief.
     [Or: the “fragile teens try breathplay to cope with their issues
     instead of seeking the counsel of a qualified mental health
     professional” fic this fandom deserves. Fluffier than it sounds
     because I literally don’t know any other way to be.]
Notes
     Title from "Breathless" by the Corrs because, y'know, I like being on
     the nose but not THAT on the nose. Nose-adjacent.
     beta'd by the incomparable @falsealarm
     HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ASHLEIGH. I hope it's everything you dreamed of and
     more.
See the end of the work for more notes
Betty Cooper probably isn’t a good person.
Or maybe that’s not fair. She wants to be—she triesto be—but it still feels
like… like at least some parts of her aren’t. Sometimes Betty feels hijacked,
like she’s doing everything she can to hold it all together and somehow there’s
someone else inside her calling the shots.
(“Betty couldn’t make it, so she sent me instead.”)
That person—whoever she is—she’s… well. Betty’d like to think that’s not her,
is all. Deep down.
(“I could expose him in the pages of the Blue and Gold! Yeah, I can do that!”
“No. Spoken like a true good girl who always follows the rules.”)
But Betty is also pretty sure true good girls don’t fantasize about choking
people.
To be honest, until recently she’d thought it was normal. You hear it all the
time, don’t you? People complaining, saying they got so annoyed they just
wanted to strangle someone. That’s—it’s a thing people say. So when she would
fantasize about taking Cheryl Blossom by the neck and finally, finally shutting
her up, about grabbing Archie and making himsee her, well…
Maybe it wasn’t a thing good girls did, but even good girls have bad thoughts
sometimes, right?
But at least with them, she’d felt mad. Frustrated. Betrayed.
Veronica’s not like that. God, even when Betty’d been mad at her, she’s never
felt anything but safe and seen when she’s with Veronica.
So Betty has no excuse for the way her eyes always catch on the string of
pearls that hangs delicately from Veronica’s throat, the way she thinks about
tangling her fingers in that necklace and pulling,just enough, just until
Veronica gasps, just until the pearls leave bulleted bruises across Veronica’s
soft skin, a dark ellipsis trailing off to… to…
“Earth to Betty—you still with me?”
Betty blinks hard, and focuses to find Veronica beaming at her. Oh, god.
“Sorry, I just… tuned out I guess. What were you saying?”
It’s getting ridiculous.
===============================================================================
Two truths and a lie:
Betty didn’t get any sleep after that night at Ethel’s hot tub. Instead, she
stayed up until dawn writing her expose for the Blue and Gold. She doesn’t
remember what happened.
…trick question. Two of those aren’t true. Or at least, not completely.
She’d finished the article around 4 AM, only to find that flashes of what
they’d done—the cuffs, the heels, crushing pills into a decanter and the smell
of chlorine in the air—wouldn’t get out from behind her eyelids, the inside of
her nose, under her skin.
It scares her, a little. Not what she did to Chuck—she still thinks he deserved
it—but Veronica’s face while she did it. That combination of intimidation and
wanting at seeing Betty be dangerous, at seeing Betty take charge.
It scares her how desperate she is to see that look again.
It scares her how easy it is to imagine Veronica agreeing to it. Maybe even
asking for it.
And for so many reasons, too. Because Ronnie trusts her; because she still
feels guilty about those seven minutes in heaven with Archie; because Betty’s
not blind,she sees the way Veronica looks at her, even on a normal day. Not
hungry. Just… aching.
Betty could fix that.
So she lets herself imagine it. The two of them, safe at the Pembrooke, away
from her mother’s prying, laid out on Veronica’s bed. She’d start by throwing
Veronica’s words right back at her—“Don’t freak out. Just trust me.”
When Veronica had pulled her in for that kiss, she’d been so, so gentle, tender
fingertips brushing softly against skin.
Betty would be gentle, too. In her own way.
It would be one hand buried in Ronnie’s dark hair, the other slipped carefully,
skillfully over her mouth, the edge of Betty’s pinky flush against her
nostrils.  In the dark, she sees Veronica sinking into it. Holding eye contact,
staying with Betty even as her gaze gets glassy, and distant, and Betty’s whole
world shrinks down to the air in Veronica’s lungs—the air she allows. There’s
nothing but the count, nothing but the heavy weight, the squeeze, the sympathy
pressure building in Betty’s own chest as Veronica goes limp and soft under her
hands.
She can practically feelit, the hammer of Veronica’s pulse at her neck, the
pucker of her slowly paling lips against the still-healing scabs on Betty’s
palm. Veronica, still only until she’s not, until her body won’t let her
anymore and she starts pulling, a little and then a lot, at Betty’s wrist.
When Betty lets up she’d gasp like a woman drowning, only—that’s—Jason, and
Chuck, and Polly, and—
(“This is what guys like Jason and Chuck think about women. We’re objects for
them to abuse.”)
She wonders how many points it would be in the playbook. Veronica’s life in her
hands.
She doesn’t think that’s something good girls wonder.
(So yes. She sees the way Veronica looks at her. And so she keeps herself as
distant as she can stand, because if Veronica gets too close… she’s honestly
not sure what she would do.)
===============================================================================
Veronica holds her breath when she’s upset.
Betty doesn’t mean to notice it, doesn’t wantto notice it, but she does. She’s
just so tuned into Veronica’s frequency, all of the time—she can’t help it.
At first Betty’d thought it was just a subconscious little tic; something
Ronnie does when she’s being handed back an important test, or trying to master
a new move during cheer practice. But no, it’s more than that—Veronica inhales
deep and freezes every time things between Jughead and Archie get weirdly
tense, every time she hears someone mention her father, every time she thinks
her mom is lying to her, every time Cheryl Blossom passes her in the halls
looking lost and haunted. Like she could disappear, if only she tried hard
enough. If only she could hold it in.
Betty doesn’t want Veronica to disappear.
She wants to hold her breath for her.
Wouldn’t that be a relief?
===============================================================================
It’s so stupid, how quickly things fall apart. Or come together.
And terrifying, how fragile they are.
===============================================================================
It goes like this:
Long before maple sap sweetened the waters of Sweetwater River—like, Cretaceous
Period long before—all of Riverdale had been under shallow, warm prehistoric
ocean. Thanks to the wonders of erosion, evidence of that ancient past wash up
on the river all the time; you can pan for fossils there like gold. Betty’s
been taking school field trips to the banks of the Sweetwater for that purpose
as long as she can remember. Apparently, not even Jason’s death could halt the
tradition.
Veronica knows all of this already, they’ve been learning about it in class for
weeks, but it doesn’t stop Betty from telling her about it all over again on
the bus ride over. She describes the kinds of fossils there—shellfish and
oysters, shark teeth, the very occasional arrowhead, and her personal
favorites, the amber-colored, bullet shaped belemnite guards—and Veronica
listens to every word with the softest smile on her face, like she could listen
to Betty talk for hours.
(It’s funny. Betty forgets, sometimes, how new this friendship is. It feels
just as permanent and intrinsic to her as the petrified relics in the riverbed
do to this town.)
Veronica, being Veronica, has bought an entirely new outfit for the excursion.
Betty didn’t even know they madethigh-high rain boots, but trust Veronica to
have found them. Compared to the rest of the kids on the bus, wearing old hand-
me-downs they don’t mind getting dirty, wellingtons and waders, she looks like
a cut-out from Vogue someone has pasted into an LL Bean catalogue from 1994.
“What are you smiling at?” Veronica asks as she catches the way Betty’s eyes
have been dancing over her. (Veronica always notices when someone is paying her
attention.)
“Nothing. You started it.”
(And it’s nice,this kind of wanting, it’s normal and it’s sweet, and Betty
wishes she could fill herself up with it, until it crowded out the rest.)
The bus pulls up before Veronica can decide on a reply.
Betty doesn’t mean for them to get separated, but when Jughead pulls her aside
while the park ranger is giving them the usual safety speech and explains in
low tones that now is their chance to properly investigate the riverbed for
more clues about Jason’s disappearance, she can’t disagree.
Which is why, an hour and a half into their field trip, she hadn’t realized
anything was amiss until Cheryl starts screaming.
Betty turns around to find a small group of their friends on the other side of
the river shallows—Archie, soaking wet and sputtering, clearly having just been
dunked; Reggie, doubled over with laughter; Cheryl, screaming, staring at
Archie like she’s seen a ghost and, being fair, she probably feels like she
has; and—Veronica, caught in the middle, yelling at Reggie like he gives a crap
what she thinks.
They’re too far away to catch everything. Over the general din, Betty can hear
Veronica say “What is wrongwith you?” and Archie’s outraged, “It’s not funny,
man! You made Cheryl cry!”
Reggie says something in his own defense, which Betty can’t make out, but it
must have been pretty nasty because all of a sudden Archie’s swinging at him.
“Boys!” Veronica barks, jumping between them, like all five feet and one inch
of her could actually do anything to stop the two football players from going
at each other. It’s kind of cute, if Betty’s being honest.
Betty looks upriver, towards the bus. They’ve drifted way further away than she
realized—there’s no way any of their chaperones could intervene in time, and
she can’t even see the park ranger. Looks like they’re on their own.
Jughead catches her eye, and with a nod, they start jogging over. Cheryl’s
still sobbing, and Archie and Reggie are now trading blows in earnest, half-
wrestling each other in the muddy water. And Veronica—
Veronica’s—
Betty can’t see Veronica.
There’s a roaring in her ears as Betty sluggishly does the math, slow to put
things together—like her brain is trying to protect her from the truth. Archie
and Reggie are all hands, slip-sliding in the water, pushing, pulling, and
there—a flash of pearls under the surface—
“Get off her,” Betty croaks, but it’s quiet, distant, barely audible. She feels
trapped in a nightmare. “Get off—Archie, let her up!”
Finally, her words must register, because Archie shoves Reggie back (“Jesus,
Reg, we’re killing her!” ) and pulls Ronnie out of the water ( “I—I don’t think
she’s breathing…”) and Betty finally stumbles up to them as he’s gotten her
dragged up onto the bank, a limp, lifeless thing.
Betty’s heart stops.
And suddenly everyone’s looking to her, like she’s supposed to know what to do,
but she doesn’t, she caused this, this is all her fault, she—
“Move,” Jughead says, shouldering past her and dropping to his knees to give
Ronnie mouth-to-mouth. And suddenly they’re thirteen again, taking CPR classes
at the Y; he, because his parents were leaving him alone with Jellybean more
and more, and the responsibility scared him; she, because Betty knew getting
certified meant she could charge more per hour when she babysat. The sense
memory is visceral, the fresh smells of the lake warping into the musty scent
of the back room of the Y, lanky Jughead poised over a mannequin, only that’s
not a practice dummy, it’s Veronica.
(You’re supposed to sing Another One Bites the Dustin your head when you do
chest compressions, to keep the count. Betty’s never appreciated until this
moment how truly twisted that is.)
She can’t move. She can’t think. It should be her, getting her knees muddy on
the river’s edge, it should be her, counting and breathing and counting and
counting but she can’t be trusted, she can’t—she’d wanted this—and now
Jughead’s lips are smeared red with Veronica’s lipstick, only Veronica’s lips
are pale and tinged blue and Betty thinks of the moments she’d dreamed of
Veronica looking like that and she’s vile, she’s toxic,she’s going to be sick,
she—
She’s literally going to be sick.
She barely makes it to the bushes in time.
There’s a hand rubbing her back, she thinks, and someone—Archie?—is murmuring
at her gently as she empties her stomach, but all she can hear is the three-
and-four-and-five as Jughead counts his compressions, and somewhere, far away,
Cheryl is crying—“All this river does is take.”
“It’s okay. It’s alright, Betts. She’s gonna be fine, you’ll see, you just
gotta—Betty, it’s okay. Let it out. Breathe.”
She can’t. Not until Veronica can.
Another wave of nausea crashes through her at the thought. She’s never felt
particularly religious—the crucifix her mother wears always seemed so
performative—but she finds herself praying now, bargaining to anyone who will
listen. Anything, she’ll do anything, she’s so fucking sorry and she’ll never
go near her, she’ll never even think of Veronica again if it means saving her
now.
She loses the thread of what’s going on around her for a minute, gagging and
panicking and choking on her own self-loathing, but tunes back in with a shock
when she realizes she can’t hear the counting anymore—instead, all she hears
are ambulance sirens. Which means—it means—
“Betty,” Jughead says, and—why is Jughead here with her, Jughead can’t leave
Ronnie, he can’t—“she’s asking for you.”
Betty sprints.
The reality of Veronica surrounded by EMTs threatens to pull Betty up short,
but somehow through the crowd Veronica catches sight of her, and—well. Betty’s
not blind. She can see the way Veronica’s shoulders go slack with relief at the
sight of her, and her feet are carrying her to Ronnie’s side on autopilot
before Veronica can even open her mouth, rasping out “Betty" in a terrible,
waterlogged tone.
Betty pushes past the ambulance crew and clings to Veronica, pressing their
foreheads together and squeezing her eyes shut to keep from crying. “God,
Ronnie, you scared me; you can’t—you can’t do that—”
“Sorry,” Veronica says, which—it’s not like it’s herfault—but she’s leaning up
and into Betty, pressing their faces even closer together. Like only the air
from Betty’s lungs is worth breathing.
It’s all coming out now and Betty can’t stop it, the truth tumbling out of her
along with all of her fears. “I thought I’d lost you, I thought you’d—you
were—please, please Ronnie, I can’t—you were gone—”
“I wasn’t. I’d never,” Veronica promises, pushing impossibly closer still.
Their noses brush, once, again, and—Veronica is trying to kiss her. In front of
their friends and the EMTs and—
Betty rears back.
“Ohmygod, don’t, I just threw up—”
“Seriously? I almost died, I think I can handle it,” Veronica grumbles, but she
obediently settles back down, away from Betty, and—well, no, that’s not what
Betty wanted—
Betty leans down and gives Veronica the swiftest of pecks on the lips, just to
make the point. “There. Happy now?”
A slow-growing smile overtakes Veronica’s face, like a sunrise. “Yeah,” she
breathes, beaming, and Betty—despite everything—believes it. She’s never seen
Veronica look so thrilled.
She doesn’t know what to do with that.
(They hold hands for the entire ambulance ride to the hospital, and if Veronica
squeezes so hard her fingernails bite crescents into Betty’s skin, well, it’s
nothing she doesn’t deserve. And she’s used to it, anyhow.)
===============================================================================
Veronica seems fine until her mother rushes into the ER, screaming for her and
threatening to sue the Mantles, the school, the hospital, and—Betty has to
stifle an inappropriate giggle—the very river itself.
“Over here, Mrs. Lodge.”
Hermione scrambles over, reaching for her daughter, and Veronica’s face
absolutely crumples at her mother’s soothing attentions. “Mami,” she whimpers,
falling into Hermione as she cries. “I couldn’t breathe. They wouldn’t let me
breathe.”
Dimly, as though from far away, Betty can hear Hermione ask “How did this
happen? Why wasn’t anyone watching you?” but it’s a little hard to make out
over her own brain screaming monster, monster, monster.
Fingers thread into hers. “Betty was watching me,” Veronica says, like it’s
obvious.
Betty has no idea how she did the math on that, because she wasn’t there when
Veronica was pulled under and it was Jughead who actually saved her, but—
—but she was watching. She can say that, at least.
Veronica and Hermione talk a little more, and at some point a doctor comes in,
and there’s a near constant buzz now at Betty’s hip as her phone blows up with
texts, but it barely registers for Betty. Because Veronica’s hand is still
cold, and sometimes it shakes, and it’s Betty’s job to hold it for her.
But apparently while Betty’s capacity to ignore her phone is endless,
Veronica’s is not. It’s hardly another half hour before Ronnie finally cracks
and says “Okay, girl, are you going to answer that? Because if you don’t I
will,” and before Betty knows it she’s being driven home by Smithers because
the Lodges didn’t want her to get in trouble with her mom. Which is silly,
really, because she clearly already is.
Her mom immediately confiscates her phone, grounds her, tells her on no
uncertain terms that she’s never allowed to go on a field trip again, that
she’s lucky it didn’t happen to her and that she can’t afford to be so
careless.
But it’s not like anything had happened to Betty. It never would have. The
river doesn’t go after Coopers.
Only the people they love.
===============================================================================
The next day at school is absolute torture. Betty doesn’t have her phone, and
Veronica’s not there, and while Betty knowsthe logical conclusion here is that
her mom kept her home, that obviously Veronica is fine and just wanted to take
an extra day to rest, somehow she can’t bring herself to believe it.
All she sees is Veronica, still and cold on that river bank.
(Cheryl Blossom, of all people, keeps shooting Betty these concerned,
understanding looks, like she knows exactly what Betty’s going through. The
idea that maybe she doesis what sends Betty finally spiraling into a full-on
panic attack.)
===============================================================================
Anyway, Betty’s managed to half convince herself that she’s never going to see
Veronica again by the time she goes back to school the day after, so she’s
completely unprepared for the way Veronica catches her by the wrist on the
front steps, pulling her aside with a “Hey, do you have a sec?”
“Sure, Ronnie, what’s…?”
She loses her train of thought.
Sometimes Betty almost forgets—or at least can mostly tune out the fact—that
Veronica is the most stunningly beautiful human she’s ever seen in person.
Because yes, she’s gorgeous, but she’s also just… she’s just Ronnie, and she’s
witty and goofy and somehow both incredibly compassionate and hilariously self-
centered sometimes, and she’s Betty’s best friend, and isn’t that enough?
And then other times—times like now, for instance—the sun hits Veronica just
right, done up in her heirloom pearls and her honest-to-god Kate Spade dress
just because it’s Tuesday, or something, and she’s so mind-numbingly
prettyBetty forgets how to talk.
She manages to snap out of it just in time to hear: “Where have you been? I
tried texting you. It’s not like you to ghost me when I’m convalescing.”
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry. My mom took my phone. Trust me, I’ve been going crazy
not talking to you.”
Unexpectedly, Veronica blushes. “You don’t think she’d, like. Read…?”
“What? Oh, no. She locks it in her desk drawer while I watch, it’s all very
Daphne Du Maurier. Why?”
“Right… right.” Veronica mumbles to herself, which isn’t an answer. Of all the
things Betty thinks she might say next, probably the last one is, “Have you
brushed your teeth?”
“I—yes?” Before she can ask why it matters, Veronica’s mouth is on hers, and
her whole world tilts on its axis. Betty tilts with it, swaying unevenly on her
feet as everything that isn’t kissing Veronica, and being kissed by her, falls
away.
It’s not like she’s forgotten how good it felt—if she’s thought about their
cheerleading tryout once, she’s thought of it a thousand times. But that kiss
always seemed so distant, a thing apart from her actual relationship with
Veronica. She’d put it in a box, cordoned it off from everything else.
She’s suddenly getting the impression that maybe Veronica never did.
Adjectives run through her head on double time, trying to process every shift
in pressure, every change in angle, every feeling—gentle thorough heated tender
sensual dreamy soft—and Betty doesn’t think there’s enough diary pages in the
world to describe what it’s like to be the sole recipient of one hundred
percent of Veronica Lodge’s attention, her lips supple and undemanding against
Betty’s own. Like they have all the time in the world, and nothing better to do
than get this right.
When Veronica pulls away, it’s with a satisfyingly audible smack.
“Okay?” Veronica asks, like they’ve just made a promise.
Whatever it is, Betty will keep it. “Okay.”
It isn’t until she gets to her locker and Kevin face journeys at her for about
thirty seconds straight that she realizes that she’s covered in Veronica’s
lipstick. Again.
===============================================================================
(Eventually, her mom gives Betty her phone back. She’s greeted by about two
dozen texts from Veronica about how much Veronica had wanted to kiss her
before, how badly Veronica can’t wait to kiss her again, and all the ways
Veronica is planning on kissing her in the future.
She’s never been more grateful for the lock on her mother’s desk drawer in her
life.)
===============================================================================
To the untrained eye, Veronica barely seems fazed by her brush with death.
She thanks Jughead extravagantly with a catered lunch on the quad, forgives
Archie with a well-phrased backhanded compliment, freezes out Reggie so hard
she could medal in it in the Olympics, stays on top of her schoolwork, and
kisses Betty, and kisses Betty…
To the untrained eye, she’s the same old Veronica.
…But Betty’s is not an untrained eye.
Betty watches with concern as day by day Veronica’s skin gets paler and the
dark circles under her eyes grow. As she jumps at things she never used to,
skittish and unsure. And maybe it’s just Betty’s imagination, but she could
swear Veronica’s cheer practice shirt is looser on her than it used to be.
Only then, Veronica will catch sight of her, and she just… lights up. Every
time. It’s addictive, the way Ronnie looks at her, like there’s no one else on
earth that makes her quite so happy.
So Betty waits, and watches, and kisses Veronica, and kisses Veronica. And if
she never lets her hands wander higher than Veronica’s waist, well… it’s safer
that way, that’s all. She’s taking it slow.
===============================================================================
It comes to a head when Betty realizes, ten minutes before the start of yet
another Friday night football game, that Veronica is nowhere to be found.
Betty beats down her instant panic (Veronica’s—Betty can’t see Veronica—) and
scans the crowd closely. Archie and Cheryl are on the field—no Veronica. Kevin
appears to be forcibly removing the flannel shirt tied around Jughead’s waist
while Jughead tries to squirm away from him without causing a scene—no
Veronica. Hermione is sitting next to Mr. Andrews on the bleachers—definitelyno
Veronica. The Pussycats have a gig two towns over tonight, which only leaves…
Betty walks right off the field, ignoring Tina and Ginger as they call after
her, asking her where the hell she thinks she’s going.
The locker room is empty, now, except for Veronica: sitting on a bench, staring
down at her shaking hands. Holding her breath.
Betty swears she feels her heart break.
She doesn’t say anything. She just slides down next to Veronica so their bodies
are completely flush: hip to hip, thigh to thigh, knee to knee. A solid line of
presence, of warmth. She slips her hand into Veronica’s and entwines their
fingers, and feels her own lips pull up into a smile against her will when
Veronica lays her head on her shoulder without prompting.
It’s a few moments before Veronica breaks the silence, taking a shuddering
breath. “I just,” she says after a second, sounding near tears. “I’m
so tired,Betts.”
On instinct Betty turns, pressing a light kiss to Veronica’s temple. She lets
her mouth linger there, brushing against Veronica’s hairline. “You’re not
sleeping,” she murmurs, intending for it to be a question but failing to make
it come out like one. Veronica shakes her head no, which mostly results in her
burrowing her face deeper into the crook of Betty’s neck. “Oh, Ronnie…”
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“I passed Reggie on my way out to the field and I just… it’s not fair. Every
time I close my eyes, it’s like I’m back there, and they’re holding me down,
and I can’t—I can’t breathe—”
Guilt creeps through her veins like ice, freezing Betty to the spot. She pushes
it down, instead reaching to run the fingers of her free hand through
Veronica’s hair, cooing at her gently. “I know. I know.”
It’s hard, it’s so hard, sitting there and letting Veronica cry, but… it’s not
the hardest thing. Not by a long shot. If she’s crying, she’s breathing. If
she’s crying, she’s here.
“God. How many breakdowns can one locker room take, huh?” Veronica jokes
weakly, sniffling as she pulls herself together.
Betty bites her lip. “Listen. Do you want to just… get out of here?”
Veronica pulls away, gasping in mock-offense. “And leave Cheryl’s pyramid
baseless and Archiekins un-cheered? I’m not a monster.”
“Veronica, I’m serious.”
“So am I. I just… needed a second. But I’m fine, okay?”
Betty lets Veronica pull her up, pretending to be fooled by the brave face
Veronica’s put on. “Okay. But after the game we’re going back to your place,
and we’re going to spend the weekend watching old movies and eating junk food
in your bed. Deal?”
“Doesn’t your mom still have you on probation or whatever?” Veronica asks,
swiping at her cheeks. You’d never know anything was wrong, looking at her now.
“It’s called being grounded, Ronnie.”
“I just—don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Betty leans in, kissing Veronica as sweetly as she knows how. “You are worth a
little sturm und drang from Alice Cooper.”
Veronica laughs. “Well, danke, liebchen.”
===============================================================================
Somehow, they make it through the game and back to the Pembrooke, crawling into
Veronica’s bed and cuddling close. Of course, Veronica then lasts all of seven
minutes into Rear Windowbefore nodding off, her head pillowed on Betty’s chest.
Betty tries to stay interested in Jimmy Stewart’s paranoid sleuthing, but it’s
hard when she’s got Veronica half on top of her, radiating sleepy warmth. Betty
delicately traces her fingertips up and down Veronica’s arm where it’s draped
over her waist, watching, mesmerized, as goose bumps rise in the wake of her
touch. Seeing Veronica’s body react to her automatically is…
The sound of footsteps in the hallway derail her thoughts before they can go
anywhere too dangerous.
“Hey girls, if you’re hungry I thought—”
Betty raises a finger to her lips as Hermione enters the room, jerking her chin
down to show Veronica slumbering in her arms.
Hermione rolls her eyes, then comes over and brushes Veronica’s hair back
behind her ear. To Betty’s surprise, she then does the same to Betty, fingers
feather light on her forehead.
“Are you staying the night?” Hermione asks, voice soft. Like it doesn’t matter
what the answer is, like Betty’s welcome whenever.
“I—if that’s okay?”
Hermione curls a lock of Veronica’s hair around her finger fondly. “Well, I
think I know what this one’s vote is. I’ve got the early shift tomorrow at
Pop’s—have Smithers drive you over and I’ll get you girls some pancakes, okay?”
“O-okay.”
Hermione smiles. Betty’s pretty sure she’s just trying to look non-threatening,
but it’s working. “You’re a good egg, Elizabeth Cooper. Sleep tight.” As she’s
halfway out the door, Hermione waves at Ronnie’s general position. “Don’t let
her barnacle onto you too long or she’ll never let go again.”
(Sounds like heaven to Betty.)
===============================================================================
Betty thinks she must doze off herself, a little bit, but she finds herself
coming around when Veronica shifts against her, waking up with a satisfied
little hum. “I can hear your heartbeat,” Veronica mumbles happily, eyes still
closed.
“Go back to sleep, Ronnie, you’re exhausted.”
“Nah, m’awake now. Did I miss Grace Kelly on the fire escape?”
“I think we both did. I can go back, if you want?”
“No; this is more fun,” Veronica says, and before Betty can ask What
is?Veronica’s hand has slipped up under her shirt. She pauses there, fingers
splayed against Betty’s stomach, and her eyes are wide and earnest when she
adds, “if that’s okay?”
Betty kisses her in response.
It’s childish, but the best word Betty can think of for how she feels is
nice.She loses all sense of herself as Veronica yields under her, soft lips and
a clever tongue, her hand passing soothingly up and down Betty’s flank.
They’ve never done this horizontally before.
It’s intoxicating.
Veronica sits up, propping herself up on her elbow to get a better angle, and
all of a sudden Betty’s on her back with very little idea of how she got there.
There’s nothing in her world except the way Veronica tastes, the slide of their
legs together under the covers, the hand reaching back and pulling Betty’s hair
out of its ponytail. Betty moans at the sensation, the tendrils of a tension
headache she hadn’t even realized had been taking root dispelling immediately
as Veronica runs her fingers through her hair.
The fingers on Veronica’s other hand, however, are lingering anxiously at the
edge of Betty’s bra.
“Can I…?”
“Touch me,” Betty pants, beside herself with the need for it, and Veronica
doesn’t have to be told twice.
Jesus Christ.
Betty swears she can feel Veronica smirkinginto their kiss at the noise she
makes when Veronica palms her chest. She’s barely even done anything yet—she’s
only gently cupping Betty’s left breast, like she’s testing the weight of it,
deciding how she wants to proceed—and Betty’s falling apart.
She doesn’t mean to move her hips. But suddenly, Veronica’s not smirking
anymore. They’re hopelessly tangled in the sheets now as they kiss, caught up
in each other’s frenetic movements, feverish, frenzied. “You are so, so
beautiful,” she hears Veronica murmur, awe in her tone, and it takes a minute
for it to sink in that Veronica’s talking about her.
“I—Ronnie—”
Belatedly, Betty recognizes where her hands are. She had been cradling
Veronica’s chin, holding her cheeks gently, but somehow her grip has migrated.
Her thumbs rub circles at the back of Veronica’s neck, brushing against the
soft, short hair there, and—
And if she were to squeeze—
Betty scrambles so far backwards she nearly falls off the bed, causing Veronica
to whine in protest. “Betty.”
“Sorry! Sorry, I just—”
“Need a second? Yeah, me too,” Veronica laughs, chest heaving. “Guess we got a
little carried away.”
“It’s not that. Or—or it is, but—”
“Betty. Hey.” Veronica leans in close, until their foreheads touch and their
noses bump together. It’s remarkably unsexy, considering. “Calm down. I feel it
too. Whatever it is you’re feeling, me too, okay? Same.”
Betty kind of doubts it, but okay.
===============================================================================
(She stays the night.
They don’t do anything else—or at least, nothing wilder than spooning—and the
next morning, when Betty asks Veronica if she slept well, the relieved surprise
in Ronnie’s voice when she says Yeah, actually,is unmistakable.
There are still dark circles under her eyes.
“Your mom said she’d treat us to pancakes at Pop’s,” Betty whispers, nosing at
the side of Veronica’s neck. “Why don’t I go swing by and grab some for us, and
you can sleep in a little more?”
She expects Veronica to put up a fuss. Instead, she just turns in Betty’s arms
to kiss her in thanks, and snuggles back down into her covers.
“You’re the best person I know, Betty Cooper.”
Empirically speaking, Veronica doesn’t actually know that many good people, but
still. It’s nice to hear.)
===============================================================================
Betty doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.
She’s all set to enter the student lounge, fall on top of whomever is spread
out on the couch, and just stay there until the bell rings, when she hears
Veronica:
“Oh, no way, girl. If Betty’s not talking, then neither am I.”
“But I’m dying here,” Kevin protests. “What is the point of no longer being the
only out kid at this school if I don’t get all of the delicious details about
everything you do? We’re a community.”
Veronica laughs. “Sorry Kev, no can do. Alice Cooper has eyes and ears
everywhere in this town, she’s like the lipstick gestapo. And besides, haven’t
you ever just—had something so important, so special, that… that it felt like
it belonged to only you? Something you didn’t want to share?”
“Oh, Ronnie, look at you—you’re blushing!”
“I absolutely am not.”
Betty leans against the wall until her forehead hits stuccoed brick, feeling
suddenly warm. Before she can find it in her to move, the bell rings, and then
she hears Kevin’s laughter.
“Uh oh. Looks like this smitten kitten heard you,” he teases.
“Shut up, Kevin,” she grumbles, only it’s hard to stay mad when Veronica’s
gently wrestling her textbooks and binders out of her hands, carrying them for
her as they walk to class.
(“Because unlike some people, I’ma gentleman,” Veronica says, glaring at Kevin
in the least intimidating way possible.)
===============================================================================
Just after three AM on a Wednesday night—or is it Thursday morning?—Betty’s
woken by the buzz of her cell.
She swipes sleepily at her lock screen and pushes her phone against her ear,
not even bothering to look at the name displayed. “Hey, Ron.”
The gravel in her voice must be obvious, because Veronica’s response is, “Oh,
shit. Did I wake you?”
Betty clears her throat, trying to get rid of the evidence. “Nuh-uh.” She rolls
over and shifts under her blankets, just tired enough that she lets herself
enjoy the press of her hips against the mattress as she gets comfortable. “Are
you… can’t sleep?”
“Bad dream.” Even through the phone, she can hear Veronica swallow. She tries
not to picture what it looks like when Veronica does that, the tendons in her
neck.
She doesn’t know what to say. “Ronnie…”
“It’s fine. I—I shouldn’t have called you, I can just—”
“Hey. Hey, shhh, stop it. You can always call me, okay? I wantyou to call me.”
It finally feels like her brain is waking up. “If it were me, you’d want me to
call. Right?”
“I—you know I would, Betts.”
“Good, so cut it out.” In a perfect world, Betty would already be dressed and
out the door by now, sneaking out to the Pembrooke to hold Veronica until she
falls asleep. But this is real life, and they both have a test first period
tomorrow morning, and Betty’s wanting, as usual, doesn’t make what she wants
any more feasible. Her eyes cast about her bedroom, trying to find the right
words.
Veronica beats her to it. “So… what are you wearing?”
“Ronnie!” Betty gasps, biting back laughter. “Oh my god, no. We are not doing
that.”
“It would make me feel better,” Veronica insists, and Betty can practically
hear the grin in her voice. But that’s—putting on a brave face, making her
giggle. Classic Veronica avoidance tactics.
“Here, I have an idea. Get up and go open your window, okay?”
“Okay…” Betty waits, listening to the tinny sound of Veronica shuffling around
her bedroom. “Alright, now what?”
“Close your eyes, feel the breeze.”
“Betty…”
“Come on. I know it’s cheesy, but would you just—try?”
“Fine. I’m closing my eyes. Consider this breeze felt.”
Betty counts to five in her head, hoping that Veronica is actually playing
along with this. “Take a deep breath. Feel the wind on your face. Relax.
There’s plenty of air, Veronica. You’re okay.”
Against her ear, Betty hears Veronica inhale—loudly and deeply, through her
nose—and hold it before letting it out again.
She squeezes her thighs together.
“Good. Again.”
(Every breath Veronica takes for the next twenty minutes is at Betty’s behest,
until she finally drifts off. And if Betty’s hand was between her legs for part
of that time, well. They’re dating now. She’s allowed, isn’t she?) 
===============================================================================
Betty doesn’t know how this turned into their thing.
Somehow, one innocent phone call becomes two, becomes twice a week, becomes
almost every night. Betty’s never so presumptuous as to call Veronica herself;
she wants this to be Veronica’s choice, Veronica’s rules. Always.
But more often than not, now, after they’ve exchanged good night texts, before
long her cell is buzzing with an incoming call.
“Tell me I can breathe,” Veronica pleads, and Betty knows she’s looking for
reassurance, but it soundslike she’s asking for permission, and it’s—
God.
Veronica says she can’t sleep without it. Says, in that honest, tell-me-I-
shouldn’t-tell-the-truth-I-dare-you way she has that Betty makes her feel safe,
pulls her out of her own head, reminds her that she’s not alone and that no
one’s going to forget about her and leave her struggling under the water. And
that’s true. Betty’d never.
But it’s so different from how things are when they’re together, and Betty
doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two Veronicas. Because out in
the world, outside of the quiet darkness of their bedrooms, Veronica is as
gregarious and assertive as she’s always been. An oasis from the stress and
struggle of Jason, and Polly, and Jason and Polly.
(The first time she calls Betty her girlfriend, a bit of milkshake goes down
the wrong pipe. It’s such an ironic reversal of their usual—Veronica rubbing
Betty’s back, telling her to take deep breaths—that they can’t stop laughing
long enough to kiss.)
It feels selfish, to ask for more than what they have.
So Betty doesn’t.
===============================================================================
The sun set hours ago, and Betty’s still working on her next article at the
Blue and Gold offices. Even Jughead’s left—dragged away by Archie after
Archie’d finished football practice, because Dad’s cooking tonight, man, it’s
hysterical, you can’t miss this—and now Betty’s on her own, vision swimming a
little as she tries to make sense of all the things in her head.
There’s just too much evidence, and too much hurt, and every time she looks up
at their corkboard and sees The Cooperspinned to it, it feels like everything
is slipping through her fingertips faster than she can process it, let alone do
anything about it.
“Knock, knock,” says a familiar voice, and Betty almost doesn’t believe her
eyes when she sees Veronica leaning against the doorframe, wearing one of her
trademark capes. She’s holding a full paper bag in one hand, a pile of blankets
tucked under her other arm. “Can I come in, or is this a one woman pity party?”
“Ronnie, what are you doing here?” They’d been texting a little, earlier, but
Betty’s been so distracted she’d kind of lost the thread of the conversation
and it had petered out.
“Jughead texted me. He seemed very concerned that you were skipping dinner. So
I thought I’d bring some over.”
“And the blankets?”
“If you’re gonna start practically living here, you might as well be
comfortable, right? And I thought I’d keep you company.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like you don’t have any ulterior motives whatsoever.” Betty
doesn’t know what she’s expecting when she opens the bag—a burger from Pop’s,
maybe, or some kind of fancy takeout Veronica had flown in from New York just
to make a point.
The last thing she’d have bet on is a homemade peanut butter and jelly
sandwich, made on toasted cinnamon raisin bread. Her favorite.
“Ronnie…” she whispers, and—oh, crap, she can feel tearsprickling the corners
of her eyes—but Veronica just presses a kiss to her forehead and wanders over
to a distant corner of the room.
“Go ahead and finish whatever it is you’re working on. You won’t even know I’m
here, I promise,” she says, spreading out her blankets.
It’s true and it’s not. Veronica lets her keep working—doesn’t make a peep—but
Betty’s constantly aware of her presence. The taste of strawberry jam, the
smell of nail polish in the air as Veronica passes the time by giving herself a
manicure gives the Blue and Gold a homey, lived-in feeling it’s never had
before.
It’s another forty-five minutes before Betty exhaustedly pushes her laptop away
and goes to curl up with Ronnie in her little blanket nest.
“Thanks for being patient with me,” she mumbles, not just meaning tonight, as
she rests her head on Veronica’s shoulder. Veronica starts playing with the
fingers of Betty’s right hand, bending the knuckles, watching the delicate play
of bones and muscles under the skin. Betty doesn’t think anyone’s ever paid as
close attention to her before as Veronica does.
Veronica swallows. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.
And it just never felt like the right time, or—or there’s been no privacy, or—”
Betty knowsthe fear is irrational, knows she’s being utterly ridiculous, but
“You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” spills out of her mouth before she
can stop it.
Veronica’s eyes go wide with alarm. “What? No! Oh my god, babe, no. This is,
like, the opposite of that.”
The first thing that comes to mind is marriage proposalbut not even Betty’s
anxiety can make those words fall from her lips. “Okay. What is it?”
Veronica squirms. As always, it’s a shock, seeing her be awkward or
uncomfortable about anything. They’re at school. Veronica should be confident,
unflappable, untouchable. “I just… I don’t want to freak you out. And it’s not
bad! Just… weird, maybe, and kind of embarrassing.”
“Veronica, you can tell me anything.”
“Okay. … okay,” Veronica says, like she’s psyching herself up. “So. We’ve been
together for almost three months now.”
It’s been six weeks and five days since they pulled Veronica out of the water,
six weeks and three days since Veronica kissed her at school, five weeks and
one day since Betty spent the night after the football game, four—
“Betty?”
Veronica’s rounding up, is Betty’s point. Betty finds she doesn’t mind.
“Yeah, Ronnie, I’m listening.”
“And we’ve… talked, a bit, about my sordid hashtag party girl past, back in New
York.”
“We have.”
Veronica drops her hand, shifts so they’re looking each other straight in the
eye. “You know how serious I am about you, right? About—us? Because I know I
make jokes and stuff, but I mean it, Betty. One look at you, and it was
like—thunk.Cupid’s friggin’ arrow. I’m your girl.”
Betty’s pulse starts to race. “Veronica. Whatever it is, just ask me.”
Veronica takes a deep breath.
“There’s—there’s a lot of stuff I’ve never done. Stuff I never would do. But
there are also things… things that… um. Stuff I did with other people, that I
kind of miss.”
Well now Betty’s heart is absolutely pounding.She can feel her face getting
hot. “Stuff like going past second base, you mean?”
Veronica laughs, but it’s a reedy, hollow version of her usual chuckle. “I
mean, yes,god yes, but that’s not what I—I mean. More than that.”
Betty licks her suddenly very dry lips. “Like what?”
“Like our late night phone calls?” Veronica mumbles sheepishly. “They don’t
just calm me down, Betts. They—you telling me what to do, it—it really works
for me.”
“Ronnie.”
“And I know that’s a massive overshare and I know it’s a lot to ask, and I
don’t—I’m trying to not be that person anymore, to be less selfish, and—”
“Ronnie!”
“—believe me, the last thing I want to do is pressure you, or make this all
about me. Because what you want matters to me. You matter to me, so much. So if
you’re not ready, or obviously if you don’t want—”
“Veronica, who said I wouldn’t want it?”
Veronica finally pauses. “I’m not just talking about sex, here, B.”
“Then tell me what you mean.”
She phrases it like an order on purpose—a little experiment. She knows she
doesn’t imagine the shudder that goes through Veronica at her tone.
“It’s called breathplay,” Veronica whispers, so softly Betty can barely hear
her over the roaring in her own ears. “It’s when—”
“I know what breathplay is, Veronica,” Betty says. Her voice sounds far away,
she thinks, like it’s somebody else talking.
The word, finally said aloud, falls heavy between them.
“I don’t want to mess up what we have,” Veronica admits quietly. “But you—do
you have any idea, what you do to me? I’ve been so messed up, ever since that
field trip, and I thought I’d never want—that I wouldn’t be able to—but you’re
just. You’re always there for me. I’ve never had that before, not ever, with a
friend or a partner or a hookup or anyone. And you make me—you make me be not
scared. I know this is sudden, I know I’m dropping a lot on you out of nowhere,
but my mom told me that she’s going out of town next weekend, and I started
thinking about—about all the possibilities, and I wanted…” She laughs again,
helplessly. “Well. You. I wanted you.”
 Betty’s head is spinning. She doesn’t even realize Veronica’s finished her
rant until she hears, in the tiniest voice—
“Say something. Please.”
“You want to…” Betty can’t say it out loud. “With me?”
“I want everything with you, Betty Cooper.” Her smile is tremulous, but real.
“…Well. Everything and then some.”
The need to protest, the feeling that there’s no way the universe would just
hand her everything she’s ever wanted on a silver platter, niggles at the back
of Betty’s brain. She reaches for Veronica, running her thumb over the apple of
her cheek. “What if it makes the nightmares worse? Or if I… if you get
triggered, or…?”
“Reggie and Archie didn’t even know they were holding me down. There was
nothing I could do to make them hear me, because they weren’t paying
attention.” Veronica puts her hand on top of Betty’s where it’s cupping her
face. “You alwayshear me. You always pay attention.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Betty whispers, which is true. She’d wanted to
say I don’t want to hurt you,it had been on the tip of her tongue, but in her
mind’s eye her hands are already at Ronnie’s throat and saying it that way had
felt… less true.
“It’s not about hurting me. It’s about how I know that you never, ever would.
Not really. Not…” Veronica swallows. Her eyes are so, so dark. “Not unless I
wanted you to.”
At that, Betty’s clit throbs.Unable to stop herself, she leans in and steals a
kiss, and then another, enjoying the feeling of Veronica pressing back.
“Next weekend,” she promises against Veronica’s lips. “When your mom’s away.”
Veronica moans.
They don’t talk much more, after that.
===============================================================================
The next week becomes a kind of thrilling game of cat and mouse. This shared
secret between them, the electricity of anticipation, heightens every
interaction. Every moment at school is delicious torture, and every minute
after school is dedicated to the kinds of internet searches Betty will only do
on an incognito window on her phone, out of fear that somehow her mother will
know.
But if they’re going to do this, they’re going to do this right, and that means
doing her homework.
They choose to spend Friday night apart, because Veronica insists that the
waiting makes it better.
On Saturday morning, as Betty’s tying her shoes, she texts Veronica wear
something comfortable. On second thought, she adds, something ACTUALLY
comfortable, not “let me slip into something more comfortable ;)” comfortable.
no negligee and pearls.
You’re no fun, Ronnie texts back. Before Betty can craft a reply, Veronica’s
added a clarification of her own: same to you, tho. I want MY betty, not the
smoldering Temptress Of The Night act you gave chuck clayton.
Despite the fact that she’s wearing jeans and a sweater, Betty feels called
out.
Well, YOUR betty will be there in 15-20.
:) I like the sound of that.
Betty does, too.
===============================================================================
Veronica answers the door in a slightly loose black tee and yoga pants. Good
girl.
It’s hot, kind of, until she says “I’ve given Smithers the day off. So, we’re,
y’know. Um. It’s just us.”
It’s weird.
They’ve made it weird.
Betty toes off her shoes in the front hallway, Veronica disappearing before
Betty can say anything else. She pads after her, finding Veronica up in her
bedroom, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her comforter. She’s so utterly
dwarfed by her massive bed, Betty feels a tug in her chest at the sight of her.
She’s also clearly cleaned her room for the occasion, which Betty finds weirdly
touching.
“I’m nervous,” Veronica admits as Betty closes the door behind her. Even though
they have the house to themselves, it feels better this way. Safer.
Betty chuckles a little as she moves to join Veronica on the bed.
“You’renervous? Tell me about it. I’ve never even done this before.”
Veronica’s face drops comically into panic. “Oh, god, Betts—we don’t have to—I
mean, if you’re still—”
“Hey,” Betty says firmly, reaching out and taking Veronica’s hands in hers.
“Don’t. I want everything with you, Veronica Lodge. Everything and then some.”
Veronica’s eyes absolutely sparkle at that, like—like they’re in a commercial,
or a Christmas movie. That feeling—the helpless, woozy realization of exactly
how good-looking Veronica is—crests over Betty like a wave, just like it did
the day they got together.
Before she even really clocks the fact that she’s leaning in, they’re kissing.
It’s unhurried and slow, explorative.
In the back of her mind, she runs through the informal checklist she’d prepared
after doing so much reading this week. She’s got prior consent now for the main
event, and that’s good, but—“Hey. Any hard limits I need to know about, before
we go any further?”
“Um, what?” Veronica asks, sounding a million miles away as she blinks her eyes
open. The fact that she’s so spacy just after some kissing strokes Betty’s ego
something fierce.
“Things you don’t like. You know. In bed.”
Veronica blushes,which only makes Betty feel prouder. “I don’t… I dunno. No
one’s ever asked me.”
“I’m asking now.”
“Just… warn me first if you’re going to try something? No weird bodily fluids,
not that I think you would be into that anyway. And—oh. I guess… no dirty
talk.”
Well that’s unhelpfully vague. “Like…?” Betty prompts.
“Like don’t…” Veronica looks down, playing with her fingers. “Don’t call me a
slut.”
Betty’s heart aches.She still remembers every single one of those Instagram
comments—she can’t imagine Ronnie’s forgotten them. She reaches out to tilt
Veronica’s chin up, making her look her in the eye. “I’d never,” she promises.
She gets an uneven smile in response. “What about you?”
“What aboutme?”
Veronica rolls her eyes. “What’s on your no list?”
“Oh. Uh, same, I guess. And—no hitting?”
“I can work with that,” Veronica laughs. “Are we done? Can we kiss more now?”
“Laugh all you want, Veronica, but consent is impor—mmph.”
Betty loves the way Veronica kisses. There’s just something about the way she
moves her mouth, a dance she knows the choreography to that she’s kept secret
from everyone else—a give-and-take, delicate and insistent all at once. While
one hand cradles the back of Betty’s neck, the other plays with the end of her
ponytail, threading her fingers through the slight curls at the tip.
It’s easy to get lost in it, which is exactly what Betty had in mind. To make
Veronica feel good, safe and happy and cared for.
The t-shirt Veronica’s wearing is ridiculously soft. Betty finds herself
bunching it in her fists, smoothing it down, running it between her fingers.
Judging by the noises Veronica’s making, she’s enjoying the attention. She
presses closer, and closer still, until—with a little grumble of frustration
from the back of her throat—she crawls into Betty’s lap and settles there, legs
wrapping around Betty’s waist.
Holy shit.
The newfound pressure and heat bearing down on Betty’s pelvis absolutely snaps
whatever thin thread of control she’d been maintaining. Her hands slide up
under the hem of Veronica’s shirt, and she traces her way up Veronica’s spine
with light scratches of her fingernails, making Veronica shiver. All too soon,
her fingers reach the clasp of Veronica’s bra, and she frowns into the kiss.
“Can I—?”
“If you don’t, I will,” Veronica says, which is all the permission Betty needs.
She unhooks the bra deftly, Veronica leaning back just long enough that she can
tug the offending garment through her sleeves and toss it over her shoulder.
Of course, Betty has next to no access to Veronica’s suddenly-freed breasts at
this angle, and that just won’t do. Wanting to rectify that situation
immediately, she twists and eases Veronica onto her back against the pillows,
pausing when she sees Veronica just grinningup at her.
“What?” she asks, a little self-conscious. Maybe she’s being too forward, maybe
her attempt at seduction is kind of pathetic, maybe—
“I’m just happy,” Veronica admits quietly, running a knuckle up and down
Betty’s temple. “I love seeing this side of you.”
Betty’s throat goes dry, her tongue suddenly heavy in her mouth. It’s not an I
love you,not a real one, but it’s the closest they’ve said and she feels
like—she feels—
She feels invincible.
And she feels like Veronica deserves to be rewarded for making her feel that
way.
Bracing herself on one elbow, her free hand is back up under Veronica’s shirt
in a heartbeat, groping at Veronica for the first time. She tries to be gentle
about it—she’s heard the way girls complain about how guys touch their chests,
and she knows what she likes herself—but it’s a challenge, keeping her head in
the game when all she wants to do is get a solid handful and never let go.
Veronica gasps into her mouth when she rolls her thumb over Veronica’s nipple,
and if she likes that, well, that’s nothing.
She slides down Veronica’s body and lowers her mouth to her other breast,
sucking at it through the cotton of her shirt. Veronica’s hips buck up at the
sensation, causing Betty to smirk. Veronica’s hands are at her shoulder blades
now, grasping desperately when Betty darts out her tongue.
“More,” she begs, and Betty obliges.
“Things have been so hard on you lately,” Betty murmurs into Veronica’s
clavicle, kissing her everywhere she can reach. “And you’ve been so brave, and
you’ve been so strong.” Veronica mewls, writhing a little under Betty’s
attentions. “You can let that go, Ronnie. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of
you. You don’t have to be strong, okay? All you’ve got to do… is breathe…”
She lowers her mouth to Veronica’s pulse point and sucks, scraping gently with
her teeth. The skin of Veronica’s neck is so ridiculously satin-soft, Betty
can’t stop herself from biting down.
“Oh, god,” Veronica moans, burying her fingers in Betty’s hair. She pulls at
the back of Betty’s head, trying to get her impossibly closer.
It’s not a question good girls are supposed to ask, but—“Can I leave marks?”
“Please.”
The thought of Veronica showing up to school, pearl necklace only drawing
attention to her hickeys, hickeys Bettygave her, is possibly the sexiest thing
Betty’s ever experienced. Betty slips her knee between Veronica’s thighs,
giving her something to rub against. Veronica doesn’t pass up the opportunity.
(And Betty could use some relief herself, right now, but—this isn’t about her.)
“How do you feel?” she whispers against Veronica’s throat, enjoying the feeling
of Ronnie spread out beneath her, body warm and pliant and giving.
Veronica cants her hips up in response. “Betty…”
Betty kisses under the hollow of her jaw. “Tell me.”
“Good, Betts, so good, I’m so good I promise…”
“What else?” Betty mumbles. She doesn’t mean to tease, but she’s… she needs to
know.
Veronica whines.“I’m—”
“Turned on?”
The breathless, half-hysterical laugh that tears from Veronica’s throat is a
thing of beauty. “Yes!”
“Relaxed?”
“Less and less, by the second,” Veronica hisses, making Betty smile into the
hickey she’s tracing back over.
“Safe?”
At that, the sizzling tension that had been running across Veronica’s nerves
eases, suddenly, as she practically melts into the bed. She brings up a hand to
cup Betty’s cheek, pulling her up to make eye contact.
“Betty,” she says, eyes sparkling, like Betty’s being silly. The dark brown of
her irises threaten to crack Betty’s chest wide open. “I always feel safe when
I’m with you.”
Betty inhales shakily at the rush of emotions coursing through her, she loves
this girl, she lovesthis girl—
Of its own volition, her hand drifts up to Ronnie’s bruise-mottled neck. “Even
now?”
Veronica doesn’t so much as blink. “Even now.”
Betty grinds down hard on the jut of Veronica’s hip bone, making them both
moan, and slides her hand back down to Veronica’s shoulder. Maybe Veronica says
she’s ready, but Betty—Betty’s not. Not yet.
(“I—I don’t think she’s breathing…”)
She presses her lips to Veronica’s sweetly, their eyelashes fluttering together
in butterfly kisses.
“Deep breath for me and hold it, okay? Just you; I’m not gonna touch you. Ten
seconds. I’ll count.”
Veronica nods frantically, lungs hitching even at the suggestion. At her next
shuddering inhale, Betty starts counting aloud, hands busy against Veronica’s
body: one.
She just about makes it to seven before Veronica lets out an indecent little
squeak as Betty runs a thumb over her nipple. The breath she takes to make up
for the lost air is audible.
“Ronnie, focus,” Betty orders, trying to be stern, but it’s hard to pull it off
when she’s so dizzy for Veronica she can barely think.
“S-sorry,” Veronica manages to stutter out, the word half-lost in a breathless
moan, and Betty has to hold back a string of curses at the sound of it. (Betty
has never been this wet before in her life.)
Instead, Betty runs a hand through Veronica’s increasingly sweat-damp hair.
“No, hey, it’s fine. We’ll work up to it. Can you give me five?”
“I—yeah.”
“Prove it,” Betty goads, and the count starts over. Betty cheats a
little—drawing out her words the further in she gets, waiting much longer than
a second between four and five,but the way Veronica clutches at her as she
gulps down air is worth it. “See? Good. That’s my good girl.”
“Can I—I want—”
Name it, Betty thinks. Anything.Betty’d rope her the moon if she asked for it.
“Yeah?”
“Wanna see you.”
Betty sits up on her haunches to give Veronica room to maneuver.
Slowly—reverently—Veronica reaches for the hem of Betty’s sweater and pulls it
up over her head. Betty watches the way Veronica’s eyes rake over her bare
torso, her abs, her cleavage. Her pupils are blown wide with desire when they
flick down to Betty’s still jean-clad legs.
“Not yet,” Betty says. “But we can take yours off, though?”
“Please,” Veronica whispers, already lifting her hips so Betty can slide the
yoga pants down and toss them away. Beneath, she’s wearing ridiculous lacy
panties that, if Betty knows Veronica, probably match the bra Ronnie discarded
earlier. Betty would laugh, except the sight of Veronica’s bare thighs is so
arresting she’d frame it and put it in the MoMA if she could.
“Christ,” she mumbles, running her hands up and down Veronica’s naked legs.
Luxuriating in the feel of them, in the way Veronica spreads wide for her. God,
she can smellhow aroused Veronica is.
Veronica wriggles impatiently beneath her. “Okay, yes, I’m hot, you’re hot, can
we keep going now?”
Betty chuckles, easing herself back down until she’s straddling Veronica’s
stomach. “Settle down, bossy. Or did you forget who’s supposed to be in charge
today?”
Veronica swallows thickly, eyes getting impossibly darker. “Y-you are.”
“Good girl. Let’s try five again. Deep breath.”
They work their way up to eight seconds, ten, fifteen. Betty touches Veronica
everywhere but where she wants it most, thrilling at the way she can bring
Veronica teetering to the edge without going below the belt at all. Whenever
she seems especially close, Betty gets up onto her knees, denying her the
friction she needs. It’s not time—not yet.
Every time Veronica comes up for air, she’s giddier, more incoherent, more
dazed. “Please,” she gasps after making it to seventeen seconds on nothing but
her own self-control. “Please, babe, I need your hands.”
Betty’s feeling magnanimous. “Here?” she asks, cupping Veronica through her
soaked underwear.
To her surprise, though, Veronica grabs her by the wrist and moves her hand up
to Veronica’s neck, instead. “Here.”
Betty almost comes from that alone.
“Are you—”
“I’m sure,” Veronica says with finality.
Suddenly, it’s Betty’s breath that’s shaky. She reaches down and unbuttons her
jeans, shimmying out of them as best as she can. “Okay,” she says,
repositioning herself and then making a V with her hand, letting it rest on
Veronica’s throat. Even that light pressure makes Veronica groan.
(There’s a still-darkening hickey at each of Veronica’s pulse points, under
Betty’s thumb and ring fingers. She hadn’t actually intended to do that, but
can’t exactly bring herself to regret it.)
“When we start, I’m going to press down on your arteries, here and here. It’s
going to cut off the flow of oxygen-rich blood to your brain—”
“Babe, I don’t need the science lesson,” Veronica chuckles, but Betty talks
over her, because this is important.
“—but I’m not going anywhere near your windpipe, okay? You’re going to get
light-headed, and it’ll feel like there’s not enough air, but you’ll be
breathing the whole time. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The look Veronica’s giving her is so vulnerable, so openly fond, Betty almost
forgets the rest of her planned speech.
“Y-you might not feel like you can talk much, so I’m gonna need you to hold
onto my shoulder. Yeah, like—no, press harder. Just like that. Good girl. Now
you hold it there until you can’t anymore, okay? When you drop your hand, I
stop. Red light. Got it?”
“Got it,” Veronica says, with enough gravity that Betty finds herself finally
relaxing, because she’s taking this seriously, too. “I—I can touch you with my
other hand, though, right?” Veronica asks. “Like… fun touching, not safety
touching?”
The idea that Betty could say no, that she could make a rule like that
arbitrarily and Veronica would follow it, that she’s asking,is a head rush. She
smiles warmly. “Anywhere you like. Ready?”
“God, yes.”
“Deep breath for me.”
Here we go.
In hindsight, Betty has no idea why she’s surprised when Veronica immediately
reaches down with her free hand and slides her fingers under the waistband of
Betty’s boyshorts, even as Betty starts squeezing at her neck.
“You’re so wet,” Veronica keens with the last of her air, apparently unable to
help herself.
Betty would say something witty in reply, but her brain’s short-circuited at
the feeling of Veronica’s fingers in her folds, brushing tentatively against
her clit. She’s never—no one’s ever—it’s so much, and Veronica’s hardly even
done anything yet.
And god, she’s so beautiful—mouth falling open as she starts to pant, her
heartbeat a rapid tattoo against Betty’s firm grip. Her hips roll restlessly
against the air, seeking contact as Betty hovers on her knees above her.
Betty’s not touching her, not yet, mesmerized by the way Veronica makes even
this desperate, graceless writhing look somehow immaculate, elegant, planned.
“You can—inside—” Betty says (or, whatever, tries to say, sentences are hard
right now), because even though she’d told Veronica anywhereshe knows Ronnie’d
never without explicit permission. The finger that had been teasing at her
entrance obediently stops teasing, and Betty whimpers as Veronica pumps into
her, curling against her just so.
Needing more leverage, Betty eases back onto her shins to ride Veronica’s hand,
moving slowly so as not to break safety contact. Veronica’s blunt fingernails
are digging into Betty’s shoulder so hard she’s sure they’ll leave marks, but
that’s good—that grip means I’m okay, that grip means green light,and if she’s
being honest Betty doesn’t exactly mind the pain.
Finally in a position where she can use her non-dominant hand without toppling
over, Betty reaches down and strips Veronica of her panties, pushing them down
to her thighs. Veronica lets out a strangled cry as Betty finallytouches her
for the first time with no barriers between them, hips snapping to meet Betty’s
fingers eagerly.
Distracting as having Veronica inside her is, Betty’s universe has been reduced
to what’s under her fingertips. Literally—on the one hand: Veronica, slick and
swollen, thrusting up to meet her. On the other: Veronica, flushed and
yielding, soft and fragile and trusting her, trusting her, trusting her.
Veronica’s straight up hyperventilating now, eyes half-open, glassy and
slightly bloodshot as she and Betty rock together. Betty knows she’s getting
close, and—well, Veronica’s been close for like half an hour now. Betty doesn’t
think either of them can last much longer.
Sure enough, she can feel Veronica’s grip on her shoulder weakening, her
fingertips looser and lighter by the second.
“Almost there,” she promises, feeling pretty breathless herself. “You’re doing
good you’re so good. Can you—more?”
To her surprise, Veronica adds not one finger, but two, and the unexpected
pinch, the fullnessof it, sends Betty over the edge. The way her orgasm crashes
through her makes her lose focus, so absorbed in how fucking good she feels
that she almost misses it when Veronica’s hand slips from her shoulder.
“Oh, shit, Ronnie—” she curses, immediately setting her thumbnail against
Veronica’s clit and pressingwhile simultaneously lifting her other hand up off
Veronica’s neck. Veronica makes an indescribable noise and all but bows off the
bed as her spine arches, eyes rolling back in ecstasy so hard Betty can only
see the whites.
They spasm and shake together, trembling, spent, until Betty’s so sensitive she
has to disengage, practically collapsing at Veronica’s side.
For a minute, it’s all she can do to just stare at Veronica’s ceiling and
breathe, listening as Veronica’s labored, shuddering wheezes even out into
something approaching normal inhales and exhales. When she finds the energy,
she turns her head, smiling when she sees Veronica: eyes closed, jaw lax and
expression utterly blissed out.
“Veronica.”
…okay, less fun and cute if Veronica’s actually passed out. She runs a hand up
Veronica’s arm.
“Veronica. Hey.”
“Mmmmn.”
“Veronicaaa,” Betty singsongs gently, pushing herself up onto her elbow and
reaching to brush Veronica’s hair back. “Come back to me, V. Where even are you
right now?”
Veronica’s lips work the air for a second before she can force a word out,
dreamy and distant, throat raspy from all its gone through today. “…Galaxies…”
Well, it’s… almost a cogent answer. “Seeing stars, sweetheart?” Betty asks with
a chuckle. (And she had known this might happen. The hypoxia that results from
asphyxiation can bring on vivid lucid semi-hallucinations. It’s just science.
Nothing to do with her, really.) A little curious, she adds, “How do you feel?”
“Floaty…” Veronica slurs. Betty reaches over and pulls at Veronica’s shoulder,
smiling when Veronica follows the wordless prompt and rolls over into Betty’s
arms. Betty pets her hair, soothing her as she comes down, Veronica’s hips
still rocking lazily as she rides out the aftershocks with little whimpers and
satisfied sighs.
She can tell Veronica’s less out of it when she does quiet and still, hiding
her face bashfully in the crook of Betty’s neck, huffing out an embarrassed
laugh.
Betty finds herself laughing along. “What?”
“I just had the best fucking orgasm of my life, and you never even finished
taking my clothes off.”
Despite all that they just did, Betty finds herself blushing at Veronica’s
language. “I guess I’m just talented.”
“Try perfect,” Veronica corrects. The look she’s giving Betty—fucked out, half-
lidded and adoring—is almost more than Betty can take. “Thank you. For taking
such good care of me.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” Betty counters, humming happily when Veronica
tilts her head up to kiss the tip of her nose, and then her lips, briefly.
Affection thus doled out, Veronica settles back down, nuzzling into Betty’s
neck again. “Just give me like two minutes to catch my breath and then it’ll be
your turn, I swear.”
“What? I don’t need—I mean, I was right there with you when—” Even now, Betty
cannot make her mouth form the words I came when you did.She swallows. “I’m
good.”
Veronica goes rigid on top of her. “Betty Cooper, don’t you dare,” she says, in
a tone that brooks no argument. “We are not leaving this bed today, and I am
sonot done with you yet. You were so, so good to me. And now I’m gonna be good
to you. Which means I get to touch you,” she starts kissing at Betty’s neck,
“and taste you,” and lower, “as much as I want. And you’ve just got to—to lay
there and take it, so there.” She frowns at Betty’s bra. “This is in my way.”
Betty shifts position to unhook it, Veronica following and impatiently pulling
it off of her before all but burying her face in Betty’s chest. “I th-thought
you needed two more minutes…” Betty stammers as Veronica starts mouthing at one
of her nipples.
Veronica literally scoffs into Betty’s breast—a sensation which,
embarrassingly, sends a zingof sensation down Betty’s spine—and kicks off her
underwear, apparently offended by this challenge to her prowess. For good
measure, she sits up, at long last pulling her shirt up and over her head,
baring herself completely and looking down at Betty with a wicked grin.
Now that there’s nothing but smooth, tan skin to look at, the dark bruises
ringing Veronica’s neck stand out all the more. She’s absolutely glistening
with sweat; Betty has the sudden absurd desire to lap it up off of her. “You
want to wait two minutes?” Veronica asks, pausing to stretch, clearly enjoying
the way Betty’s eyes track her breasts as she does. “That’s fine. We can wait
two minutes.”
“No, I—I mean… I only meant I—” Betty babbles, but God, there’s a reason she’d
planned this so Ronnie kept her shirt on, she can’t think,she—
“That’s what I thought,” Veronica says with a smirk.
It’s the last thing she says for a while, her mouth suddenly otherwise
occupied.
End Notes
     ... and then Veronica goes down on her for like an hour and a half
     amen.
     In case you needed a visual of Veronica's sex t-shirt:
     professorspork.tumblr.com/post/157081268397
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