Tag: riverdale

“It all Gets Buried in the End”

“It all Gets Buried in the End”

Fan Fiction Written Sadie West

Short blurb: Set early in season three, Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews receive coded clues to find their “missing knight” from a sick griffins & gargoyles player. It begins a desperate search for Jughead Jones before time (and his limited air supply) runs out.

I’m okay.

I’m okay.

I’m okay.

Jughead Jones tried to control his breathing as he repeated the mantra over and over in puffing whispers of breath.

I’m okay.

I’m okay.

I’m okay.


“This doesn’t make any sense.” Betty Cooper complained as she paced Archie Andrews’ living room, her blonde ponytail dancing nervously behind her.

Archie didn’t have a good answer for her. The note left in his locker at the end of school had no signature or telling marks. Just a plain piece of notebook paper written on in ballpoint pen.

To uncover your missing knight, you must speak to the troll under the bridge.

“Is this more of that griffins and gargoyles crap?” Archie asked, lifting the page from the sofa where Betty had left it. “What’s a missing knight?”

Betty was on her phone again. “Have you talked to Jughead since school? He’s not answering me.”

Archie checked his phone. No messages. He tried calling his best friend, but the call went to voicemail, so he hung up and sent a text instead. Call Betty. She’s worried about you.

“No, sorry,” he told her. “Nothing for a while.”

“I think we should follow the clue,” Betty said. “Even if it is a griffins and gargoyles task, I feel like we should check it out. The fact that Jughead isn’t answering and the note mentions our missing knight is giving me a very bad feeling.”

“Sure.” Archie shrugged. He had nothing better to do this afternoon since Veronica was busy at work. “Do you know what the clue means?”

“I think so.” Betty grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “There’s an antique store called the Stone Bridge behind the mall. I’m going to start there.”

“Okay. I’ll drive.”

Archie had never been to the Stone Bridge before. He wasn’t much of an antiques guy unless it had to do with cars, and the shop was a cottage-looking place that had seen better days. Inside the door, a bell tinkled, and the scent of old things and dust wafted over him.

“Can I help you dearies?” called a friendly feminine voice from the counter in the back.

Betty marched across the shop with an unspoken tension in her shoulders. “Yes. Do you know the troll? Or where our lost knight is?”

The woman blinked in surprise. “I don’t think I understand,” she said, her voice losing that friendly shopkeeper’s lilt. “But you’re welcome to look through my pewter figurine collection. There are some knights and such in it.”

Betty pushed past Archie to a shelf behind the door. Rows and rows of pewter figures stood together. Fairies, dragons, castle towers, and maybe even a griffin or a gargoyle.

“This is it,” Betty called out triumphantly, plucking a troll figure from the shelf. Turning it over, she found numbers drawn on the base in black marker. “I’ll take this one,” she told the shopkeeper.

Once back in Archie’s car, Betty passed him the figure. “It’s coordinates, I think.”

“Our missing knight?” he guessed, not seeing much to get excited about. Jug was probably doing his father’s bidding and had turned his phone off. Not a reason to panic. “Do you know how to read coordinates?”

“No,” she said, tapping away on her phone, “but I can enter them in my maps app.” After a few seconds, she looked up triumphantly. “Here. They lead to a spot by Sweetwater River. Feel like a drive?”


Jughead kicked with all his strength at the bottom of the box. Whoever had knocked him out and sealed him up had taken his boots, but his heel was tough enough to splinter the wood. One more good kick and coarse soil trickled in.

It was as he’d feared.

Someone had buried him alive.

How long could he survive in a six-foot long coffin?

Think, he chastised himself. But all he succeeded in doing was make his head hurt worse than before. He reached up to investigate the cut on the side of his head. The flesh was torn and tender, and his fingers only caused a deeper pain inside his brain. But the bleeding had stopped. All the blood he could feel on his scalp, collar, and the wood beneath him was dry.

He checked everywhere he could reach for his phone, his fingers scrabbling over untreated wood and bits of dirt.

Had he done this before? Had he already searched for his phone? Already tried to break free? His thoughts were so scattered, they were like shards of glass after a car accident. Nothing seemed to fit or make sense anymore.

How long had he been trapped in here?

Weakly, he pushed upward on the wooden box. Bits of earth rained down into his face.

“Help!” he screamed. “Help me!” The futile effort only stole his breath and caused black dots to bubble up in front of his eyes. “Help,” he gasped, a single tear forming at the corner of his eye.

They’ll find me.

They’ll find me.

I will not die in here…


While Betty searched the clearing in the woods where the coordinates had led them, Archie stayed by the car, bored, though he wouldn’t admit it to her. Griffins and gargoyles had never interested him. He’d much rather play a quick scrimmage or toss a ball back and forth than pretend he was a foreign prince fighting imaginary dragons. But Betty’s full attention was on the wild goose chase set before them.

“Archie!” Betty’s panicked scream brought him upright.

“What is it?” he demanded, reaching her in three long strides.

Unable to answer, she thrust her phone at him. He scanned the message, locking one hand around Betty’s upper arm. He wasn’t satisfied yet they weren’t under attack.

Fair lady, the text began, your brave knight is losing his breath. Uncover him quickly or his grave you’ll find.

“What the hell is this?” Archie grumbled.

“It’s from Jughead’s phone,” Betty panted, “but it’s not him. Archie, you don’t think…”

Suddenly, this stupid game seemed much more important. “You start calling everyone Jughead knows and find him in case this is some kind of a sick joke. I’m going to look around.”

Betty took her phone back with trembling hands, and Archie investigated the clearing, while keeping an ear on her as she called F.P. first. Behind a tree, Archie found a pair of shovels covered in fresh clumps of dirt, and his stomach turned so violently, he thought he might double over and puke up his lunch. But he kept himself under control.

He tossed the first shovel near Betty for when she finished her calls, and he used his to test the ground, looking for a spot recently turned over.


Jughead lay still, too dizzy to move much. Every inhale was a labor, and every puff of breath out made the spots dance. He rapped a knuckle against the side of the wooden box just to be certain he was still trapped because if he let his mind drift, as it was likely to do, he was in Betty Cooper’s living room, lounging on her sofa, her head on his shoulder. If he closed his eyes, he could even hear the silly television show she loved to watch.

He blinked his eyes open, not sure how long he’d been dreaming.

The flashlight at his side flickered and dimmed. Was it a flashlight or his imagination? Or maybe it was his consciousness blinking out. Hard to tell.

“Juggy…” whispered Betty from his dreams. “Oh, my sweet Jughead.”

His eyes drooped closed until he was back in the fantasy—warm, happy, and with the girl he loved.


Archie dug into the earth, swinging another scoop of dirt to the side. Again and again, his breath coming in gasps and sweat blossoming across his skin. He moved as fast as he could—dig, swing, dig, swing.

“You haven’t seen him since this morning?” Betty repeated into her phone, pacing behind him. “Thank you. No. If you hear from him, please let me know right away.” There was a scary silence as she called the next person in her contacts list. “Veronica?” she greeted in a panicked little voice. “Has Jughead been at Pop’s today?”

Archie attacked the hole he stood in, widening it a little, stomping on the shovel blade to force it deeper into the ground. Dig, swing, dig, swing.

“Mom?” Betty was saying now. “Has Jughead come by the house today?”

Archie stomped the shovel into the bottom of his hole and hit something with a thud. “Betty,” he called. “Hurry, I need your help.”

She hung up on her mom and took up the second shovel. Together they uncovered part of a wooden box, but too much was still trapped under the ground to open.

“God damn it,” Archie swore loudly. With Betty’s help, he scraped and dug at the corners, expanding the hole, exposing most of the lid.

“Jughead?” Betty yelled, knocking once on the wood. “Are you in there? Can you hear me?” There was no answering knock. No raised voice. “We’re right here, Jug. Archie and me. We’re going to get you out.”

With the tip of his shovel, Archie finally levered the lid off. With a squeal of bending nails, the lid flipped off and disappeared into the dark around them. For a horrifying moment, he just stared into the box. Under a dusting of earth was a corpse that looked a little like his best friend.

Betty screamed, one long terrible note, and then fell to her knees. The grief-stricken sound jerked Archie back to the present. Grabbing Jughead by the front of his shirt, he hoisted him out of the box and over the side of the hole, ignoring the dead weight or the way Juggy’s arms and legs hung from his body like lifeless ropes.

While Archie climbed from the hole, Betty took Jughead’s wrists and pulled him further out, then she was all over him, checking his pulse and breathing, straightening his filthy clothing, smoothing hair off his face.

“He’s not breathing,” she said calmly. “I learned CPR the summer I was a lifeguard. I’ll do what I can.”

Archie wondered if this was what shock looked like. Betty was appallingly at ease as she tilted Juggy’s head back and pinched his nose closed.

Giving her a minute, Archie called 911 and spouted a brief summary of their problem. Then he pushed the speaker button and set the phone on the ground.

He’d never done CPR before, but he’d heard it wasn’t very effective outside of a hospital. He wouldn’t say that to Betty, but he kept the worst-case scenario spinning in his head. He touched Juggy’s hand first, just to be sure this was real, and then he laid a palm to his friend’s chest. He was warm. That was a good sign, but it didn’t tell Archie how long Jug had been in that hole. Minutes? Or all day?

Betty forced three deep breaths into Jughead’s open mouth, wiping tears from her face as she drew back. Archie leapt forward to help, finding the right spot on Juggy’s chest and compressing his ribcage in a staccato rhythm.

“A little faster,” Betty prompted.

When he glanced up, she was staring into Jughead’s face, her hand stroking through his dark curls. Looking away quickly, Archie increased his pace, focusing on his friend’s chest and trying not to think of the love and grief in Betty’s eyes as she gazed at her boyfriend’s pale, bloodied face.

Archie counted thirty compressions, and then Betty took over again. They continued the pattern over and over, well past the point Archie felt useful. But he wouldn’t stop. For Betty’s sake, if nothing else. Through her tears, she continued breathing for Jughead, and Archie was not going to be the person who told her to stop.

An ambulance finally found them, followed by the sheriff’s vehicle.

“Keep up the CPR,” the first paramedic to rush over advised. “Tell me quickly what happened to him.”

Though it seemed pretty obvious to Archie, what with the open grave and all, he said, “Someone buried him alive and sent us clues to find him. When we pulled him out of the box, he was like this.”

While Archie continued compressions, the paramedic checked Jug’s eyes, pulse, and pulled up his shirt to set up sticky pads on his bare chest. “Do you know if he was given anything or if he took anything?”


“You’ve done a great job,” he said, “but step back now and let us help him.”

The second paramedic arrived with a case of equipment and an ambu bag. They activated the defribulator, Jug’s chest flinched once, and then nothing.

“Andrews, Cooper,” the sheriff called, forcing them further from Jughead and the gaping hole beside him. “I’ve got a question or two for you.”

“We’re just as confused as you are,” Archie assured, scrubbing tears from his face. When had he started crying? They both gave up their phones and the pewter troll to the sheriff. They were still trying to explain things when the paramedics carried Jughead away on a stretcher and shut him inside the ambulance.

“I want to go,” Betty began, lurching forward, but the vehicle was already pulling away.

“I’ll take you,” the sheriff promised. “We can talk more on the way.” He radioed for backup to secure the gravesite and then took Betty back by Archie’s house for the original paper note that had started everything, despite her teary protests. By the time they arrived at the hospital, they couldn’t see Jughead, and no one would even say whether he was alive or dead.

As time passed, more people drifted in to wait with them. F.P.. Veronica. Mrs. Cooper. Finally, a doctor appeared in the waiting room and spoke to F.P., though they could all hear the conversation in the cramped space.

“Your son suffered a concussion,” the doctor explained, “and that coupled with oxygen deprivation left him in a coma-like state for the past few hours, but we’ve been administering the best care possible, and he’s ready for visitors now.”

At those words, Archie’s heart twanged. Ready for visitors. Was that good news or bad? Was this a second chance for Juggy or a chance for them to say good-bye?

F.P. took hold of Betty and then Archie. “You’re coming, too,” he said, pulling them down the hall. “You saved his life.”

Betty wasn’t hesitant in any way. Her bouncing blonde ponytail disappeared into Jughead’s private room, F.P. following a step behind. Archie, though, paused in the doorway, processing before he entered.

Jughead had been dressed in a cotton shift, washed, and stuck full of tubes and wires. He looked pale and rail thin under the white sheet, his hair shockingly dark. Purple bruises seemed very stark under both sunken eyes. An oxygen cannula lay across his face.

Betty kissed and stroked him, tucking in a sheet here, straightening chest leads there, while F.P. hung back around the foot of the bed.

“He’s not awake yet,” F.P. commented, sounding disappointed.

Betty either didn’t catch his emotion or she ignored it. “I’m going to run over to the gift shop and get some cheery balloons or something for when he wakes up,” she announced. “So he’ll have something nice to look at. This room is depressing.” In a whirl of white shirt and yellow hair, Betty was gone.

F.P. sucked in a harsh breath and ducked his head. Horrified, Archie suspected the older man was holding back a sob.

“I need a minute,” F.P. mumbled. “Stay with him until I get back, okay Archie?” Without waiting for confirmation, the man hurried out.

Suddenly, Archie was alone with Jughead. Nothing but the sound of medical machinery between them.

Feeling stupid standing in the doorway, Archie crossed to his best friend’s bed and settled his hip on the edge of the mattress.

“I really wish you’d stop almost getting killed,” Archie remarked as he scrutinized every bruise and scratch on Juggy’s exposed flesh. “It’s wreaking havoc on my nerves, dude.”

Jug’s right hand reached out blindly. Instinctively, Archie clasped it and squeezed. “I’m here, buddy. It’s cool.”

A pair of foggy, bloodshot eyes opened in slow motion, but didn’t focus on anything in particular.

“Jughead?” Archie whispered. “You in there, pal?”

Juggy blinked once and seemed to gain a bit more clarity. “Arch?” he croaked.

“Yeah, man, it’s me.” He started brusquely rubbing his friend’s hand until he realized he should be gentler and settled for just holding his cold fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Am I dreaming?” Juggy asked, a line appearing between his brows.

“This is real,” he promised. “You’re in the hospital, and you’re going to be fine.” He prayed he wasn’t lying.

“I’m not here,” Juggy panted. The machine next to him sped up its series of beeps and boops. “I’m in a box. I’m not here. I’m in—”

Archie sensed a full-blown panic attack coming and impulsively did what he felt would calm his friend. He lay down in the bed, snaked an arm under Jughead’s shoulders, and pulled him tight to his chest.

“Breathe, man,” Archie said, rocking him a little. “Just breathe. You’re not in the box anymore. I got you out of the box. This is the hospital.”

“In the box,” Juggy sobbed against his throat.

“Shhhh,” Archie cooed, holding him gently and letting him cry. Crying was better, in his mind, than panic.

A couple minutes of quiet sobbing and Jughead’s body began to relax and grow heavier in his arms.

“That’s it, Jug,” Archie said. “Sleep. You’re safe.”

“Archie,” he sighed, and then seemed to breathe in Archie’s scent from the crook of his neck, maybe verifying this was real. “In a box…”

“You’re out of the box, man,” Archie swore. “I got you out. I found you.”

He heard a scuffle and looked up to find F.P. and Betty standing in the doorway staring at him, at least two dozen red and blue balloons trailing into the hallway. But Archie didn’t dare move and wake up Jughead. His friend needed to sleep and heal.

“Don’t move,” F.P. whispered.

“Yeah,” Betty agreed quietly. “Don’t disturb him.”

“He was panicking,” Archie whispered back. “I was only trying to calm him down. But,” he twisted to see into Jughead’s peacefully sleeping face, “I’m not getting up until he wakes by himself.”

Betty and F.P. exchanged a glance, but they both nodded. “Yes, of course.”

As Betty and F.P. found plastic chairs to settle into and wait, Archie exhaled deeply and settled in for a long nap.

Thanks for reading!

<3 Anna & Sadie

Like vampires, shifters, and cheap books? Join my monthly newsletter today. <3 Anna



Fan Fiction Written Sadie West

Short blurb: Betty leaves for a long weekend, and Juggy spirals under the weight of his PTSD from episode 2×21. He hasn’t slept in days, causing the shakes, dizzy spells, and hallucinations. If Betty can’t convince him to sleep, he may end up hurting himself or someone else.

Jughead scaled the front steps and knocked on the door, pounding the side of his thigh with his fist in quick, sharp jabs.

Betty opened the door and flew into his arms. The clean scent of her hair and skin surrounded him in a sweet cloud of relief. For a moment, but only a moment, he felt safe again.

His face buried in her neck, he sensed her tossing exclamations and questions at him, but he didn’t register much of it. Her excited words all ran together.

With his eyes closed, he lost his balance for a sec.

“Jug?” Betty grabbed him hard by both arms, and he winced. “You ok?”

“Yeah, of course,” he assured, forcing a smile. “I’m just so happy you’re back. How was your grandma’s lake cabin?”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes trailed across his face and down his body.

Jughead knew she couldn’t see the bruises through his clothes, but did she notice the bags under his eyes? Or the stress lines around his mouth and across his brow?

“Something’s wrong,” she decided.

Jughead shrugged her off. “Nothing’s wrong. Just didn’t sleep very well.” The truth was, he hadn’t slept in two nights. And for days before that, his sleeping had been sketchy, all starts and stops.

Betty seemed to accept the excuse. She relaxed a bit, even smiled. “I missed you.”

“Me, too,” he assured.

“You wanna come in?”

It wasn’t a matter of wanting to. If he went inside, he and Betty would end up snuggled on the couch or the bed, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder. He’d be asleep within minutes.

The nightmares would attack—tiny hands around his throat, a knife under his flesh, fists falling like hailstones.

“How about we take a walk instead?” he countered, glancing up the block. “Get some fresh air?”

She seemed suspicious, but Betty eventually slipped her hand into his, and they ambled across her lawn.

“You know I didn’t want to go to the lake, right?” Betty asked. “I mean, not now. It was a required mother-daughters bonding thing—”

“I know,” Jughead said.

“Not with everything that’s been going on.”

“I know,” he repeated, though he couldn’t wonder if he’d be as screwed up as he was if Betty had been with him the last three days. Her presence alone was a salve to his wounds, both internal and external.

But she hadn’t been here, and shame at what he’d done and become in such a short amount of time kept him from opening up to her now.

They approached the first intersection, quiet and deserted.

Her hand grew clammy. “How’s Mr. Andrews been?” Betty asked. “Have you heard from Archie?”

Rather than share some of his pain, Jughead snapped, “Just peachy. Fred’s been killing himself to find a way, any way, to get his only son out of jail, and my best friend’s in juvenile detention for a crime he didn’t commit.” Jughead snatched his hand from hers and started hitting the side of his thigh, harder, relishing the spike of pain as old and new bruises complained. “So, no, Betty. Fred’s not great. Archie’s not great.”

“Jug,” Betty frowned, scrutinizing him again. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He turned his back so she couldn’t see his face. “Go home, Betty. I’ll pick you up for school in the morning.” He took a right, crossed the street, and hurried out of sight before she tried to follow him.


Jughead left his cellphone behind and spent the night at the lake, whipping rocks across the water and stomping through the trees. Betty would be calling, but how could he explain the dreams? The self-inflicted bruises? The hallucinations?

The good news was he didn’t suffer nightmares so long as he was awake. The bad news—he couldn’t think straight as he walked through his daily life in a fog of exhaustion, his hands shaking like an old man’s. But he didn’t dare sit down out here and fall asleep.

Hours later—exhausted, unshowered, and without patience, Jughead pulled up to the curb and rolled down the passenger window because it was important to do normal things, especially when his life was crumbling around his ears.

“Morning, beautiful.”

Practically glowing, Betty bounced into the seat beside him, gave his cheek a soft kiss, and enveloped him once more in her sweet perfume. “Morning.”

Her normalcy was a huge relief. Jughead swung into the street, feeling that tricky safe feeling again. Something about Betty took away the panic.

Except panic was one of the only things keeping the exhaustion at bay.

Zooming down Main Street, sleepiness stole over him, beginning in his legs and crawling up his torso. His limbs went tingly, then numb. He yawned loudly.

That’s when he realized Betty had been talking to him this entire time, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“What?” he asked, trying to focus on the road, but his eyes were both burning and fuzzy. No matter how many times he blinked and rubbed them, he couldn’t clear his vision. Not completely.

Betty may have said something else, but he didn’t catch it. For just a second, he closed his eyes.

Her scream startled him back to consciousness. He jerked the wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes, sending the car into a one hundred eighty degree spin. Bouncing against the curb, the engine died.

“Oh, my God,” Betty exclaimed, scrambling out of the car like it might go up in flames. Jughead just sat there, his hands at ten and two.

He’d fallen asleep at the wheel. He could have hurt Betty. He could have killed her.

“Jug?” She leaned through the passenger window.

Oh, God, he’d really screwed up. Betty would never forgive him. Her mom would tell the sheriff. People would find out what a basket case he was.

Luckily, the car started right up on the first try and though the alignment was screwed and at least one tire was flat, he drove off, leaving Betty standing in the road.


Jughead went home to the trailer park, not even bothering with fixing his car. He started a fire in the pit in front of his trailer and stood stiffly, trying to focus on the flames and not what a monumental loser he was.

When his phone buzzed, he assumed it was Betty looking for him. It was Sweat Pea. He and a couple of the Serpents wanted to ditch school and come hang out.

Stay in school, Jughead texted back.

Too late.

Jughead considered running for it, but he didn’t think his car would make it, and his bike was parked at the Wyrm. So, he stayed, refusing to sit. He stood until his legs cramped and his eyes felt sprayed in acid.

Someone approached on his right, and he flinched, but when he darted his eyes over, no one was there. His throat began to itch, and he scrubbed angrily at the spot.

Was he still awake?

He patted his pockets for his phone, but it was gone.

When was the last time he’d had his phone? Had his conversation with Sweet Pea been real?

He finally found it on a folding chair at the same moment a car pulled up.

“Jughead?” Sweet Pea called, examining the damage on Jughead’s car as he strolled over. “Everything cool?”

“Yep.” He bobbed his head. “You?”

His serpents spread out around him, holding their hands to the fire.

“You look like crap,” Sweet Pea observed. “Need to crash for a bit? I’ll stand guard.”

No chance. He couldn’t risk the nightmares. “I’m good. I just want to hang out for a while.”

“How about some coffee then?” Sweet Pea offered.

Actually, that sounded great. It might buy him a few more hours of consciousness. “Sure, thanks.”

“I’ll make some. Milk and sugar?” Sweet Pea asked as he opened the trailer door.

“Black,” Jughead called after him.

It got real quiet outside while his friend was banging around the kitchen. No one spoke. The crackling fire was the only sound until Sweet Pea returned with two cups of coffee and handed one to Jughead.

“It’s hot,” Sweet Pea warned.

Jughead didn’t care. He slurped a long swallow of scalding and bitter brew, thankful for the double punch of pain and caffeine.

“Easy, buddy.” Sweat Pea chuckled. “Coffee’s meant to be savored, not taken like a shot.”

Jughead ignored him and scalded his palette with another drink.

“You ready to tell me what happened with the car, yet?” Sweet Pea asked.

“Nope.” He finished the coffee and swilled the remains into the fire. Stepping back from the flames, Jughead stumbled. He was damned dizzy.

A figure approached from the backside of the trailer. Jughead scrubbed his eyes clear as Betty came into focus.

“What are you doing here?” Jughead looked from Betty to Sweet Pea.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I can’t carry you by myself.”

“What?” The world began to melt, starting with the sky and then the horizon, dripping away and revealing matte gray beneath. They’d tricked him. “How could you?” The coffee cup fell from numb fingers. She’d drugged him and gotten his friends involved.

Sweet Pea took a step nearer.

“No, stop,” Jughead pleaded, his tongue swollen and tingling.

“There won’t be any nightmares, Jug,” Betty said. “I promise.”

The world faded away until Betty was the only slice of color left. And then she melted to gray as well.

Jughead stumbled back and fell.

Several pairs of strong hands caught him before he hit the ground.


Jughead came to consciousness like swimming through tar. Slowly, the world returned—a soft bed, a ticking clock, and warm light on his face.

With a groan, he opened his eyes and begrudgingly admitted Betty had been right. There’d been no nightmares.

A noise brought his attention to the doorway where Betty leaned, her phone in her hand.

Oh, God. This was going to hurt. His accident, her betrayal.

She spoke quietly into her cell, “He’s awake.”

What the hell? He sat up and leaned against the bedpost of Betty’s bed, realizing for the first time he wore nothing but his white undershirt and boxer shorts. They’d seen the bruises on his thighs and biceps, the pinch marks across his belly. They wouldn’t understand why, but the self-inflicted pain kept him awake.

But there were enough drugs still in his system to make standing up too difficult to contemplate. So, he just sat there like a lump as Fred Andrews stalked up the stairs and fitted himself between Betty’s dresser and the closet door.

“Mr. Andrews?” Jughead called, aghast. What was Betty up to? Didn’t she realize how humiliating it was being seen like this? Not to mention the guilt Jughead carried over Archie’s sentencing. How could she invite him here?

Before Jughead could say a word, his dad filed in, followed by Sweet Pea, Cheryl, Veronica, Toni, Mary Andrews, and a string of Serpents. They crowded around the periphery of the room.
Jughead panicked, pulling his knees up tight. What was going on?

Mr. Andrews cleared his throat and crossed the room to perch awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Jughead?” he began. “You need to take care of yourself, son. Archie needs you. And I need you to help me find a way to get him out. You need to be strong, do you understand?”

Jughead nodded through a veil of tears.

His dad was next. As Mr. Andrews left the room, F.P. took his place on the bed. “Jug, I know what you went through with Penny. I know how hard it must have been. God, it was hard for me to see you beaten half to death.” He coughed into his fist, and Jughead wrapped his arms around his knees. “It’ll take time to get over it, and no one expects it to happen overnight. But you have to swear to me you’ll take care of yourself in the meantime.”

Jughead couldn’t speak. He nodded jerkily.

Sweet Pea punched his arm. “Hope you don’t hold the coffee thing against me. We need you, man. We all do.”

Cheryl kissed the top of his head. “I care about you, you know that, right?”

“Me, too.” Toni gave the back of his neck a gentle massage.

Mrs. Andrews looked solemnly down at him. “You’re the toughest kid I know,” she declared. “I’ve watched you grow up, and I’ve always thought so.” Her expression softened into a sad smile. “I just want to give that tough little kid a hug and say, I know you’ve been through hell.” She wrapped him in her arms. “But you can’t break now. I need you. Archie needs you.” Rustling his hair, she too left until it was just him and Betty.

“That was cruel,” he hissed. “I don’t need an intervention.”

Ignoring him, she sat on the edge of the bed. “I talked to a counselor who specializes in PTSD. This is her card.” She set a small white rectangle on the bedside table. “She has a standing appointment for you every Wednesday after school. I hope you decide to go.”

He couldn’t answer. Words were all bottled up inside. Things he couldn’t even tell Betty.

“I’m sorry I drugged you,” she said, tears in her eyes, “but you could have killed both of us. You haven’t slept in days, I checked with F.P. Sleep deprivation can, well…”

The cork in his throat popped, and bile gathered at the back of his tongue. “The nightmares won’t stop,” he told her bitterly. “I see Archie in juvenile detention. And instead of Penny’s goons beating me to a pulp, they’re doing it to Archie.” Jughead’s gaze snapped up and lit upon hers. “I was conscious when Penny took my serpent tattoo. I remember all of it. And when she was done, she climbed on my chest and choked me until I blacked out.” Jughead buried his head, too affected by the memories to be seen by anyone, even her. “I thought I was going to die. I really thought…”

“We’re going to figure a way through this, Juggy.” He felt rather than saw her climb into bed beside him. “Because you’re important, and you’re loved, and I need you.”

Jughead felt it again, that illogical sensation of safety. Her presence was keeping the demons at bay. So, though he’d slept for God knew how long, Jughead slithered down under the covers and pulled her sweet-smelling body against his, feeling tired.

“I’m just so freaking scared,” he admitted. “I can’t stop feeling scared.”

Stroking his hair from his forehead, Betty swore, “We’ll find a way. Together. Deal?”

“Together.” He liked the sound of that.

Thanks for reading!

<3 Anna & Sadie

Like vampires, shifters, and cheap books? Join my monthly newsletter today. <3 Anna



Fan Fiction Written Sadie West

Short blurb: Driving home in a snowstorm, Archie loses control of the car, and Jughead ends up seriously concussed. Luckily, there’s a warm and snug cabin to spend the night in. Not so luckily, the conversation gets awkward when Jughead brings up the time Archie tried to kiss him.

The weather had sent the girls home hours earlier, but Archie Andrews was determined to catch a fish before he left the frozen Sweetwater River. His best friend Jughead Jones agreed to stay with him until he had a fish on the hook.

“Sun’s going down,” Archie observed, squinting out of the ice fishing hut into all that white. White river, white ice, white snow, white sky. The only way he could determine dusk was where the glow of the sun moved in the sky behind the clouds.

“You ready to call it quits?” Jughead huddled in a camp chair, everything but his face covered in a blanket. He was always complaining of the cold, but then he never had a decent winter jacket. In the old days, Archie would hand down last year’s nylon or wool coat to Jug, but it had been awhile since Jughead had appreciated the charity. Nowadays, he wouldn’t accept it.

But Juggy had no idea how many nights Archie had lain in bed fantasizing about Jughead wearing his clothes, of smelling his scent, of somehow feeling Archie through the fabrics.

“I guess it’s just not in the cards.” Archie shrugged, and something magical happened with the simple movement. It caught the eye of a passing trout, and Archie felt a jerk on his line.

“Oh, crap,” he exclaimed, gripping the pole with both hands. “I have a bite!” He grinned at Jughead who threw off his blanket and rushed to help Archie reel in the monster. Inch by inch, they pulled the fish up out of the icy water, splashing them both in the process, until it was near enough to the surface that Jug could sweep the net under it.

“He’s a beauty,” Jughead crowed. “Nice catch, Arch.”

Archie flushed with excitement and pride. He knelt beside his friend, drew a

knife, and sawed off the struggling creature’s head. This bad boy was plenty big enough to eat.

They made quick work of wrapping the dead fish in plastic bags, cleaning up their mess, and packing their gear in order to get out of the mountains as fast as possible. There was no cell service this far out due to the storm, but Betty and Veronica would be waiting anxiously for their return. And, to be honest, though Archie relished the time alone with Jughead, he was freezing his toes off out here.

“The car didn’t seem so far away when we parked it,” Jughead remarked, packing out the fish and his blanket.

Archie, carrying the fishing gear and a cooler, agreed. “It’s past the trees and down the dirt road a ways.” With the sun sinking lower and the wind picking up, it was getting damned cold. He started fantasizing about the heater in his dad’s car cranked up to high.

At the car, they tossed their stuff in the backseat, jumped in, and sat shivering while Archie turned the key and waited for the engine’s temperature to rise. The air hissing out of the vents wasn’t close to warm for a good ten minutes, but they finally got rolling down the dirt road toward the two-lane highway that led home to Riverdale.

“You want to have a cookout when we get back?” Archie asked, leaning far into the steering wheel. It had begun to snow again, and he was having trouble seeing the road through the windshield even with the high beams and wipers on.

“And grill up your blue-ribbon trout?” Jughead glanced at him from his spot hovering over the heater vent in the console. “You bet.”

Archie caught his eye and smiled slightly. A friendly smile. An average, every day, best friend kind of smile that didn’t hint of anything more than the love, admiration, and attraction any friend would feel for their platonic bestie.

That look, though, that handful of moments Archie’s eyes were off the road, changed everything. When he glanced ahead of the car, he could see nothing but white. There was no shoulder, no lines, no difference between woods and road.

He jerked the wheel in panic. Was he still on the road? Had he careened into a field? Was he driving on the river?

The back wheels slid hard to the left, Archie attempted to correct it, but lost control and went off the edge with a sickening feeling of weightlessness. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the car hit the ground at an angle and rolled.

Archie wasn’t sure how many times they rolled down the snowy embankment. It was too terrifying to take stock as he was flung one way and then the other, but he knew when they landed because the jolt rocked him hard against the wheel. The vehicle settled right-side-up with a hiss and a crunch of metal.

For a moment, Archie could do nothing more than test if he was really and truly alive. He could feel his feet, could move both arms, and could even see relatively well. He wasn’t bleeding anywhere that he could tell. The worst injury might be the raw skin on his neck from the seatbelt. God, that was lucky. He was so lucky. Things could have turned out much worse. He swiveled in his seat to laugh with relief with Jughead and say something goofy like, “I thought we were gonna die,” but the sight of his best friend froze him to the core.

Jughead slumped against the shattered passenger window while dark red blood painted the cracked glass and covered half Jug’s face. Unconscious, his arms hung limp, his hands slightly curling at his sides, and his legs at uncomfortable-looking angles.

“Oh, no,” Archie breathed, his breath a puff of white in the quiet car. “Jughead?” Afraid to touch him, he settled for laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. It was warm and solid. “Look at me. Jug? Wake up.”

No response.

Archie needed to do something fast to help his friend. He tried his cell phone first, but still no service. He gently patted Jughead’s pockets until he found his phone in his hip pocket, but it was useless too. No service meant no 911 call, no ambulance on its way, no help coming.

They were on their own.

Archie had to think fast. The windshield was smashed, and cold air bellowed in through the jagged opening, making it too cold for them to stay in the car. He climbed slowly out of the vehicle, stiff and sore, but not complaining. All he could think about was getting his best friend to a safe place and warm so they could wait for someone to find them.

He scanned the snowbanks, squinting through the fresh flurries. At the far side of the meadow, he spotted a small cabin. It might not even be in livable shape, but on the other hand, it could be snug and warm. He had to chance it.

Rounding the destroyed car, Archie had to high step it through deep pockets of snow.

“Jug?” He called, easing open the passenger door and catching Juggy as he sagged out of the car.

Jughead moaned.

“I know, buddy.” Archie unbuckled his seat belt and maneuvered his friend over one shoulder. Standing and settling the heavy weight, Archie grabbed his pack out of the backseat and his phone just in case he found service somewhere.

Jughead cried out several times during the difficult slog from wrecked car across the meadow to the cabin in the distance. By the time Archie stumbled into the unlocked door, red-faced and out of breath, Juggy was awake.

“Easy,” Archie said, “we’re here.” He set Jughead on his booted feet, and immediately, the teen’s face paled and his knees buckled. Archie kept him from slipping to the branch-strewn wood floor only by grabbing him by the jacket lapels. “Whoa.”

Carefully, he laid Jughead down, being gentle with his friend’s damaged head, and then explored the small space for anything that could be of use.

The two-room cabin smelled like a pack of wolves had been sleeping in it and there was no food or water, but Archie had a couple granola bars, some jerky, and a canteen of water in his pack. Luckily, there was a crate of web covered firewood near the cold fireplace and a tarp wadded up in the second room.

Archie spread the tarp on the floor and then knelt at Jughead’s side.

“Jug?” he said softly, shaking his shoulder.

If it weren’t for the blood streaking the right half of Jug’s face, the smudge on

his chin, and the snowflakes in his hair, Archie thought his friend would look achingly beautiful. Deep set eyes in a pale-as-cream face made more dramatic by his pitch-black curls.

His eyes dropped to Jug’s full lips as they parted.

“Arch?” Juggy screwed up his face in pain, trying to focus on Archie with one good eye. “What the…”

“I rolled the car,” Archie explained, just watching his friend for a moment. “I’m so sorry, Jug. You hit your head, but I’m going to fix this.”

Jughead seemed to be understanding only half of the words. “My head?” “Yeah, you banged it on the window. Does it hurt much?”

“I can’t see out of my eye,” he complained, reaching clumsily for his face. “Here, sit up.” Archie helped him upright. “Maybe I can clean off some of the blood.”

With an edge of his shirt and water from his canteen, Archie dabbed at Jug’s eye, rubbing most of the drying blood from his socket and cheek. For a moment, Archie stared mesmerized at Jughead’s mouth.

Jughead noticed.

“Archie,” he sighed. There was so much unsaid in that single word. Even concussed, he remembered the one and only time Archie had kissed him.

During a moment of absolute, passionate weakness, Archie had taken Jug by the jacket and planted one on him.

Jughead had been surprised and totally cool about it, but he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in evolving their friendship.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Archie promised, focusing on cleaning up Jug’s face instead of his soft lips. “I’m going to take care of you.” He finished scouring his face, exposing several deep scratches and an open wound above his right ear.

“When the storm passes, I should be able to get a signal on my phone.” Without Archie’s hands supporting him, Juggy slumped against Archie’s shoulder. “Worst case,” Archie said, “the girls will send a search party when we don’t show up tomorrow. Maybe sooner.”

Jug’s weight grew heavier.

“Hey, no,” Archie jostled him. “You have to stay awake. If you pass out, you might never wake up.”

“So tired,” Jug slurred. “Can’t see right.” He started to shiver.

“Okay.” Archie forced him up on his own strength. “You sit here, and I’ll start a fire.”

The wood was dry and, with some kindling scraped off the floor, it was a simple matter to start a fire. Then he pulled out every bit of clothing in the pack—a wool sweater and a knitted scarf.

“Hold up, buddy.” Archie sat down beside a groaning Jughead, wrapped the scarf softly around his neck, and then bunched the pack under his head like a pillow. “Rest here, but no sleeping.”

Jughead hugged himself and pulled his knees up a little against the chill, but the fire had caught and as Archie fed it another log, the room warmed several degrees. He double-checked that all doors were shut and windows closed or covered to hold as much heat inside as possible, and then Archie settled beside his best friend.

“Are you seeing better?” Archie asked, slipping an arm under Jug’s shoulders and drawing him in tight to his chest.

“Archie, you know how you always gave me your hand-me-down clothes?” he murmured.

“I was thinking about that too,” Archie admitted. “What about it?”


“You were embarrassed?” Archie curled one leg over Jug’s, trying to keep him warm with his body heat. “I never knew that. We just knew you needed them. We wanted to help.”

“I don’t need your charity,” he grumbled even as his right hand crawled across Archie’s chest.

“I wish you didn’t think of it like that.”

“You kissed me,” Jug mumbled. “You’re always trying to help me.”

As his friend’s voice trailed off, Archie shook him awake despite the anxiety brewing in his gut. “The kiss?”

Jughead whined a little, but his eyes opened. “I didn’t want you kissing me out of some stupid sense of charity.”

Wow. That had been an incredibly lucid sentence considering Juggy’s head injury.

Archie twisted to see into his face, not yet swelling thanks to the cold weather, but turning red, pink, and purple. “I didn’t kiss you because I felt sorry for you.” Somehow it was easier to say these things when they were alone and Jughead probably wouldn’t remember it anyway. “I kissed you because I’m in love with you.”

He gave Juggy a friendly squeeze. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen between us.”

Jughead sighed. “About that…”

Archie frowned down into his best friend’s face. “What?”

Jughead closed his eyes and his head rolled against Archie’s chest. “Hey,” Archie said, shaking him. “Stay awake. You were saying something?”

“I might’ve changed my mind,” Jughead mumbled, his eyes fluttering tiredly. He parted his lips and fell asleep.

“Hell, no,” Archie complained, forcing Jughead up and into a sitting position. “You can’t say something like that and then pass out. I need more than that.”

Upright, Jughead seemed to wake up a bit. “Archie,” he said, still squinting past his injured right eye, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that kiss.”

“Uh.” Archie pulled Jug’s jacket a little tighter around his shoulders. “Where is this coming from? Why are you saying this now?”

Jughead quirked what may have been a smile. “I don’t want to die without telling you I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Archie froze, his fingers tight on Juggy’s jacket. “What did you just say?” “I want to kiss you again,” he added.

Archie huffed a startled laugh. “Now I know you’re concussed.”

Juggy leaned in close. “I’ve been thinking about you and thinking and thinking and…”

“Okay.” Archie lost the hope he’d felt. Juggy was out of his mind, hardly making sense. “That’s a lot of thinking.”

“Kiss me.” Jughead made a sloppy attempt at a kiss, but Archie caught him against his chest instead.

“I have a little more dignity than that,” Archie said. “Not much, but a little more. If I’m going to kiss you again, I want you to be fully conscious. I’m not into taking advantage of the weak and sick.”

“Not,” Jug mumbled against him.

“Sure, buddy,” Archie chuckled. “Rain check, though.”

“Later,” Jug agreed. “Tomorrow.”

“Yep, tomorrow.”

They spent the rest of the night holding each other against the cold, and

Archie trying and mostly failing to keep Jughead awake and talking. The first time Archie saw one dash of service on his phone, he texted Betty. Before an hour had passed, the scream of sirens was chasing him up the mountain.


There was no kiss “tomorrow.” Jughead needed serious recuperation. He spent nearly a week in the hospital having his head shaved and stitched together. At one point, they were going to drill a hole through his skull to drain blood, but they didn’t need to, in the end.

No one blamed Archie more for what happened to Jughead than Archie did. He’d walked away from the accident with nothing more serious than bruises and scratches. Jughead, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky. Aside from the serious concussion he’d suffered, his right eye was so swollen and abused the doctors weren’t sure he’d be able to see out of it. His right shoulder was dislocated, and he had a hairline fracture in his right hip that was intensely painful. Jughead lay in a daze in a hospital bed looking fragile and pale for days.

Though Archie had visited every day to check on him and talk about the subjects Jug was missing at school, there was something rough between them that Archie could feel in the air. He wasn’t sure if it was their kiss or their conversation about their kiss, but something had changed between them and Archie didn’t like it.

Archie got a text on Friday after school that Jughead was being released. Since his dad and F.P. had already decided quietly that Jughead would be more comfortable recuperating in the Andrews house for at least a few days, Archie rushed home from practice to be there for his dad and his best friend. When he pulled up to his house, F.P.’s truck was parked behind his dad’s and the front door was wide open. Archie took the front steps at a run.

“Dad?” he called.

“In here.”

The den had been transformed into a sick room complete with tub of first aid supplies and prescription bottles. His dad had put Archie’s old twin bed back together and squeezed it in between the TV and the pair of easy chairs. Jughead was already curled on it, his sweatpants and T-shirt too big for him. He wasn’t sleeping, but he had an arm over his eyes as if the lights hurt.

“Thanks again,” F.P. said, thrusting his grease-stained hand at Fred. “I really appreciate this. I owe you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Dad assured. “Jughead’s family.”

F.P. continued spouting thank you’s as he and Fred ambled out into the foyer. Archie, not wanting to annoy Jughead any further, ducked his head to leave.


He turned and made eye contact with Jug who had raised up on one elbow. “You need something? You feeling okay?”

Jug quirked a tired smile. “Always the hero.”

Archie wasn’t sure how to respond. Was Jughead teasing him? “Fine. Whatever.” He tried to leave.

“Arch, wait.”

Sighing in frustration, Archie turned back a second time. “What?” he said with a definite tone.

Jughead stared, his eyes flickering over Archie’s face. “Why is it like this?”

Archie said the first thing that popped into his mind. “You’re not going to remember this, but you asked me to kiss you when we were stranded in the cabin. Ever since, things have been weird.”

“I remember,” Juggy mumbled.

Not sure if he’d heard him correctly, Archie checked over his shoulder to make sure his dad would be busy talking to F.P. on the front stoop for a while and then crept closer to Jug’s bed. “What did you say?”

Juggy slumped flat onto his back. “I remember what I said in the cabin.”

“You do?” Butterflies fluttered up from his stomach, and he sat uncertainly on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, and I’ve been trying to get alone with you ever since,” Jughead admitted, “but there’s always someone around. My dad. A nurse. Whoever.”

Archie’s eyebrows popped skyward. “You’ve been trying to get me alone? That’s insane because it felt like you were trying to get rid of me.”

“I wasn’t.” Jughead gave him a look. “I smashed my head against glass and metal. It’s possible my signals aren’t transmitting correctly.”

Archie grinned, but it slipped away when he saw Jug’s bruises and scars again. “Why get me alone?” He gingerly touched Jughead’s injured eye, not so swollen but sort of greenish and purple, and felt the now familiar kick of guilt.

“God,” he ground out, snatching his hand away and fisting it tight. “If only I’d been paying attention. If only I’d swallowed my pride and left when the girls did. If only I’d protected you better.”

“Hey.” Juggy placed a hand on Archie’s fist. “It’s not your fault. If anything,

you helped save my life keeping me warm and awake all night. The doctors implied I could have died from a brain hemorrhage.”

Archie stared at Juggy’s hand on his, and he started to shake. He’d been in love with his best friend for so long… He didn’t dare hope his friend had any similar feelings. And yet, Juggy had confessed to thinking about him. Could it be true?

“Why did you say those things in the cabin?” Archie blurted out.

Jughead did not remove his hand, but leaned in. “Because ever since you kissed me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And not friendly thoughts. I mean, I’ve been thinking about your chest. About your mouth. About your hands.” He laughed huskily. “Your hands, for God’s sake. I’m obsessed with your hands, how big they are and rough.” As he spoke, he massaged Archie’s hand. “Yet gentle. The knuckles, the nails. Haven’t you caught me staring?”

“No.” Archie chuckled at the absurdity. “Not at all.”

“I think about you touching me with your big, rough hands,” Juggy said softly. “Can you do that for me?”

Archie’s mouth went dry, and he shifted. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” He resettled on the edge of Jug’s bed and took a deep breath. He brushed his knuckles softly across Jug’s left cheek. His friend’s eyes fluttered closed, and his lips parted. Archie rubbed back and forth across Jug’s freshly shaven and bristly hair, but his eyes were on Juggy’s mouth. Slowly, he trailed his hand down the side of his face and finally rubbed the pad of his thumb across his friend’s plump lower lip.

Juggy’s eyes popped open and his hand snaked out, grabbed the back of Archie’s neck, and dragged him down to his lips. The kiss was sweet and soft, a tender press. But with Jughead’s scent and skin all around him, Archie was slowly losing control. He tilted his head, and the kiss became more desperate. A nip of teeth, a nudge, and Archie licked inside Jughead’s mouth.

Surprisingly, Jughead didn’t get spooked and pull away. Rather, he raised both hands and curled them in Archie’s shirt, keeping him locked in place. One of his legs bent and the knee rested intimately against Archie’s ribs.

This may have been Jughead’s first boy kiss. Archie wanted him to enjoy it. God, he wanted him to love it

Archie took his responsibility very seriously. He shifted his weight so he could run his right hand over Juggy’s scalp and then nudge his thumb along Jug’s jaw and under his chin.

Juggy moaned appreciatively, and Archie grew so hard he feared he might come behind his zipper. He’d fantasized about this moment so many times, but never believed it would actually happen. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Then Juggy slid his bare foot around Archie’s thigh and locked it behind his knee, and Archie broke the kiss, panting and completely out of control.

“You okay?” he breathed.

Jughead took his face in both hands and stared at him with fathomless eyes and a kiss-swollen mouth. “Fantastic. You?”

Archie decided to be honest, but he couldn’t keep eye contact while he said it. “Uh, I’m hard. I’m afraid I’m going to come on top of you, and I don’t want to freak you out.”

“Really?” Jug’s eyebrows rose and he tried to see between them. Archie lifted his hips to give him a better look. “God,” Juggy hissed in appreciation.

Embarrassed suddenly, Archie flushed and rose to put space between them, maybe escape altogether, he wasn’t even sure. He just needed room to breathe.

But Jughead grabbed his wrist and yanked him back onto the narrow bed. He didn’t say anything, but he shoved Archie down flat and straddled him.

Archie froze, too excited and hopeful to move a single muscle and jinx it.

His gaze on Archie’s chest, Juggy slowly slid down his body until he was eye level with Archie’s throbbing cock. Jughead popped open the button of his jeans, and Archie hissed in a breath. Inexplicably lucid for a split second, Archie took Jughead’s hand and squeezed.

“You don’t have to do this. We could just kiss. Or talk. Or I could go….”

Jughead extricated his hand and pulled the zipper of Archie’s jeans down, and Archie lost all motivation to stop him. Lost all sense of honor. He stared down the length of his body, not wanting to miss a single second of Jughead between his legs.

Jughead wiggled Archie’s jeans down only enough to free his cock, and it bobbed against his belly, wet with precum. Archie fisted both hands, his toes curling.

And Juggy hadn’t even touched him yet.

When he finally did, it was with the tip of his tongue, and Archie’s hips jerked off the mattress. Chuckling low, Jughead took the crown into his warm, slick mouth and moistened it. Archie cried out quietly, a tiny slip of a whine. Jughead must have taken it as permission to inch-by-inch pull Archie’s length deep into his mouth and stroke.

Archie couldn’t hold himself back any further. The pressure in his balls was at the point of sweet pain. He jerked Jughead up by the collar and cupped his cock as ribbons of warm, white semen landed on his exposed belly.

Sleepy, spent, and happy, Archie just lay there for a second, breathing heavily, his hand loosely curled around himself. Juggy must have gotten up because he returned with a washcloth and wiped Archie’s belly clean. Archie roused himself enough to zip up his jeans, and then he made room on the bed for Juggy to join him as the little spoon.

Jughead slid into bed and settled his bottom in the curve of Archie’s body.

“I’m going to show you so many things,” Archie whispered into his ear. “So many ways to touch and love and taste. I’m going to take such good care of your body…”

He started to drift off to sleep, but he caught Jughead’s reply a moment before he fell asleep.


Thanks for reading!

<3 Anna & Sadie

Like vampires, shifters, and cheap books? Join my monthly newsletter today. <3 Anna

Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Or, I’m Sharing My Favorite Montages With You!

August is all about Bughead. Love Riverdale’s Juggy and Betty, too? Enjoy!

Video created by Felicia

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Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Or, I’m Sharing My Favorite Montages With You!

August is all about Bughead. Love Riverdale’s Juggy and Betty, too? Enjoy!

Video created by marvel nephilim

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Enjoy this Free Red Plague Sneak Peek PDF full of excerpts and extras!

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Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Or, I’m Sharing My Favorite Montages With You!

August is all about Bughead. Love Riverdale’s Juggy and Betty, too? Enjoy!

Video created by mrs.mistoffelees

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Enjoy this Free Red Plague Sneak Peek PDF full of excerpts and extras!

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Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Flirty Clip Friday (Jughead + Betty)

Or, I’m Sharing My Favorite Montages With You!

August is all about Bughead. Love Riverdale’s Juggy and Betty, too? Enjoy!

Video created by victoria x

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Enjoy this Free Red Plague Sneak Peek PDF full of excerpts and extras!

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