Chapter Text
Betty gets Jughead’s text first. It’s sweet, thoughtful. He explains that he’ll be away for another few days. He apologizes, promises to make up for their cancelled plans. Says he misses her, that he can’t wait to see her.
She replies that she understands, because of course she does. Tells him to be careful, that she needs him to stay safe. That she’s got everything in Riverdale handled.
She’s the Serpent Queen. More than capable of holding down the fort while the king takes care of threats from outside. Jughead’s been awfully preoccupied with threats lately, hasn’t paid a whole lot of attention to issues closer to home.
No, he’s happy to let his father handle those.
When FP texts Betty it’s terse. A demand.
Get in my bed.
Betty obeys.
She tells herself it’s her duty, that Jughead might wear the crown now, but FP is still wields the power. As serpent queen, she has to follow his commands, to please him, as well as she pleases the King.
Jughead’s easy to please. FP? Not so much. That’s why it’s so very satisfying when Betty manages it.
Maybe, in the beginning, she’d followed FP’s orders because she thought she had too. They’d been simple demands. A request for a fresh beer, a few hours of her time tidying up the trailer. Things Betty would have done anyway, all in the name of being helpful and polite.
At some point, FP had begun asking for more. Taking more.
She’d been elbow deep in a sink full of dishes one night when he’d startled her. Jughead had run out to take care of a problem at the Whyte Wyrm and Betty hadn’t felt like going home. She’d screeched and managed to soak her blouse when FP had said her name, her face had heated at his low chuckle. She’d been about to make a joke about her clumsiness when he’d been right there.
She’d frozen, a question on the tip of her tongue. FP’s head had dipped and he’d inhaled deeply, a rough noise rumbling low in his chest. “I... didn’t hear you drive up.”
FP’s hands had rested heavily on her hips, and he’d shushed her, his body strong and solid. His foot had nudged hers apart and he’d trapped her against the countertop.
When he’d told her to strip out of her wet top, Betty had done it without thinking.
She’s always been a good girl.
FP had murmured in approval, told her to finish the dishes, his voice gravelly. His fingertips had run over her bare skin, leaving trails of goosebumps and tightening her nipples. She hadn’t been able to process what was happening, the sensations too distracting, ticklish and arousing in equal measure. It had seemed impossible that he’d only possessed two hands because they’d been everywhere, tracing her spine and stroking her ribs. He’d toyed with her navel and discovered the slopes of her collarbones.
Betty hadn’t known how to react to being touched like that, as if each inch of her skin was fascinating and deserving of attention.
She hadn’t even noticed when FP’s knee had bent, that he’d rucked her skirt up, that her pussy was pressed tight to his muscled thigh. When he’d pressed her hips down and ground against her then she’d noticed.
Hard to ignore how wet she’d been.
Betty had come, the first time that night, humping FP’s leg, his fingertips tugging at her nipples through her lacy white bra.
She’d been dazed and panting in the aftermath, leaning heavily on the counter. FP had pressed his advantage, scooped her up, and laid her out on the kitchen table.
He’d shoved her legs wide, over the edges. Had tugged the cups of her bra down and flipped her skirt up over her stomach. Her panties had been torn away and Betty had been momentarily mortified as FP had paused, stood tall and studied her.
His eyes had gleamed, his expression hungry as his eyes had raked over her disheveled form.
Her hands had jerked as if to cover herself but FP had made a noise that stilled her, right before his hand smacked down between her splayed legs, leaving her pussy stinging and tingling. It had hurt a little but a good hurt, leaving her so sensitive. The heat of the slap had cooled, leaving her slick and exposed and any trace of embarrassment gone as she’d bitten her lip and squirmed.
She’d wanted him to do it again. Harder, and faster until she was sore and dripping onto the table.
FP had grinned, triumphant.
Kingly.
Somehow, he’d known what she hadn’t been able voice.
He’d pulled up a chair and gripped her thighs, tight enough that she’d had bruises the next day. He’d bent his head and licked, a broad swipe that ended in a delicate little flick to the tip or her clit. Betty had arched up, her pussy clenching, the tiniest hint of an ache beginning to build. FP had made another noise, this time faintly mocking. He’d licked over her entrance, his tongue just pressing inside and she’d groaned, her body rocking, trying to take more. “Look at this greedy little cunt,” he’d murmured, and Betty had gasped at the crude words.
But she hadn’t protested. She’d stared at FP, her eyes wide and her lips parted, and she’d reached down to hold her skirt out of his way.
“We’re going to have fun, Betty Cooper.”
She hadn’t been sure if the words had been a promise or a threat.
She still isn’t.
She’d lost track of the number of times she’d come on that table. FP’s mouth had been magic, and he’d sucked and licked at her clit, teasing her until her thighs had shook and her back had been arched sharply off the table. The first time she’d come had been quick and hard and surprising, her breath leaving her in a gasp. FP had been merciless, sucking her clit into his mouth, harsh pulls that made the waves of pleasure rush hotter and faster until one orgasm rolled into another.
She’d rocked as much as she’d been able to under his firm grip, wetness leaking from her, between the cheeks of her ass (which she’d been thankful for later once his fingers had begun to stroke a place Betty had never thought would welcome such a touch). She’d come again and again, her throat raw from crying out.
He’d left her empty until she’d begged, her head thrashing and sweat slicking her skin. “Please,” she’d rasped. “I need you in me.”
FP had only smirked, a little mean. He’d pushed his chair back from the table, opened his jeans and shoved down his boxer briefs. He’d licked his lips, already wet with her, waited until she’d risen shakily, into a sitting position. “Do you think you’ve earned this, little girl?”
His hand had reached between her thighs, cupping her and smearing her cum across his palm. He’d fisted his cock, head tipping back in bliss as he’d stroked himself from root to tip, her slickness easing the way. Betty had watched the motion raptly, had barely heard his question. “I want it,” she’d said.
And oh, had she ever. She’d known that FP’s cock, long and thick, would stretch her just right, that she’d feel him the next day.
That he wouldn’t worry about hurting her, that he’d go as fast and deep and rough as she needed.
“Show me.”
Betty had blinked, confused. Had repeated his words slowly, “Show you?”
“Put your fingers on your pretty pink cunt, show me where you want me.”
She’d flushed hot with humiliation at the idea, though her breathing had quickened. Betty had dropped her eyes, her hand shaking as it had brushed her inner thigh. “Eyes on me,” FP had snapped.
Her eyes had widened, flitting up automatically at the harsh tone. He’d smiled at her, like he’d been pleased. “Such a good girl,” he’d crooned, voice gravelly. “I want a show, Betty. Make it a good one.”
The humiliation had twisted into something else, a craving sitting low and heavy in her belly. She’d spread her thighs more, until the stretch began to hurt. She used two fingers to spread herself open, her fingers growing slick.
“Do you want my cock inside you, little girl?”
Betty had nodded, frantic with how much she’d needed it.
FP had surged to his feet, his hands yanking her off the table and flipping her over. He’d tangled his hand in her ponytail and tugged. Betty had moaned and pushed up on her toes, mindless with the need to be filled. His cock had slid between her thighs, rubbed against her folds. “Please,” she’d whined, wriggling in his hold. “Oh please, I need...”
She’d yelped when he’d slapped the side of her thigh. “If you want to get fucked, you’re going to call me Daddy.”
Betty had been too turned on, too close to the edge, to even think about questioning him. “Daddy please,” she’d babbled, “Daddy, I need...”
She’d screamed when he’d shoved his cock inside of her, it had been too much too fast but still so good. Her nails had scraped at the scuffed table top as FP had set a punishing pace, her thighs slamming into the edge.
“So hot,” he’d gritted out. “Hot and tight and wet, all for me.”
She’d come with a yell, fluid rushing out of her, trickling down her legs. FP had laughed, delighted and breathless, his pace slowing as Betty’s body grew limp.
She’d been dazed with pleasure but far from sated. FP had reached under her, pinched her clit and she’d whimpered, licked her dry lips. Betty had gotten her elbows under her, had rocked back into FP’s next thrust, head thunking to the table as the friction made her thighs shake.
FP had yanked at her hair, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. He’d picked up the pace again, come with a shudder when another climax tore through Betty, his breathless words pressed into her skin, “So much fun.”
That had been three months ago. Since then FP’s asked her for so much more.
She always complies. She’s stopped telling herself that it’s only because she knows her place. That, as Serpent Queen she has certain duties, to the King and the man who’d made the King.
Betty does what FP asks because she likes it.
She likes having a secret, likes that no one, not even the people who know her best, would ever suspect what perfect Betty Cooper’s been getting up into. That the serpents who still sneer at her, that think she’s weak and too pure, who are convinced that she’ll go running back to the Northside shrieking bloody murder, all underestimate her.
She’s got a secret, one she shares with only one other person.
And Daddy will never tell.
She’s supposed to be naked when she’s in his bed but Betty’s come to like misbehaving too. She takes off her jeans, leaves them in the living room. Ditches her cardigan. She unclips her bra, pulls it through the sleeve of her t-shirt.
Then she lets herself into FP’s room, crawls into his bed in her t-shirt and panties, curls up with a pillow that smells like him. She’s brought her phone with her, replies to his text.
Will you be home soon?
Maybe.
I’m in your bed.
Good girl.
Can I touch myself, Daddy?
No.
Pretty please?
No.
Betty huffs out an impatient sigh. Considers her options. She brings her knees up to her chest, grasps the pillow in both hands, tells herself to avoid the temptation. She’s already breaking a rule, if she pushes it, FP might not let her come at all.
And that would be awful.
Betty takes a long breath, counts to ten. Exhales just as carefully. Then again. She loses track of time as the room grows dark, must drift to sleep.
She wakes when a body joins her in the bed, one that’s now familiar. FP always smells like leather, a little bit of smoke, and Betty smiles when his hand tugs at the waistband of her cotton panties.
“Someone’s being a bad girl,” FP says. His tone is carefully neutral and Betty’s heart races in anticipation. He rolls away for a second and Betty hears the bedside drawer open. He’s back before she can sneak a peak at whatever toy he’s pulled out. “I should probably spank you but I think you like that a little too much.”
She really does. Likes it even better when he uses something other than his hand.
“So let’s try something else.”
FP pushes on Betty’s shoulder and she rolls willingly on to her stomach. “On your knees.” She draws them up under her but FP’s hands on her back keeps her chest pressed to the mattress, her face buried in the pillow. He yanks her underwear to the side, presses his thumb to her entrance, slicking it in the arousal seeping from her, before drawing it up, pressing lightly against her the rim of her ass. Betty’s stomach tightens and she holds in a gasp.
He teases the hole, thumb moving in featherlight circles and Betty can’t help the way her cheeks clench. It’s not fear, exactly, because she’s no stranger to this. FP had started small, a lubed finger and then two that first night. It had been strange but something about the feeling of being worked open, of her muscles giving for FP as he’d praised her, had worked for Betty and she’d whimpered and asked for more. Since then she’s worn plugs while he’s fucked her, has found that she loves nothing more than being so full she feels like she can’t take any more.
FP likes to prove that she can take more and well, Betty likes a challenge.
She shivers when she feels the lube trickle over her sensitized skin and FP’s laugh is rich and indulgent as he rubs it into her. He’s generous with it, like always, working her gently. It takes her a minute to realize he’s using the warming kind, the heat building and tingling, the sensations prickling her skin as he feeds it deeper and deeper inside. Betty pants into the pillow and tries not to squirm.
“Look at you, getting all wet while I play with your ass. My slutty serpent queen.”
He skin’s getting hot, she knows she must be flushing pink. Her nipples are growing tight and achy, pressed into the cotton sheets. FP knows what words like that do to her, uses it to his advantage.
“Did you touch yourself, Betty?”
“No, Daddy.” She’s grateful now that she hadn’t given into the temptation.
“If you’d have been a good girl, and followed the rules, I’d have let you rub your sweet little cunt while I stretch you out.”
“M’sorry, Daddy,” Betty mumbles.
FP continues, like he hadn’t heard her. “I might have even taken a taste. Sucked on your clit until you screamed for me. But no, you decided to be a brat. If you wanted a spanking you could have just asked.”
Betty can’t imagine doing that. Her tongue gets loose and filthy requests spill from her once she’s come a few times, or when she’s desperate to. Approaching FP, asking him to spank her? She’d never get the words out.
“Good girls ask nicely for what they want, and they’re usually rewarded.”
“I try to be a good girl.”
That might be a little bit of a lie.
He hums, like he’s reading her mind. “Do you now? If you’re too shy to use your words there are other ways to ask.”
Betty twists, tries to look at him, intrigued. “Like what?”
“You could have just bent over the arm of the couch, flipped up one of your cute little skirts. Your daddy’s a smart man, Betts. I would have gotten the hint. Would have loved to watch your pretty skin turn pink from my hand and have you dripping down your thighs.”
He’s progressed to fucking her now, his fingers thrusting in and out of her ass. It burns a little, in the best way and Betty’s making soft grunts, has her hands fisted in the sheets because her clit’s throbbing and she wants nothing more than to reach down and play with it.
“I could have fingered your needy little cunt until you came for me. Maybe stuffed a toy in there, to keep you nice and slick while I enjoyed your pretty mouth.”
The coil of need in her belly is tight and hot but there’s no relief in sight. She can’t come like this, not without something inside if her, some pressure on her clit. Betty moans, nearly a wail, her words coming out scratchy and strained, “I’ll suck you now, Daddy. I’ll be so good.”
FP makes a shushing noise, sounding almost sympathetic. Then there’s something cold prodding at her rim, stretching her more than his fingers had. Betty takes a deep breath, her eyes watering as the plug settles into place. It’s hard, metal or glass, and it must be new. She clenches down around it experimentally, sighs because her body can’t seem to tell if it welcomes the invasion or not.
“Sorry, baby. That’s a treat for good girls.”
The angles not great but she can see his arm moving, the motion familiar, can hear the familiar sounds of him stroking his own cock. Her toes curl as his breathing grows heavy and she whines when he comes, the evidence spraying the back of her thighs.
“Get back under the covers,” FP says, his tone firm.
Betty knows better than to argue. She moves gingerly, getting used to the weight and size of the plug. She tries to lie still, even as the wetness on her thighs taunts her, urges her to squeeze them together in hopes of gaining a bit of relief.
She can hear FP in the bathroom, the water running as he washes his hands and cleans up. She tries the deep breathing again though she has no hopes it will lull her to sleep.
FP crawls in beside her, fits himself along her back. He’s naked, his skin hot as he envelops her. Betty’s tense, her muscles pulled taut with want, her nerves frayed. The lightest brush of FP’s lips on her neck has her shuddering. One of his hands slides under her shirt, his palm cupping her breast. He toys with her nipple until it’s straining, moves on to the other flicking his nail idly over the tip.
She tries to stay still, compliant. Let’s him play in hopes he’ll be generous. She’d hopeful, when he peels her panties away. When he strokes her thigh, lifts it back over her hip she nearly sobs in relief, “Daddy, please.”
He makes no move to enter her, his cock stirring against the small of her back. “It’s not going to be that easy, Betty.”
She doesn’t process his words at first, not until she hears the dull buzz from under the covers. A small vibrator presses against her, just under her clit. Betty writhes, rocking into the toy and FP draws it along the seam of her, until it presses against the base of the plug. He repeats the motion, leisurely, again and again. He pays no mind to her motions, the urgent jerks she can’t seem to stop. She feels a climax building, sharp and jagged, pleasure crawling through her. She’s almost there, moaning brokenly, when FP turns off the toy. She doesn’t have the breath to protest, not when he’s now twisting the plug inside if her, easing it out and pressing the head of his now hard cock there instead.
He stills and Betty does too, desperate high pitched noises spilling from her lips. “Be a good girl and take my cock, Betty. If you want to come you have to work for it.”
Betty shifts experimentally, reaches back to open herself up so it’s easier to take him deeper. “That’s it,” FP mutters, strained. Betty want more of that, more praise and more of FP’s iron control fraying. For her, because of her.
She goes slow, taking him in increments, rocking back and forth. It starts to feel good, the deeper he goes and she feels herself loosen and relax, her eyes growing heavy as her mind grows hazy. FP’s hands still her when he’s flush against her. One of his arms slides underneath Betty, banding across her chest. He rolls onto his back and Betty moans when he sinks in even deeper, her ass clenching down.
“Fuck,” FP hisses out. “Do that again.”
Betty, of course, obeys.
She pouts a little when he demands she stop, lifts her arms obediently when he makes to strip off her shirt. He shifts a little behind her, settles down after a moment, fills both his hands with her breasts. “Now,” FP says, “I have a challenge for you.”
Betty’s lead lolls back as his hips roll, shifting him inside her. “A challenge? Now?”
He ignores her incredulousness. “I want you to lay here, with my cock buried in your tight little ass. There will be no coming. For say.., half an hour.”
“Half an hour?” Betty exclaims, high pitched and alarmed.
“Oh, you’d prefer an hour?” FP drawls, decidedly smug. “That’s perfectly fine with me. A queen should get what she wishes, shouldn’t she?”
Betty clenches her teeth together so hard her jaw aches. He’s taunting her but she knows how to pick her battles.
“If you can manage that,” his tone clearly says that he doesn’t think she can, “I’ll make you come any way you want.”
Visions of sitting on FP’s face, his stubble scraping her thighs as she rides his tongue, dance in Betty’s head. His mouth is so very talented.
“And if I can’t?” Betty asks, wary but curious.
“I come how I want. Are you up for the challenge?”
Betty squirms against him, tries to get more comfortable. She’s always up for a challenge. Thrives on them, in fact.
“That’s a good girl,” FP says, but there’s an edge there that has Betty’s confidence waning. His hand skims down her stomach, fingers finding her clit. Betty moans, her legs falling open, splayed wantonly on either side of FP’s body as he begins to play with her, her thighs already quivering as he rubs and rolls where she’s most sensitive.
“Not. Fair. Daddy,” she gasps brokenly.
A warm, satisfied laugh is FP’s only response.
She should have know he wouldn’t play nice.