TW: Very slight choking and very lightly BDSM tinged semi-smut.
In a land of gods and monsters,
I was an angel.
Looking to get fucked hard…
This is heaven.
What I truly want,
Is innocence lost.
His phone rang and he let the name Betty Cooper flashed across the screen before he answered.
"Hi," Jughead said.
"I'm coming over!" her voice replied cheerfully.
"Okay," he said slowly. "I didn't clean…"
"I don't care, I'm coming over," she replied, her voice lowering slightly, "I… I want to see you." His heartbeat jumped and he felt a swell of blood rush south as he coughed and gave his okay before hanging up.
He looked out the window to check if anyone was paying him an unwelcome visit while he had a very welcome guest. The coast was clear for now anyways. It seems that he was getting more and more frequent visits from various members of the Serpents, checking in on him, asking how he was doing, and generally hanging around. It seemed to be even more common when he and Betty were getting anywhere physical.
It had happened quickly, falling head over heels for her in a flash and then not-so-coincidentally being insatiably attracted to her a moment after. She'd always been Archie's best friend and Archie had always been Jug's best friend but they'd never seemed to spend that much time together in recent years until the whole Jason Blossom extravaganza. Betty had been stuck in her world of Polly and crazy mothers and he had been left with the drive-in and alcoholic fathers, their own devices ruling their worlds until they collided. The feeling of being on the verge of messing it up was his constant; the way their worlds came together wasn't supposed to work. He wasn't exactly coming from a terrifically clean track record of normal, healthy, or functional interpersonal relationships, was he?
Somehow, he felt too distant from his own background and too crummy for hers. In reality, he wasn't really bad enough (or badass enough) to be a Serpent. No drugs and no women and no violent crimes, besides the "attempted arson" he supposed.
Even so, he sure didn't fit into her world of pies and picket fences, milkshakes and movie theaters. He felt dirty and sinful compared to her, like even a look at where he was from would seep into his very being and infect him with addition and abusive behavior. He was worried that the darkness from life on this side of the tracks would eat her up and swallow her whole.
He looked around and hurriedly picked up the random dirty dishes, throwing them into the sink and attempting to straighten up. Looking at his few moments of work, he stood in the middle of the room before running to the bedroom and trying to make the place he slept every night slightly more welcoming. Halfway through fluffing the pillows (and asking himself what the fuck he thought he was doing), he heard a firm knock on the trailer's door.
Betty Cooper stood on the other side of the door, still in her Vixens uniform, her foot tapping. She smirked as his eyes traveled up and down her body, from the white tennis shoes to the little navy shorts and her blonde ponytail. His mouth watered and he felt himself swallowing despite himself. She twisted a couple pieces of hair around her finger before raising her eyebrows at him. Jughead laughed, pulling her hand in and pushing her against the back of the closed door.
The way she looked at him, he knows that look. He knew her well enough to know that she wanted to push him enough to force his move; she wanted to feel pursued. He loved her like this, biting her lip and looking up at him, begging him silently to kiss her. She almost looks scared, like she's worried that he'll disappear if she reaches out to touch him, like he's a figment of her imagination that will disappear to dust. He decided to oblige her inability to make the first move. He wanted to make her feel wanted in ways that he'd never felt.
"You didn't change?" he asked her, putting his hands on either side of her shoulders against the door. There was a sliver of her stomach between the shirt and shorts that was driving him crazy. It drove him even crazier to know that she'd never wear her uniform like that to practice and that she'd arranged her shirt like that exclusively for him. He wondered what it would feel like under the skin of his fingers or taste like under his lips…
"I didn't want to," she said, looking up at him. She cocked her hip and placed her cheek on her shoulder. "You don't like it?"
"You look… corruptible," he smirked. She still had her Vixens socks on, white and a knee high complete with yellow stripes. He leans in further and sees that's enough for her. "In a good way. Like you're turning to the dark side."
"How do you know I don't have a dark side myself?" She questioned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in to kiss her with a grin.
In a moment, he was overtaken by the sensations of her. The taste of her pink lipstick, the sweet scent of her hair, the feeling of her ass underneath the little blue cheer shorts, the sound of her breathy moans against his lips and how she ground her hips harder into him. She bit his bottom lip gently and he growled.
"Go lay on the bed," he said to her, his voice unintentionally as harsh as the feeling of his cock struggling against his jeans. She looked down sheepishly, being teasingly demure and held her hands together behind her as she walked into the bedroom, looking back at him with a small smile as she rounded the corner. He leaned his head against the door for a moment before following her. This woman will be the death of me, he thought.
Somehow the physical sight of her on his bed was better than his twisted fantasies of her corruption. She was reclined on top of his comforter, propped up on her elbows behind her with the sole of one white sneaker on the bed as her knee rocked back and forth, slightly spreading and un-spreading her legs, her eyes looking straight at him as she licked her lips. Even despite his wildest and darkest dream, Betty Cooper in real life was so much better.
He laid down in bed next to her. She turned to look at him, biting her lip. Her blonde ponytail against his dark sheets, the way the curve of her hip grew from her waist and how that curve traveled down her leg, back to those dang socks. He leaned forward and kissed her slowly. She pulled herself towards him, pressing her body into his, grinding herself against him as she wrapped one leg around his hips.
She tugged at the bottom of his shirt and he obliged, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull the shirt off over his head and do the same with hers. His breath hitched for what felt like the eightieth time at the sight of her tits pushed up and together by the bra she wore under her blue and gold practice outfit. She kicked her shoes off and slid the socks down her legs, his gaze following their path down her calf.
He was overcome by the need to taste her. He sucked her neck, aching to taste more, to feel her soft skin under her lips, to mark her neck with bites and kisses, to pull her closer and devour her, to make her know that she's all his. The first and best thing to be all his, only his. He watched from her neck as she slung her fingers into the waistband of her shorts and wiggled them down her legs. The black lace of her underwear came into view and he moaned into her neck, taking her jaw in his hand and pushing her head up, giving him more access to the soft skin of her neck and eliciting a moan from her pouty lips.
The next minute passes in slow motion. Betty was there, on his bed, her ponytail spread along his sheets and her legs slightly open, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes with the beginnings of a hickey he'd given her appearing on her neck. The light from the setting sun came in through the blinds, slightly broken and leaving stripes of light and dark across her body. She moved to her back and took a deep breath before pulling the bra over her head, rendering herself nearly naked as he lay astonished on his side, his hardness pressing painfully against the stiff material of his jeans.
He shook himself out of the stupor and brought one hand to her face and rolled on top of her, spreading her legs fully with his knees and settling himself against her. He kissed her deeply, sliding his tongue into her mouth and wondering if she was feeling all the same things that he was. The pull towards the wetness between her legs was overtaking and it was finally too much to resist. He needed to touch her. He hesitated a moment before sliding his hand down to the front of the black lace, feeling how slick she was.
"Is this okay?" he asked softly, hesitantly. She bit her lip, her big green eyes looking up at him as she smiled shyly. Her shift made the light hit her face perfectly, her eyelashes miles long across her cheekbones, her eyes even more brilliantly green than normal.
"I'm all yours, Juggy," she whispered, smiling widely up at him in a way that was simultaneously sexy and adorable, and his heart swelled with unexpected emotion at the thought of his darkness being matched by the girl in front of him. He kissed her neck and reached his hand under the lace, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do now and feeling very proud and slightly in awe at how wet she was. Was this normal? Did all girls get this wet?
He felt suddenly uneasy and insecure, wishing for his hat and darkness to hide in. "Will you show me?" he asks quietly, rubbing his hand along her folds. She looked down at him from the top of the bed, her face reflecting the nerves he feels. He reminded himself in a flurried moment that she was exploring this just like he was.
"I don't know," she said nervously and hesitantly, her brain and her feeling of desire obviously out of sync, "What if I'm not-"
He was struck suddenly with how similar they were on the inside. These rare glimpses into the Betty Cooper that didn't have it all together, that worried about the darkness inside herself. They were both wracked with insecurity of knowing whether or not they were good enough. Just like him, her confidence failed and her unsureness bubbled to the surface in rare moments like this.
"Show me," he said again, surprised at how sternly his voice came out. He hadn't meant it to, but somewhere in his body he was feeling possessive with his need for her. Her face relaxed, like the words hit a switch in her head and her hand was suddenly traveling south, down her stomach and under the black lace. He saw her fingers moving through the thin veil of the fabric.
He wiggled down between her legs and held his hand over hers lightly, memorizing the way her hand was moving, trying to figure out how much pressure she was using. In every second he felt both incredibly masculine and entirely clueless; there was a moaning, wet Betty Cooper in his bed and being Jughead Jones meant he had no clue what to do with it. The urge to take off the offensive garment that was blocking his view of her in her entirety grew and the feelings that he had to, at this very moment, render her completely exposed was too strong, and he moved the soft lace fabric down her legs and threw them on top of the pile of her clothes.
She ran her fingers across her clit, clutching onto his arm as she did it. Holding his breath, he reached down under her hand to slip a finger inside her. Her back arched and she moaned his name in what felt like a true win, amazed at how tight and wet she was around his finger. (A thought ran through his head about how on earth something else was ever going to fit inside her but he pushed it away quickly.)
He leaned up again to kiss her neck, sucking hard on the skin. He watched her face, the way her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her brow furrows as he sinks his fingers inside her. He matched the rhythm her finger made, pushing in and out of her while she moaned underneath him. An indescribable amount of time later (it could have been a minute or twenty), he felt the need to see her finish.
"What do you need to get there?" he pressed.
"Your hands, Juggy," she moaned, having clearly lost any grip on shyness she'd had in the past half-hour. Had her voice always sounded this sexy? How was he ever going to focus on her talking normally after hearing her moan his name?
"What? Where?"
"My neck," she breathed, blushing slightly despite being entirely naked in front of him. He did as she asked, one hand snaking up to cradle her neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. She blushed even harder and squeezed her eyes shut, moving her hips against their hands. "More... "
Her hands traveled up over his and moved his fingers to the one side while keeping his thumb on the other, spreading the width of his hand on her throat and pressing down slightly. He hesitated.
"I don't want to hurt you, Betty," he said uncertainly, trying to ignore the fact that his entire being seemed to be screaming to press down harder.
"Stop holding back," she breathed against his neck and he could hear the words that she didn't say after, the unspoken satiate my dark side.
He felt her heavy pulse under his hand and the act of sheer submission she showed by touching herself in front of him and asking him to choke her made him feel possessive in a way he'd never experienced. He gripped harder and she let out a breathy moan of his name.
"I hope you're okay with the beast within you're tempting, Betty Cooper," he breathed absentmindedly, focused on maintaining a good pressure on her neck and a solid rhythm with his fingers moving in and out of her. He thought about how the only fingers to ever have been inside her besides his were her own and it lit a renewed fire in him, determined to bring her to the edge and send her over it. Her fingers moved on her clit and he was mesmerized by the entirety of the sight of her, reclined in his bed and playing with herself for him while together they brought her closer and closer to completion.
"I can handle your dark side and raise you a couple dollars, Jughead Jones," she whispered in his ear, biting his earlobe and tugging on his hair. He let out a moan, liking this new, mildly dark side of his girlfriend, wondering what other kinks were hidden underneath the surface of blonde ponytails and cheerleading uniforms.
"I'm beginning to see that," he said darkly, nipping at her neck next to his thumb, giving her soft skin an extra squeeze and feeling her breath hitch under him. The thought of something that rough turning her on sent a shock of adrenaline through his body, urging him to push his fingers into her more quickly.
"Talk to me, Betty," he said desperately, pulling for straws and wildly determined to hear that sweet, innocent voice say dirty, sinful things. "I want to hear your voice."
"I…" she left her sentence unfinished, her eyes squeezing shut as a wave of pleasure rolled over her. He loved that she was losing control on her razor-sharp focus.
"Tell me how it feels, tell me what you like," he said, taking her nipple in his mouth and kissing the underside of her breast. "Help me make it good for you."
The power of words hadn't often been lost on Jughead, seeing as he spent hours and hours carefully crafting them to give the emotion and tone he was looking for. But this, this was something else. The words she spoke were lighter fluid on his slowburn need to have her as his own. He was overcome at the thought of her doing what he said and somehow unsurprised that words could affect them both so greatly.
"That feels so good, Juggie," she said, her back arching as she wiggled against him. He put more pressure on her neck, causing her to moan and wiggle even more. She was moving so much that he had a hard time keeping her still. "Your fingers feel so good inside me. They're so much bigger and rougher than mine, Jughead. Oh - God."
"Good girl," he moaned into his ear without a second thought, feeling like he may never get his self control back with her, drunk off the power of having control over this part of his life. She replied to his moan with a gasp and somehow he knew that his words had pushed her over the edge.
Her breath hitched and his confidence soared as she came on his fingers, her back arching and her face screwing in a unique blend of intense pleasure that almost looked painful. He watched her as she came undone and stopped stroking herself, easing the pressure on her neck to stroke the skin with his thumb and gently removing his fingers from inside her. He laid down next to her and watched in amazement as she slowly came to, blushing like she wasn't lying naked in front of him, shyly rolling onto her side to performatively lower her arm across her chest and cross her legs to hide herself.
"I'm… I'm sorry I asked you to do that," she blushed harder, glowing from her orgasm and tracing patterns on his chest as a conversational distraction, "I know we haven't talked about that preferences before and I don't know how you feel and you probably hated it and we definitely don't ever have to-"
"Betty," he took her distracted wrists in his hands and kissed the half-moon nail marks on her palms, "I love your dark side." She laughed and kissed him on the lips gently.
"Well thank you. Very gallant of you," she giggled, clearly feeling the cheerful afterglow.
"I try, I try."
He wanted to tell her in that moment how deeply he felt for her, holding her in his arms after she got off on his fingers. He wanted to tell her that someday she'll be far away from her controlling parents and that the half-moon scars in her palms would fade. He wanted to tell her that he feels so lucky that she chose him, that for some reason she chose to come down to Sunnyside Trailer Park and let him take off her pale pink sweaters and the pieces of her cheerleading uniform. He wanted to tell her that being with her makes him forget what it feels like to be left behind by family member after family member, that her hugs feel like comfort and make him forget sleeping in the drive-in or the custodial closet or the Andrews' floor.
But instead, he looked at her and the way her eyes looked up at him made his head spin and his brain go blank.
"I love you," she said with a glowing smile.
"I hope that's not just the afterglow of an intensely pleasurable orgasm talking," he whispered back with a shallow laugh, kicking himself for being self-deprecating in this moment.
"Juggie," she said, half playful and half warning. She stroked his chin and placed another soft kiss on his lips.
"I love you, Betty," he whispered back, burying his face in her neck and pulling her into him. She wraps his arms around him and kisses his temples, the realities of his life fading away into a distant memory and her darkness fading back into her subconscious.
A/N: Inspired heavily by Kevin's "BDSM sexuality" comment and a sex scene that I am not so patiently awaiting the completion of.