You.

Jughead is certain the beast within him comes out hearing that one word.

All he can think about is having her.

His hands waste no time, curving down over her butt to grip her upper thighs. He stands up slowly, sweeping her up from the couch with him.

He can hear Betty's shocked, but not displeased, yelp as he lifts her upright. It has his cock twitching. He lets out a low growl, his mouth descending to nibble at her earlobe.

Betty whimpers, her legs closing around him.

She brushes herself against his erection, and he loses any remaining train of thought. His feet lift on their own, marching in the direction of his bedroom.

Betty's arms encircle his neck, holding on tightly as he carries her into the darkened room.

He deposits her on his bed, hands fumbling on the night table for the lamp switch.

The second the room is illuminated in pale amber light, he settles on top of her. He reaches for the loose strands of hair behind her ear, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb as he begins to kiss her long and hard.

A hand worms its way up his back, pressing softly but insistently into his shoulder blades.

"Jughead," she mumbles against his lips, trying to slow his needy kisses. "Jughead."

"Hmm?" he asks, his mouth moving down to nip kisses into her jawline. He gets a little thrill at the way it makes her shiver.

"My boots," she manages to pant. "They're on the bed."

Jughead burrows his face into her shoulder and groans. But his frustration quickly morphs into an affectionate chuckle. Leave it to Betty to interrupt just as things were heating up because she's concerned about leaving tracks on his stupid comforter.

He clambers off her, quickly kicking off his own shoes, before capturing her left heel in his hands. He unzips her boot, letting it clatter to the floor.

"You worried about making my bed dirty, Cooper?" he taunts her, his index finger drawing a squiggle over her thin white sock.

She blushes the most gorgeous shade of red.

"It's unhygienic," she sputters.

Jughead laughs, repeating the same tantalizing motion on her other foot. A tremor runs through her legs.

He smirks, making his way back onto the bed. He hovers over her, bracing on his elbows.

"But swapping spit is okay, right?" he teases.

Betty wriggles beneath him. "I didn't say—"

Jughead leans down to kiss her again before she can finish the thought. This time, she doesn't stop him. Her lips part eagerly and his tongue sweeps inside, curling against hers.

Her hands wind around his waist as he begins to fiddle with the hem of her sweater. He pushes the knit fabric up bit by bit, his fingers burning against the smooth, cool skin of her stomach.

He tickles over her ribs, thumbs tracing the underwire of her bra.

Betty eases herself out of the kiss, slowly lifting her arms up for him. Jughead stares at her, entranced. Her green eyes are expectant, shining directly into his.

He swallows down the nervous gulp that rises in his throat. With shaky fingers, he pries off her sweater.

She's so beautiful, he thinks. And she wants me, too.

His eyes travel from her rosy cheeks to the dewy flush dipping between her breasts. Covered in nothing but a nude lace bra.

As much as he wants to admire how breathtaking she looks like this, he also just wants her bra gone.

His fingers grope for her back, kissing her softly as he unhooks the slip of fabric. He slides the straps down from her arms, tossing the garment aside.

The kiss deepens as he lets his hands roam over her skin. He finds her breasts, kneading them gently, groaning when her nipples pebble between his fingertips.

Betty mewls into his mouth, her hands tugging impatiently at his sweater. He draws back, throwing it off.

It's then he catches his first glimpse of her bare breasts. They're close to perfection. Round and supple, with dusty pink peaks.

"Fuck," he mutters, his throat going dry.

Betty blushes again and all the blood in his body rushes south.

He feels a desperate need to worship her. To put his lips on every inch of her skin.

Jughead lowers his head, pressing kisses into her collarbone and over her breasts. He takes one of her nipples between his teeth, suckling it.

Betty melts against him, arching her back into his mouth.

Jughead swirls his tongue around the bud, addicted to the little moans it draws out of Betty's lips.

He lavishes her second nipple with the same attention, before allowing his mouth to continue its descent.

His tongue trails over her stomach, Betty trembling beneath him.

Kissing a semi-circle around her navel, his fingers locate the button of her high-waist skinny jeans, popping it open.

Jughead unzips her pants, pulling them carefully down her hips. They're so tight, her panties cling to the fabric, peeling off along with her jeans.

His fingers graze her legs, slowly undressing her. He rises to his feet to drag the pants past her ankles, discarding the clothes in a pile on the floor.

For a moment, Jughead stands frozen above the bed, drinking her nakedness in.

Goddess doesn't even begin to do her justice.

His hands move automatically to his belt, unfastening it and pulling it loose. His pants are so tight by now, he has to get them off or he might actually combust.

Free of his jeans, he kneels back on the bed. He kisses the insides of Betty's knees, nudging his head between her thighs.

He looks up at her for affirmation.

Betty's eyes grow big. They're filled with surprise, anticipation. But there's no refusal in them.

"Oh," she squeaks, "you don't have to—"

The words die on her lips as he unfurls his tongue and gently laps at her. He may not have to, but he wants to. He really, really wants to.

His previous partners never issued complaints when he did this, so he's reasonably confident he has something of a surefire technique.

But it feels different with Betty. Special. He lets her body guide him. The little shivers and breathless whimpers she makes when she likes something spurring him on.

Her hands grope for his hair as he licks over her, her nails tugging at the thick strands when his tongue flicks against her clit. She really likes that.

He suckles the bud gently, earning another moan. He sucks a little harder, watching her head loll back, mouth opening wide and clamping shut with the bite of her lip.

Jughead wants to tell her how amazing she tastes, how he would gladly do this every night if she'd let him. But he's too scared she'll push his head away, pull her clothes back on, and run off into the night.

So he tries to show her instead. Kissing and sucking and licking until her thighs are squeezing around his head and she's whining out his name.

"Jug," she moans, her back curving up as the rest of her body convulses around his tongue. "Oh god, Jug."

The sound of his nickname between her lips may be the prettiest thing he's ever heard. He keeps his head bowed before her, licking her softly through her climax.

Only when Betty slumps against the mattress, her eyes locked shut, does he still his movements. He places a final kiss on her clit.

After a few seconds, she peeks her head up, her eyelashes fluttering open. She smiles shyly at him, eyes still half-glazed over.

That demure gaze drives him wild. On impulse, he begins to stroke himself over his boxers, hissing quietly at the sensation. She watches with interest.

"Come here," she murmurs in request.

He releases his grip, creeping up beside her body and leaning in to kiss her once more.

As his hands lose themselves in her hair, he wonders if she likes the taste of herself on his lips. She seems to. She teases her tongue against his bottom lip, nipping hungrily at his mouth.

Soon, her fingers are wandering down from raking across his chest to palm the front of his underwear.

Her thumb rolls over his tip, and a shudder races through him.

Jughead jerks forward frantically. He needs to be inside her now.

"Let me get something," he rasps against her lips.

He breaks their sweet, messy kiss, extending his arm to yank open the drawer of his night table.

Jughead scrambles for the box of condoms stashed there, grabbing hold of a foil package and ripping it open.

He sheds the boxers and settles himself between her legs, his thumb reaching out to brush her shoulder.

"You're sure?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, her eyes wide with desire.

Jughead's breath hitches as he enters her, his eyes rolling back as her long legs wrap around his waist on instinct.

He basks in the feel of her, holding himself still to kiss her softly. He worries the tenderness of the gesture might unsettle Betty, but she doesn't protest. She starts to kiss him back, angling her lower body to provide him easier access. He slides in deeper, beginning to move inside her.

Betty bucks up against him, matching his movements, a series of firm yet steady thrusts.

He begins to feel like a man possessed with each second they're connected, desperate to touch every part of her he can. His hands orbit the smooth curves of her body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, her hips.

When he hits a particularly deep spot inside her, Betty's hand coils around his bicep, her thumb pressing into the muscle.

"Jug," she moans. "Oh."

His head goes dizzy at the sound of her strangled mewls. She feels incredible around him. Soft and pliant, and so, so wet.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, his breath hot against her ear as he begins to quicken his pace.

"Yes," she purrs, screwing her legs tighter around him. "Faster. Please."

Jughead grasps onto her butt and thrusts harder. He trails wet kisses down her neck, his teeth nibbling at the sensitive skin. He must bite too forcefully because she gasps, clutching at his back.

"Shh," he cajoles, soothing the inflamed spot with a delicate brush of his tongue.

Betty squirms against him, calling out his name.

His mind swims with thoughts of marking her. It's enough to send him over the edge.

Betty's whimpering "yes" and he's pounding so fast. He grunts in pleasure, but he can't hold himself back.

Her nails dig into his spine as she arches against him, panting and shaking all over, and he loses it. He's gone for her.

His throat constricts, his voice unable to form anything but staggering breaths as he empties all of himself inside her.

Betty crumples into the mattress as her orgasm fades, her hands clutching onto Jughead's shoulder blades. She feels weightless.

It takes a few moments for the lilac mist behind her eyes to clear. He's still inside her, his face buried in her neck.

She unclenches her thighs from around his waist. He pulls out slowly, reluctantly, rolling off her onto his back. They both catch their breaths.

Jughead glances her way. His hand comes to rest on the soft inner skin of her wrist. A shiver ricochets down her spine.

"You okay?" he asks.

Betty's not sure. Her body's elated, tingling all over and completely sated. But the rest of her is suspended in the air. Her emotions a slurry of disbelief and excitement and confusion.

She slept with Jughead Jones. He's touching her right now. They're splayed out naked together on his bed.

What does this mean? What happens next? Does she like him? Does he like her?

The thoughts collide with each other like a jumble of train cars in a wreck.

But he doesn't want to hear about all that, she's certain. He's looking at her so tenderly. Protectively, almost. Like he had days prior in the kitchenette.

It throws her off balance.

"Yes," she murmurs.

She stares down at the flush covering her chest, suddenly bashful by how exposed she is now that her body is no longer enveloped with Jughead's.

"Can I?" she asks quietly, her fingers bunching the thick navy comforter into her fist.

She hopes he understands she wants to wrap it around herself.

"Sure," he says.

Jughead hoists his body up and she grabs hold of the covers, pulling them out from under him. She swaddles herself in the blanket, trying to avoid a glimpse at his softening erection. It's sure to make her blush even redder.

"Bathroom's just there," he says, pointing to the right of the open door to his bedroom.

"Thanks."

Betty steps up, hugging the comforter tight around herself on the ten or so paces over.

She shuts the door softly behind her, easing the blanket off her shoulders. She doesn't want to dirty it on the tile floor, so she hangs it haphazardly on the towel rack before sitting down to pee. She lingers on the toilet for a few minutes, taking slow breaths.

When her pulse returns to mostly normal, she gets up and washes her hands, thankful Jughead's not one of those guys who thinks liquid soap is not a necessity.

Although there was once a time she almost certainly would have believed he was.

Don't be judgy, Betty, she admonishes as she dries her hands and cloaks herself back in the blanket. It's not like he's a goblin who lives in a hovel.

He's actually a functioning adult male. One who just so happens to also be quite adept at getting her off.

Betty blushes, feeling hot all over. She shakes her head. She needs to calm down.

She heads back into his bedroom, but he's no longer there. Probably cleaning up, she thinks.

Her relief at a few more moments alone is tinged with disappointment at his absence.

To distract herself from the anxious thoughts swirling around her head, Betty begins to gather her clothes from the floor. She shimmies into her underwear, before slipping her arms through the straps of her bra.

As she's fastening the clasp, she hears Jughead clearing his throat behind her. She startles and fumbles for the blanket to cover her cleavage.

"Hey," he says.

She turns to face him. He's clad in the same blue plaid boxers as before, carrying a glass of water.

"Hi," she croaks, trying not to stare too hard at his lean chest, or the tempting trail of dark hair leading down from his navel.

"I thought you might want water," he says, holding out the glass to her.

She takes it from him with one hand, tilting to her side as the comforter falls into a shapeless triangle over her body in the other.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

Betty swallows a few small sips, before placing the cup down on the coaster she spots on the wooden night table.

She lets the blanket fall, turning back to her heap of clothes on the bed. She can feel him watching her as she fusses with her sweater, twisting it back right side in.

"Are you…?" he starts to ask from behind her.

He goes quiet when she looks up at him, unable to hide the trepidation in her eyes.

"I figured I should probably go," she says, hating how unsure of herself she sounds.

Jughead's eyes narrow for a moment before softening.

"Or you could stay," he suggests, his voice boyish and hopeful. When her breath unknowingly catches, he adds, more decisively, "Stay."

He's back to the self-assured Jughead she recognizes, but with just the subtlest glint of vulnerability. She likes it. Betty knows she should leave, but she doesn't want to. Yes, it's late, but she's drawn to this version of Jughead. The one who makes a combination of panic and desire flutter through her veins. Not knowing what could happen, but yearning to find out. To sleep in his bed, to wake up next to him.

"Okay," she agrees.

"Okay," he repeats, a small smirk alighting on his face.

She folds her sweater and jeans into a neat pile, setting them down on the night table. Her boots side-by-side on the patch of floor beneath.

Betty looks up at him.

"Aren't you going to pick up your clothes?" she asks, hoping the question comes out as genuinely curious and not bratty.

Jughead tries and fails to stifle a snigger.

"If you insist, Cooper," he says, collecting his jeans and sweater and chucking them onto the lumpy armchair in the corner.

Betty smiles in spite of herself.

"Do you have something I can—"

"Sure," he says briskly, his voice overlapping with hers as she pronounces "wear."

Jughead rummages through the wooden chest of drawers opposite his bed, pulling out a worn gray t-shirt with an uppercase "S" printed on it.

"Here you go," he says, passing it to her.

Betty takes the shirt in her hands. The cotton is so light and soft on her skin, it feels almost like a silk sheet.

She brings the material closer to her nose, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent. A cool ocean breeze.

"Pants, too?" he asks.

"It's okay," she says.

She knows it's minx-like, but she enjoys the way he reacts to her bare legs. How he attempts not to drool at them, even right now. Like he can't stop imagining her calves being wrapped around him again.

Betty pulls his shirt over her head. It falls to her mid-thigh.

Her fingers twist behind her back to undo her bra clasp. She wrests the flimsy piece of fabric out from under the t-shirt, placing it atop the rest of her clothes.

Jughead sucks in a breath, watching her. Their eyes meet. He looks so mesmerized by the sight of her in his clothing, she shudders.

He takes a step closer to her. Her chin starts to tremble. His hand lifts up, sliding under her hair to cup her neck. He leans in and kisses her unprompted. Not too hard, but romantic. The lingering sense of wanting more. She can't help but kiss back, moaning softly when he breaks away.

"Ready?" he asks with a lopsided grin. His fingers push a loose tendril of hair behind her ear.

"Yes," she breathes, her lips still perched open from his kiss. "But we should brush our teeth."

Jughead's eyes go wide, like he's suppressing a laugh. "Right, yeah."

Betty follows him into the bathroom, hanging back against the tub as he opens the rectangular mirror to scour the shelves for a spare toothbrush.

"Sorry," he says, looking toward her with a sheepish expression. "I don't have an extra."

He seems worried she'll judge him for this lack of preparation.

"It's okay," she says.

At least she knows he's not one of those guys who does sleepovers—or whatever this is—often.

Betty brushes with her finger as best she can, gratefully accepting the bottle of mouthwash he offers when she's done.

She pours some into the cap, and sips it. Only when she's swishing the liquid around her teeth does the realization hit her.

She'll have to spit it out. Ugh. Could there be anything less sexy than that? Maybe if she were to floss her teeth in front of him. Gross.

She spits the liquid out as fast and inconspicuously as she can, her face flaming, avoiding his eyes.

But Jughead doesn't seem to notice. He flicks off the light switch and starts walking back to the bedroom. She trails after him, yawning into her palms.

He remakes the bed, spreading the covers over the matching blue sheets. He pulls the top left corner open for her. She climbs in, her body tingling as she waits for him to settle in beside her.

Will he touch her? Hold her? Does she want him to?

She's suddenly too tired, though, to let her thoughts stray much beyond that. Her eyelids are closing, her head sinking into his comfy pillow.

Betty curls onto her side in a fetal position, eyes heavy with sleep.

She can vaguely hear Jughead rustling behind her and soon the room is bathed in darkness.

"Goodnight, Betts," he murmurs against her ear. "Sweet dreams."

The nickname sparks something in her subconscious, despite how drowsy she is.

"Better than my dream," she mutters softly to herself.

Jughead's hand comes to rest atop her shoulder under the sleeve of the t-shirt. He ghosts a kiss over her temple.

"What was that?" he whispers.

"Nothing," she mumbles back, snuggling into his warm arm.

He squeezes her elbow, wrapping his arm tighter around her.

"Night, Jug," she whispers as she drifts off to sleep.

The amount of times Jughead has fantasized about Betty Cooper in his bed are too numerous to count.

But not even in his wildest dreams could he have imagined a moment this achingly intimate.

Laying propped on his elbow beside her, watching her sleep.

Her skin is pale in the moonlight, her hair spread like a golden halo across his pillow. He reaches out to card his fingers through the silky strands.

Betty stirs for a second before curling back into the sheets with a soft whimper.

Jughead's chest constricts. He can't calm down. His whole body feels like it's on vibrate. If he's being honest, it has from the moment he discovered her waiting for him outside the diner.

He forces himself up against the headboard, gulping down a sigh.

He's tried to fall asleep after watching her doze off. But the little shocks of electricity traveling down his arms have made it impossible.

It doesn't help that he's always been something of a night owl. And it's still relatively early. The old digital alarm clock on his night table reads just past 11.

Much earlier than when he normally pours himself into bed after a late-night writing binge.

He wonders what Betty's usual bedtime is. Probably no later than midnight. She's the poster child of a morning person.

Even still, she must have been particularly exhausted tonight.

Jughead smirks, a naughty snicker escaping from between his lips. Admittedly, he's biased, but he can guess why.

A warm flush of pride rises on his skin at the starring role he played in tiring her body out.

He gets hard just thinking about it—the sweet taste of her on his tongue, the hot, slick feel of her all around him.

But his confidence falters as he continues to stare longingly at her.

Because sex is one thing. But feelings are another.

That's his real Achilles heel.

And while he convinced her to stay tonight, who knows how she'll feel about him in the morning? When his alarm goes off at 7:30 and the sun starts to stream through his window.

Jughead exhales a nervous breath, his fingers drumming softly against his knee.

His mind wanders in a loop.

What was that nickname for her that slipped out? Betts. He doesn't know where it came from. It simply appeared out of the blue, like a conjuring.

Betty, too, seemed under some kind of spell. Murmuring incantations in her sleep. Better than my dream. So she had thought of him the night before.

It turns him on, but also worries him in a way. What if it's coloring her decisions? What if that's her only reason for being here?

Jughead feels his hands start to tremor. He sighs again. He needs to relax.

He rises from the bed and opens the window to the fire escape. He takes one of the half-smoked cigarettes from the metal ashtray he keeps on the ledge and places it between his lips.

His fingers twitch as he clicks open his red zippo lighter.

In the brief flicker of firelight, he catches a glimpse of Betty's face. His eyes soften, the tension in his knuckles melting away.

She's so painfully beautiful like this, he thinks.

Jughead inhales one or two long drags before stuffing out the cigarette. He doesn't want the cold air filling the room to rouse her.

Climbing back inside, he shuts the window as quietly as he can. He tiptoes toward the bathroom, running water for a shower. He slips off his boxers and steps inside.

His eyes close, his forehead pressing against the tiles as the hot water cascades around him. He knows there's nothing he can do now but try to sleep. Tomorrow is tomorrow.

After toweling off and rinsing the taste of tobacco out of his mouth, he returns to the bedroom.

He pulls open the dresser drawers, donning a clean pair of underwear.

Jughead's heart pangs as he looks back to the bed, the space beside her calling out his name. There isn't anything but to get in.

When he's back under the covers, he allows one hand to float along the curves of her body, his fingertips skimming the soft cotton of his favorite t-shirt she's wearing. He lets out a breath.

Betty was right. This is better than any dream. He hopes he doesn't wake up from it.

Because he can't shake the foreboding feeling that it's all too good to be true.