Beronica Oneshots

The Opposite of Freshening Up

“I need to freshen up,” Veronica announces, sliding out of the booth. She doesn’t leave, though, instead standing there staring at Betty with an expectant look on her face.

Betty lets out a small sigh. “Guess I need to freshen up too,” she says, and Veronica beams at her.

Archie, who’s been watching them in confusion, a fry held halfway to his mouth, grins at Veronica’s antics. Jughead rolls his eyes and steals Archie’s fry. Betty tunes out Archie’s splutter of indignation, following Veronica to the bathroom, very pointedly not letting herself stare at the bounce of Veronica’s hair or the sway of her hips.

“You look at me like you want me to throw you down and eat you alive,” Veronica had teased just the night before, and Betty doesn’t mind Veronica noticing, not in the slightest, but she’d rather everyone else around them didn’t see. Betty’s never been a good liar, and apparently she’s not good at hiding her lust either.

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind them, Veronica moves along the stalls, nudging them open, checking they’re alone. Betty’s about to ask what she’s doing, but then Veronica turns to her with that smirk that always makes the bottom drop out of Betty’s stomach, part out of nerves and part out of a hot wave of want.

She hasn’t known Veronica long, even if it already feels like Veronica’s been a part of her life forever, but that smirk always means trouble.

“Trust me?” Veronica asks, and Betty’s throat is suddenly too tight to speak so she settles for nodding.

Veronica’s legs fold slowly, never breaking eye contact as she crouches down in front of Betty, and her hands start to slide up Betty’s thighs.

“You said you wanted to try being naughty, right?” Veronica’s eyes are gleaming.

It’s true, Betty had huffed out those fateful words a little over a week ago. Except when Betty says the word ‘naughty’ she always sounds like she’s talking about unruly school children, whereas Veronica says it with a low purr that makes Betty’s legs tense, her toes curling in her shoes, her pulse spiking.

She feels her eyelids flutter when Veronica’s fingers brush the hem of her panties, hands palming Betty’s hips, and it doesn’t matter if the bathroom door is unlocked and someone could walk in on them any moment, because she’s so weak for this, for Veronica’s smirks and her purred words and her everything.

Betty gasps, one hand streaking out to grip the sink to steady herself, when Veronica starts sliding her panties down her legs.

“I can’t!” she hisses, but it’s automatic, wavering, and they both know what she really means is that she needs Veronica to convince her.

And Veronica always does. “Your skirt reaches her knees,” she reminds Betty playfully. “No will know.” She eases one of Betty’s feet up, and Betty doesn’t resist in the slightest. “Except you.” There goes the next foot; Betty steps out of the panties completely, looking down at Veronica with wide eyes. “And me.”

She stands gracefully, slipping the panties into her purse, and Betty can feel herself gaping, trying to find the words to explain to Veronica, to explain to herself why this is a bad idea. But her throat is too tight again and her mind is spinning in circles; Veronica snaps her purse shut and sashays from the bathroom and all Betty can do is follow her.

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind her, Betty almost stumbles. It’s like she’s forgotten how to walk properly, like everyone in the diner is looking at her even though not a single head turns their way. Sweat prickles at her skin beneath her clothes, the red neon lights along the windows blurring around her, but Betty makes herself move, trailing after Veronica back to their booth.