There've been so many words used to describe him.
Freak. Weirdo. Loner.
They've never bothered him, he's always kinda liked them actually. It makes him feel different, and special. He wants to be the mysterious loner, it beats the jock or the nerd.
He likes to think that he's cloaked in shadow, and Betty's made of gold. He likes to think that no one in a million years would ever have pegged them together, and yet they'll never be torn apart. And he loves the fact that he knows her, and that's truly knows her. Knows her in a way that Archie never could. Knows about her dark side, knows that when she dons that wig and that dark lipstick, it's still Betty, but it's just a deeper part of her, a part that Jughead is honoured to know.
And do you know something else?
He likes it.
He likes the scratches deep into his back, deep red lines that stick around for days. He likes the burn in the shower as the cool droplets rivet over it, he likes leaning back in his chair at school and feeling the cotton rub against the welts. It gets him hot, hard under the table as he remembers the way Betty's nails felt tearing into him as she rode him, as she took control in a way that makes him ache with need.
He likes the hickeys, the dull soreness of the muscles dotted down his torso, under his collar bones, sometimes on his hips- jesus he likes it a lot. Sometimes he'll press his fingers against them, just under the collar of his shirt, so they sting and his eyelids flutter shut in pleasure and pain. He can picture her above him, with her flushed face and that black wig and her huge blue eyes. The smug tilt of her lips, as she leans down and just claims him whole, riding him for her pleasure in a way that gets him unbearably hot.
And then they're in school.
And he's leaning against her locker, arms crossed, looking suave and mysterious with his full-to-bursting satchel, his crown beanie and his serpents jacket, and she's beside him, sorting her books carefully, wearing a cotton pink jumper and an appropriately lengthened skirt. Her hair is blond and tied back neatly, and it's so different from the way she looked last night. Both are beautiful, both of them he loves, both of them he finds attractive beyond belief.
He looks different too, he supposes.
Last night his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his muscles writhing as she clamped around him aggressively and he could just whisper her name like a mantra; reverently.
Now, it's styled under his beanie, and rather than being tinted rose, he's pale as paper.
"You look beautiful today," he murmurs, and she smiles shyly, her eyes flicker to his lips, and she pecks a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth.
"You're in a good mood today," she beams, and they fall into easy step together towards the press room.
"Someone put me in a very good mood last night," he murmurs, slinging his arm around her. She cuddles into his side and ignores his eyebrow waggling with her slap to his chest. "Seriously, Betty," he continues, voice dropping lower "it was incredible."
She blushes, but he can tell she's pleased. There's an extra sway to the way her ponytail bobs. "Juggie," she breathes, like a caress "are we going to yours after school?"
"I thought I'd take you to Pop's first. Treat my girl to a milkshake."
"A milkshake, huh?" She teases, eyes sparkling with merriment "I look forward to that."
Later, when they're at Pop's, in the warm but cool light of the neon sign, in a little booth tucked away in the corner, shielded by the dark blue of the outside, Jughead can't take his eyes off her. God. How did he get so lucky? How did he get Betty? Girl-next-door-Betty?
"What are you looking at?" She rolls her eyes, but she's fiddling with the v-neck of her jumper bashfully. After Jughead quirks an eyebrow, she moves her hands, laughing, but only goes to fiddling with the straw in her chocolate milkshake.
Jughead half smiles, he's resting his head on one hand, staring at her. "You."
She rolls her eyes again, cocking her head and examining him curiously. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. Wondering how I got so lucky."
"Oh my gosh, Jughead," she's blushing furiously now, ducking her head and Jughead nudges her ankle under the table, before sliding his free hand across the booth. She takes it in both of hers, playing with his fingers absentmindedly and he adores the contact.
It's not all black-haired Betty in bed that Jughead likes though. When it's sweet and soft, when it's him hovering above her, peppering kisses into her neck as she whispers his name, so tenderly it's as if they'll both break- that's spectacular too. Or when it get's more exciting, more desperate, pumped by the adrenaline of saving a life or catching a murderer, where they're tearing clothes off each other, kissing so hungrily, and greedily it's as if nothing else in the world matters.
He sighs contentedly. There's not a lot in his life that's perfect, but Betty definitely is.
He doesn't realise he's spoken aloud until he hears her gasp, and he sits up, a little embarrassed.
He scoffs, trying to save face. "It's not like you didn't already know I thought the world of you."
But Betty's past blushing now, she's standing up, holding out her hand. "Take me home, Jughead," she states, a smile at the corner of her pink lips. And then in a whisper: "take me to bed."
He nearly trips over his own feet in his scrambled haste to follow her out of the diner.
They end up doing it furiously on the kitchen counter. Her legs clamped around his hips, as he panted into the hollowed arch of her neck. Him rocking on his heels and gripping the back of her thighs as she moaned hotly into his ear. Her hair is a wild, curly mess around her ears and his hair is in complete disarray.
He arrives a few moments after her, and the curse on his lips is caught by her mouth, in a wet, demanding kiss.
They're both still for a few moments, bar the heaving of their chests.
And then he grins, and hoists her into his arms, and carries her to bed, throwing her onto the mattress.
She laughs delightedly as she bounces on the mattress and blankets, pillows falling into place beside her head. He flops down beside her on his front, and she sidles up beside him, trailing her fingers down the red lines on his back. She bites her lip worriedly.
"You don't mind those?"
"Betty," he sighs happily, stretching like a cat "I love them."
She tries to hide her smile behind her hair, but he sees it, and lifts his arm for her to curl under, and they fall asleep like that, naked in the pillows.
When he wakes up in the morning, she's wearing the wig, and her lips are ruby red.
He tips his head back in eager anticipation, and her eyes twinkle in the early morning sun.
