Chapter Text
Blind dating was not something Betty Cooper did. Ever . She’d been on exactly five dates her entire life and she’d known all but one of them since elementary school. As an almost college sophomore who’d spent her formative years studying books instead of boys, she didn’t have a whole lot of real-life experience with the opposite sex.
Which is why, a few weeks before her nineteenth birthday, sitting in the university clinic’s waiting room, Betty was suddenly terrified of the words she was hearing. Suppressants. Heat. Omega. Alpha Matching Programs. None of it made a lick of sense. Apparently it was rare enough that even Betty, who prided herself on odd bits of knowledge, had never heard of the designations before.
Her best friend Veronica had calmed her down a few hours later over more than a few glasses of wine and insisted that she had a solution. In her own words, it’s much more like eharmony than tinder. She promised the site rated Alpha with Omega compatibility based on things beyond what she’ll want out of someone during the peak of her heat cycle. She liked the idea of it all. Her judgment on the practice was still up in the air, but the idea of having an Alpha lined up to essentially fuck her senseless based on more than simply her body begging any willing participant was one she could at least stomach.
After a bit more than just a nudge from Veronica, who claimed to understand because of her own family history with the ‘ailment’, Betty set up a profile. T he first few days were uneventful at best. She conversed with a decent 78% match, but didn't exactly sit up any time her phone went off with an alert until she noticed a new match. 92%. She figured it was worth a shot.
Her birthday, according to the brochures she’d gathered at the school’s clinic, would mark the beginning of her “presentation” as an Omega. With less than twenty days left to go, she responded to beanieboyjay. Surprisingly, despite his lack of originality in taste for film, because really, every edgy college guy claimed to have a deep-seated love of Tarantino and all things indie cinema, they got along. Conversations flowed from one message to the next over the first week.
With the countdown nearing single digits, Betty finally brought up the topic of her heat.
While he seemed receptive enough, he was still a bit reluctant to agree to aid her with her upcoming heat. Hell, she wasn’t even convinced she wanted someone there with her when she became, as the pamphlets so delicately put it: a needy Omega craving only one thin g. She also didn’t want to navigate her first heat alone. Based on her research, the first heat was the most intense, and when undertaken alone, without an Alpha to see her through, it could become one of the most painful experiences in any woman’s life. There had been reported cases of Omegas winding up in the hospital, crawling on any Alpha within a few hundred foot radius and quarantining entire wards for days on end until the heat subsided.
As embarrassing as putting herself out there with him was, it was nowhere near the level of embarrassment she’d surely suffer if she went down in a history book, or worse, one of those fucking glossy pamphlets, as another failed story of an Omega “going at it alone.” So, she’d decided over a few glasses of wine and hours upon hours of girl talk with Veronica, to proposition beanieboyjay to see her through her first heat.
Betty was far from sexually repressed. While she had little to no actual dating experience, she’d casually hooked up with men in the past. Sexual liberation was the name of the game according to her best friend, and she’d seen to it that Betty checked that box early in her freshman year at NYU and at least a few more times before the end of it. It wasn’t that she was really against dating, it was just that she simply didn’t have the time to devote to maintaining a relationship. One night stands hadn’t been her cup of tea in high school. She’d entered college as a virgin, but with Veronica by her side, Betty had found a balance she could live with.
So, when beanieboyjay, who still hadn’t answered her needling questions about his real name, claiming it was worse than she could possibly imagine, was on the fence about coming up for a visit in exactly nine days, Betty began to worry. She’d heard of an Omega getting through a heat alone, but only at approved Heat Houses with medical staff and appropriate toys. Though it was never described as anything close to comfortable, at least it had been done.
After a few more days of noncommittal responses due to his uncertain schedule yet otherwise engaging conversations, Betty had had enough. She sent him the name of a hotel - a “heat retreat” according to the glossy pamphlets now spread across her coffee table - and a date. Choosing one hadn’t taken long. Once she knew what she was searching for, the wonders of the internet made planning the details pretty easy. She just prayed his schedule would allow them to meet. She accompanied the info with a short note using words like hope and appreciate and logged out of the app, letting him know her full name and that the front desk will allow someone wearing a beanie in if he was able to show. As dodgy as he had been about personal info, she wasn’t sure she could bear hearing a flat out no .
At precisely nine pm on the eve of her birthday — with emails scheduled to go out to all of her summer course professors, her mom, sister, and a few friends letting them know she’d caught the flu and would be unavailable for the next few days — she checked into Thistlehouse with a bag full of toys, a few DVDs, courtesy of Veronica, and decidedly without her phone.
Going to bed was slightly uncomfortable. She was a little too hot, a little bit sweaty, and all-around nearly too nervous to succumb to sleep. The cotton of her pajamas that any other time felt soft and plush were scratchy against her skin. Shedding them before slipping between the silken sheets, she tossed and turned from one side to the other, trying and failing not to think of the days to come. Eventually, her body won out. Apparently, it knew there would be precious few hours to rest in the coming days and her nervous energy finally subsided, replaced only by dreamless hours of deep sleep.
-
Betty awakens with a start. Her head is thumping. Her things are drenched. And her skin - her skin feels as though it is on fire, set to melt right off her bones if she doesn’t do something - and soon. She’s never known heat like this, nestled under the thin layer of her skin and spread across every stitch of muscle and bone in her body, seeping between her nerves and burning straight through her being.
Panting, she tries to sit up only to find her sheets are not, in fact, her sheets. Instead of the pale pink cotton covering the same queen-sized mattress she’s had most of her life, she sees red - a deep, crimson, blood red. The bed is bigger, too. King-sized, if she had to venture a guess. Twisting around, her eyes skate over the empty shelves, the empty room, the single TV mounted on the far wall and the same red as the sheets splattered across the empty walls.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows this place. It’s not quite familiar though, as if she’s seen it in a picture but never before in person. Maybe once in a dream. Her mind is slipping away again, despite her desperately clinging to the notion that she has to hang on to the single coherent thread of thoughts.
Fire licks up her spine, threading through each vertebra slowly and lacing its way up to her neck. Reaching up, she presses her palm against the pulsing flesh just on the side of her throat. A moan drips from her lips and she presses harder, pulling her other hand up to do the same. The pressure feels euphoric, like scratching an itch she hadn’t known.
She can smell herself. Some niggling part of her brain knows this is unusual - smelling oneself is never, under any circumstance, a normal occurrence. Yet, here and now, with her body heat rising, and her throat thumping, and the thick fog of her own stench clouding the room, it doesn’t seem to be an unusual thought.
She can feel her pulse in her fingertips. She can feel it in her toes. Betty’s pretty sure she can feel it in the tips of her hair if she could concentrate enough to isolate the sensation, but she’s so overwhelmed, so utterly adrift in a sea of sensation that the thump thump thump of her pulse is suddenly lost to the onslaught of slickness gushing from her core. The sheets are drenched, cooling by the second and she writhes on the slippery surface, soaking up every bit of relief from the heat burning inside.
A loud, guttural groan rips from her throat as she presses harder against her neck. Pulling one hand down, she slides her palm along the sweat-soaked skin in a path straight to her core. Something tells her it’ll feel good, it’ll make everything better if she can just -
She hears a distant thud, the clink of metal hitting the floor. She’s panting and writhing and so fucking hot she can barely breathe when her eyes slip open. Jet black, tousled locks, and olive-toned skin fill her vision.
“Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, please.” She’s whining and she doesn’t even know why but she can’t stop the stream of nonsense bubbling up from her chest and floating through the room. She sounds needy because she is, and somehow she knows this person can help.
Then he’s there, covering her, skin on skin, his lips against her neck and she can finally suck in a deep breath. It feels a bit like relief, and a bit more like torture. “Please.” She’s whimpering and wrapping her legs around his hips and she doesn’t even know his name . Much less who he actually is or why she wants him to just fucking fuck her already.
“Shhhh.” His breath is warm against the shell of her ear and her throat throbs in response. “I’ll take care of you, Omega. I’ve got you.”
His lips press against the pulsing flesh of her neck and she nearly blacks out from the pleasure. She can feel the deep drag of his tongue against the rough patch of skin as she arches into him. It feels like silk against sandpaper and she can’t get enough .
“More,” she begs, panting as his fingers find her folds. Another gush of slickness drips down her cunt, seeping into the already soaked sheets and she can barely feel the pressure of his fingers skirting around where she needs him the most. “Please.”
She keens when two fingers dip inside of her sopping wet slick. As they pump in and out, she finally feels the tiniest bit of relief. Pheromones clog the room, thick as fog, blanketing every inch of her skin and sending her sense into a freefall. You’re pleasing your Alpha . He likes this. Come for him.
She isn’t even sure when it starts, the steady gush of fluid over his fingers or the cries ripped from her throat, she isn’t even aware the sounds bouncing off the small, nondescript room are from her until they’ve nearly subsided. But even then, it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. Never enough for Alpha.
His lips seal around the gland on her neck again as his fingers slip from between her dripping lips. A coppery tang coats her tongue and only then does she realize she’s biting her lip hard enough to bleed. Then, she feels it, the smooth skin of the head of his cock dragging between her drenched folds and she lifts her hips, begging him to fuck her hard, fast, deep. Knot inside me, Alpha.
“Alpha.” Her voice curves and cracks around the word as he sheathes himself in her heat.
The noise she hears sounds foreign and inhuman, even to her own ears, as though no person should be able to make that sound. But none of it matters because it is her, and he’s inside of her, filling her up in a way that doesn’t even seem possible. She feels fit to burst at the seams with the onslaught of sensation that rips apart her reason.
The scents surrounding them feel filthy - mixed bits of his and hers and something uniquely theirs peppering the air and flavoring every gasping breath as he pulls back and plunges in again. He’s whispering promises of taking care of her and telling her what a good girl she is and she’s nearly there again with his affirmations alone, cresting over a peak that’s higher than any she’s ever felt.
Her nails bite into the soft flesh of his shoulders, carving semi circles into his back as they drag down the length of his spine and carve her presence into his skin. Mine. My Alpha. I’ll be so good , she wants to croon, but some lingering part of her brain screams that it’s too soon and she can’t even fathom a second without him inside of her.
The fire flooding her veins is overwhelming. She’s too hot, too turned on, too close to completion and she can’t even think of a single thing beyond how amazing everything feels this very instant. Teeth scrape over the gland at the side of her neck and she keens, her back arching off the bed and the walls of her dripping cunt squeezing him, holding him inside of her as she feels his knot begin to swell. Another gush of slick floods through her folds as she thinks of taking his knot, thinks of it stretching her so wide she thinks it might tear her apart. A little niggling voice cooing in the back of her mind tells her she can take it. She can take his knot and let it fill her up with her seed. She can squeeze every last drop of his spend and mate him. Bite me . She almost says it, her teeth sinking so far into her lips she feels the split reopen and the coopery tang of blood flood her tongue. The way his lips suction to her glad, tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh and teeth scraping lightly has her head spinning. Only after she feels the knot continue to swell and his thrusts diminish to choppy slaps does she realize her lips are spilling sweet nothings, chanting Alpha and Mine and Fill me up over and over and over again.
The warm sputs of his spend coat her insides and she feels the heat abating with each soothing coat. He comes for entire minutes inside of her, gripping her hips and sucking her gland and she can’t help the way her cunt milks him of every last drop.
When his grunts subside and his lips slowly peel away from the tender skin of her neck, knot still locked firmly inside of her still-throbbing folds, she twists her head to meet the ice blue of his eyes. She feels more lucid in the moment than she has for a while. Even the night before, her otherwise overactive brain and impeccable ability to rationalize felt fuzzy at best. But now, with him stretched over her, the lean lines of his muscles in full view and the steady pulse of his length still buried deep inside of her, she feels like she can finally breathe.
Based on what she’s read, she knows the lucidity won’t last long. For the next few days, it’ll come and go in short bursts only after she’s achieved climax. But for now, with the edge of his lips curling up and the soft set to his eyes, she can’t help but let a small smile creep up on her own face.
“Hi.” She knows it sounds silly. They’re quite literally connected in the most intimate of ways but she can’t think of anything else to say. “I’m Betty.”
“Jughead.” It comes out as more of a grunt than a word and she’s not sure if it’s actually his name or simply some unintelligible thing he’s said with his Alpha brain still fully intact. But when he repeats, “Jughead Jones,” she realizes it is, in fact, what he prefers to be called. “Nice to meet you.”
A giggle bubbles up from her chest and she can feel a flush entirely unlike the scorching heat that’d nearly burned her alive just hours before creep across her skin. “Nice to meet you, too.”