ｃｈｕｇｈｅａｄ ♡

you're mine

credits to @ ladyflamingo via archiveofourown.

warning: sexual mentions/themes but no actual smut.

•••

Cheryl lays there, nonchalantly watching Jughead Jones pick up his clothing from the floor, the dresser, the foot of the bed—where ever she flung them in the haste to get his body clean and gleaming under warm light. He’s found his hideous left boot, finally, and now he struggles to find words. Knowing even a tiny bit about Jughead, and quite a bit about herself, she’s certain how the exchange will go down.

“I’m—“

“I don’t where your hat is.”

He pauses, jaw clenching impatiently, so handsomely, and nods, “Okay. I’ll…” he looks so uncomfortable, Cheryl loves every second, so she stands up, fully naked, stepping across the room, slow and sated, no doubt looking like Venus born from the ocean, by the way he can’t keep his eyes off her. Because Jughead Jones might be a socially bankrupt nobody, but he’s still a boy. She’s so far gone off his attention that she doesn’t even notice herself rising on her toes until he pulls back, just a fraction.

“Last time, though, right?” he said, and Jughead doesn’t smirk, but Cheryl can hear it in-between his words, in the stoniness of his stare, and she’s surprised that it turns her on, because seriously, him?

“Get out,” she sneers.

“Bye, Cheryl.”

—

She only enters the living world again when JJ comes to her bedroom with breakfast. Usually she’ll indulge herself with some non-fat greek yogurt. Egg whites, maybe? Raw spinach. But today Jason has prepared her childhood favorite, chocolate waffles, with tons of maple syrup. Cheryl sits up in bed and grins, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Oh, JJ! You shouldn’t have!” But she digs in nonetheless.

Jason smiles serenely, and takes a seat next to her in order to swipe a strawberry slice, “It was no trouble. I enjoyed it, actually.”

She knew it was coming, the silence spoke more, maybe, than they did themselves. Cheryl and her brother could speak without saying nothing at all. It was a drop or rise, insignificant to other skins, that set a ton. A look that inserted the pause, and an eye-roll that wrapped up the prose.

“I know you want to ask, so let’s just get this out of the way, so I don’t have to speak of it. Ever again,” she finishes pointedly.

With narrowed eyes, Jason questions her, “Why would I speak of it?”

Something drops in her, and she picks it up, “I was just saying!”

“Saying…?”
Cheryl bites a piece of her waffle from her fork, savoring the texture. Jason makes the best waffles, even better than the chefs.

Jason chokes on his laughter, and she looks at him in alarm, because he’s laughing, in only the way Jason could laugh—boyishly, tons of charm, and she find herself laughing too—

“Shut up!” she demands around a mouthful of food, trying desperately not to let her laughter ruin her meal, “Oh, my God! Jason, shut up, it’s not funny!”

“Jughead Jones?”

Cheryl swallows the remainder of her food and pointed her fork menacingly at him, “I don’t recall being in need of a knight-in-shining armor, JJ. I know you sent him here—“

“—you seemed so bored—“

“—It could have been anyone else! Reggie Mantle—“

“—Is a complete charlatan when it comes to sex, believe me.”

“Oh, you would know.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Archie Andrews—“

“—It would be like giving a twelve year old drugs, he couldn’t handle it.”

“Well, Moose then—“

“—Is gay.”

She drops her fork, “Oh my, God,” a slow, wicked smile spreads across her lips, “Yes, please. Details, now.”

Like the kids they are, Cheryl and Jason scoot closer, because to them, gossip and secrets are different things. Gossip is common, tall-tales for peasants, not all true, embellished. Secrets? Secrets were life and death, relationship-ending, and reputation-shattering. The twins always shared secrets—they would huddle together and live in the shock, and the power of knowing something that could never see the light of day without there being serious consequences.

Jason doesn't bite back his smirk, “Last Thursday, the locker room.”

Cheryl gasps, “Tell me you didn’t—“

Jason balks, “No, God, Cheryl! I mean, maybe, yes, if I wasn’t getting married. He kissed me. We were the only two left after showers, he was talking about Physics one minute and his mouth, and his linebacker body, just—“ he made a dismissive motion with his hands, and looked at his sister intently, “I was trapped, between Moose, and a locker, so shocked that I couldn’t even process what was going on. Until…”

She perks up, hanging off of his every word—

“…Until I feel his tongue—“

Cheryl’s proper upbringing prevents her from screaming.

—

The happiness from last Sunday is finally drawing to a close, slowing down from elation to satisfaction. Even if Polly had been there, with her stupid blonde hair and her perfect little baby (two, Nana says, two!) everything was right. Until.

The fight is still roaring in her head, and it’s all Polly’s fault. She can’t be a cheerleader. She’s with fucking child. And no amount of pretending is going to make that go away. Keeping the uniform when she needs someone else to fill Polly’s spot isn’t okay.

But, it was more than that. Everything that was Cheryl’s world is going infinitely kaboom, changing what little corner of happiness she had to dust and rubble. She feels it, as she’s walking down the hall, everything is reduced to white noise, the hallway around her nothing but a set, background noise. She feels disembodied. It is only when Betty Cooper shakes her awake that she realizes she’s standing in the middle of the hallway, the Blonde Wonder and her gang of ponytail holders looking at her like she’s insane. Which she is not.

“Are you okay, Cheryl?”

Betty actually looks concerned. Cheryl lets out an odd little laugh, and Betty frowns. She’ll show her concerned.

And that’s when she walked five steps behind Betty and pulled a mortified Jughead Jones down for a kiss. And the world stops, a heartbeat going on forever. The kids in the hallway looking at them, a shiver up her chest, Betty’s got to be furious, and then, then she can feel Jughead’s hands are hovering above her waist. And for some reason, she wishes he would just touch her.

She pulls away, and his lips are stained Maple Red, and his eyes are closed, his jaw is clenched. He looks like he's internally counting to ten. “You found your hat,” she remarks mildly, because she can’t hurt Polly, but the next-best thing is getting under Betty Cooper’s skin. She turns to Better just in time to see something dark and scary in her eyes. It takes her a second to recover, because her eyes are so blue—so large, storming…so….

Pretty…

Cheryl smiles sweetly, “You know, Betty. We need someone to fill your sister’s spot on the vixens,” she steps closer to her, staring up into those eyes, “I think you would be perfect.”