you're somebody else (only it ain't on the surface)

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credits to @ kinselllas via archiveofourown.

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The first time it happens, they’re drunk. Jughead finds her with her face resting on the edge of the bathtub, red hair pulled back loosely. It’s a little tragic, a little sad, and the tiniest bit amusing. He’s only in the bathroom to fetch Betty some water. He should really leave it at that.
Maybe it’s sympathy, but it’s probably pity- he still feels awfully bad about her brother- he just can’t leave it at that.

“Cheryl,” he clears his throat. Her previous slap still echoes in his head. “Are you alright?”

“Get away from me, Jones.”

He almost smiles at the surname. If he didn’t know any better, there’s the slightest bit of affection in her voice. It’s enough to make him sit down on the toilet seat and push a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes are stained red, and he silently wonders where all of her friends are, Reggie and Josie and all the others that follow her around like loyal subjects.

“Stop being nice to me,” she spits, wiping her tears away. “It’s annoying.”

Jughead does smile at that, finds that he can’t say anything when she grabs a handful of his shirt and pulls him down to meet her mouth. Finds that once they start, he really doesn’t want to stop. She flicks the hat off of his head and sinks her teeth into his bottom lip. There’s something about it, twisted and thrilling, he has to rip away to catch his breath. Cheryl’s wearing a smirk, lips flushed. Her thumb swipes at the lipgloss around his mouth.

“Get lost, hobo.”

Being with Cheryl is difficult in a way that being with Betty isn’t.
Betty is soft and gentle, with a caress here and a light squeeze there. Cheryl is rough. She pushes and pulls, and rips at him like she’s trying to draw blood. He has a lock of red hair in his mouth and he can’t quite figure out how he got here. His hand slips up her skirt and she smacks it away. She always does.

“This is getting boring,” she sighs, his mouth is racing over her jaw and he has to halt. Because really, even from Cheryl, it stings.

“Maybe,” he mumbles, letting his fingers toy with the hem of her dress, “If you’d let me touch you…”

It’s an interesting game, the way she’ll let his hand hover centimeters from her skin before yanking away from him with a smile. He hasn’t figured out the objective, but he’s sure his own frustration is a big part of it. More and more he has to question why he’s still here, and what he has to gain. He has a perfectly beautiful girlfriend that loves him and he’s willing to risk that for hands-free foreplay with Cheryl Blossom.

It’s only fitting, that Jughead would fall for the villain of his own story. A tiny part of him would like her to slap him again.

Later, Cheryl straddles his lap and ginger hair falls around his face like a curtain. He’s lying on his back, hands still at his sides, and his hips buck when Cheryl’s tongue flicks at his ear. It’s not fair, the amount of control she has, and the little restraint he can muster.
He should just tell her to fuck off and be done with it.
Cheryl sits up and runs a few fingers through her hair. From this angle, he feels like he’s in a position of worship. His hands come up to grip her hips, and he earns a small, surprised gasp from her mouth. She doesn’t smack him away this time.

He should really consult Veronica about where she attends confession.

Jughead pulls his fingers through Cheryl’s long hair and stares up at the ceiling. This is the calmest they’ve ever been together, the most quiet. He doesn’t want to disrupt it, but he’s Jughead, so he has to open his mouth and-

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