ｃｈｕｇｈｅａｄ ♡

cover girl *

credits to @ gaffsie via ao3.

warning; this is smut. kinky ass smut. don't read if you're not comfortable.

–

One of the reasons Cheryl tends to go for girls is that boys just don't put in any effort to look nice. The top-tier ones keep themselves clean, at most, but how they present themselves in general? - Eww.

Last year, Jughead Jones wouldn't even have made it to her top-tier list of High School boys, let alone her actual top-tier list of attractive people. That filthy beanie alone was ground for total disqualification, and don't even get her started on his tragic throwback 90s grunge shirts.

But then, to her immense regret, she'd started to get to know him better, and she'd even, dare she say it, started to find him almost inoffensive to look at.

His hair was the first thing to get her approval. She could respect anyone who put in that much work to get their hair to curl in such a studied don't-give-a-damn-but-this-looks-fantastic way, and when she'd deigned to compliment him on it, he'd blushed and averted his eyes; pleased but shy about it.

Cheryl approved of that too; far too few people accepted her compliments as the rare and valuable gems they were.

Then, in a moment of weakness on her part, and indescribable luck on his, they'd fallen into bed together. He'd been much better than he'd have any right to be, and as he'd been sinking down on his knees, correctly interpreting Cheryl's light push on his shoulder as the demand it was, Cheryl had thought to herself, I can work with this.

And here they were, months later. Cheryl still couldn't get him to dress appropriately for school, probably due to that silly South Side pride of his, but behind locked doors he was far more amendable. Jughead might snark and scoff, but one well-timed compliment and he was putty in her hands.

She didn't know what he had to complain about anyway – she was the one who had to buy a whole new make-up palette for him. Honestly, the nerve. She'd tried with her own colors at first, but Classic Red wasn't really his shade. No, for Jughead, pink was the way to go.

Right now, her favourite shade on him is Smokey Rose. It is deceptively innocent, just like him. She doesn't really want him to wear any foundation, because she enjoys watching him blush too much whenever she tells him he's pretty. Plus, she's actually developed an appreciation for the constellation of moles on his cheeks. A little bit of smoky eye-shadow is never amiss though, and of course a dash of mascara to really bring out his eyes.
“You have a weird definition of foreplay,” Jughead had told her the first time. He'd been sitting naked on her bed, back against the headboard, and Cheryl had been straddling him, wearing her favourite understated red lace negligee.

“Shut up and let me put on the lip gloss,” Cheryl had said. “You have a lovely mouth; be glad I'm trying to do it justice.”

He'd shut up. As a reward, she'd gone down on him, leaving faint red lipstick marks on his dick. She'd smiled when she'd noticed, and Jughead had looked down with lowered mascara-ed lashes, smirked and told her not to get any ideas.

Today, she snaps shut the compact with a satisfied smile, and surveys her handiwork.

He looks amused, but she can feel that he's hard. She grinds down on him just to remind him who's in charge here (hint: it's not him). She puts her index finger on his chin and gives his head a little push to the left. He lets her. She likes the look of him like this, pale skin and dark eyes, that pretty pink mouth that she can't wait to mess up.

“This will do,” she says and pats his cheek.

“I'm honored,” he says with an ironic nod.

“You should be.”

She leans in and kisses him, and he responds. His hands have made their way to her waist, and hers are in his hair. She nips at his lips and sucks on his tongue, and relishes the taste of lipstick in her mouth. She moans, can't help it, and Jughead's corresponding smile against her lips makes her reach back for his dick. It's hard and velvet soft in her hand, and they both sigh with relief when she sinks down on it, her cunt eagerly accepting it inside.

She moves her hands to his shoulders now, uses them to balance herself as she starts riding him. His hips rise up to meet hers and for a while she gets lost in the pleasure of it, his hands warm and sure on her back, his labored breathing and soft moans in her ear, and the sweet slide of his dick inside her. She clenches around him, loving the power of momentarily making him lose his rhythm like that.

She's selfishly chasing her own pleasure, grinding down on him in just such a way to get the friction she needs, and his counter thrusts are aimed in just the right way – there is something to be said for having a regular fuck buddy that knows her body.

She moans, loud and unashamed, because she believes in positive reinforcement, and it always makes Jughead work harder to bring her over the edge.

She comes, her orgasm sparkling along her spine, and Jughead follows.

His lipstick is ruined, and she knows hers is too.

Just the way she likes it