Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10732314.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Riverdale_(TV_2017)
  Relationship:
      Cheryl_Blossom/Jughead_Jones, Betty_Cooper/Jughead_Jones
  Character:
      Jughead_Jones, Cheryl_Blossom, Betty_Cooper, Archie_Andrews, Alice_Cooper
      (Archie_Comics), Polly_Cooper
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Past_Rape/Non-con, Frottage, Oral_Sex, Rough_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-26 Updated: 2018-03-30 Chapters: 7/? Words: 17872
****** Darker shade of red ******
by Sumthinelse
Summary
     “Do you want me to take the couch in case anyone breaks in?” he
     asked.
     “No,” she replied, tucking the covers around her. “Nobody would ever
     think to look for me here.”
     Spoilers for 'Last Picture Show" and begins just after the events of
     the episode. Will roughly follow the show's timeline.
Notes
     Please note the rating and warnings. Both Characters are underage. No
     fluff here.
***** Nocturnal Missions *****
Jughead stirred from sleep when he heard the bedroom door squeak open. He was,
by necessity, a light sleeper, and opened his eyes, not moving. He lay on his
side with his arm tucked under his pillow, and could see clearly enough through
his eyelashes without needing to sit up. The unfamiliar room came into focus
and he remembered where he was.

Cheryl, in what was probably a misguided attempt at imitating kindness, had
offered to let Jughead stay in the guest house when she’d seen him leaving the
drive-in. After the talk he’d just had with his father, the sullen teen had
accepted. He’d spent the first week anticipating eviction, or some kind of
prank. When that didn’t happen, he’d expected Cheryl to ask him to do some kind
of favor for her, like help her hide dead bodies, or something. She’d ignored
him at school, but had started showing up while he did his homework, or cooked,
or washed dishes. She’d just sit on the loveseat in the small living room,
texting on her phone, or reading a magazine, usually ignoring him.

Jughead found he wasn’t surprised when he recognized the feminine silhouette,
briefly illuminated in the doorway, before his visitor shut the door and padded
silently across the floor. He didn’t know if she knew he was awake, but she
didn’t hesitate before lifting the covers and sliding into bed beside him. She
didn’t put her arms around him, but curled onto her side, with her back to him,
and drew her knees up. They’d be spooning if she’d been lying a little closer.
“How can your feet be this cold?” he asked, hissing when her icy toes pressed
against his shins.
“Shut up.”
They didn’t speak again for several minutes and Jughead had just decided to
fall back to sleep when he heard her voice, thin and brittle in the darkness,
devoid of its usual sarcasm.
“When we were little, Jason used to come sleep in my bed when he’d had a bad
dream, and vice versa.” Despite Cheryl having her back to him, he could hear
the tears in her voice, even if they didn’t fall.
“Is that why you’re here?” his own voice was rough from sleep, but he wasn’t
unwilling to talk, even if the company was uninvited.
“No, I don’t remember my dreams anymore.” She cleared her throat and sniffled.
“Most of the time, anyway.”
“Are you afraid someone wants to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“Considering the rate at which you make enemies, Cheryl, you’re probably
right.”
“Thanks for the words of comfort,” she said blandly and he chuckled softly.
“You woke me up.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He mused that it was probably the first time she’d ever apologized
to him. It was also probably the last time she ever would. “Do you want me to
take the couch in case anyone breaks in?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, tucking the covers around her. “Nobody would ever think to
look for me here.”
Jughead smiled and rolled over, facing the window. He fell asleep fairly
quickly considering the fact that he was sharing a bed for the first time in a
long time.
Warm breath caressed the back of Jughead’s neck and he woke, a little before
dawn, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of being the little spoon. Cheryl had
her arm draped over his waist and was tucked up behind him with her feet
sandwiched between his.
She hadn’t struck him as the cuddling type, but she was warm and he drifted
back off to sleep.
When Cheryl came back a week later, slipping wordlessly into Jughead’s bed and
curling away from him on her side, he rolled onto his back and gave up one of
the pillows without a fight, or comment. He has nearly fallen back to sleep
when she rolled over and tucked herself against the side of his chest. He
smiled a little and drifted off, feeling a small amount of satisfaction that
she trusted him.
Cheryl and Jughead didn’t speak at school, and it suited them both fine since
they didn’t really have anything to talk about, but her visits to his bed
became more frequent. After two weeks of sporadic nocturnal appearances, he
barely woke when she came in for the third night in a row; he just lifted his
arm from where he slept on his side and let her settle her back against his
chest. Several hours later, he realized the folly of this when he woke to
answer the call of nature and realized he’d been spooning Cheryl with morning
wood.
Attempting to delicately extricate himself from her long, hair, Jughead crawled
over her to get to the bathroom. It was four in the morning, but he opted for a
quick, cold shower in order to avoid embarrassment for the next few hours. The
alternative, with her in the next room, was unthinkable. When he opened the
door to the bathroom, Cheryl stirred and shaded her eyes from the overhead
light.
“What are you doing?” She asked, grumpily as he pulled the cord, sending the
room back into darkness.
“Showering,” he answered, grunting as his toe hit the bedside table. His eyes
weren’t accustomed to the dark anymore. “I wanted to get in before rush hour.”
He hopped nimbly over her and eagerly got back under the blankets. He turned
away from her, in order to avoid any other anatomical mishaps and heard her
sigh heavily before rolling over to throw an arm over him.
“You’re freezing.” She was surprised and lifted her head off the pillow,
gripping his upper arm. “Like, your whole body is an ice cube. Is the hot water
heater on the fritz?”
“No,” he mumbled
“Did you take a cold shower?”
“Yes, go back to sleep.” He felt the vibration of her laughter when she pressed
her forehead against his spine. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, “It happens
to all guys in the morning,” he continued, defensively. She was chuckling
softly, now. “It would have been …discourteous if I’d just left it like that
while acting as temporary Big Spoon.”
“Discourteous?” She laughed. “Oh, was that what was poking me in the lower
back? I thought it was a finger.”
“Believe me, you’d have known the difference,” he replied, grumpily. “But I
don’t take advantage of sleeping bedmates.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” She settled down behind him and eventually
they fell back to sleep.
Cheryl was absent for several nights before she came back. Jughead hadn’t
exactly missed her, but he’d grown accustomed to her warmth and found himself
sleeping more fitfully, like his sleeping self was waiting for her. Then the
door squeaked and he opened his arms when she got into bed, resting her head on
his chest, He tucked his chin against the top of her head and smelled her
fragrant shampoo, drifting into deep sleep.
Jughead stirred from a pleasant dream and rubbed his face against long, silky
hair. A warm hand ran over his chest and a long, slim leg slid up over his
knees. He turned into the familiar embrace and felt full, soft lips press into
his. He opened his mouth with a sigh and returned the kiss, hesitantly while
leaning into the gentle caresses. It felt good to be touched so gently, and
with affection. The warm waves of sleep gave way to a deeper heat of arousal.
He opened his eyes and found himself wrapped around Cheryl. She was lying,
half-sprawled, on top of him, and in the dim light from the moon, he could see
that she was looking down at him. Confused, he pulled back a little.
“Mmmh, what are you doing?” The teen mumbled, rubbing a hand on her lower back,
absently while dragging his other hand over his eyes. He wondered when he’d
arrived in the Twilight zone. Her knee inched higher and came dangerously close
to an area of his body that was also waking up. He turned quickly onto his
side, trying to fend off the discovery. Her leg kept moving up until her knee
was near his hip and her lower leg draped over the back of his thigh. She moved
her hand down his chest and to his abdomen before he grabbed her wrist. Their
faces were inches apart and she closed the distance, kissing him a little
harder. He kissed her back, for a moment, before turning his face away. “Wake
up, Cheryl,” he said.
“I am awake.” She arched her back and pressed her breasts against his chest.
“And so are you.”
“Yeah, now.” Jughead pushed away from her, falling to his back and left one of
his knees cocked up to hide the status of his lower body. He scrubbed a hand
over his face, and stared at the ceiling. “If I hadn’t, would you have taken
things too far?” He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger.
“What’s too far?” she asked, coyly. The Cheryl from school was in his bed now,
not the one he’d been sleeping beside. She sat up, suddenly and straddled his
hips. He gripped her thighs, automatically, as if he could hold her off. She
settled her weight on him, letting the warmth from her body press against his
thickening erection, and making his whole body go rigid. He noticed she only
wore a tank top and panties, which meant that she’d ditched her cotton pajama
pants before she’d begun touching him. She placed her hands on his shoulders
and he moved his grip to her forearms.
“Cheryl,” he said, trying to hide the tremble in his hands. “I’m not used to
the way you play games.” He jumped when she rolled her hips and ground down
against him. He grabbed for her waist in a panic, to try and stop her
movements. “I swear to you, I wasn’t going to try anything!” He heard his voice
crack in desperation.
“I know, you were being …courteous.” Her voice was velvety soft and she moved
her hands down his chest and under his t-shirt. “Your skin is so soft, it’s
like sleeping with a skinny plushie.” He gripped her wrists and stopped her
exploration.
“This isn’t funny, Cheryl.”
“I’m not laughing.” She rolled her hips against him and to his embarrassment,
he began to swell and harden. She smiled when she felt him and did it again,
pulling an involuntary groan from him. “You were right, there’s no mistaking it
for a finger in the dark.” She inched her way lower on his hips, and his
erection sprang up between them, tenting his pajama pants.
“Happy now?” he asked, coldly. He felt humiliation blaze through him like a
forest fire. “You’ve proved you can get me excited with very little effort.
Congratulations, I’m a guy.”
“Intrigued? Yes. Happy? Not yet.” She slipped her wrist from his grip and
wrapped her cool fingers around his stiffening shaft. He fisted his hand in the
sheets and gritted his teeth when she began to stroke him through the thin
cotton of his pajamas. His brain refused to work properly and he arched,
involuntarily, bucking up into her hand. He felt her hand stop and she rested
her palms on his legs, and moved down from his hips to his thighs. He needed to
put a stop to this.
“Cheryl-” His protest stopped when she tugged down the top of his pants and
bent over, taking the swollen head of his penis into her mouth.
The pleasure was too intense, and Jughead couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes
and pressed a hand against his forehead. His other hand held Cheryl’s wrist and
he squeezed it when she began to suck. He let go and reached up to grip the
bars of the headboard. He rolled his hips as she moved up and down his shaft,
slicking his flesh with her saliva. His breath was coming in short pants and he
knew he couldn’t hold out for long. Suddenly her mouth left him and he opened
his eyes, looking up at her.
“Do you want me to stop?” she asked.
“Uh, I can’t-” He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t stop.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please don’t stop!” he gasped, and then sighed with relief when she enveloped
him again. She took her time building him back up with slower, firmer pulls
with her mouth. Eventually he let out a hoarse cry an arched up into her mouth
when he climaxed. She sucked him through the spasms before spitting his semen
onto the sheets beside him.
“Do your laundry.” She got up and left the room after that, and Jughead
loosened his aching fingers from the bedpost. He took a shower and washed the
sheets, like she’d ordered. His stomach burned with shame at how she’d managed
to control him, so easily. She’d showed him her vulnerability and gained his
trust, so he wouldn’t push her away. He wished he’d resisted her, and he
couldn’t help feeling like he’d failed some test, and that she was
disappointed.
***** Traditions Followed *****
Chapter Notes
     Self-beta. Sorry, I'm terrible at editing my own stuff, feel free to
     mention mistakes.
Jughead did his best to put the surreal events of the previous night in the
back of his mind. He focused on his investigation with Betty and Kevin. They
were interrupted by the sweetly hesitant Trevor, who verified his date with the
pretty blonde. He was surprised when he felt an unfamiliar twist in his chest;
his friend was dating someone. He and Kevin picked her denial apart,
effectively tag-teaming her, and only gained a blush and a denial for their
trouble. He was jealous. He reminded himself that he had no right to be jealous
when he was engaging in…activities.
            The moody teen kept thinking about Betty’s ‘Intelligence gathering
mission’ with Trevor, and stayed on the higher bleachers during Veronica’s
teasing. He didn’t need anyone seeing him roll his eyes when the dark-haired
girl referenced Nicholas Sparks in regards to Betty and Trevor. He ignored the
discussion until Cheryl’s voice startled him.
            “Sorry to interrupt, Sad Breakfast Club.” Cheryl handed out the
formal invitations while telling them all that they were formally invited to
the second, and apparently more fashionable funeral for her brother. She didn’t
look at Jughead, but handed his invite to Kevin who handed it back to him.  He
broke the seal and read the fine script with the date and time.  Veronica left
just after Cheryl, and he made his excuses, wanting to be alone. She was
burying her brother…again. Kinda. Maybe she’d needed a distraction, or some
comfort from him. Any residual anger he’d been feeling towards the girl, for
coming onto him so strongly, eased off. It was replaced by something else;
pity? Compassion? He wasn’t completely certain.
            Jughead took the city bus out to the stop that was closest to the
Blossom’s estate. He used the side-entrance, as Cheryl had requested. The guest
house was actually the old gate house from when the main entrance was closer to
the maple grove. The building was square, two stories, and made from the same
stone as the large home. It had small windows, and old doors; a bit neglected,
but still classy. The pond and a grove of decorative trees separated it from
the main house, but a stone pathway wove through the trees to the door. The
first floor had a small kitchen with a breakfast bar, a couch and a chair. The
upstairs was one large master suite with a standing shower, but no bathtub.  He
didn’t mind, it was the nicest place in which he’d ever lived.
Jughead stared at the wall in silence and thought about packing up his things
tonight. The Blossoms would probably need the guest house for family members
who’d be arriving for the funeral. He thought about the clean sheets on the
bed, and remembered Cheryl spitting after he’d come in her mouth. For all of
her actions as the aggressor in...'The Event', that had seemed the most
upsetting. She had been rejecting part of him; and to spit his own substance
onto the bed where he slept had been visceral and raw. It had hurt and
embarrassed him, and left him feeling like there was something wrong with him.
He glanced at the kitchen and the instant noodles he was planning to eat for
dinner, when the door opened. He stood, quickly, and rubbed his damp palms on
his trouser legs.
            Cheryl had changed her clothes since school. No longer in her black
skirt and blouse, she now wore a white, pantsuit that flattered her. She also
looked like she was freshly showered, and wore very little makeup now. She held
the door open and a young woman in black pants and a white shirt walked in. She
carried a large serving tray and looked at the redhead who jerked her chin at
the bar. Giving Jughead a brief smile, the woman set the tray down and left.
There were several covered dishes on the tray, along with a pair of carafes,
and the smell of food made his stomach growl; he joined her at the bar.
            “The caterers came by with samples for the food we’re serving at
the funeral,” Cheryl said, closing the door behind her. “They always bring too
much.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and approached the tray. “There’s
some baked salmon with rice and asparagus,” she said, lifting one of the
silver-domed covers. “If you’d prefer beef, there’s steak, herbed potatoes and
peas.” Her skin was ghostly, and there was a slight tremor in her hands when
she lifted the second cover.
            “Do you need me to leave tonight?” Jughead asked, placing his hand
on the granite countertop. “I mean, if you have family or friends coming for
the funeral, they’ll probably need the guest house, right?”
            “Don’t be silly,” she replied, placing a set of silverware rolled
in a linen napkin on the counter. “Family and friends will stay in the main
house.” She glanced around at the room. “This place hasn’t been updated in so
long, it wouldn’t be suitable.” She didn’t seem to notice what she’d just said,
and he smiled. Then he noticed her eyes flick to the second set of silverware
on the tray.
            “Which did you like best?” The question was neutral enough,
intended to keep her engaged. Jughead wasn’t sure why he wanted her to continue
talking to him, but she seemed so fragile, he had a sudden fear that she’d get
knocked over by the army of staff who were carrying chairs and tables into the
main house. If she fell, he was certain she’d shatter; porcelain shards on the
heavy stone.
            “I didn’t try either one.” The redhead didn’t look at him, but
busied herself setting down the plates and adding empty wine glasses. He
noticed that the glasses were different, and realized that one was for the red
wine that she poured from one of the carafes, and the other glass was for the
white.
            “What are you in the mood for?” he asked, picking up the glass of
red wine and giving it a quick sniff.  “Red or white?” He caught the hint of a
smile at the corner of her mouth.
            “In this outfit?” she gestured to the white silk. “White.”
            “Don’t want to live dangerously?” He let a smile of his own come
out. He nudged the glass of red wine towards her. “Playing it safe?”
            “You just want the salmon,” she replied.
            “We can switch halfway, if you want.” Jughead picked up the glass
of white wine and waited while his hostess moved the tray to the small table
beside the couch. There were smaller dishes that hadn’t been uncovered, but he
could be patient. The plates and glasses were set across from each other. He
tugged out the tall chair that was in front of the beef dish for her, receiving
a satisfying look of surprise. He might not have had many opportunities to show
off, but his mother had taught him manners, and his father had reminded him to
always use them with ladies. He sipped the white wine, cool and crisp, as he
sat down in front of his own plate.
            “Veronica’s going to come over the night before the funeral,”
Cheryl said, neatly slicing off a small piece of beef. “She’s going to have
dinner and then sleepover with me.” She was giving Jughead an explanation for a
planned absence from his bed. She popped the beef into her mouth and chewed,
delicately. Then she sliced a small potato in half and ate it, followed by a
forkful of peas. Following her example, he took a small bite of the salmon and
ignored the asparagus.  The fish melted in his mouth and he gave a small nod.
“How is it?” she asked
            “Light,” he replied. “The dill works.” The teen took a bite of the
rice and another sip of the wine. “I’m no expert, but the wine works well.”
Cheryl nodded, keeping her eyes on her own plate. They ate in silence for a few
more minutes, and he made sure to stop eating once he was halfway through the
salmon. 
            “You should try the asparagus,” Cheryl said, lightly, eyeing his
plate.  “It’s very fresh.”
            “Sure, Mom,” he said, grinning.  He sliced off the head of one of
the spears and popped it into his mouth. It was better than the frozen stuff
his mother had occasionally inflicted on him in his youth, and he ate a second
spear.
            “Want to try the beef?” The redhead looked up then, meeting her
guest’s eyes directly. She picked up the carafes and refilled their glasses. 
When he nodded, she gently switched the plates and glasses. “Unforgivable, I
know,” she said with a dainty shrug. “Mommy would die if she saw me giving
someone a plate from which I’ve already eaten.” She twisted the stem of the
wine glass, slightly, and Jughead noticed that the buttery print from his lips
that sat on the edge of the glass was now closest to her. He glanced at the
dark, red wine in the glass beside the plate of beef. A smudge of pale pink was
visible, where her lip gloss had been left behind. She was watching him from
under her lashes, and without thinking, he twitched the stem between his
fingers, and left the unblemished side facing her.
            “I don’t mind.” He picked up her fork and cut himself a piece of
the beef. The meal was a bridge; a gesture of caring. She drank from his glass,
touching her lips to the spot where his mouth had left traces of himself; it
was an acceptance of him. He lifted the other glass and took a sip of the
richer, earthier wine. He accepted a taste of her in return, and his lips were
sticky from the gloss.
            A softer expression crossed Cheryl’s features. She shifted in her
seat and relaxed, slightly. They didn’t talk until she’d finished the last
piece of asparagus and rose to take the plates back to the tray. She stacked
them and brought back two chilled plates. One had a slice of chocolate cake,
the other had a slice of cheesecake.
            “You can have both of these,” she said, placing them in front of
him. “I’ve got to do my homework.” She left without another word and Jughead
enjoyed his two desserts.
            Jughead emailed Betty, sending her a link to a collection of funny
cat videos. He thought about her upcoming date with Trevor and sulked, refusing
to examine his feelings other than to acknowledge his preference for keeping
their investigation small. He brought the tray and dishes back to the main
house and set them on a table where someone would be sure to find them. He
left, quickly, not wanting to run into the Blossoms.
            Jughead changed into his pajamas and slipped between fresh-smelling
sheets. He guessed he’d be sleeping alone that night, but wasn’t all that
surprised when Cheryl slipped under the covers beside him at around Midnight.
He figured she had to wait until after her parents had gone to bed before
leaving the house. She lay beside him, on her back, and stared at the ceiling.
He waited until she’d let out her second heavy sigh before speaking.
            “Thank you for dinner.”
            “You’re welcome.”
            “We didn’t bother to update the gate house,” she began. Her voice
was brittle and thin, like the first night she’d stayed with him. “So walking
in here is a bit like walking back in time.” She turned and looked at him. “I
hadn’t been in here for over a year, and nothing’s changed in the last ten.”
She looked at the fan on the ceiling. “I feel a little more connected to who I
was before he died.”
            “Disassociation is common with a big loss, or a major change.”
Jughead wasn’t sure why he chose to speak. “People who get divorced, or have
children, or have a life-altering event sometimes feel like they have a sudden
change in identity.  They’ve stopped being the person they were before it
happened.  You’re not the Cheryl you used to be.  You’re someone else now; this
place reminds you of how it felt to be her.” He rolled onto his side. “You’re
allowed to miss her.”
            “I wish we weren’t having this funeral,” she lifted her hand and
placed it against his cheek. “I never attended a funeral before; not for
someone I actually cared about.”
            Technically, Cheryl had already attended Jason’s funeral, but she’d
been under the impression he was still alive at the time.
            “All of the traditions that different civilizations follow when it
comes to burying the dead have two major purposes.” He placed his palm on the
crown of her head. “To allow the living to make peace with their loved ones,
and to show the world that the person who died…mattered.” He saw her tilt her
head. “Going to the trouble of observing traditions like dressing up for the
service, or having flowers, or carving a headstone means that this person
mattered. He was worth the tears; he was worth the effort, and worth the pain
of standing up in front of everyone and talking about your feelings, no matter
how much it hurts.”
            “Jason deserved to be missed.” Cheryl’s lips trembled, slightly,
and Jughead leaned down, and touched his own to them. It was just a gentle
brush, and then he withdrew.
            “Jason deserved to be missed,” he repeated.  He wasn’t sure what
had inspired his thoughtful commentary on death and funerals.  He wasn’t big on
platitudes, but he’d attended funerals in the past, his father’s friends,
mostly. The Serpents had had their own traditions, and his father had first
told him about why traditions were important. He hadn’t thought that
conversation would be significant to the Blossom family, but he supposed it fit
for everyone. Cheryl’s face, clean and pale, seemed to collapse under the
weight of her emotions, and she rolled away, hiding her expression.
            Jughead scooted up behind her, tucking his knees behind hers. He
brought one arm over her shoulder and the other under her neck. He clasped his
arms over hers, where she hugged herself. He squeezed her, wringing a sniffle
from her and held her until she got herself under control. She felt fragile to
him, again. Breakable. He wanted to offer her some peace, and felt strangely
pleased that he was the person she was asking for comfort.
            “Thank you,” she said, and cleared her throat.
            “You’re welcome.”
            Cheryl let out another sigh and Jughead smiled.
            “I just…” The pretty redhead seemed to struggle with herself. She
shifted around again and he let go of her arms, watching her turn over until
they shared a pillow. “I don’t know,” she said, but placed her palm on his
chest. “I know last night was a little-”
            “If you want this house to be…a place that doesn’t exist in the
rest of your life, that’s fine.  You can come here and be the other Cheryl.” He
placed his hand over hers and held it there.
            “I don’t want to seem weak,” she said. “With the funeral coming up,
I just can’t seem to get any sleep.” She seemed so vulnerable, and alone,
surrounded by her terrifying family, she was clinging to him like a life raft.
He was nobody’s idea of a hero, but maybe she didn’t need one.  Maybe she
didn’t need him to save her. Maybe she just needed a little contact. He could
do that for her.
            “I don’t think you’re being weak,” he said. “But I won’t mention
this-” he gestured to the room around them, “-to anyone. So be who you need to
be here.”
            “What if I’m a loser?”
            “You can be a loser.”
            “What if I’m demanding and needy?”
            “You’re allowed.”
            “What if I’m clingy?”
            “I guess you can cling,” he said, with a sigh. “If you need to.”
            “But, just here.” She moved her hands into his hair. “Nowhere
else.” She looked up at him, asking permission. Asking for something more, and
asking him to keep it a secret. He nodded silently and let her pull his face
down to hers.
 
***** Sleepless in Riverdale *****
Chapter Notes
     This Chapter contains sexual activity.
There had been more than the usual noise to disturb Jughead’s sleep: flowers
being delivered, food being delivered, and guests whose flights had been late.
Cheryl had stirred a few times, and only woke fully when a shrill voice had cut
through the night. It was too far away and too distorted by the window to make
out the argument; but close enough to tell that the Blossoms were the ones
arguing.  The redhead froze, her palm flat against Jughead’s chest, in full
fight or flight mode. That the girl’s parents gave her that reaction would have
been terrifying, if the teen hadn’t already been afraid of them.
            “They’re mad at someone else,” she whispered, looking up at him
from the pillow.
            “How can you tell from here?” he asked. “I can’t even hear what
they’re saying.”
            “Daddy almost never raises his voice in front of others, only when
he’s competing with my mother.”
            “It’s scary that you know this,” he said, deadpan. “It’s like a
freaky dog whistle.  Only people who live with that level of family dysfunction
can comprehend what’s spoken in that range.”
            Cheryl pressed her face into his chest, smothering her laugh,
before biting him, playfully. He jumped and rubbed at the spot. “Ow!” He said.
            “Your chest is so skinny, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to bite
some flesh when it finally appeared.”
            “Great, I’m gonna end up with eccentric rabies.”
            “What?” she rubbed a hand over her face, and yawned.
            “Regular rabies is for the poor. Eccentric is what they call
hydrophobia of the 1%.”  He frowned at her. “You should know that.”
            Cheryl smiled, tired but relaxed, and Jughead leaned down to kiss
her; the first kiss he’d initiated. It was quick and light, but then her
fingers were in his hair and she was holding him in place. The spark between
them ignited more quickly than he expected, and flickered into a flame. He felt
her shift her knee up, and then he pulled back to move his legs between hers.
He settled his hips between her thighs and re-took her mouth. He brought his
elbows up to hold his weight, and cupped her face in one, large palm.
            The kisses became urgent and heated; tongues mostly stayed out of
it, just kiss after kiss until Cheryl let out a soft moan. Jughead dropped his
mouth to her throat when she tilted up her chin. She shivered when he got to
the spot under her ear and he paused to tug at the soft lobe with his teeth.
She arched up against him, and he felt her warmth pressing against the
stiffened flesh of his erection. He settled into the cradle of her thighs and
braced his knees against the mattress, rolling his hips and rocking against her
in return.
            After a few sweaty minutes of kissing and delightful friction,
Jughead pulled back and touched Cheryl’s plush, bottom lip with the tip of his
thumb. He opened his mouth to ask the question that was dominating his
currently limited though processes, but the words wouldn’t form.
            “Just this,” the redhead whispered. “Just this for tonight. Is that
okay?”
            “This is good,” he replied, finding his voice. “But it won’t take
much for me. What’s going to work for you?” His question made her blink in
surprise, but then she smiled at him.
            “I can make this work if I’m on top.”
            “Okay,” Jughead replied, breathlessly. He rolled Cheryl on top of
him and placed his hands on her hips, neither guiding, nor restricting her
movements, just holding her. With ample time for his eyes to adjust to the
dimly lit room, he watched her face, fascinated.
            Cheryl’s knees were snug against the outside of the young man’s
hips, and she leaned forward, placing her hands on the mattress on either side
of his head. She shifted until she could move herself, and get gentle but firm
stimulation directly where she wanted it. His erection was hard, but the layers
of clothing that separated them gave enough of a barrier that she felt
confident he wouldn’t climax too quickly. She raised her eyebrows, silently
asking his approval as she began to grind down on him, slowly. He gave her a
quick nod, and hesitantly moved his fingers under the hem of her sleep shirt.
She took the hint and started to tug it over her head, but his frantic grip on
the fabric made her drop her hands back to her sides,
            “What?” Cheryl asked, keeping her hips moving.
            “My part of this is gonna be over really fast if I see what’s under
your shirt right now,” Jughead replied with a tense laugh. “I’m all for seeing
it, don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I just think you should probably try to
finish first.”
            “Is this okay?” She asked, breathlessly. She brought his hands up
and placed them on the front of her shirt, pressing his palms against her
breasts.
            “Will it help you?”
            “As long as you don’t chafe me.”
            “Got it, no chafing.”
            Jughead rubbed his thumbs gently over the puckered nipples he could
feel pebbling beneath the thin, soft cotton of her shirt. He felt Cheryl pick
up her pace and she leaned down, almost flattening her chest against his as she
rolled her hips more quickly. The button on his boxer shorts dug uncomfortably
into the side of his sensitive, engorged flesh on every third thrust she made
against him. It helped to keep him from coming too quickly, and wasn’t quite
painful enough to flag his erection. The friction was more than pleasant, and
the feel of her breasts beneath his hands was phenomenal, but the factor that
had him close to creaming his shorts was the expression on her face.
            Cheryl’s breath came in quick pants and her eyes were closed with
tension lines forming between her brows. She bit her bottom lip and held it
pressed between her teeth while giving a couple of short, jerky pushes. Then
her trembling lips parted, and her hands fumbled against Jughead’s shoulders,
gripping him and digging her sharp nails into him. Her breath hiccupped, and
her face contorted, like she was about to cry, and he felt her legs clench
around his narrow hips as she made a soft, sweet sound. It was half way between
a gasp and a sigh, and he dug his nails into his palms in order to avoid coming
right then.
            “Oh, fuck,” the redhead whispered, as she rocked down on him a few
more times with her eyes closed tightly and her arms trembling.  She sat back,
pulling her weight back a few inches until she was no longer resting her over
sensitized clitoris against the erection beneath her. She could still feel the
heat of him through her damp, cotton panties, but the pressure was less direct.
“What do you want me to do for you?” she asked, running a shaky hand over his
chest before brushing her sweaty hair off her forehead.
            “Gimmie a sec,” Jughead replied. “That was seriously hot to watch.”
He reached up and moved a fingertip over her forehead, and pulled a few dark
strands from her face. He was achingly hard now, and debated asking her to use
her hands or mouth on him, but the more primal feeling of being between her
thighs held more of an appeal, as did the thought of not coming embarrassingly
fast again.  He sat upright, so they were face to face and tugged on the bottom
of her shirt.  She raised her arms, and let him inch it up her torso.
When the garment was discarded, Jughead ran the tips of his fingers up the
smooth, pale flesh of Chery’s stomach, and over the rounded globes. He filled
his hands and let his open mouth hover over one of her nipples, bathing it in
his warm breath. It puckered tighter, and he paused before brushing his bottom
lip over it. “Is this okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“They’re amazing.”
Jughead rubbed both lips over her breasts before gently sucking each one into
his mouth, and circling it with the tip of his tongue. With his hands he gently
squeezed and rubbed, and with his mouth he continued to play with them for a
few minutes before the aching heaviness in his groin became too distracting. 
He rolled them both over so that he was between her thighs and kissed her,
wetter and deeper this time. “Are you still sensitive?” he asked, palming her
hip and pulling her knee around his waist.
“A little,” she said, shyly.
“Okay, change of plans.”
Jughead moved back and brought Cheryl’s legs together, rolling her onto her
side. He brought his knee between her top and bottom legs and scooted up so his
hips were against her ass. He moved one arm to support him and draped the other
over her side so he could continue to touch and caress her breasts.  The thick,
hot ridge of his erection rested between the cleft of her buttocks and she
tilted her hips, accommodatingly. He took a lesson from her earlier actions and
began to thrust against her, rolling his hips slowly at first, trying to find a
comfortable position where he could maintain stimulation.
Jughead found his rhythm hard to maintain and rolled Cheryl onto her belly,
settling himself between her thighs. He gave a quick, rough thrust against her,
and reached into his pants to shove his boxers down far enough that the
annoying button wouldn’t interfere with him again. He left his pajama pants up,
keeping a barrier between himself and the soft panties that covered her. He
gave another experimental push, and found the friction to be perfect.
“Oh,” Cheryl exclaimed when she felt the blunt head pressing against the cleft
of her buttocks. She raised herself on her elbows and brushed her long hair to
the side, tilting her head and giving Jughead access to her neck. “That’s
good.”
Pressing his face against Cheryl’s neck, Jughead held himself with his elbows
on either side of her, and reached underneath her to cup one firm breast in his
hand. He stroked and fondled her gently while he began to thrust against her.
He peppered her shoulders and neck with damp, open-mouthed kisses while he
rutted against her ass with harder and faster thrusts.  She began to pant and
tilt her hips up to meet him, surprising him with her pleasure.
As much as he’d have liked it to go on forever, the young man felt his climax
begin to burn in his lower belly, and quickened his pace, pushing down harder.
“Can I come on you?” he whispered, harshly.
“God, Yes!’ She gasped.
Jughead grunted through his last few thrusts and jerked down the front of his
pants; there was already a damp spot where his pre-come had soaked through. He
balanced his weight on one arm while he gave his erection a few rough stroked
before the first hot splatters of his ejaculation painted Cheryl’s pale skin.
He scooted forward to straddle her hips and pressed the spot between his balls
and his ass, drawing out his orgasm. He could see the shiny drops of thick
fluid on her back and reached a shaky hand for the box of tissues on the night
stand. He wiped her clean while waiting for his breath to go back to normal,
and then tucked himself back away in his boxers and pajamas.
“Jesus,” he said, falling back beside her, once he’d discarded the soiled
tissues. He pulled her into his arms and tucked her head against his shoulder. 
“Sorry I’m so sweaty.”  He kissed her forehead and rubbed a hand over her back,
checking for any spots he missed.
“I’m sweaty too,” she replied, planting a small kiss on his jaw. She accepted
her shirt when he handed it back to her and drew it back on. The cool, autumn
draft from the window felt good for a few minutes as it dried their
perspiration, but eventually, he tugged the sheets and comforter back over them
both.
Jughead sighed, tiredly and rolled onto his side, spooning Cheryl with one arm
pillowing her neck and the other draped over her waist. He listened to her
deep, even breathing while he drifted back off to sleep.
Cheryl could feel Jughead’s breath on the back of her neck as he slept. She
thought about what they’d just done, and as satisfying as her orgasm was, she
couldn’t help focusing on some of his actions. The way he’d held off on seeing
her topless until she’d climaxed, asking what she liked, and checking for
approval before doing something new. She wasn’t used to guys being so
considerate. Usually, she dealt with shy fumbling from the guys who were
intimidated, or the over-confident groping of the ones who weren’t. Jughead had
shown her consideration and concern that felt natural, as well as confidence
that belied experience.
            After the Homecoming game, during her freshman year, Cheryl had had
her first sexual experience. The little bit of kissing and minor butt-groping
under the bleachers had been underwhelming, but not unpleasant until the boy in
question, a senior named Nick, had run his mouth off to everyone who’d listen
that she’d given him a blowjob. Disgusted with him, she’d cried to Josie who’d
discouraged her from trying to set the record straight. Her friend had told her
to never give away intimate information just to quell a rumor; it would have
only made her seem defensive.  Instead she’d looked down her nose at the idiot
and loudly proclaimed that she’d been willing to keep the disappointing size of
his dick a secret, but since he’d been so eager to make it public knowledge,
who was she to hide it.
            It had been the first battle Cheryl had won. Nick had been faced
with the choice to either come clean that she’d never seen his dick, or admit
he’d lied, or endure the embarrassment of the rumor the way she had.  He’d
chosen to shut his mouth about the incident, and had made an effort to be nice
to her for the rest of the year. Nick had also given Cheryl her first lesson in
grudges, and how it was possible to hide dark intentions behind a brilliant
smile.
***** After the funeral *****
**Sorry this is such a short chapter. I've got the next one nearly finished,
where all the angst comes in, but I added this scene because I wanted to give
them one more night before hurting them. The next chapter jumps ahead in
time.**
 
The next night, Jughead had seemed a little preoccupied when Cheryl arrived, he
was still dressed in jeans and a t-shirt instead of his pajamas. He looked up
at her when she stood in the doorway in just her nightgown and quickly closed
his laptop. He stood up and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck, tiredly.
            “Lost track of time,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He
pulled his pajamas out from under the pillow and went into the bathroom. Cheryl
heard the toilet flush and the sound of him brushing his teeth before he
emerged, ready for sleep. He tucked his laptop into his bag and knelt beside
her to slide it under the bed.
            Cheryl moved close to Jughead until her knee nudged his shoulder.
He stopped and his eyes flicked to her leg. He looked up at her with a raised
eyebrow. In the dim light, she noticed that his eyes were green, not brown like
she’d always assumed. His face was almost feminine with its smooth skin,
delicate jaw and full mouth. She placed her palm on his cheek and ran the tip
of her thumb over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and caught the fleshy pad
of her thumb between his teeth, and rested the tip of his tongue against it.
            Jughead remained on his knees, but brought his palm around Cheryl’s
leg and up her calf. His thumb stroked the sensitive inside of her knee and he
waited, watching her.
            “How was breakfast with the Coopers?” she asked, taking her thumb
back.
            “Not bad.”
            “Did you have dinner already?”
            “Burger at Pop’s.”
            “You’re full?”
            “I could eat.” His eyebrow made the slightest flicker, and he
shifted so he was kneeling directly in front of her.
            Cheryl made no move to tug her nightgown down her thighs, in fact,
it rode up ever higher when she reached for the lamp, shutting it off and
plunging the room into darkness.
            “I wanted to see you.”
            “Do you need a map?”
            “Probably not.”
            Cheryl smiled and ran a hand over Jughead’s hair. She guessed he
hadn’t done anything like this before, and waited to see if he wanted to do it.
Not all guys did.
            “Lie back,” he said, softly. His hands were on her knees and he
tugged them forward, so they were on either side of his torso. “I really want
to do this,” he said, when she hesitated. “If you want me to.”
            Cheryl reclined onto the bed, and felt the windowsill bump against
her wrists as she raised her arms over her head. She looked up at the ceiling
and waited while his hands shyly pushed her nightgown up to her waist. She felt
his breath on her stomach and breathed out, slowly, trying to shove away her
own nervousness. She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t have a lot of
experience with this either.
            Occasionally, one of Cheryl’s lovers, or hookups would make a quick
stop to get her wet before jumping to the main event. None of them had made it
seem like a chore, just part of the journey to getting their dicks inside of
her. Jughead was different. He pressed kisses to her stomach and traced her
hipbone with his thumb before tugging her panties down. She shifted to help
him, and once he’d pulled them down her legs and off, she felt him press her
thighs apart.
            Jughead’s hands were gentle as he touched Cheryl, using his
fingertips to slide along the soft skin of her thighs until he reached the
neatly-trimmed tuft of hair that covered her pubic mound. He stroked the soft,
bare skin of her outer folds, and pressed his lips there. Gaining confidence,
he pushed his hands under her legs and brought her thighs up to his shoulders,
pressing his chest against the mattress. His hands crested the top of her hips
and came down over the front of her abdomen to open her up to his
mouth.          
            Using lips, and tongue, Jughead explored the warm, slickness. First
he mouthed and sucked, experimentally, then he used the tip of his tongue to
move up and down her inner folds, gauging her reactions to the different
caresses.
            Once Cheryl relaxed, she felt Jughead settle into a slightly
sloppy, but enthusiastic rhythm of licking and sucking at her clit. He learned
to keep his contact light and not to press too hard with his tongue when he was
directly on top of the sensitive little nub. When she started to squirm, and
sweat, he surprised her by gripping her hips and holding her still. He tilted
his head to the side, and enveloped her with his lips, sucking on her like he
was giving her head. She let out a squeak after the first few sucks, and then
buried her fingers in his hair. The sensations became intense so quickly, she
barely registered what he was doing. She arched her back and tightened her legs
around his head, wanting to pull away from the over-stimulation of the strong
suction.
            Jughead gripped Cheryl’s waist and pressed his face closer, sucking
her clit against the flat of his tongue, and the less-direct stimulation pushed
her unexpectedly over the edge. She let out a small cry and grabbed his wrist
as her orgasm washed over her in warm waves. He let up on her when her body
relaxed, moving his wet lips to her trembling thighs and letting her legs down.
He moved up over her, pushing her nightgown up to her neck while she lay limp
beneath him. He dragged his mouth up her belly, and between her breasts,
stopping to swirl his tongue around each perky nipple.
            Cheryl felt the thick ridge of Jughead’s erection through his pants
as it rubbed against the cleft of her hip and thigh. He stayed at her breasts,
squeezing and sucking at them, hungrily before he pushed himself up onto his
hands and looked down at her.
            “How do you want me to get you off?” she asked, once her breath
returned to normal.
            “Like the other night,” he replied in a husky voice, and deftly
flipped her onto her belly. Her round bottom was bare to him this time, and he
planted a hand between her shoulder blades, gently holding her in place. She
felt him, hot and thick when he straddled her thighs and began to rub against
her, using the friction of their bodies to stimulate himself. It was barely a
minute before he was fumbling with the front of his pants and she heard the
frantic, slick sound of his hand on himself.
            Jughead came with a gasp and the hot spurts hit Cheryl’s lower back
and bottom; painting her, marking her. He panted harshly while regaining his
own breath, and then got up from the bed. “Hang on, I’ll get a washcloth.” He
returned and cleaned the both of them off before Cheryl rolled over and
accepted her fallen panties from him. She slipped them up her damp thighs and
then got under the covers, falling asleep as soon as he was settled behind her.
This time he lay between her and the door.
***** Sisters of Misery *****
Okay, so I put an extra day between breakfast and the Bughead trip to the
convent of creepiness.
Beware...Bughead follows.
I felt like I needed to move the plot forward and into canon. The Cheryl/
Jughead moments are what I imagine in between most of the scenes, and give
extra depth to the interactions we do see between them.
 
            Jughead didn’t say anything on the car ride back from the Prison/
hospital/Convent run by the Sisters of Misery, where Polly Cooper had been
confined. Betty had been crying softly in the front seat beside her mother who
occasionally murmured something too quiet to hear. Seeing his best friend so
broken had made his chest ache. Finding his voice, Jughead asked Mrs. Cooper to
drop him off at Pop’s Diner. He was polite and said ‘Please’, and to his
surprise, she pulled into the diner and told him she was sorry he’d been pulled
into ‘all this’. He got it, finally. She was ashamed of Polly. Betty had lifted
her red-rimmed, blue eyes to his and pressed her hand against the window. She
wore her pain in front of him, while he fought to hide his own feelings from
her. He wondered why he hid everything, she’d never judge him. She was too
good, and kind, and sweet to do that.
            Sliding into his usual booth, Jughead nodded to the waitress and
accepted the coffee she offered. He ordered his usual burger and fries, and
took his laptop out of his bag. He pulled up his documents about Jason
Blossom’s murder and stared at the titles. Each of his articles, and his
chapters for his book had clever, witty headings that he’d thought on for a
long time. His readers would need to read the chapter and then reflect back on
his cleverness in thinking of the title. He’d been surrounded by the effects of
a teenager’s murder for months, but had felt removed from it. He’d been a
passenger in Riverdale’s big murder mystery, but hadn’t felt like a part of it
until now.
Polly Cooper was pregnant with Jason Blossom’s baby, and being held against her
will out of the public eye. It was about as big a break in the case as Jughead
could have expected. With the knowledge had come something unexpected for the
teen, and he’d been floating on it ever since.
Isolated by the staff, Jughead hadn’t been with Betty during the confrontation
with her mother, so he didn’t know exactly what had been said yet. But when
they were being escorted out, and Polly and Alice Cooper had had their
confrontation in the hallway, he’d been surprised to feel the orderly’s hands
on him. He’d actually been stepping forward to come to his best friend’s aid,
upset that she was in distress when things had gotten physical. He’d felt a
flare of protectiveness that, in retrospect, had made him feel more alive than
anything outside of the Blossom’s guest house.
It was like scraping the frost from a windshield. The apathetic, low-level buzz
of interest that Jughead had felt about the case had been out of boredom, at
first. Then Betty’s trust in him to help her find information had been more of
a boost. Each secret uncovered had made him feel more human, but he’d still
been an outsider until today. Today he’d actually seen a young pregnant girl
dragged screaming down the hall while his best friend had wept with distress.
He’d been manhandled by a guy who worked for the Sisters of Perpetual
Judgement, and pushed around. This was the kind of life he’d always wanted to
lead. One where he actually existed and mattered.
The bell over the door indicated the entrance of more patrons, but Jughead
didn’t notice until he heard the familiar sarcastic tone that Cheryl always
used with her friends. Her voice was always Soooo unimpressed with the world
around her. Today was no different. She strutted to a booth past his table and
he took a quick glance at her ass. It was nice. He thought about what they’d
done the previous night and felt a painful twist in his stomach. He hadn’t told
her about searching for Polly Cooper. And he couldn’t tell her now about
Polly’s baby.Jason'sBaby.
Jughead had compartmentalized the ‘Cheryl Fragments’ of his life, because they
hadn’t fit anywhere, but he'd felt pity for the girl who missed her brother. He
realized he must have been staring at her when he heard the other Vixens
giggling. He blinked and saw they were all looking at him. He caught the
waitress’ eye and signaled for the check, scooping up a few fries and taking
another bite of his half-eaten burger. He felt self-conscious stuffing his face
in front of her. He couldn’t afford to waste a meal, but he didn’t want to stay
under scrutiny as the girls whispered and smirked, being unable to spot a more
promising social prey than the town loser.
Cheryl wasn’t looking at Jughead, at first. She listened to her cronies who
were pointing at him. She glanced at him and he saw her lip curl in disgust.
She turned back to her friends and shuddered delicately. He shouldn’t have been
surprised that it hurt, but the spark of life that had entered him made him
vulnerable and the display of the disparity of their lives put things into
perspective.
Jughead put down some cash, left the rest of his food, and put his laptop away.
He straightened his cap and walked towards the booth, his eyes on Cheryl’s. She
looked…afraid. She was afraid her friends would find out about them. The shame
burned in his gut and he turned at the door, pushing it open and walking out,
with his head held high. Fuck Cheryl Blossom. She could find out about Polly’s
baby with everyone else. She could find someone else to toy with at night, too.
Jughead pushed thoughts of Cheryl out of his head and focused on Betty. She’d
missed her sister so much, and to find out her parents had lied to her, and
imprisoned the girl had to have been a huge blow. He returned to the guest
house and stripped the bed.  He put the sheets in the washing machine and
folded the bedspread at the end of the mattress. He packed his clean clothes
and his other few possessions in his bag, and thought about where he could go.
On the one hand, it wasn’t right to stay with Cheryl while hiding such a big
secret from her, on the other, he had no idea what to say to her the next time
they were alone; her insensitivity had left him feeling more bruised than he
wanted to admit. The vulnerability she'd shown him in their bed had made him
feel special. Maybe he wasn't the first misfit she'd used this way. He wouldn't
put it past her.
It’s not like Jughead could blame the girl for treating him like a creeper, he
was a homeless teen living in her guest house. He sighed and transferred the
sheets into the dryer, took a quick shower and put the clothes he’d been
wearing back on. It was getting late, and the weekend activities at the school
would be ending, and with them, his excuse for being there. He left the sheets
in the dryer and grabbed his box of pop tarts from the cupboard. He heard the
gates open and saw Cheryl’s car drive up to the big house. He needed to be gone
before she decided to have more fun with her friends at his expense and
pictured the looks on their faces if they saw him there.
Jughead grabbed his pack and slipped out the back door, heading for the side
entrance to the estate where he walked to the bus stop and rode to the school.
He thought about Betty on the way. She’d believe him, if he told her, but he
didn’t want her to know. Something about the vulnerability he’d seen after the
events with the Sisters of Misery stayed on his mind. Betty’s determination,
her compassion, and her loyalty had never stood out so starkly in contrast
to…others. She’d trusted him, relied on him, and now she was going to need him
more than ever. They were going to find answers. Together.
~
When Jughead leaned Fred Andrews’ ladder against the side of the Cooper house,
he felt righteous. He’d leaned on her strength, and now felt like he could
finally give something back. She needed him. She needed a friend, and Archie’s
head was too far up his guitar for him to notice what was happening. It suited
Jughead just fine, and he knew that it was a little selfish to be glad he was
the only one who understood what was happening. His newfound sense of purpose
fueled his decision to go to extremes to seek her out, and the need to connect
with her, to make sure he wasn’t the only one who’d been profoundly affected by
the events at the convent.
Betty turned to the window, surprised and confused, but her face broke into a
smile of pure pleasure at seeing Jughead. She was upset, just as he’d expected,
and filled with and a much higher level of self-doubt than he believed she
deserved. He’d surprised himself by reacting naturally to her distress by
placing his hands on her shoulders and offering her his own darkly comedic form
of logic to chase away her anxiety. She wasn’t crazy, and people had far
strangers lives than she did. He wanted to tell her about being homeless, about
being caught up in Cheryl’s weird, controlling personal life. He found himself
opening his mouth and starting to say it. The words caught in his throat, the
secret was too big to leave his mouth. It choked him, and he found himself
swallowing the words. She looked worried, uncertain, and a little afraid of
what he would say. Jughead kissed her.
The kiss was soft, sweet, and reciprocated. For however brief their lips were
touching, Betty had responded to Jughead with acceptance. Her eyes had
fluttered closed, and her mouth had been smiling, and for a moment, he felt
alive again. She was sunshine and he’d made her smile again.
Betty had, of course, had an epiphany just after the kiss, and Jughead’s
masculinity nudged him with an elbow because of his role in her inspiration. He
laughed it off with her, making light of their ‘moment’ with more confidence
than he felt. She might have been making an excuse, and she wasn’t into him. He
might have ended their friendship, but he also could probably salvage it by
saying he’d wanted to comfort her. But her inspiration was real. She was
brilliant, and charged up with energy, and she wanted his help.
On the soggy trip to the syrup sign, Jughead gave Betty his mental list of
names for the Nuns, and she’d laughed with him. He’d held her hand in the
slippery mud when they’d neared their destination and he’d felt elation when
they’d spotted the old Volvo. Slogging though rain and mud with a flashlight
and a pretty girl, they were actual teen sleuths, he thought, as he opened the
hatch back. His heart pounded when they found the jacket, the drugs, and
realized what they were onto. They’d rushed back to the school and met the
Sheriff, and when the older man had taken them seriously and listened to them,
he felt alive.
There was no stopping Betty Cooper once she had what she felt were the means to
break her sister out of the custody of the Sisters of The Unshaven Armpits(He
was sure). They’d gotten a ride with one of the deputies to the convent who’d
been asked to bring Polly in for questioning. The sour-faced woman who’d tossed
them out was on duty that evening, and had been arguing with the deputy when
Betty just decided to stop waiting. Jughead had followed her frantic dash up
the stairs and away from the Gray-haired Sister. He’d really thought this was
going to be it. He was sure that Polly would have answers, or that she was the
answer (He didn’t share this with Betty), and was genuinely distressed at the
sight of the bloody broken window.
***** Show Dog *****
Chapter Summary
     Pedigreed show dogs were an investment, ones that were raised,
     trained, and handled by professionals, but sponsored by their owners.
     Clifford and Penelope Blossom had sponsored Jason and Cheryl’s
     upbringing. They’d been carefully bred and raised in perfect physical
     health. Groomed, educated, fed, and medicated into pretty young
     things that drew the eyes of the judges. As long as they performed
     well in competition, their sponsorship continued. But like in every
     competition, there could only ever be one Best In Show. Despite their
     careful efforts, one pup had managed to slip past the Blossom
     defenses and had wormed his way into his parents’ hearts. Only One.
Author's Note:
 
Warning of Suicidal ideation
 Jughead's life is getting better, Cheryl's is getting worse. I wanted to get a
peek inside her head and inside the Blossom family.
 
 
 
Cheryl hugged Josie with genuine warmth when her friend departed Thorn Hill to
finish homework. They were similar, in a lot of ways, and had enjoyed a long-
term unspoken camaraderie that few of their peers understood. There were girls
who could sing, there were girls who were musicians, and there were girls who
had talent and beauty. But they weren’t Josie. There were girls who were rich,
girls who were smart, girls with cutting and caustic wit, and girls who were
beautiful, but they weren’t Cheryl. Being themselves was a responsibility that
no one outside of their friendship really understood. Still, she didn’t mention
Jughead.
Cheryl had seen Jughead at Pop’s and had almost reacted to him. She’d thought
she’d recovered in time until she’d caught one of her Vixens looking at the
pale, gloomy boy. Her stomach had twisted with jealousy for a moment before
she’d realized the girl was sneering at the other teen. Jughead had apparently
been staring at her, and the subsequent giggling by the other girls in the
booth at the outcast who’d been gazing at the queen of Riverdale had brought
out her instincts. Jughead was the one who’d taken the risk and stared at her
where everyone could see it. It had been his own fault that he’d been caught.
Her look of disgust at his sloppy show of vulnerability was real. What had he
been thinking? She’d known a moment of fear when he’d stood up from the table,
tossed down a few bills she knew to be precious, and walked towards her. His
gaze had met hers, and in it she’d seen indifference. He’d walked past and out
the door. She’d been relieved that his mask had slipped back into place. Just
relieved. Really.
As she lay in her bed, contemplating her options for the night, her thoughts
drifted to the look Jughead had given her, and she’d felt the painful twist of
longing in her chest for Jason. The shared birthday parties weren’t the only
times he had protected his sister. In retrospect, she believed that he’d held
some power over his parents, and had used it to help her.
Jason had been loved by Penelope and Clifford. That love had given him a small
amount of power over them. They cared how he felt about them. Their son’s
regard had actually mattered to them. Cheryl, when it had become clear she’d
been the weaker of the twins, had barely been noticed. She wasn’t punished for
not being batter than Jason, but as the child less-likely to succeed, to
Cheryl, they’d simply become…indifferent. They hadn’t raised a hand to her as a
child, and they hadn’t vented their rage on her often, they’d simply focused as
much effort as possible into not acknowledging her. She was an interloper, a
stow-away on Jason’s lifeboat, someone who might steal precious resources away
from their perfect boy. They'd dealt with her by making certain nothing Cheryl
ever did resulted in depriving Jason of anything; not even their attention.
Jason had been subtle in his manipulation of his parents. Cheryl hadn’t
realized it until much later, but because they’d cared so much about how he’d
felt about them, they’d been forced to be…nicer to her. If they rolled their
eyes when she spoke at dinner, regardless of the subject, Jason would freeze
them out. He’d known how little they’d cared for his sister, and how much
effort they’d put into making sure she knew, and while he couldn’t make Cheryl
matter to them, he’d damned well taught them to hide it.
Jason’s plan had been more than just crazy, it had been cruel. He’d known his
death would devastate his parents, and he hadn’t cared. He’d relished the idea.
Cheryl had too. When asked why she didn’t demand more answers, why she’d just
gone along with the charade, she couldn’t tell anyone that it would have meant
happiness. Penelope and Clifford Blossom would have lost their son. They’d be
forced to pay attention to Cheryl, and Cheryl would still have Jason, the one
thing they’d loved the most in the world. For her, life would have been
perfect.
After Jason’s body had been found, and Cheryl’s parents had realized she’d been
consciously complicit in a plan that had actually led to Jason’s demise, she’d
discovered just how much protection Jason had been giving her. The depth of
Clifford’s hatred and resentment of his daughter had surprised and overwhelmed
Cheryl, breaking through the fog of grief and loneliness. For the first time,
she’d been afraid of her father. After the explosions of anger, Clifford had
barely managed to contain his disgust for his daughter. For a fleeting second,
Cheryl had wondered why her Daddy seemed only angry. Not sad.
Cheryl walked out the side door, and headed past the pool to the guest house.
She’d been startled when she’d heard voices inside. Clifford stood in the
doorway and spoke quietly, but sternly.
“I’ll need all of this junk out of here tonight.”
Cheryl reached out without thinking and grabbed her father’s arm. When Clifford
turned around, she saw, not the moody teenager in the doorway, but a man in
jeans and a flannel shirt. She knew him, he was a contractor they’d used
before, but she didn’t know why he was here.
“What?” Clifford barked, sparing his daughter a brief glance.
“I tripped,” she lied, quickly. “What’s going on?”
“We’re going to have company, Cheryl,” he replied. He remained civil in front
of the employees, and addressed her question. “The tapping.” Oh yes. The hordes
of Blossoms would be coming to see how they were coping. Not out of concern,
but out of greed. “The guesthouse needs to be updated before the family gets
here.”
“Who’s staying in here?”
“No one,” Clifford gave her an annoyed look. “We’ve got plenty of room in
house, but it still needs to be available.” He looked at the kitchen and the
armchair critically.
“Someone was doing laundry in here,” the contractor said, jerking his head
behind him. The smell of fabric softener was fresh.
“That was me,” Cheryl said, smoothly. She pushed past the man and walked to the
dryer, preparing a story in her mind. When she opened it, just a set of sheets
and a blanket were inside. “I wasn’t sure if the cousins from Florida were
coming up this time.” She smiled at her father. “You remember how Priscilla and
Toby complained about their rooms being too cold the whole time they were here,
don’t you, Dadddy?” She smiled at the contractor. “You’d think they’d
understand what maple season is like after doing this for decades, but some
people just can’t adapt.” She placed a hand on her hip. “There’s a fireplace
here. So they should be warmer. And if not,” she said, shrugging. “Then at
least we can’t hear them complain.” She waited, and her father gave her a
slight nod. He was either accepting her story, or agreeing with her thought
process. It didn’t matter, though. It was the nicest interaction they’d had in
a long time.
“They won’t be here.” Clifford turned back to the contractor and asked when he
could be finished with his crew/ He was paying them to sit around anyway, so he
didn’t see why they shouldn’t pull their weight.
Cheryl glanced up the stairs and remained casual, walking up to the bedroom. It
was clean, but there was no sign of an occupant. She took a quick glance at the
bathroom and saw that all toiletries had been removed from the sink. When she
headed for the door, something under the bed caught her eye. She looked down
and snatched the photograph just as the contractor and her father came up the
stairs. She slid it under her shirt and turned to the window.
“What kind of updates will you be doing?” Cheryl asked the contractor.
“Sink and toilet, then re-paint. Up here’s not too bad, though.”
“Why don’t you get out of the way and let the man work, Cheryl.” Clifford
didn’t scowl at her, because his Botox wouldn’t let him. She shrugged and went
downstairs, checking the fridge and cabinets for signs he might return.
Jughead was gone. Cheryl knew he hadn’t been in the habit of leaving his
backpack in the guest house during the day, but just now the place had looked
cleaned out. Vacated. Abandoned. She was hurt and angry. He’d left without a
goodbye, or a thank-you. No gratitude from hobos. She kept the picture hidden,
however, until she reached her bedroom, and then she carefully smoothed it out
on her bedside table. Jughead, younger, smiling, but unmistakably Jughead,
stared back at her while he held a little girl’s shoulders. Stuffing it into
the drawer, Cheryl changed into her nightgown and unlocked her window before
settling into bed. She didn’t bother to turn off the tiny lamp beside the
window, either. If it made her window look a little more welcoming, it was no
one’s business but hers.
~
Cheryl gritted her teeth and smiled at Betty Cooper. She got through the baby
shower while wondering how the pale, faded blonde had managed to get her hooks
into Jughead. They were…an item.  Betty was clearly tense, and Jughead, fairly
calm despite being the only dick-bearing guest to the party, seemed completely
focused on her and Polly. The estrogen hung heavy in the air, and she wondered
if spontaneous ovulation was possible. Maybe humans developed this kind of
thing as a way to compete with other females. She shoved the thought away and
went back to smiling while she visually stalked the moody teen around the room.
A quiet, casual comment to Veronica had confirmed that Jughead was Betty’s
boyfriend.
“Oh, I thought he was here with the caterers,” she’d said, breezily.
Cheryl watched Polly flit around the room, belly rounded, breasts plumped, skin
glowing, and felt envious. Until Polly had appeared, bearing the fruit of
Jason’s passion, Cheryl had been the strongest connection her parents had had
to their son. Carried together, no one had been closer to him than she. At
least until now. His last days had been spent planning his new life as a father
and a husband. She’d have been everything to Jason, and Cheryl would no longer
have been the only connection he couldn’t break.
After seeing Jason getting a blowjob from some random girl when they were
fourteen, Cheryl hadn’t thought they’d have any more secrets. Watching Polly
stroke the belly that carried Jason’s biggest secret reminded her that they
hadn’t been as close as she’d thought. She rubbed her hand over her own flat
stomach, and longed, just for a second, to be in the other girl’s position. Not
because of Jason, and not because of the attention and adoration being poured
over the girl, but because of the baby. Being a teen mom was nothing to which
Cheryl would aspire, but holding a connection like that to another person would
be an unbreakable bond.
Cheryl thought about the nights she’d played around with Jughead. They’d never
had penetrative sex, and he hadn’t come anywhere near the important area, but
however slim the chances, she wondered if it was possible. She imagined telling
him she was pregnant; she pictured herself, on the phone with him while she
held a home test. She’d tell him they needed to talk, she’d show him the test
and he’d bury his hands in his shaggy hair. She’d say something like I never
meant for this to happen, and he’d reply  It’s not your fault. They’d keep it a
secret as long as possible, of course. Then one day, she’d fall during
cheerleading practice, and Jughead would push through the crowd of bodies to
reach her side. He’d place a hand over her belly, protective, and angry.
Cheryl would made excuses and after practice, Jughead would be waiting for her.
He would manage to sneak into her bedroom. He’d be angry this time, grasping
her by the arms and demanding to know if she was trying to lose the baby. She’d
cry. She’d reassure him that she’d never do anything to hurt their baby, and
he’d hug her tightly, apologizing for being worried. Then they’d kiss for the
first time since finding out about-
“Want some cake?”
Veronica’s dark, Velvety eyes peered at Cheryl. She smiled and took the plate
from her friend. She watched Polly’s mother getting agitated and pushed away
her silly fantasy. It was stupid. Getting pregnant by a homeless teenager
wasn’t her style. She glared at Betty and Jughead in turn until Archie Andrews
lumbered into the apartment, looking, for just a second, overwhelmed by the
hormones around them. She had a quick vision of him drowning in a sea of silk
as the fertile females, in the throes of their maternal urges, dragged him to a
settee. When it came to virility, there was no competition between the two
boys. Cheryl smugly congratulated herself of dodging the Jones-bullet. With the
extended Blossom relatives returning to Riverdale for the tapping, she’d need
an escort.
~
Jughead found himself wrapped up in Betty for days. She was leaning on him, and
he was leaning on her. Despite how devastated he’d been to get led out of the
school by Mr. Weatherbee and Sheriff Keller, the relief he’d felt when Betty,
Archie, and Fred Andrews had come to his aid had been worth it. He hadn’t
needed to spill his secrets about staying with Cheryl, or living like a boy
wizard under the stairs at the school. When Betty found out about the problems
with his father, he’d already been welcomed by Fred. Archie’s dad had surprised
him by stepping up and giving him an unexpected alibi. Emotional highs and lows
kept coming, though. He’d been embarrassed by his dad showing up drunk,
shouting impotently at the sheriff’s office. He’d never wanted Betty to see
that, but the comforting squeeze of her hand had kept him grounded.
Now with secrets spilled, Jughead felt lighter than he had in a long time. He’d
watched as Betty and Polly found a surprising ally in Cheryl. He hadn’t been
able to speak with her, but had quietly mouthed thank-you after Polly had been
hustled out of the diner, and safely away from Penelope’s grasping hands. The
frightened, vulnerable Cheryl who’d confessed her mother’s plan was the one
he’d thought of as his Cheryl. The girl who’d crept into his bed and confessed
to him that she was afraid of being murdered was showing up outside of the
guest house bed. He’d mused that he thought his Cheryl was prettier. Without
the smug expression, her lips were softer, and her eyes were rounder. For a
quick moment, he’d had the urge to kiss her. He acknowledged it, and then
packed it away like an old photograph.
The truce hadn’t lasted, after the baby shower from Hell, Polly had opted to
move in with the Blossoms. He ached for Betty, she was so clearly being pulled
into too many directions. The strain of her Dad’s banishment, her mother’s
attempts at hiding how hurt she was, and the lack of contact from her sister
were all wearing his girlfriend down. He went with her to speak to Cheryl, a
little wary of the redhead, but unwilling to abandon Betty.
Going from bored to bubbly in a blink, Jughead was suspicious when the
cheerleader announced the news that Polly was pregnant with twins. He hated her
fake smile and waited for the sharp blade of her tongue to take a slash at
Betty who put all of her vulnerability out there for Cheryl to mock. It just
didn’t occur to Betty to play it another way. He made his comment about Polly
being a prisoner, and Cheryl ignored it, but she did listen when Betty gave her
message to pass along to Polly. The redhead didn’t disappoint Jughead’s
expectations when she promised to tell Polly, If I remember.
“Cheryl,” Jughead snapped, without thinking. He heard the warning in his own
voice, and so did she.
“That was a joke, you hobo.” Her eyes ran over his clothes when she spoke, but
her recovery was rushed, and her insult a little less-sharp than usual. She
flounced away and Jughead was relieved. He’d hated hearing about Archie
escorting Cheryl to the creepy tree-poking ceremony the Maple Syrup Stepfords
were having. He told himself it was because they were dangerous.
Although it shouldn’t have been a surprise, Jughead’s hand paused while lifting
pizza towards his mouth when he heard Cheryl’s voice at dinner that night.  He
sat with Archie in the Andrews’ kitchen when Cheryl said something casually
inappropriate to Fred, and pranced inside. He didn’t bother to lower his voice
when she approached the table.
“The Ice Woman Commeth.” He glared at Cheryl who smiled brightly and carried an
entire conversation about the awkwardly expensive gift she handed his best
friend.
 Jughead imagined Cheryl’s thoughts in the second it took her to drag her eyes
around the house right before casually, and innocently insulting Fred and
Archie’s house. Since Jughead was just a freeloader, it was even more of an
insult to him. He still stared at her ass when she left, but he did it
resentfully.
 
~
Cheryl managed to keep her attention on Archie and only flicked her eyes to
Jughead when she caught him chewing with his mouth open. She felt triumphant
when he snapped it shut, and slouched. When she presented Archie with the gift
he glared at her, and she imagined he looked a little hurt. She gushed her
appreciation for Archie, and took her leave of the house, swinging her hips as
she left, confident that all three pairs of eyes were glued to her behind. She
tightened up her glutes when she thought about Archie and how he’d feel pressed
between the cheeks of her ass.
~
Jughead was grateful for so many things. He watched Betty start to crumble as
she lamented the state of her family, and he was grateful to be there for her.
Her beautiful heart bled sunshine most days, and right now he could practically
see it in her chest, exposed, raw, hemorrhaging pain. He was so damned grateful
that they were close enough now that she’d confess her fear to him. He tripped
over the cynical shield he held out in between himself and everyone else. He
hadn’t dropped it quickly enough and something witty but insensitive fell out
of his mouth.
Betty looked hurt, and Jughead grew up a little. He gently apologized, pleased
with his ability to adult. She accepted and forgave in a heartbeat and listened
while he reassured her that she was stronger than her parents and sister. She
listened. She actually accepted his wisdom, and he hadn’t needed to mention his
own failures to do the same thing. He put his hand on her shoulder, gripping
her collar and wanting to pull her close but waited until she leaned in. He was
grateful to hold her, to be useful to her. She needed him.
~
Cheryl stood beside the pool, barely feeling the cold when Archie joined her.
He really was sweet, and it was going to be a relief to date someone so simple.
She wouldn’t have to watch her back, or her drink, when she was around Archie.
While the conversation wasn’t going to be as stimulating as…with others, she
could trust him. When she kissed him, her eyes flickered to the guest house and
she pushed aside thoughts of anyone else. He broke the kiss, angry with her,
confused, and upset. She wept bitterly in her failure. She’d moved too fast,
spurred on by her parents’ approval of him. She’d actually pictured how much
happier they’d be if she got pregnant by Archie. She clutched her belly, cold
and empty, and burned with jealousy at the thought of Polly producing babies
who would cut the line of succession in front of Cheryl with her parents’
approval.
Cheryl stared at the pool and imagined her brother under the water, just like
in the nightmares that had returned since Jughead left the guesthouse. It would
be so easy to slip under the surface, cold, even with the heaters. She doubted
she could do it, though; will away the instinct to survive. She’d end up
clawing her way to the surface, making a racket and spluttering to the side of
the pool. Making a scene. She stared at the bedroom window of the guest house,
and brushed her hair off her shoulder, expecting heavy, wet strands for a
second. No, it had just been a fantasy. She’d have to tie something to her
ankle, or find another way to save herself from saving herself if she ever did
it.
***** Indelible Stain *****
Chapter Summary
     Occurs following the Coopers taking Polly from Thornhill.
Chapter Notes
     **Warning for non-con or at least dubious consent**
See the end of the chapter for more notes
***I'm sorry it has taken me so long to finish this chapter. I had most of it
written within a week of the previous update. I got stuck, and then life got in
the way.***
Cheryl listened to her parents arguing as the Coopers drove Polly away. They
snapped and snarled like terriers, dropping their usual civility. She swept
down the hall towards her bedroom and shut herself inside. She thought about
Jughead’s father, the man who’d murdered her brother. The man who’d spawned a
gloomy, bright, resentful, yet sensitive boy. Jughead’s hands had been gentle,
even when they’d been eager. He’d asked permission before spraying his seed on
her. She thought about the arms that had held her while she’d slept, and
unconsciously reached for her when he’d slept. She wasn’t stupid about why he
did it; she knew when someone was starved for affection and touch. He hadn’t
been attached to her, he’d been chasing Betty Cooper, and his attentions
towards her had been for the purpose of a roof over his head. When he’d made
other arrangements, he’d left, and taken her peaceful sleep with him.
Cheryl had tried to put Jughead in her past. She’d attempted to hook up with
Archie, offering the other redhead the keys to the kingdom, instead of hiding
him in the guest house. He’d refused, and rejected her. She’d gotten her
revenge on them both, wrecking Jughead’s birthday had been a triumphant night.
She’d confronted him at Archie’s front door, daring the gloomy birthday boy to
tell the other party goers about squatting on her property like a gypsy. She’d
realized, despite her fear in the diner that no one would have believed Jughead
if he’d attempted to convince the others that she’d allowed him to touch her.
Even more unbelievable was the idea that she’d allowed him to stay with her.
No. Cheryl was the one who held the power then, and she was the one who held
the power now. She’d lost Jason’s babies and Polly, the one person who was
keeping her mother restrained, Jughead owed her. She stood up and went to her
closet.
~
Jughead curled up on his father’s couch and curled his hand against the ache in
his gut. He stared at the walls, discolored from cigarette smoke, the cheap,
ugly pictures on the wall, and the shabby sofa that currently cushioned him,
and sniffled back the self-pitying tears that threatened. Dinner with the
Coopers, the dance, his father’s arrest and confession; the events seemed like
they’d occurred weeks ago. Maybe it was him, maybe he’d just aged in a matter
of hours. He hadn’t spoken to Betty since their argument at the school. He
licked his lip, tasting the swollen skin where Cheryl had struck him. It was
hot, and sensitive like other intimate flesh, but not bleeding. Cheryl needed
to work on her follow-through.
Jughead rolled onto his back and scrubbed a hand over his forehead. He needed a
shower. He pulled himself up, reminding himself that he’d need to apologize to
Fred Andrews for running out. Archie knew where he was. It wasn’t like he was
hiding, but he was relieved that no one had come looking for him. Relieved and
a little disappointed. He’d considered trying to sneak in her window again, but
the risk of being arrested was higher than usual.
Jughead grabbed an older pair of his dad’s pajama pants and a t-shirt from his
bureau. F.P. had gone pretty far in his charade at a fresh start, and under the
mess left by the cops, the floors had been clean, and there hadn’t been dirty
clothes in the hamper. He’d cleaned up a little of the fresh clutter, just
enough to be able to get around, and he shuffled through the bottles of soap
and shampoo on the floor of the bathroom. He turned on the tap and waited for
the water to warm up, stripping off his dirty clothes.
Showers were never as transformative as Jughead had always wished. He wondered
about the symbolism of water, and how overused it was. Yes, it could wash away
dirt, blood, and makeup, but it couldn’t wash away the events that left their
marks. Satisfied that he was clean, Jughead picked up a thin, frayed towel from
the back of the bathroom door. Technically it wasn’t clean, but his dad
would’ve used it after his shower, so it was 'guy clean'.
The bathroom was small and damp with steam, so the teen carried the clean
clothes out into the hallway and paused. The scent of perfume reached him, and
he turned towards the living room. Cheryl stood, as still as a statue, beside
the front door. Her nostrils flared and she took deep, harsh breaths. He looked
down at himself, barefoot, wrapped in a faded, blue towel with a hole in one
corner. He’d said he was sorry. She’d hit him, and he’d been dragged away like
a criminal.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought you were living at Archie’s,” Cheryl replied. She was wearing a
long, black coat with a hood. She looked like a very fashionable Grim Reaper,
she even wore gloves. He stared at her hands for a moment, wondering if she was
going to strangle him. A crime scene, when he thought about it, was a great
place to kill someone, if you planned to dump the body elsewhere. Who would
ever look for evidence in a place trashed by the police?
“No.” He made himself turn to face her, fully. She’d seen him naked before, but
somehow in his old trailer, wearing a towel and sporting a fat lip, he felt
more exposed. He wasn’t thickly muscled like his best friend, or tan
like…anyone who let their skin see sunlight, but his body. “I came here.” He
held up the clothes in his hand. “I’ll just get dressed.” He headed for the
bedroom, wary of turning his back on a predator. He was a sixteen-year-old
whose dad had confessed to murdering her twin brother. What could she possibly
want from him now? She’d made it clear at his birthday party that she hated
him. Maybe she was here to kill him. Maybe she was here to get revenge. FP took
Jason from his family, it would be poetic to kill the man’s son.
The bedroom door didn’t close very well. Without a proper foundation, older
trailers tended to warp with the cold winters. Jughead left it open and just
stepped around the bureau, pulling on the pants. He couldn’t fill his dad’s
shoes, but he could try and fill his pajamas. A bitter laugh almost broke out,
but the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Evolution hadn’t left this
trait behind yet, and warned him, that he needed to watch his back.
Jughead turned slowly, and faced Cheryl.
“How do you move quietly in those?” he asked, glancing at her stilettos.
“Practice,” she replied. Her gaze moved around the room, taking in the shabby
furniture, and the clutter. When she looked back at him, her eyes were empty.
“Polly’s gone back to Betty’s.”
“Good.”
When Cheryl raised an eyebrow, Jughead felt his stomach muscles – and his balls
– tighten up with fear. “I think you actually made the temperature drop,” he
said.
“No, that would be the draft coming from…” she glanced around the bedroom, “-
everywhere.”
Jughead felt more naked now than he had while in bed with Cheryl. He had no
backpack, or laptop, or the walls of the school to shield him. He didn’t have a
formica table and a red, vinyl booth as a shield. He couldn’t pretend that his
surroundings were irrelevant. Not here. Not standing in the trashy trailer
where he was raised, not feeling the cheap flooring that was chipped under his
bare feet. Not feeling the cold that seeped through the poorly insulated floor,
and not while looking at Cheryl who oozed class and money in front of him.
“Betty loves her sister more than anyone living at Thornhill.”
The teen pushed past Cheryl and shut off the bedroom light. He couldn’t remain
cornered by her, so he went back to the living room and started picking up
after the police. His cheeks burned as he did it, knowing he couldn’t make the
place presentable, no matter what he did, but he still couldn’t leave the empty
beer bottles that had spilled out of the plastic bag where they’d been stored
to be taken back to the bottle redemption.
“The cops trashed the place, otherwise I’d offer you a place to sit,” he said,
not bothering to look up.
“I wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Something like what?” He straightened up and looked at her.
“Sit down with you.” She gestured around the room. “Not here, in your…place.
Not at school, in the cafeteria, not at Pop’s, and not at any kind of event.”
She kept her eyes focused on Jughead’s. She didn’t need to clarify anything
else. It didn’t matter where their mouths had been, or how vulnerable they’d
been. It didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t seek him out, socially.
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Jughead wiped his hands on his pant legs and
crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t pride, it was defiance. He wouldn’t
take back the apology just because she hadn’t accepted it, and he wouldn’t stop
being sorry just because she was a bitch. He would stand there and take
whatever she threw at him.
“Are you sleeping with Betty Cooper?”
The question caught Jughead off-guard.
“No,” he replied quickly. “Not yet.” He could’ve kicked himself for revealing
his intentions with Betty. They might be in serpent territory, but Cheryl was
the most venomous creature he’d ever met. “Why do you care?”
“Has she let you touch her?” Cheryl tilted her head to the side. “Has she let
you put your hands under her sweater?” Her gaze was genuinely curious, instead
of spiteful. Jughead stood still and didn’t answer. “Has she let you touch her
anywhere else?” When the silence continued, she took a step closer, stilettos
making less noise than they should. “Does Betty Cooper shave?” she asked,
dropping her voice to a whisper. “Does she shave down there?” She used her tone
deliberately, and playfully. “Does she let you put your hands between her
legs?”
“Get out.” Jughead spoke quietly, but he couldn’t look Cheryl in the eye. “I’m
never going to be able to make up for what my dad did. There’s nothing I can do
to make it right, but Betty tried to help. She’s been trying to find Jason’s
killer.”
“She took Jason’s babies away from me!” Cheryl shouted. Her voice loud in the
small room. Tears fell from her eyes and she struck out at Jughead again. She
slapped at his chest, pushing him backwards. “She came in the middle of the
night, and took Polly away!”
“Polly doesn’t belong to you.” Jughead gripped Cheryl’s wrist when she tried to
hit him again. “Her babies don’t belong to you either.” He shoved her away from
him, and she stumbled back, surprised. Her eyes went from round to narrow in
the next second. He blocked the flurry of gloved slaps and punches, falling
comically soft against him.
“Those babies are my flesh and blood,” she said, flailing, until Jughead caught
her arms and turned her around, holding her back to his chest. He trapped her
there, breathing heavily and spoke.
“I know they are, and Polly is a good person. She won’t shut you out; she
probably just got smart and wanted to get away from your parents.”
“You want to talk about parents?” With strength that shouldn’t have been
surprising when considering her athleticism, Cheryl broke his grip and shoved
him against the wall. “Your father murdered my brother. He took him away from
us.” She was crying again, and her pain was present in her words. Shame washed
over him, hot and ugly for bringing up families without thinking. Living
without Jason was agony, and FP had taken him away. Then Jughead had hurt her
by leaving without a word of thanks because he’d been embarrassed by her
friends at Pop’s.
“I didn’t know,” Jughead said, quietly, defiance gone. He looked at his feet,
pale and bare, because he couldn’t look her in the eye. “I swear, Cheryl. I
didn’t know until he confessed.” He closed his eyes and rested his head back
against the wall. “I wish I could make it up to you.”
Cheryl’s hands were bare when they touched Jughead. He hadn’t noticed her
taking off the gloves but her hands, warm and soft, curled around his arms
right before her lips covered his. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to hold her or
push her away; he just stood and took it. The same way he had in the cafeteria.
It wasn’t really a kiss, there wasn’t any softness, or even much puckering,
just a possessive, angry mouth coated in lipstick attacking his.
Jughead took it. He let Cheryl bite and lick and suck at his mouth, he let her
shoved him onto the floor, and he landed half-wedged in the narrow space beside
the couch with his head thumping against the fake wood. The cold seeped up like
it always did, and he felt like the floor didn’t separate him from the cold
ground when he lay on his back, staring up at her. She removed her jacket,
placed it on a clear spot on the kitchen counter and stepped out of her shoes.
She wore only Jason’s football jersey, and he knew this because he could see
underneath it.
Jughead held his hands up, automatically when Cheryl crouched over him and
reached for his bare stomach. Her red nails seemed to threaten his vulnerable
flesh. He gripped her wrists, and she paused, looking him in the eye. He gave
his head a slight shake.
“Jughead-” she began.
“You don’t want this,” he said, desperately. “You don’t really want to be with
me. Not here, like this.”
“I’m not being with you,” she said, pulling her wrist out of his grasp. “I’m
collecting on a debt.” Cheryl tugged at the front of his pants, throwing one
leg over his thighs despite Jughead’s fumbling, and eventually just groped at
him through the fabric. “You owe me this.” He let out a yelp when she managed
to catch his balls with the edge of a long fingernail during her frantic
struggle. She looked apologetic, because she wasn’t trying to hurt him that
way.
“Cheryl, stop.” Jughead caught her arms and held them for a moment. “Please.”
Her hair fell against his neck because of how close she was leaning, and he
could feel her breath on his face.
The redhead looked at the young man and seemed to see him. Really see him. She
dropped to her knees, on either side of his legs and gently rested a slim hand
on his chest. Her lips were parted, and her gaze was a little bewildered, like
she was as surprised to see herself here as he was. Her gaze went to her
wrists, where his hands gripped her, tightly, and then back to his face.
“If you don’t let go,” she whispered, softly, “you might leave a bruise.”
The two people on the floor stared at each other without words. Jughead’s mind
fought sluggishly through his emotions, reminding him that he could think
faster than this, and that denial wasn’t going to help anyone right now. Cheryl
was right. If he held on any tighter, his touch would leave a mark. An
Indelible stain; permanent. Not that it wouldn’t heal, but the fact that it had
existed at all, meant it could never be erased. A bruised Blossom, so far below
the ragged hole from which Jason hadn’t been spared, but no less condemning. On
an actual flower, bruises didn’t heal, on the boy, the bullet hadn’t either.
Jughead released Cheryl’s wrist and lowered his hands to the floor. He dropped
his head back, too. His father might remain absent from his life forever, but
he was still alive. Cheryl had nothing. Her parents were insane, Polly had
left, and Jason was dead. The moments of comfort that she’d taken from him in
the guest house were tiny drops in the bucket compared to what she’d lost. He
might not want to give her what she wanted to take, but he wasn’t willing to
leave a single mark on her in order to stop her. He wasn’t willing to do
anything at all to stop her from taking anything from him.
Cheryl’s gaze showed the vast emptiness inside her. Not because of some
bullshit like it being the windows of her soul, but because the only thing
present was need. There was no pity, no compassion, no sympathy, just need.
Jughead gave her a tiny nod. She hesitated, dropping her hands to her bare
knees and tilting her head to the side, warily.
“It’s-it’s okay,” he said, swallowing around the painful tightness in his
throat. “You…can.”
Jughead gave over, and he felt his body relax. There was a kind of relief in
knowing what she wanted. He lifted his hips when she pulled his pants down and
didn’t make a noise when his bare ass touched the cold floor. He felt the cold
air and then her warm fingers brush over him as she took him in hand and tugged
him to life. As his body answered her demands, he glanced to the side and saw
his baseball underneath the couch. It had been one of the things he’d had at
the drive-in, tossing it up in the air and catching it while he’d lain on the
narrow bunk. He had left it behind with the graffiti and the hot plate. Someone
had brought it back to the trailer.
Jughead gasped as he felt Cheryl’s hand grip the base of his now-erect penis
tightly and angle it straight up as she hovered over him. Their eyes met and
she paused before shuffling around, giving him a moment of hope when she moved
off him. She was turning around, however, not leaving, and her toes grazed his
bare chest when she moved to straddle him again. She wouldn’t look him in the
eye while she was doing it to him. He wasn’t sure if it was a sign of her guilt
over what she was doing, or her disgust.
Jughead stared up at the back of Jason’s jersey as Cheryl lined herself up and
pressed downward. She wasn’t very wet, and it probably hurt a little, but she
didn’t make a sound, or slow down until her bottom was resting on his bare
hips. He closed his eyes because despite the fucked-up situation, it physically
felt just as good as he’d imagined. Being sheathed inside her, blood hot and
soft, had him throbbing in seconds. He bucked upwards, automatically and saw
her spine stiffen. He reached for her hips and braced his feet on the floor.
Cheryl held Jughead’s knees and used them for leverage as she lifted herself
slightly, and then began to grind her pelvis against him. She rocked and
circled her hips, not moving up and down, but seeking the stimulation he knew
she preferred. He pushed his own hips up, telling himself it should end as
quickly as possible. He blew out a breath as she continued to use him on the
floor of his living room. He turned his head to the side and looked at the
baseball, trying to get his mind on something other than the blood-hot, slick
fist that gripped his dick. He grunted and squeezed her hips reflexively as she
made a hard grind and dug her nails into his knee.
It didn’t last long, it couldn’t. It was too much when Cheryl started to moan.
The sound of her whimpering breaths and the way she tossed her head back as her
thighs gripped Jughead’s was too much like their nights in the guest house.
“Fuck, I’m gonna go,” Jughead grunted, bucking up inside Cheryl. He heard her
moan and roll her hips more quickly. He felt her release one of his knees and
felt her fingers as she reached between her own legs, trying to finish herself
off. He couldn’t hold off any longer and let out a strangled noise as he came,
arching up and lifting her hips with his as he desperately tried to get deeper.
His climax hit in hard waves as he pumped himself inside her and then he felt
the quivering clenches as she made her own gasps. And arched her back, throwing
her head back, but all he could see was her hair and the jersey that read
Blossom.
Jughead’s legs collapsed and Cheryl pitched forward, catching herself on his
knees. She gave a few jerks of her hips as the last spasms died away, and then
they breathed together.
Shame crawled through Jughead as hot as lava. He hated himself for wanting to
sit up and put his arms around Cheryl. Cheryl Blossom who’d demanded his
virginity. He’d given it to her, and physically enjoyed it. He thought about
Betty, and the baseball that his dad had gone back inside the drive-in booth to
find. He pictured his dad tossing it up in the air while he’d sat on the couch
watching television, and he felt tears well up and spill down his temples.
Scrubbing a fist over his eyes, Jughead pushed himself up to his elbows, and
then sat up. Cheryl was still sitting on him, and he was still inside her. He
sniffled slightly and heard her huff.
“Crying?” she asked. “Over what?” Her tone was scornful and she made a sound of
annoyance when he gripped her waist and half-lifted, half-pushed her off him.
Jughead stood and pulled up his pants.
“Goodbye, Cheryl.” He said, walking past her and then paused. He picked up a
box of tissues, turned around and held them out. He wasn’t crying anymore. He
gave the box a shake and she took them. She wasn’t crying anymore, but she’d
need them to clean herself up. He went back into the bathroom and although he
didn’t hear her leave the trailer, he heard her car start up and pull away. He
sat on the edge of the tub, buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Chapter End Notes
     **Although Jughead verbally consents to sex, he doesn't want it to
     happen. His way of rationalizing it in no way lessens it.**
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