That's what her and Jason are. That's what no one else can achieve the way they can.

It's in the mid-80s, and climbing ever higher as summer lengthens and brightens, shimmering with heat on the pavement — but Cheryl wraps herself in expensive furs and her twin brother's arm. She cozies up in the front seat of Jason's convertible made of a dazzling, cherry red.

("It reminds me of you," he murmured, thumbing over Cheryl's plump, bottom lip. "Terrible. Red.")

In the distance, there's a peek of ginger locks in the crowd. She focuses her attention, eyeing over a strong jawline and broad cheekbones.

"Do you see him, brother-dearest?" Cheryl announces, shooting her twin a playful grin.

Jason shifts against her, as if reluctant to move or indulge her newest scheme, but does end up lowering his blue-tinted sunglasses.

As if locating the source of double magnetism, Archie gradually fades out of the conversation with his friends. He peers across the stretch of parking lot, meeting their gazes, brow furrowed.

"Oh, I see him…" Jason's voice deepens. It's nowhere near thunderous, but Cheryl vibrates with the tension building. She can practically taste the Jason's lust buried away, growing with curiosity, when Archie sends them a nervous, tight smile. "Sister-dearest."



He's perfect for them.

Smoking hot looks, a natural redhead… innocent, sweet, vulnerable

Archie is a good person. How delightful.

Cheryl has caught up with him alone on the grassy quad more than once, while Archie practices guitar or crunches into an apple. He's always willing to talk. This time it's Jason who approaches him first, smiling demurely, but never obviously leaning into Archie.

Jason's strategy is to take up as much space as possible on the bench, knees open. His left arm thrown out casually behind Archie's shoulders, nearly touching. The other boy's cheeks turn an unflattering shade of pink. Archie smiles politely, offering a conversation and a laugh that crinkles his brown eyes.

"Archie Andrews, as I live and breathe," Cheryl says loudly, halting in front of them. A pleased smirk graces over her mouth. "You wouldn't mind doing a teensy favor for moi, would you?"

He shakes his head, visibly relaxing. Archie's fingers loosen around his old, finely tuned guitar.

"What's up, Cheryl?"

She twirls around, exposing her pale, bare back to both Archie and Jason. "I can't reach my zipper… would you be a dear?" Cheryl asks, sugar-sweet like her maple red lipstick.

The dress is specifically designed for its zipper to be placed on her lower back. Archie's fingertips are irresistibly warm brushing her skin.

Almost identical to the feeling of Jason's fingers, having earlier unzipped her dress inside the locker room, taking his time, nuzzling his lips against Cheryl's throat and whispering she was his, and he was hers — I want to be inside you right now.

The immediate memory gathers heat inside Cheryl, slicking dampness against her innermost thighs.

"Jay-Jay, escort me to class," she orders primly, holding out her arm. Her twin brother says goodbye to Archie, clapping his knee in an overly friendly gesture (earning a shy mumble) and stands, clasping his larger hand to hers.

Betty Cooper hurries over to Archie, staring distrustfully in Cheryl's direction. She blanches at the mischievous, open-mouthed wink.

Neither of them are going to Literature — she'll drive Jason's convertible to Sweetwater River's abandoned quarry if she has to, without his permission. Cheryl will mark her brother in their glorious red, red lust all over his stainless white polo, while pulling out Jason's cock and riding him in his lap until she's full, wet and breathless.

Jason's perfect, but according to their parents, Cheryl's not even close to the definition.

("It's just us, only us," Jason told her in hymnal gasps and kisses, their flesh tacking together in sweat and come. His mouth covering her breast, licking up a path to Cheryl's ear. "They can rot in hell.")

Archie Andrews will be hers, and her brother's. Soon enough.



Riverdale isn't mine. This is another example of how EASY it is to not ship something, but your mind allows you to dig in and write for it as a challenge/request. Idk I've been at this long time and it's like a second nature to me. This is actually a past request (2 months ago?) from a friend on Tumblr, and I'm hoping she loves it! Whether or not you ship it, or got curious and peeked in to read this fic, I hope you did too! Any thoughts/comments appreciated! Thank you!