Her first kiss had been Jason, her flesh and blood. Her twin.
It had been an innocent, familial moment when they had been only children. Jason, ever tender and gentle with her, sat with her by the ashes of Thornhill's fireplace, clasping their hands together, whispering I'll take care of you, Cherry, I promise until she stopped weeping.
(Jay-Jay had been her everything, her light and her hero, and there's no kisses from ghosts.)
When she grew up, Cheryl wanted less innocent kisses. Something to distract her. Tina and Ginger clung to her in the beginning of high school, scattering the rumors Cheryl ordered, worshiping and complimenting her, inviting Cheryl to milkshakes at Pop's or being invited to lavished, hours-long shopping trips.
Being away from Riverdale had its perks. Ginger always pretended to go missing, when Tina would slip her fingers into Cheryl's and lead her to a dressing stall, waiting eagerly for her attention.
Cheryl did not initiate anything, observing the other girl lean in on her tiptoes, scowling faintly. Tina kissed her like she wanted to be consumed by the sensations, moaning weakly against Cheryl's lipstick-red mouth and fluttering her eyelashes open when it was over. It couldn't be over fast enough for Cheryl.
Archie… she really liked Archie. He felt like a warm, fleshy stone-statue against her mouth, and Cheryl's heart ached so badly.
Kissing Moose hardly was memorable in itself — while twirling, glimmery confetti rained down from Mr. Andrews' ceiling, she felt Moose's hot, meaty hands skimming her hips, crawling down to get underneath her dress, his tongue poking and wiggling awkwardly between her teeth. Cheryl tasted beer-foam and inexpensive, spearmint gum.
Moose's girlfriend Midge had a little cherubic face, dark eyes and a wicked, teasing grin. She kissed like devil's fire, scorching and spiraling all kinds of heat through Cheryl.
She tried kissing Veronica, but only once. Veronica wore a semi-confused look on her face, as soon as their lips met, her fingertips tracing absently over Cheryl's opened picture-album. She was soft, clean angles and linens and sweet, heady perfume, and Cheryl felt safe again. Even inside her own house.
Betty had been yellow, starry lights and pink-sugar chapstick, and glaring eyes. Cheryl accepted a twist on her arm like a warning.
Nick Sinclair's memory got purged away by vodka and drugs.
She would kill to do the same to his very existence.
"Cinnamon," Toni murmurs, rubbing her thumb under Cheryl's naked, bottom lip. They stretch out themselves on the hood of Jason's convertible, under the veil of stars and fog. A raw-tingling fuzzes around Cheryl's mouth, like she's been kissed too hard, for so long and so good. "Spice… and everything nice, y'know, for a spoiled rich girl."
There's no harshness in how she says this, or in Toni's growing, affectionate smile.
"Some poet you are," Cheryl mumbles, half-smiling back, swatting Toni's hands reaching to cradle her.
Her kisses belong to someone better now.
Riverdale is not mine. WELL CHRISTMAS IS OVER BUT NOT THE SECRET SANTAS! I was assigned Ivycollins on AO3/thesublimationofsuki on Tumblr and it's their first Secret Santa, and I hope I could give them something really nice! :) PLUS WHO DOESN'T LOVE CHERYL WITH TONI? IT'S GONNA BE CANON, GUYS. IT BETTER BE CANON I SWEAR TO GOD EYRUTIKJHFSDGHFJ. ANYWAY. Thoughts/comments are deeply appreciated and have a great day!