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Riverdale Kinkmeme
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Published:
2017-03-05
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2019-04-29
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2/2
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Red Hot American Apparel

Summary:

Everybody's dressing up to try and snag Betty Cooper.

Notes:

Jughead is into Betty in this fic, so please do not read if that upsets you.

EDIT: two years into Bughead later, this disclaimer is hilarious.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

At the thrift store near the Greendale bridge, Jughead scored a ten-dollar suit that more or less fit. When Betty nodded at it, it was the first time in three months that anyone had looked at him with open approval.

Not that he needed approval. But from Betty was nice. Betty didn't know it, but she had the shape of Riverdale's American dream. Green grass lawns and white summer linens, wholesome picnic lunches, summer cabins by the lake.

Riverdale was never really like that for most people. It wasn't even like that for Betty.

But you could tell a lot about how people reacted to the town by how they reacted to her. Veronica Lodge with forward desire, ready to stake a claim on something new. Archie by casually taking the good for granted, with no malice, just with the easy privilege that came of being Fred Andrews' kid. Cheryl Blossom with vicious rejection, because Cheryl, like Jughead, knew only a Riverdale that had no hint of small-town sweetness.

Jughead just thought,

I don't want to lose this. This is better than everything else we've got.

She wasn't his any more than Riverdale was his, obviously. But as soon as he thought she'd be okay with it, it wouldn't bother her, she was open to it--

He kissed her.

He wasn't pretending to be the world's best kisser, but it wasn't just a kiss. It was an unwinding. Neither of them was their families, Jughead wasn't his father, Betty was better and truer than Alice Cooper's straight-jacket morality, and when she kissed back he was overcome with relief and gratitude.

She still cared most about Polly because this was Betty and that was right. But she smiled anyway, like he did it right, like she liked it.

-

She also liked the jacket that Jellybean had picked out for their dad three years ago, the blue one with the shearling.

Since it was thick and well-made and FP wasn't using it, Jughead had swiped it before he'd left home. He was glad he did.

When Betty saw him in it, her approval sat in the curve of her eyebrow. The tilt of her chin. Betty had a tomboy quirk that lifted her whole face up, openly appreciative and uncaring of whether people noticed. And on the one hand he cared most about solving Jason Blossom's murder and getting to the truth, but on the other hand if the investigation went on forever then maybe that was fine, because it meant more chances to get her to look like that.

At him.

This was as much about him as much as her. Before he realized she liked the jacket, he tended to avoid wearing it. It was too distinctive. If he wore one of his black jackets and some flannel, it all ran together. No one could tell if he showed up two days in a row wearing the same thing, no one would ask questions. He only had so much clothing, after all. A backpack's worth. He shouldn't have worried about looking good.

When he tried, it was just an excuse for Reggie Mantle to shove him and say, "Look at you, Carrie. Gunning for prom queen?"

"You do know how that movie ends, right?" Jughead said, rolling his eyes.

That rejoinder only confirmed what people like Reggie Mantle already thought about him, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the way Betty licked her bottom lip when she saw him. How she pulled him in when Kevin left the offices of the Blue and Gold and they were alone.

It still wasn't the kiss itself that did him in, but the fact that she initiated. The sleuth, the heroine, the realest being in town was inviting him in. Jughead's experiences with kissing had boiled down to a very drunk moment with Archie last year, and this was no less intensely, oddly physical than that. But what it meant was greater. It was more cerebral. Where's was his place in Riverdale? Nowhere, except for right here right now, pressing his mouth to Betty Cooper's bottom lip.

It didn't break off until she wanted it to. He'd decided it wouldn't start or stop until she wanted it to.

"Juggie," she said, looking a little sheepish. "Can we define -- I mean. Is this-- is this exclusive?"

He had no idea. He thought, okay, Archie or Veronica. Those were her only two reasons to ask that.

"Whatever you want," he said.

"I've kind of been--" she made a strange hand-wave gesture "--you know, with someone else. Kind of doing the same thing? Since the Chuck thing."

Veronica then.

-

By then Veronica had only been in Riverdale a month. Within the first sixteen days of that month, she'd made more friends in the town than Jughead had in sixteen years.

He thought maybe the novel wasn't capturing her properly. It talked about a Park Avenue Ice Queen. There was a solitude in that image. He was good at writing in solitude.

Didn't apply to Veronica Lodge, though. Week one, she acquired Betty, then Archie. Week two, she was close to Kevin. Week three, Cheryl Blossom was shooting red-lipped smiles her way. Week four, she was a pussycat.

Veronica took laps around the narrative. In thigh-high boots. After a month, there wasn't a single person in Riverdale who didn't know her or know of her.

This time she showed up with Kevin, both of them sliding in across from him in his booth at Pop's.

"I'm just going to get this out very quickly, because I can't believe I'm saying it, but she likes the suspenders," Veronica said without preamble.

Betty had told her. Obviously Betty had told her. Betty was the girl who would be honest about maintaining two separate quasi-relationship things with two separate people.

"The suspenders are, uh, a daring choice, by the way," Kevin put in. "Even if by daring I mean perplexing."

Veronica made a puzzling hasty gesture, like she was trying to wave at the ceiling.

"What does that mean?" Jughead said.

"Pull them on sometimes," she said, like this should be obvious, like a ceiling wave was the accepted international hand signal for 'don't wear things if you're not going to use them properly.'

"You had them on at the funeral and it got you a sneak-away makeout session," Kevin said. "Right?"

"We went to Jason's bedroom to investigate," Jughead said slowly.

"And you didn't make out while you were there?" Kevin asked. He looked astonished at this.

Jughead refused to follow the typical teenage train of thought that would have left him kissing the best person in Riverdale in a dead boy's bedroom in front of the dead boy's dementia-riddled grandmother. It felt very Riverdale and thankfully not remotely Jughead.

"Why are you here?" he said instead. Mostly to Kevin but also to Veronica.

Veronica said, "Okay, he's here because his crisp and classic student body president style is something you can and should learn from--"

"Thank you," Kevin said. "Elections in two weeks. Vote Kevin!"

"Don't worry, we all will," said Veronica, apparently empowered to speak for their whole social group. Jughead was surprised that she wasn't running. If she ever did, she might very well win.

Now she added, "But also, it's like, I look better in my yellow Herve Leger top than I do in the purple one, but you see me wearing the purple one more."

Jughead stared at her.

Veronica stared back.

"Betty likes the purple one better," she said slowly, like she thought he was being obtuse on purpose.

-

He shouldn't have been taking style tips from his maybe-rival, a girl who had confessed multiple times to once being more manipulative and competitive than even Cheryl Blossom.

But he did pull the suspenders up the next day. He felt stupid doing it: suspenders and a t-shirt.

This time when Betty kissed him, she spent some time grabbing them and dancing her fingers up, down his chest. Pulling them down. It was a reason to get in very close, a reason for her to undress him a little.

The concept here -- that Jughead Jones was worth undressing -- undid him.

But that was their free period. In bio she was back with Veronica, and he was back by himself in the front. He dared to look at them over his shoulder and Veronica caught him. Winked. Her hands were on her pearls. He had a flash: Betty tugging at them, Betty getting handsy with them.

It didn't exactly turn him on and it didn't exactly hurt. It just felt exasperating, like Veronica had figured out the mechanics of this when he never, ever could.

And it felt right.

Betty liking him wasn't just about Betty liking him. It was about being a person who could make Betty look like she approved, like she was glad.

In his novel, that person was Archie. But first drafts could be like that. They could have all kinds of inaccuracies.

-

He didn't interact with Veronica Lodge by choice, but sometimes when they were sitting together with the group he would say, under his breath, "The cloak."

And she would roll her eyes and say, "Well, duh, the cloak," like it was very common for human beings not born in the eighteenth century to be turned on by cloaks, and then she'd add, "That dirty t-shirt with the S on it. For some reason."

It wasn't dirty. It was just so old it looked dirty. Dirty was the look Jughead gave her.

But she was right. Betty liked tracing the S gently with one hand while kissing along his cheekbone. He somehow thought Veronica guessed that.

He was spitballing about the cloak. He just thought about the drama of it, a Park Avenue princess laid out on all that soft darkness, Betty's eyes lighting up like someone had laid out that picture just for her.

The best thing about Betty was that she was brave and fair and moral down to her bones. The worst thing about Betty was how surprised she seemed at the thought that Jughead and Veronica, two separate and antithetical veins of Riverdale darkness, would be drawn to her.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Believe it or not, this fic has had a cracky part two ALL THIS TIME. Ever since the week 1x06 aired. I am extremely over Riverdale, but as I am back to cleaning out all my WiPs and drafts and all the various fic junk I have sitting around, I figured I would release this into the wild, abrupt though it may be. If you want to ignore the existence of this chapter, cool. If you don't, then I humbly present Veronica's Slumber Party Special.

Chapter Text

Veronica suggested that he wear his old blue flannel instead of tying it around his waist, and Betty made a little 'oooh' sound when she saw him in it, visibly delighted.

After that he was so ridiculously pleased that he couldn't think for maybe fifteen minutes. He knew he was unwieldy with his tongue and his hands, and he was probably breathing at the wrong times, but he was also relieved. And pleased.

He of all people was causing that reaction in her. Him.

By minute sixteen, though, they'd pulled back. They were then sitting close and going over back issues of the Blue and Gold that related to various past Blossoms, since kissing tended to give Betty epiphanies.

Jughead had one of his own.

Veronica was getting to him. He was Veronica's week five friend.

Minute seventeen. He thought, okay. Who cares?

Minute eighteen. Veronica appeared up in that weird collar made of pearls that made her look like a stranded mermaid princess. Betty quietly detached herself from him to go with her. She shot him a look as she did so. It was one part apology, two parts request for permission, three parts rock-solid assurance that she was going to go with who she wanted to go with and damn the consequences.

He wasn't Alice Cooper, so he wasn't going to try to quash a single part of her. He waved as she went.

"Hey," Veronica said. "My house at eight, okay, Jughead?"

Jughead stared at her. Betty did too, evidently not privy to the fact that Veronica had set up some kind of rival-date.

He said, "Why would I--" but Veronica cut him off and declared, "Smithers will pick you up."

Then they both left without explaining what a Smithers was.

-

It was a person. A person who got along with Cheryl Blossom.

Jughead said, "Why me and Cheryl?" and Smithers looked offended, like direct questions were assaults on his person.

But then Cheryl said, "I hope Veronica has an appropriate reason to justify mysteriously inviting me to her apartment alongside local loner Jughead Jones of all people."

Like they were on the nightly news and that was the caption underneath Jughead's face. "Local loner Jughead Jones."

But Smithers only said that oh yes she did and that Miss Veronica was just charmed by Miss Cheryl and that everyone was charmed by Miss Cheryl and that it was just yesterday that Miss Hermione and Miss Penelope were on the river vixens and that he'd always hoped the two old families would come together, and--

Midway through this delighted litany, Cheryl raised an eyebrow at Jughead to show that she was better at handling servants than he was. It had never remotely been a competition, but with Cheryl everything was a competition. When Smithers deposited them in Veronica's extremely beige apartment, Cheryl inspected everything in sight like she was trying to figure out whether it was worse or better than Thornhill.

"Could use spookier wallpaper," Jughead offered, while she was squinting at a painting above the mantelpiece. "Maybe a granny or two, tucked away in a corner and moldering into senility."

Cheryl whirled around and fixed him with a glare.

"Don't be ridiculous. Nana Rose isn't moldering into senility. She's already there," she snapped.

But there wasn't any special heat in it beyond Cheryl's normal (and admittedly excessive) degree of heat. Cheryl and Jughead didn't actually dislike each other. They were both local outcasts; it was just that Cheryl was outcast by virtue of her extreme wealth and snobbery, and Jughead was outcast because he had neither of those things.

And because he was Jughead. But then: she was Cheryl.

"It's so sad," Cheryl said. "They don't even have a proper bellpull for Smithers."

"I bet that kills Smithers," said Jughead.

"Do you think they raise their voices to call him?" Cheryl said. "Like roughshod Tennessee mountain people?"

"Please, Cheryl," he said. "Don't horrify me. I'm already wondering how they manage to live with only one terrace."

"I know. Where do they go when they want to feel the cold night air on their nightgowns after darkness falls?" said Cheryl.

He was starting to wonder where Veronica was. After a second he got up and sat at the long, expensive-looking wood table. Smithers put a plate of some so-fancy-it-was indescribable food in front of him without a word. He was hungry (he was always hungry) so he dug in.

The bread parts tasted like olives and the vegetable parts tasted like meat and the meat parts tasted like mint. Even he was surprised that his stomach didn't protest.

While he ate, Cheryl ignored her own food, acquired some sparkling water in a champagne glass, and started snooping around trying doors when Smithers wasn't looking. The doors were mostly locked, although she discovered a tasteful mint-and-beige powder room.

Then Smithers returned and said, "Miss Cheryl, if you'll come this way, we have your pajamas set out for the sleepover. And for you, Mr. -- Mr. Jughead -- we have--"

"Sleepover?" Jughead said blankly.

"Of course," Cheryl said, bored at discovering an answer that she should have guessed herself. "That is what people do when the only other option is mutual destruction."

-

In no other universe would Jughead have stayed -- he was Jughead, he was two seconds away from telling Cheryl, "Later," and getting out of there -- but in this universe Veronica stole that away from him by having Smithers shove him in a closet and lock the door.

The closet was the size of Pop's. And had its own bathroom. And was full of expensive, well-tailored men's suits.

Smithers had said, "Miss Veronica was very clear that you are to take whatever you like. I'm locking this so that none of the women walk in while you're trying things on."

They were clearly Hiram Lodge's suits. Jughead had never seen so many varieties of pinstripe. He escaped via the bathroom and ran into Veronica, who said, apropos of nothing, "Okay, if you don't take them, then my mom will probably give them to Fred Andrews, so if you're wondering about this, don't be."

"I'm wondering why you shanghaied me to your beige apartment--"

"Shanghaied? You showed up, girl," Veronica said.

"Yes," Jughead said. "Out of morbid curiosity. Cheryl thinks you and I are going to destroy each other--"

"We're not, right?" Veronica said, throwing up her hands like she needed to make sure. "I like you. Do you like me?"

"Define like," Jughead said.

"Okay, if that's your answer then we need a sleepover," Veronica concluded. "I know. At first I thought it was crazy, but then Cheryl showed me that this technique could actually work. Anyway, don't act so scared. Kev and the pussycats came over too. Sorry I was late, but we had practice."

Then, as an aside, "But don't tell them about the Fred Andrews thing I said."

She said 'Fred Andrews' the same way his father did, which was to say with a lot more vitriol than a person as essentially decent as Fred deserved. Jughead's desire to leave fought with his desire to uncover the story here.

"Is your mom interested in him?"

Veronica looked disgusted.

"I don't want to talk about that. Come on."

She dragged him back to the mammoth closet and plucked up a blue suit that was somehow pin-stripier than the rest. Jughead wasn't fast enough to keep her from draping the jacket on him. He almost shrugged out of it, but then she was spinning him around to look at himself in the mirror.

He didn't think Betty would dislike it.

"See? Nice," said Veronica, and her fingers crept up to his hat.

"Not the hat," he said flatly.

Though the thought of Betty seeing him in the jacket made his heart beat a little faster. When he shrugged it on properly, he didn't look so lanky. Jughead wasn't going to delude himself into thinking he was a heartthrob like Archie, but if in some world he ever managed to get in showers that weren't rushed after-gym-class affairs or sleep more than five hours at a time, maybe then he could throw on something half as expensive and make it look alright.

"Oh my god," Veronica said, "You, Jughead Jones, actually like not looking terrible."

"Not that anyone would be able to guess that from the waif rocker look he usually sports," Cheryl said, wandering in. She'd changed out of her normal clothes and now had champagne in her champagne glass. Jughead stared at her.

"Why are you wearing a negligee and sixteen pounds of jewelry?" he said.

"It's a sleepover," Cheryl said, like he was stupid.

-

That said, when the others wandered in he could see that the pussycats wore significantly less jewelry and were all in oversized music festival t-shirts, while Kevin had settled for normal pajamas.

"Jughead Jones," Josie said, when she saw him. She had the look of someone who'd chosen door number three and just discovered that she'd missed out on a car and a cash prize and would be taking home four years' worth of creamed corn instead.

"You sure about this, V?" she said carefully.

"She's not," Jughead said. "I'm leaving."

"Please," Josie said. "Where are you gonna go? Pop's closes at nine and you have to catch like five buses to the South Side."

"Does Riverdale still have a bus system?" Kevin said.

"Why doesn't Jughead have a car?" said Mel.

"You have to get a license or a permit for a car," Jughead said impatiently.

"You have to get a license or a permit for a car," said Cheryl.

"No," Jughead said slowly. "No, Cheryl, everyone does."

Cheryl's eyes narrowed like she thought he was being unreasonable.

"Why is everyone in here?" Jughead finally said.

"We literally showed up to give you a makeover and you're yelling at us?" Josie said. She leveled a look at him that said she would absolutely take the wheelbarrow of corn that was Jughead Jones III and tip it right into the trash.

"I do not need a makeover," Jughead said.

Veronica said, "You have four jackets, five flannels, three sweaters, six grimy shirts, and only like three pairs of jeans. Right?"

"Are you counting my clothes?" Jughead said.

He should feel violated, but mostly he felt impersonally appalled. Literally everyone in this town should have had better things to do than notice his clothes.

"And the suspenders," Veronica added, as an afterthought. "And the hat crown thing."

"He's worn that since kindergarten," Josie said, sounding unimpressed.

Jughead said, "I'll get rid of it as soon as I find some fuzzy puppy ears."

"We are trying to help you," she said, "so shelve the attitude, Flirt Cobain."

"I'm leaving," Jughead said, shrugging out of the jacket. "I am opting out of the Babysitters Club slumber party--"

"I'm Claudia," Val said suddenly.

Everyone stared at her.

"I just want it to be known that I'm the Claudia," she said.

-

He refused to take a twelve-hundred dollar suit (where would he keep it?) and he refused to change into the silk pajamas Smithers brought him (they were monogrammed H.L. and Jughead was pretty sure he'd wear a dead man's pajamas before he wore those of Hiram "sorry I bankrupted the state of Connecticut" Lodge). He did stay, though, because the lure of a bed and a tub was too great to resist.

Cheryl and Veronica walked in on him after he'd bathed and was changing into his clothes. He covered himself up so fast that he hit his elbow on the sink and Smithers had to fetch him an ice pack.

"God, save me from the false modesty," Cheryl said, rolling her eyes. "You and Veronica are sharing a girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Jughead said. Betty had never agreed to that.

"Well, she's mine," said Veronica.

Jughead scowled on her, but it made no impression. Now she was in a negligee too, a negligee and her pearls. She curled up on one of two enormous and tastefully beige tuffets arranged in front of the bathroom's enormous vanity. Cheryl swanned into place next to her.

"Are we hanging out in the bathroom?" Jughead said, pulling on his flannel and claiming the second tuffet for himself.

"We won't have to if you hurry up and join the group," said Veronica. "You took like an hour-long bath, like this is the first time you've seen a tub in nine years."

"You do usually look like you haven't seen a tub in nine years," Cheryl noted. "Anyway, while I have you both, I'm thrilled that good girl B is going so spectacularly bad, obviously, but why invite me to discuss it?"

"Who says we're discussing Betts?" Jughead said.

"You, her," Cheryl said, waving her champagne bottle to and fro and rolling her eyes. "Mama Cooper is going to lose it when she realizes Betty's dating a Lodge and the town ghoul."

"Speaking of Betty, okay, I need date ideas," Veronica said. "You two--" here she waved at Jughead, "--are always out on dates, but I haven't taken her out yet except for that one time at Pop's--"

"Dates?" Jughead said. "We went to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy."

"Is that a spa?" Veronica said.

"It's jail for middle class slatterns," said Cheryl. "I should know. My parents made Jason and I join their board."

-

Cheryl suggested Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven, Suck & Blow, and something called Bobbing for Cherries.

"I'm gay, so I'm not kissing any of you, and I'm also not kissing Jughead," Kevin said flatly.

"When was the last time we played Bobbing for Cherries?" Mel wondered.

"My place," Cheryl said.

"Suck and Blow?"

"Also my place."

"Seven Minutes in Heaven?"

"Also my place."

"In case you're wondering," Jughead told Veronica, "There's been a mono spike every year after Cheryl and Jason's birthday."

"Blossom mono season," Kevin said, nodding thoughtfully. "Every year."

Notes:

This was inspired by a prompt on the riverdale kinkmeme, but the prompter didn't specify whether they were cool with beronica, so I am not sure of the etiquette of posting it there. Still, big thanks to that person. I too liked the scene where Betty nodded appreciatively at Jughead's suit and Jughead smiled like he was Rachel Leigh Cook in She's All That.