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mintchocohip · 5 years ago

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featherweight︱ yoongi x reader ︱ r: explicit

While on vacation in London, you meet somebody who clicks.

— notes: sub!yoongi, domme!reader. y/n who does not enjoy vaginal penetration.

— kinks: clothed clitjob | warnings: alcohol

— wordcount: 3.3k [oneshot]

20 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

Leaning against a wall outside the pharmacy, you watched Yoongi pull waxy black paper off a purple lollipop. You weren’t certain what flavor to buy him, so you bought something that matched his head-to-toe black.

It’s cold. A small group of tourists across the street were flocked together and bundled up like they were about to hit ski slopes. Traffic rolled thin across the road. Behind passing vehicles, Big Ben towered into a heavy dark grey sky. Cameras angled; chatter in Spanish drifted away behind the heavy roll of a passing bus.

Oncoming fog gave light to the evening. The sun was setting when the first mists appeared. You sucked in a deep breath of frigid air, and popped the sugarfree mango lollipop between your teeth. You glanced at Yoongi. With the stick of the blackberry lollipop pressed tight between his lips, he shifted his mouth, and rolled his jaw.

Under the brim of his bucket hat, smiling eyes surveyed the air. A piece of trash or a leaf was skidding across the pavement to your left. You glanced. It was a piece of trash.

You couldn’t believe it’s took you so long to ask the question.

“Yoongi, right?” You heard it at the police station. He saved himself in your phone as Min Yoongi. You were at a show when he pinged your phone—Do you still want to drink that wine? Between those moments and now, you never asked. You never put the word Yoongi into the air.

“Yeah. Yoongi.”

“Y/N.” Pulling the lollipop out of your mouth, you extended a hand. Yoongi glanced from your hand to your face. The white paper stick switched to the side of his mouth. A small smile lifted his whole face, and a lighthearted laugh filled the air between you.

He accepted the handshake.

“Y/N?” He repeated.

“Y/N,” you confirmed.

“Y/N—” Yoongi’s back hits the door, and your name hits you on a staggered gasp. The knees pinned between your body and polished wood are buckling like they’re about to collapse. All you did was unzip his jacket, and kiss his throat.

Fog clouded visibility before you and Yoongi stepped under the hotel’s overhang. The crystal-clear lobby smelled like glass, and velvet, and dusty lilacs. A Christmas tree near the sitting area is decorated with fake snow and lights shaped like icicles.

All you can smell behind the door of your hotel room is Yoongi. Dark wood against red wallpaper have transported both of you somewhere relaxed.

Shoved into the window between his slender waist and his elbows, your hands are splayed out over the frigid door.

“That eager,” you laugh—more to yourself, than to this dazed guy. “Huh?” Your huh was a retort, but it almost became a moan. Yoongi just opened wide eyes. He smells like the weather outside. Fresh, and cool. Everything is delicately laid over the promise of heat. Yoongi’s stunned eyes fly away. He’s looking everywhere and nowhere, and trying to flatten into the wall.

Caution pulls you back to his throat.

A gentle kiss hints at tongue. He tastes how he smells. Fresh. Needy. You pull away. Yoongi’s attempt to hide his moan sucks in a shaking breath, and turns it into a slow, cracking swallow.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

He loves this.

30 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

“Do you drink?” Yoongi stared at the pavement through the question. A follow-up question was inevitable. You heard it in his attempt to keep his voice even; you sensed it in everything about the way this guy acts around you. “There’s this pub…” he might have said something like that, “do you want to go? With me?”

“I drink. I have plans tonight, though,” you say with the confidence of somebody who regularly cancels plans for a hookup. “I’ll give you my number. You can call me if you need anything.”

“Oh?” Disappointment blinked Yoongi’s eyes down to his shoes. “Right. Yeah.”

There were questions under your ribs. Why are you here, in London? When did you arrive? How precious are the things you lost?

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow night, though.” There's something about this guy that you liked. He was also vulnerable. Turning him down was natural. If he had space to breathe and think, maybe you could look at him in a new light. “My hotel’s room service has a wine menu. Do you like wine?"

It took Yoongi a moment to understand.

“Oh?” The first “oh” was a sigh. This one was a hiccup. He put a hand on the top of his head, and pulled his hat back. A smile that rose up past his gums glowed his face in the darkness. He already looked drunk. LED snowflakes were strung up in passing shopfronts. They made his teeth sparkle. When he met your eyes, a single jolt of laughter shook his shoulders. “Really?” His voice smoothed. "Yeah. I like wine."

An energetic tourist who was willing to drop everything to help a stranger. The side of yourself Yoongi soaked up yesterday has retreated. An overwhelmed guy in need—that side of Yoongi has twisted him up completely.

Popping open the button of your jeans and pulling down the zip has given Yoongi free range to move. Your hands are too occupied to pin him. He’s still holding his arms flat on the wall behind himself, staring at your hands, and breathing so hard his long, oversize coat is catching on your knees with each rise and fall. A vein on the back of your hand shifts. You see it in a haze below you; you see it in the sudden burst of light in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Don’t fall,” you whisper. A tiny scrunch of sound tells you Yoongi’s parka is slumping down the wall. You push a hand against his solid chest, and hold him in place. “That’s not what I want.” The warmth of his skin meets your palm through the fabric of his shirt. “I want you to touch me. You want to touch me, don’t you?”

Meeting Yoongi’s eyes shows you a small, shifting smile. It’s impossible to know if he’s actually listening to you anymore. Communicating without words was the plan, anyways.

Through the thick of his coat, a shockingly solid wrist curls into your hand. Your grip is light. Yoongi’s arm pulls off the door weightlessly.

Where your raincoat opened and your jeans have been tugged down, sporty orange boyshorts have been exposed. They’re the brightest thing in this room. You guide him. Yoongi is already pressing his fingers tightly. Tense, excited curiosity bubbles for a split-second, pops, and leaves a shimmer in the air as pressure slides between your legs. In the hug of warmth between your thighs and your cunt, a relative stranger’s palm presses against a faint pulse.

“It’s all about this thing,” you whisper. You have to arch your neck to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Swirling a finger on the puffy flesh above your clit through thin fabric, you tilt your head up, and speak down to him. “And only this thing. Do you understand?” Pulling him close isn’t an invitation to explore. This is a directive. Yoongi might be the type of guy who listens. Or, he’s the type of guy who thinks he knows what you want.

Dark eyes blink up, and down. Yoongi flutters his gaze over your expectantly raised eyebrows. His eyes fall to his hand. Fingertips are pressed against folds laying across your hole. He swallows.

Yoongi swallows again. All of these concentrated swallows are starting to click in your ears. He’s probably nervous. You don’t spring on guys unless you get those vibes from them. He’s a match. You know he is. You still have to gauge him. Then, you’ll force him to drink some water.

Soft pressure is a trail of tingles. There’s unpleasantness in the touch hinting into watery, wishy-washy flesh depth. Fabric is tugged tight. It tugs your chin up in a delayed succession, and a soft “Mh-hm.” of approval low in your throat guides Yoongi to his destination. A featherlight touch trembles out over your pelvis, before floating over the place where the beginning of soft, sensitive skin parts around your hood. Your chin nods down with silent approval.

There’s obedience in Yoongi’s mannerisms. There’s hesitation. Beneath that hesitation, you can feel something strong. He knows what to do. He’s just waiting for you to tell him it’s okay.

29 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

An officer in a high-visibility jacket clattered the flat keyboard and recorded details—Lambeth Bridge; a black Raf Simons sling backpack, and its contents. A laptop. His passport. A ring of external hard-drives.

Yoongi kept glancing at you in the police station. The language barriers wasn’t a problem. Still, he eyed you like he was waiting for approval.

Settling into the chair next to his was easy. Like you, Yoongi is traveling alone. You parsed those details. If he wanted you to leave, he wouldn’t have frozen up and stared at you like a lost puppy when you pat his arm and tried to tell him “Good luck. I really hope they find everything.” outside the police station.

The officer’s eyes shifted between the two of you. You clarified that you weren’t with Yoongi when his bag was stolen. She didn’t need to know that you met him a few minutes ago.

Fingertips tug. Rolling your hips forwards into Yoongi’s hook, you bite down on your lip with a delighted sigh.

His eyes are snapping down, and you follow behind. It’s a gentle touch. A faint curve of skin has pushed up around the two fingers he buried into everything soft and wet glowing around a slice of pleasure. His middle finger found the target. Everything shifts under a tentative stroke, and his thumb glides above it. Parted lips and the shining in his eyes looks like admiration. Whether it’s admiration for his own work, or admiration for you—that’s the sticky question.

The downwards curl is even slower. Through the rough of fabric, a fingernail skims across your clit. The hard on hypersensitive sends a jolt up to your gut. An electronic signal: tighten up; suck in. A tongue flicks out. Yoongi held the lollipop deep in his mouth. You know if he showed you more of his tongue, it would be purple in the middle.

Overwhelming cute guys is fun. Feeling their energy emerging from behind head-spinning clouds is even sweeter. It was an inkling, but it paid off: Yoongi wants focus. He needs you to tell him what to do. Approval in your nod is doubled by a slide of your tongue over your lower lip. It’s tripled when you squeeze his wrist.

Twisting his hand, Yoongi crests over folds. Rolling. Pressing in, parting, and finding the size and shape of what he’s working with. A delicate touch tests what he’s found. Slipping around wet territory, he arcs tension and release from one side of your hips to the other, and you rock into the gentle stroke he pulls down with a faint gasp in both of your throats.

29 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

Briefcases and business clothing had sandwiched you in the crowd of people waiting to cross Abingdon Street.

Somebody was pushing through the crowd, and your bag was jostled and tugged before you felt knuckles skim the side of your raincoat. When you turned and studied the back of a man clad in black, he was falling through the opposite side of the crowd with a slap of sneakers that turned into a sprint.

“Hey! Get back here, asshole!”

It only took a block. Your hand was digging into the back of his jacket, Yoongi was wailing out a sound like a wounded animal, and a sudden curb tripped his thick-soled shoes. You caught him as best you could. The intention wasn’t to make this guy face-plant on cement. Crashing onto the ground with Yoongi outside of Westminster Abbey, you started to twist his body at the exact moment he turned over.

You knew something was wrong when he rolled over, and sat down on his ass.

“Not a thief.” He held up a hand and shook it dismissively. “Not a thief.”

Sitting on the pavement with Yoongi after you brushed away a small crowed of concerned onlookers, you checked your pockets. You opened up your bag.

“Really?” Disbelief thinned your eyes. A tingly sting felt like your shoulder was singing. “Why were you running?”

“Running. For. Somebody.” Yoongi was miming grabbing. “My backpack. Thief. I lost them.” He shook his head, and crossed his hands over the back of his neck. “I lost them before.”

“Ouch.” Guilt cringed your whole body.

Admittedly, some weedy-looking guy pretending his backpack got stolen could have been a way to ease you into a scam. You decided to help this guy stand up, anyways. That was the minimum level of engagement you could justify.

A shiver racked your body when Yoongi accepted your hand. Exertion had warmed Yoongi’s hands. You suddenly realized how cold your own hands were.

“Are you here with anyone?” Swimming in a baggy black coat and loose sweatpants, Yoongi looked small. He felt massive. Your legs and abs tensed; your arms flexed. There was no attempt in his body to do more than wobble. As he stood up, he swiped a free hand over his face. You tried to let go. Yoongi’s fingers slumped over the side of your hand, and he swiped a hand over his face again. When you peered at his eyes under the hazy shadow of his bucket hat, the disorientation was obvious. He was swallowing hard.

“Do you have your phone? Your wallet?”

“Uh…” Yoongi nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. In my pockets. Important things in my backpack.“ Yoongi laughed, his hand dropped out of yours, and he straightened up his back. He glanced at you like he didn’t even realize somebody was standing there. “It’s… it’s been a long day.”

“Here.” Your phone was already out, and you were looking up the nearest police station on Maps. “Let me help you.”

Little tastes. Something light-headed, and overwhelming.

There’s no beat, but there’s a melodic rhythm. Downwards momentum. Pushing your hips forwards kept them there. It’s a simple detail. But holding forwards against him makes everything tenser, and headier. Needier.

Taut concentration is pulling Yoongi’s face, and twitching his lips. You eye him with a soft smile, and swallow a thick of sweet-tasting spit. Your half-lidded eyes and unbidden smile must be speaking for you. When Yoongi sees them, he blinks hard. His expression is falling apart. Pieces of it drip down his body. His shoulders slope. Seeing that tremble of desperation perks your daze up too late.

He thinks you want more. He thinks he can bring you higher—his chest falls forwards as eyes close and his thumb pushes in and rubs up like he’s trying to spark a fire.

“Shit,” the hand on his chest jerks. Yoongi is thrown back into the door like newspaper in a breeze. A shiver tenses in your chest so hard it hums in your ears, “that feels good. Don’t hold back, do you? A little too hard,” you smile, “maybe. Ah—” The whispered sigh overlays Yoongi’s gasp. He stuck his hand back between your legs. You sigh. It’s a pleasant apology. Heavy with your heartbeat, everything Yoongi is touching feel limitless—he can feel how turned on you are. Flush. It might be surprise. A faint sound just trembled in the back of Yoongi’s mouth.

You almost get a secondhand prickle of heat along your jaw. A cute face is turning bright red. Yoongi is rubbing. Over everything; under nothing.

Sliding your hand off his wrist, you reach between your legs, and cup the back of his hand. As your fingertips slide over his sharp knuckles and onto his roving fingers, you press up. Because you love it. Because you want to be closer to what he feels. The smile in your voice becomes a thin sigh. Your slowly closing eyes shoot open, and you roll in annoyance.

It’s like kissing somebody who ignores your tongue, and swerves to lap at the inside of your cheek. Mapping out the openings in jaw muscles between the banal hypersoft flesh; a doctor fumbling a cotton swab for DNA. Numb. Unpleasant.

Yoongi has pushed two fingers up into your cunt through the stretch of your panties, and shifted them around looking for something that isn’t there.

He’s looking for your moan. Attempts not to curl your nose or grimace succeed. Concentrating that energy into your hand, you pull a grip back onto his wrist, and tug. Fixing a finger and thumb around Yoongi’s chin, you meet his slowly opening eyes.

“Remember what I said?” The drive to wrap a hand around his throat while you ask the question is tossed aside. “Only here.” Your hand falls to tap two fingertips on the left and the right of the place you’re talking about.

He realizes you’re waiting.

Yoongi nods. Flush on his face blanched. His whole expression broke. His fingers are trembling as he rushes them up. It’s almost panicked.

It’s adorable.

“Don’t worry,” you sight, “I’ll forgive you this time.”

A fresh inkling compounds on the way Yoongi has been acting since you met him. He gets lost outside of himself and inside of himself all at once. You need to keep reeling him towards middle ground. Laying your hand over his crossed those signals. Words. Gestures. Tight grips. Right now, everything is an unquestionable command.

The pleased hiss isn’t a lie. Residual chill from a splash of ice water has disappeared. Yoongi looks for your smile. He finds it. The swirl is magic. Yoongi rolls his fingers around, presses, and sends a spiking jolt up inside you that lifts your chest on the shivering words.

“Good,” you sigh out, “good.” As you speak, you pull your hand down off the wrist of Yoongi’s jacket. Sliding under his sleeve, you skim a thumb over the bottom of his calloused palm, and find the dip onto soft skin you know must pull thin over purple and green veins.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans. He barely moved, but you just felt his whole body snap. His fingers pause, and dab off you with a twitch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“It’s too sensitive.” His chin has lifted, but he’s still trying to gaze down between your legs and meet your eyes at the same time. Trembling eyes settle, then drops to the side. Studying whorls on the hotel’s thick cream-colored carpet, Yoongi swallows.

“The underside of your wrist?”

His chin lowers, and his back arches into the door. It’s a shy attempt to disappear from your intent eyes. If you knew him better, your thumb would be stroking back down on the emboss of veins you felt, and teasing their delicate raw. Instead, you press your thumb onto the side of his wristbone.

“Thanks, baby.” An involuntary wave that starts by lifting your knees and finishes by flexing your thighs relaxes. It was a nice refreshment. Pulling on Yoongi’s bare wrist, you tug up. “That felt amazing.”

Yoongi’s hand freezes. It splays. Damp fingertips pull up over fabric, and disappear.

“Let’s have that wine, now.” You push Yoongi’s wrist towards his stomach, and let go. Tugging up your jeans tickles.

“Oh?” The question hits your back as you walk over to the simple black phone on the bedroom table. Walking around a pulsing cunt is the closest thing you know to flying. Picking up the slender handset, you hover the receiver over your ear, and flip open a room service menu. "Of course. Y/N.”

“That’s why we’re here, right?” It’s purposeful punctuation. The way Yoongi just said your name. It flashes a glance over your shoulder. The smile on your face curls up in one corner. The question is asking “Is there something else I should call you?” “Do you want some wine?” Your name is fine.

Condoms you bought in the pharmacy are inside the plastic bag you tossed onto the nightstand. You already had a few in your luggage, but it was polite to ask if he had a favorite brand.

“Yeah.”

Of course, you’re going to lay him down, roll that shiny plastic on, and tell him not to move. Stiffness has tented his cock against the side of his baggy black cargo pants. A shadow casts down over the hem of his oversize shirt floating over the shape. His cock looks big enough under his clothes to press flat beneath your cunt. A thick, fat surface to rut yourself off on—a hot head; a dip of a frenulum you can touch with your clit, and grind.

Maybe you’ll squeeze his hands in the air while you tease out your satisfaction. It’ll keep him grounded. And—he just seems like that type.

Yoongi is still pressed against the wall. Dreamy. Red. Smiling. Tar melting on a hot day. For some reason, that’s all you can think of when you look at him.

“Take your clothes off,” you hold the phone against your shoulder. “Then sit down on the bed. Go on.”

Peeling off the wall is slow, but Yoongi is falling out of his jacket. You give him a smile, and laugh to yourself. The phone is ringing. You grab an unopened hotel water bottle next to the phone, and tap your fingernail over the lid while you wait for somebody to pick up.

#sub!yoongi #domme!reader #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #mch #fic #yoongi solo

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honeymoonjin · 6 years ago

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Chapter Four

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

A/N: Okay so the queuing system didn’t work out which is why this one is a little late, apologies for that (consistent uploads are apparently not my forte) but please enjoy the chapter!

You don’t even bother sharing a look with Yoongi before you’re dashing forward. The guard calls out but you barrel past him, tearing the thin fabric of your petticoat and bundling it up to press firmly against the wound. The knife got him on the left side of his front, and from the amount of blood that had already drenched the surrounding fabric of his shirt and jacket, it was a deep cut. The King groans in pain but looks up at you with frantic eyes.

“I’m a healer,” you explain hurriedly, glancing up to the guard to address him too, “I can help you.”

The guard shakes his head and protests in a gruff voice. “Sir, she’s a stranger, and we still don’t know who planted the-”

“Let her stay,” King Jeon weakly commands, face turning pale. “She can…prove her worth.”

You take a deep breath and try to think back to your courses and various work experience visits you had gone on. You could do this. Pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding was really the most important thing to keeping him alive. Without considering if it was inappropriate given his status, you grab the King’s hand and press it against the fabric, instructing him to push down even if it hurt.

Behind you, Yoongi takes the guard aside. “Call in Seokjin, now. Y/n is a skilled healer, but all smiths need their tools. Y/n,” he calls out to you, “what do you need to aid His Royal Highness?”

You glance up, placing your bloody hand over his to make sure he maintained enough pressure. “Something to clean the wound, and bandages. If he needs stitches, we’ll need to move him to a flat surface like a bed first anyway.”

The guard nods dutifully and dashes off.

You’re ready to just wait in silence until their doctor comes, hopefully with advanced enough tools, but a choked voice draws your attention. “Tell me,” King Jeon forces out, “what you’re doing, girl.”

“Uh,” you swallow, taken aback by the vulnerable look in his eyes as he blinks up at you, mouth slack. “If you bleed too much, you’ll die. So, we need to make sure the blood stays in your body. That’s why I’m putting pressure against the wound. If the blood has nowhere to go, it’ll clot faster, and that is the first step to healing. You’ll be fine, Your Majesty, I promise you. I’ve got you.”

He chuckles weakly, wincing when the movement in his chest tugs at the cut, and nods slowly. “I think you might just know more than my own healer, Miss Min. If you are this well-versed in all aspects of health, I might just promote you.”

You smile down at him, unaware of the racket behind you as the doors burst open and the guard returns with the healer. “I hope the pay is good,” you joke.

His eyes fall shut, tears of pain clumping his dark lashes together into little points. “Of course. I always reward a job well done.”

“Out of the way,” a familiar voice calls, and before you can even obey, you’re being manhandled by the guard as he lifts you under the arms and drags you out of the way.

Another young gentleman with a large leather sack drops beside the King. He reaches forward to the front of the bloody shirt, and his nimble fingers undo a button, before he pauses and looks up at you. “Remove the lady,” he instructs, and you feel yourself being carried gracelessly down the hall.

“I can walk, you know,” you grumble, but he ignores you, not letting up for a second until the two butlers open the doors from the inside and shut them behind you two.

He lets you get your feet under you before letting go, but you still stumble a little to catch your balance. “I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. Jung Hoseok, at your service, miss.”

You smile cheerfully. “That’s fine, things were a little hectic in there. Min Y/n, uh, at your service too, I suppose.”

He flicks you a smile in return, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see how it lights up his whole face, giving him a completely different demeanor from the serious professionalism you had seen before. “You’ve torn your petticoat and the blood has stained your dress. I’m sure the King would want you to have decent clothes to wear after you potentially saved his life. Come with me and I can take you to our seamstress.”

You grin at the thought, but as he leads you with a modest hand on the small of your back, you catch sight of a grandfather clock at the far end of the hallway. “Oh, fu- far out, look at the time! Maybe I can get a new dress some other day, I really need to get going!”

He blinks in mild surprise. “Oh, are you needed elsewhere? Miss, I do imagine the King would want you to stay around long enough to give his thanks after he recovers…”

You pick up your pace and he has no choice but to follow as you all but run down the stairs noisily. “I’ll come back later, don’t worry, I’m just running late for something.” You reach the bottom and rush to the front doors, pausing as the two butlers swing them open for you. “Mr. Jung, it’s been lovely meeting you all. Can you please tell Yoongi that I’ve gone home? Thank you, good day.”

Without giving him time to protest, you’re sprinting down the stone steps and out into the fields, hoisting your skirts up enough to get some speed. When your heart is pounding and your throat aching from panting, you come to a stop and powerwalk.

Luckily, you simply follow the path as a straight line right into the village and walk out the other side to find Yoongi’s cottage, a sooty wisp of smoke still escaping out the chimney as the fire smolders, untended.

You switch out your clothes, dumping the ruined fabric of the dresses on the floor and leaving through the tiny door. Back in your time, you collect your cellphone and hop into your car, cringing at the stream of texts from your boyfriend wondering where you were.

So sorry, you type with a onehanded fumble, running late, coming now.

He reads it but doesn’t reply, and you wince, with nothing to do but drive into town as fast as you can manage. Twenty minutes later, you arrive at his house and rap on the door.

The moment it swings open, you leap into apology mode. “Jimin, I’m so sor-”

But before you get the chance to recite the plea for forgiveness you had planned, Jimin pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face in your neck. “I was so worried,” he mutters into your hair, “you hadn’t text back and I thought something had happened.”

You let him enjoy the embrace for a few moments longer, appreciating the comfort yourself, before detaching gently and shutting the front door behind you. Automatically, his hand drops down to intertwine with yours as he leads you past his roommates in the living room to his bedroom. “Why were you worried? You should be angry, I was late when I said I’d be here at ten.”

He tugs you onto his bed and shuffles up so that both of you lie side by side against the pillows, and hooks one of his ankles around your leg, staring balefully into your eyes. “You weren’t answering your phone, and I knew you were out in the middle of nowhere at that house.” His face crumples. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to drive out there and check up on you, but you never gave me the address.”

You think back to the cottage. What if he had driven out only for you not to be there. “I’m sorry,” you repeat morosely. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work? It’s almost two.”

Suddenly his face morphs into something more like mischief. “I called in sick,” he admits, “I was hoping you were just late or something, and I knew if you came around like this I wouldn’t be able to resist staying with you. I’ve missed you.”

You smile blissfully as he leans forward and presses soft kisses all over your face, ending with a slower, deeper one on your lips. “I missed you too. I’m glad we can spend some time together now.”

He nods happily in agreement. “Why were you so late, though?”

Your breath catches. ‘A magical shaman took me to the Jeon era so that I could influence history’ wasn’t really going to be a helpful answer. “I wanted to clean the place up before you came over, but the clock in the kitchen was off and I didn’t realize.”

He hums and snuggles further into you so that your bodies are pressed tightly against each other. “Maybe we don’t go out there. I was thinking about all the rats and spiders there must be out in the countryside, and I think it would be better if you stayed here tonight.”

You did already save the king’s life, you figure. Maybe you promised Jung Hoseok you’d come back so that he could give his thanks, but as far as you were concerned, your job was done. “I’d like that,” you answer honestly. “Although we probably shouldn’t have a nap now if we want to get any sleep tonight.”

Jimin grins wickedly and slips a warm hand up inside your shirt, chuckling at the way the skin of your stomach jumps beneath his light touch. “Who said we’d be sleeping tonight?”

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#bts x reader #bts au #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #jungkook x reader

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fandomoniumflurry · 6 years ago

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The Favorite Girl

for @spnpolybingo Square filled: CasHannahSamandriel

for @spnkinkbingo Square Filled: Dom!Cas

for @spnaubingo Square filled: Old West

2.4k words

NSFW 18+, mention of prostitution, oral(male receiving), spanking, voyeurism, dom!cas(yes thats a warning) unbetad.

Not tagging***Not my Images

She was clothed in her best red dress, one that had silver embroidery and black lining. One that lifted her bust just so and the length showed off her black and silver stockings with little red bows hidden on her garters. Her hair was braided and twisted up in a bow and decorated with black feathers and silver hair pins. She wore the brightest of red lipstick and her lashes were made long and thick with her eye makeup. Her heels, black with silver buckles, just as extravagant as the rest of her outfit, clacked against the hardwood.

Castiel took good care of her. He never mistreated her or beat her and he listened to her wishes. He gave her all she could ever want because she was his best girl. He had plenty of girls, but Hannah was everyone’s favorite. Including Cas’s favorite, because when she wasn’t working or dancing, she was with him, in his bed but also at his dinner table. At the end of day, she belonged to him in every way possible.

He was almost invisible, quiet and reserved as he sat away from everyone. His table was in the darkest most secluded part of the saloon and though he could see the bar and the stage, no one really saw him. He seemed nervous and out of place, drinking a sasparilla while everyone else was drinking themselves into a stupor at this time of the day. He was clearly tall, lean and awkward. His dark blonde hair was combed over and neat with a few stray hairs falling into his face. His eyes were big blue hues that dazzled with innocence and fear.

He wore a fine pressed suit that seemed two sizes too big for his thin frame and the bowtie around his neck was crooked and loosened as he seemed to sweat under the knit cloth of his coat and vest. His bowler hat rested on the bench seat next to him and his loafers which used to be shiny and glistening were now muddy on the heels where he came in through the wet dirt.

It had just rained and the ground had yet to drink up all the moisture. The whole saloon floor was covered in clumps of dirt and trails of mud. Everyone had tracked it in but no one bothered to clean it up because the work would never be done because it was the most popular place in town and would be seeing more visitors over the next few hours. Once business slowed, Castiel would send someone to start sweeping and cleaning up for the next day’s business. For now, the clean cut stranger was forced to sit amongst the dirt and smell of moisture.

Hannah was the first to spot him and she couldn’t help but giggle at the way the young man stood out like a sore thumb. And yet no one acknowledged his presence and he hadn’t approached or asked for anyone or anything. It wasn’t her time on stage and so she spent her time on the sidelines watching the diverse gathering of people and observing.

She didn’t hear him approach but she knew who it was when hands rested on her shoulders and chapped lips came to her ear. Her body shivered slightly when she felt his hot breath on her ear and heard his gravelly voice against her eardrum. “That’s my little brother.” She stiffened, thinking that perhaps she had done something wrong. She moved to turn her eyes away but she heard him chuckle and he grabbed her chin and buried his nose against her neck. “I need you to take care of him for me.” She relaxed when she understood his meaning. He kissed her skin when she nodded and she smiled softly. “My best girl.” He praised, hugging her around the waist and she reveled in the feel, her hands resting over his hands. “He’s a bit shy so I will be joining you.” Her body shivered again as her lips parted with a soft sigh causing Cas to grin. “You like it when I watch, don’t you, Hannah?” She nodded eagerly. “You’ll need to be gentle. He’s a virgin, poor thing. So I want to be in control until he gets the hang of it.” She nodded her head, a wicked gleam in her eyes and her bottom lip between her teeth.

It was then that the young man caught sight of the pair staring at him. His body quivered under the intensity and his eyes fell. Cas pushed Hannah gently and watched as she sauntered over to the awkward boy. He couldn’t be a day over eighteen and though she wasn’t considered hold, she was still far older than him and she almost felt like a cradle robber. But this was a personal request from the boss and if she was lucky, his little brother would be an equally amazing lover.

She grabbed his hat from the seat and plopped it on top of her head so she could slide in next to him. Her body plastered against the boy’s body and she smiled sweetly as she crossed her leg to throw it over his and her fingers splayed over his chest. “You look terrified, sugar. Don’t gotta be scared of little ol’ me. I only bit if you ask me to.” She giggled and her prey swallowed thickly. “I’m Hannah.” She introduced quietly as she played with the buttons of his fine pressed shirt.

His voice was shaky as he exhaled more than spoke his name. “S-Saman-driel.” Her free hand moved to comb through his hair to attempt to soothe his nerves.

“You ever been with a woman before, Samandriel?” She looked into his wide eyes with sympathy when he shook his head. “Would you like to?” Another quivering breath passed through his parted lips and he nodded slowly. “You’re brother thought you’d feel better having him around to help you.” She pointed out, turning her head to Castiel who was now walking towards them.

Hannah couldn’t really see the family resemblance and Castiel never talked about his family so she didn’t even know who they resembled. She didn’t even know their last name. But she could only take their word for it and when Cas gestured for the two of them, Hannah disentangled herself from the young man and took his hand, pulling him up with her after she stood. A reassuring and comforting smile remained on her face as she squeezed his hand and he followed behind her like a puppy on a leash.

Castiel’s long tan trench coat fanned out behind him as he moved swiftly through the saloon, greeting patrons as he went with Hannah and his brother following. Even though he was far slimmer than the older man, Samandriel’s shoes made far more noise against the hardwood than Castiel’s polished boots. The walk to the suite on the top floor was only a few stairs up and down at the end of the long hall past several other doors on the right and a railing that looked over the bar on the left. All the doors were the same color and led to rooms that were all the same size all decorated the same way and all used for the same unclean endeavors.

The boss’s suite on the end had two doors, painted blue which was a stark contrast against the dark brown walls. The room was twice the size of the rest and along with a king sized bed, the decor was light and bright with pictures of angels and gold trimmings. There was a giant window that took up most of the far wall and on the perpendicular wall facing toward the bed, was a large mirror framed with gold ivy and golden cherubs. The sheets were white with blue trimmings and gold embroidery.

There were few who got to use this room, mostly just Castiel and Hannah but there have been a few of the women that he allowed in his bed and some men to join in on the fun. But Castiel was monogamous by nature and it took a special person for him to want to watch and share with.

Hannah always enjoyed it when he watched and he loved that she was the lucky one he kept for himself. She was still a girl for hire but he didn’t let her get the kind of customers like the other girls. Her favorite clients were the closest friends of Castiel who were much like him. Since this was his brother and a man Castiel chose specifically for her to take care of, she had high hopes that it would be quite the night.

Castiel pointed toward the bed once he stepped aside to usher them into the room. Hannah sat down and pulled Sam down to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. The door was closed and then locked before Cas shed himself of his trenchcoat and turned to face them. “Take off his coat, please, Hannah.” He ordered as he set his coat over the back of a plush wingback chair that stood in the corner near the door. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his slacks where it was tucked before he took a seat. He sunk into the luscious cushion and his shirt hung open as his arms rested on the chair’s arms. He crossed one leg over the other and stared them down with dark intensity.

Hannah watched him for a moment but found her senses and turned to Samandriel and pushed his coat from his shoulders. Once he lifted his arms, she pulled it off and stood to place it over by Castiel’s. The dark haired man reached out a hand to leave a feather light touch against her thighs as she passed, just a brief touch but enough to spark a fire within her. But she knew not to make a move without his permission so she just came back to sit beside Sam. She looked to Castiel for further instruction and was sure to keep her hands to herself.

The nod was subtle but she caught it. His hands came together and his fingers pressed against cracked lips and his blue orbs seemed almost black. She knew what he wanted and so she turned to Samandriel and ran her fingers through his hair before her hand rested on the back of his neck. Slowly pulling him forward, she met his lips with hers in a slow wet kiss. He was sloppy in his return at first but he quickly got into it and returned the kiss with fervor. The moment his hand moved to rest on her arm, the kiss was broken by the older man who they didn’t even notice move from his seat when he pulled them apart.

“You don’t touch her unless I give her permission.” His gruff tone was more gravelly than usual, clearly heavy with anger and lust. Both of them nodded and Cas returned to his seat and nodded for them to continue.

Hannah leaned in again to find his lips but the young man’s eyes were on the man across the room. Hannah’s hand diverted his attention and he found the rhythm once again. “Hannah, would you undress him, please? Slowly.” His order was dark and she felt her heart begin to race. She stood and moved in front of him taking her time unbuttoning his shirt all while shaking her ass at the man leering at her from the chair.

Once it was undone, the shirt was tossed aside and the undershirt was not far behind. Bare chested, Samandriel blushed and his arms moved to cross over himself. He was clearly holding onto some apprehension but Hannah’s soft lips against his jaw seemed to ease him. She pushed him gently by the shoulder, making him lay back so she could get her hands on his belt buckle. The belt was pulled through each loop at an agonizing pace and once it was free, she turned to hand it to Cas.

He took it with a half smirk and rose from his chair with the leather in his hand, folded in half. While Hannah unbuttoned Sam’s pants, Castiel pressed himself against her back and pulled her short dress over her firm flesh. She hummed as she palmed the growing bulge in Samandriel’s underwear and let out a moan when she felt its girth. Cas had her dress around her waist by the time she had the young man’s pants over his knees and when she removed his shorts, Cas had rid her of her panties and garters.

The first slap of the belt against her behind caused her to let out a loud squeak and her nails dug into Sam’s thighs which caused him to groan. The second spanking made her squeal and her dampened pussy clenched as tears formed in her eyes. When Cas pressed himself against her, tossing the belt aside, his fingers gripped her hips tight and his hips pushed her forward into his brother. She took the opportunity to wrap her lips around the young man’s cock and she didn’t even allow him time to adjust to the new feeling before she was sucking him down her throat and fondling his balls.

He was trembling and whimpering as he watched his manhood disappear fully past her lips. If she kept going like this he wouldn’t last long. When Cas finally brought his fingers to her pussy, she groaned loudly and gagged. Samandriel’s dick vibrated with her sounds and before he knew it, he was shooting his hot seed down her throat, causing her to cough due to the suddenness and intensity of his load.

“You gotta warn her first, little brother.” Castiel chuckled as he looked down at his heaving brother, red with embarrassment and exertion.

Hannah sucked him dry and came off with a pop, wiping his essence from her chin and licking her lips clean. “Don’t worry, Sam. Everyone is like that the first time.” Hannah cooed once she finally caught her breath. She looked back at Cas who nodded his head, both of his hands on her hips as she straddled Samandriel. The action pinned his quickly hardening member between them and she grinned devilishly. “We have all night to train you.” She winked and her hips began to roll as Castiel entered her.

#spnkinkbingo #spnpolybingo #spnaubingo #cashannahsamandriel #castiel #hannah #samandriel #spn #supernatural #dom!cas #old west #shelly writes

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aswellingstorm · 7 years ago

Text

It’s No Surpise

Summary:

When Gladys and Jellybean come to visit for the fourth of July while FP is still in jail, the day turns out to be more explosive than everyone had hoped.

Notes:

This is really rushed because I have work alllllll day tomorrow and I didn't want to post it after the fourth & feel irrelevant or wait 365 days to post it (i just can't make comittments like that)! so yeah this was not edited at all unless you count spell check

Link on AO3

It seemed like a good idea, a great idea Jughead might have even argued. Betty had her doubts, but they all faded when she watched Jughead clean up the trailer, talk about how much Betty would love Jellybean, how excited he was for his parents to talk in person or when she saw him fall asleep with a content smile on his face. Even Jughead’s foster parents approved of the idea, as long as he called them regularly so they knew he was alright. But Betty knew a disaster was coming, as she always did, yet she couldn’t bring herself to crush his mood.

Instead, she mentally prepared herself for the worst, steeled herself for every situation that may filter into their tiny town. She’d even asked Pop Tate to have burgers and shakes at the ready-if need be.

Without Jughead even needing to ask, Betty arrived at Sunnyside early that morning. She was wearing a white button down shirt with the collars undone, navy blue shorts and red and white polka dot Keds. The blonde had even managed to brush a coat of Ruby Woo onto her lips (what Alice Cooper didn’t know wouldn’t kill her). Tentatively, she knocked on the door and pecked Jughead on the cheek when he opened it with a grin. Truthfully, they wouldn’t arrive until around noon because they were visiting FP beforehand but Betty wanted a few minutes with her boyfriend before the impending storm.

“Hey, you look…” he trailed off before breathlessly saying, “amazing.”

She smiled shyly before mumbling out a thank you and looking back at him. He was wearing his usual black jeans paired with a black t-shirt, and he had a red, white and blue flannel tied around his waist. Jughead’s hair was combed back, as far as what she could gather from underneath the beanie. He had bags under his eyes and they were brimming with redness. Worriedly, she brought her hand up to his face and soothingly the pad of her thumb underneath his eye.

“You look exhausted Jug, did you get any sleep last night?” She asked in awe.

He smiled as he deflected her question, giving her the same look as he had when they first kissed, “Y’know, I just love our dynamic. I tell you how great you look, you tell me I basically look like shit.” He laughed in earnest and brushed his hand against the side of her face.

Betty just rolled her eyes at him before moving towards the tattered couch and tugging him along with her, “Deflect my question all you want. I’ll just have to answer my own questions and assume that last night you consumed far too much coffee, cleaned this house for what must be the thirty-second time, paced back and forth for a bit, tried to fall asleep, but then couldn’t because you think you’re too excited or too nervous but reality simply maintains that you consumed too much coffee.”

Jughead just laughed in response, with a slight blush rising on his cheeks. She knew him too well and had hit the nail right on the head.

“Alright, you caught me. But,” he said, shifting closer to her and looking in her eyes, “Can you blame me?”

“No,” She affirmed, snuggling in closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder, “I just wish you would’ve texted me.”

“Listen, I’m fine. I don’t need much beauty sleep anyhow. I mean look at me, I’m already such a stud,” He remarked with sarcasm, earning a playful shove from Betty.

“Guess I can’t argue with you there,” She responded, innocently batting her lashes at him before leaning in to give him a kiss. When she felt his lips about to touch hers, she reacted quickly, her hands flying to the sides of his stomach to tickle him.

He helplessly laughed before attempting to retaliate by tickling her back and wheezing out, “You tricked me.” Good-heartedly, the wrestled on the couch for a spell with her easily pinning him down, with her knees on either side of him and her hands over his wrists above his head.

“Surrender now,” she demanded proudly, a large smirk on her face.

“Fine, you win,” He looked up at her lovingly, once again wondering how he got so damn lucky. She looked like a picture of living grace above him; green-blue eyes filled with joy, fly-aways pulling back into her pony, mascara ever so slightly smudged on the tops of her lids from laughing so hard, perfect lips parted back into a breathless smiled saved just for him. It was a moment Jughead wanted to hold on to for eternity.

BANG. The metal door of the trailer flew open abruptly, sunlight pouring in to reveal Gladys and Jellybean on the steps in the July heat. Immediately, the couple shot up, flames dancing on Bettys cheeks, as Jughead jumped to the door. All four of them appeared equally surprised at the sudden entrance.

Gladys and Jughead shared an awkward, tense but short hug when Jellybean pushed past her mother and instantly pulled Jughead into what had to be the tightest hug of the boy’s life. Hilariously enough, she was dressed in an identical fashion to Jughead, tight black jeans, black Pink Floyd t-shirt and a red flannel tied around her waist. She had hair that was a bit more brown than his and wore a classic black choker.

He reintroduced Jellybean and Gladys to Betty, they had all seen each other in passing but they had never acted interacted. His mother was nice enough for a woman who just saw a near stranger pinning her son against a couch in their old shell of a home, and Jellybean appraised her cautiously. After being introduced to her, Betty reached out to give the pale preteen a hug but instead was met with JB’s outstretched hand trying to shake her own.

Gladys took one glance around the trailer before remarking under her breath, “It all still looks just the same.” Betty was eager to point out that his mother couldn’t be more wrong, there was no way the trailer was ever this clean or nice when FP was living in it, but she bit her words back.

The awkwardness of the situation quickly melted away as Jellybean began to excitedly chatter all about Toledo. She was less interested in talking about her new school or any new friends she may have made, instead opting to relay funny stories about her grandparents or sights she had seen with her mother.

All was going well, remarkably well. Later in the afternoon, Jughead made everyone lunch (it was just sticking a DiGorno’s pizza in the oven, but it still counts). They had all joked around, even played a game of Uno and Betty even felt slightly guilty for assuming that the Jones’ didn’t have a shred of functionality left. Still, she didn’t miss the occasional side-eye that Jellybean would send her, or how she’d roll her eyes whenever Betty was answering a question Gladys had asked about her life.

They were about to play a movie, Independence Day, much to Jughead’s chagrin. He personally wasn’t a fan of the movie, but was helpless against JB’s pleas.

“So, when are we heading to the park for the fireworks?” Jellybean asked as Jughead and Betty began to make popcorn.

“Actually,” Jughead responded, “We’re going to the high school to watch the fireworks.”

“What?” Jellybean asked, shocked, “What do you mean? Riverdale High?”

“Yeah,” He said coolly, rummaging through the cabinets, “Betty said they’re better than the ones on the Southside.” His breath caught in his throat when he noticed a particular piece of paper hanging out of his mothers purse.

“Oh, yeah,” Betty interjected with pep, “My family and I used to go every year- “

“Jughead and I go to the park every year,” JB cut her off angrily, gritting her teeth.

“Not every year,” He bit back with a pointed glance at their mother. There was only one year they had missed them, and that’s because they were hundreds of miles apart and feeling like they were on opposing sides of the world.

“So!” She exclaimed, standing up, “We have to make up for last year! Betty’s never even seen the ones in the park, how would she even know the ones at the high school are any better?”

“Forsythia,” Gladys pipped in, squinting her eyes, “Drop it. I’m sure Betty’s right.”

In response, JB crossed her arms and sat back down in her chair with a huff. The rest of the movie passed in harmony, with light chatter and memories of the Twilight Drive In discussed.

“Remember when I got that extra-large soda and you told me it was going to be too much for me to drink?” Jellybean reminisced.

“Yeah, and then as soon as the concession stand guy handed it to you, it slipped out of your hands and it spilt all over me?” He finished, before the siblings broke out into genuine laughter.

“And then you argued with the guy until he gave us a refill? You threatened to write an exposé on how he wasn’t following the company policy of free refills!” Jellybean added, causing both Gladys and Betty to join in their laughter as well.

He rolled his eyes and nudged Betty, “Yeah, it was all fun and games until Moose saw me and told everyone in school I peed my pants.”

Betty brought her hand up to her face, laughing even harder, “Oh my god! I remember that, it was in sixth grade and he told everyone during lunch.”

“And then you stood up and told everyone that Moose still kissed his mom goodbye at the bus stop,” Jughead pointed out before placing a kiss on her cheek.

Witnessing their affection for each other and feeling like her story, her memory, was just hijacked, JB sighed dramatically.

As night began to fall, Jughead’s phone went off which garnered his mother’s attention.

“Who’s calling you?” She asked, but he brushed her off as he answered the phone.

“Hey,” He said, speaking softly, “Yeah, she’s here with Jellybean…No, it’s all good. I’m fine,” he laughed, “Yes, I ate. Betty’s here too.”

“Tell her I say hello!” Betty called out, moving her face closer to the phone. Betty liked his foster parents. They were kind, caring, and seemed to hold a special place in their heart for the burger-loving boy. Even her own mother knew of the Smiths and approved of them, which made Betty’s summer days spent at their house more bearable.

“She says ‘happy fourth!’ back to you Betty,” Jughead said with a smile before returning to the conversation with his foster mother, “Yeah I’ll be home later tonight. I’ll text you when I leave…Okay…I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up the phone.

“So, who was that?” His mother asked, with a forced smile on her face and an arched brow.

“My foster mother,” Jughead spat out, as if it were obvious.

“Don’t give me that attitude,” Gladys warned, but everyone in the room knew full well she wouldn’t do anything about it if he continued.

“Why do you care?”

“Because Jughead, I’m your mother!” She said, standing up. An epiphany struck Jughead in that moment: she was starting a fight with him because FP wasn’t around for her to banter with. But today, Jughead wasn’t going to let her walk all over him. “And all of the sudden, you can just call themyour home?”

“Really?” He shot back, getting up and crossing his arms. Betty cautiously stood beside him, trying to persuade him to calm down. “Because for the past year and a half you haven’t been here!”

“Don’t do that,” His mother responded shakily, tears glossing over her eyes and pointing a quaking finger at him accusatorily, “Don’t you dare try to blame me. You know I had to get out of here- “

“Out of here and leave me? Alone with him? With the man you married and you decided to have a family with. And then when times get tough, you just ditch one kid and take the other?”

“That man is unstable- “

“Mom!” Jellybean called out, “Just stop- “

“Yeah, damn right he is,” Jughead felt his voice rising and his fists clenched, “I know that better than anybody! Because I’ve had to take care of himwhen he left! And then he got thrown in jail for something he didn’t even do—and you weren’t even around! I got sent to a foster home because you wouldn’t let me come visit Toledo!”

“What?” JB interjected again, face aghast, “Mom? Is this true? You told me he didn’t want to come live with us-“

Harshly, Gladys grabbed her wrist, “That’s enough! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t touch her!” Jughead demanded when JB gasped at the shocking pain her mother’s hand sent through her wrist. He pushed Gladys’ wrist away and, once free, Jellybean stormed down the hall into their old room.

Betty ran after her as Jughead and his mother resumed their argument.

“Jellybean, wait,” she called out.

“Go away!” The preteen turned around to face Betty, spite filling her eyes, “I hate you!” She screamed as she slammed the door in Betty’s face.

The blonde stood still for a moment shocked, before deciding it was best to let JB cool off. She returned to the living room where Jughead was storming over to his mother’s purse.

“I know the only reason why you’re here!” He exclaimed, ripping a collated set of papers from her purse.

“Jughead, no-” The older woman tried to argue as she realized what he was holding.

“You’re not here because you wanted to see me, or you wanted JB and I to spend time together,” he accused before slamming the papers down on the table, “You’re here because you want dad to sign off on your divorce papers!”

Betty stood, mouth agape, shock and anger coursing through her bones.

“C’mon!” His mother said, not denying anything, “How can you blame me? I only left because I thought he needed time to sort himself out but he’s going to be locked up for years! How can you expect me to live like that? Just waiting for him to get out and clean up his act?”

“How can you expect me to live like that?” He shot back, tears forming in his eyes, “And then blame me when I finally find a family that gives more than half of a shit about me?”

“I do care about you sweetie,” She said in a softer voice, “I love you. You know that. And clearly this foster family doesn’t know what you’re up to with Betty when no one is around- “

“Hey,” Betty said, offended, “We were literally just tickling each other.”

“I’m sure you were,” Gladys said, “’Just tickling each other’ is how I wound up with Jug- “

“Stop it! Just, stop it!” He yelled, desperately pleading with her, “Just admit it, you’ll never care about me like you do JB. Once you got those papers signed, you had no intention of seeing me ever again.”

“You…” His mother began to say, tears falling freely from her face as her voice strained, “You’re just…you’re so much like your father. You look so much like him Jughead, you even have the same name for Christs sake! I just…can’t.”

When he realized he was right and there was no denial in her words, he broke down. His chest heaved as sobs wracked his body and Betty helped him sit down on the couch, with an arm protectively placed around his shoulders. He felt his airways constrict, he knew he was shaking and his heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. He could feel himself paling and sweating as he cried into the palms of his hands, but was unable to calm himself down.

“I think you should leave,” Betty said firmly, locking eyes with the emotionally strung woman in front of her. She didn’t try to disguise the hatred behind her eyes. Instead she focused her attention to Jughead as the woman grabbed her things.

“Hey, hey,” She said, kneeling in front of him and placing her hands on either side of his face. “Can you look at me? Please?”

Shakily, he lifted his head up, looking at her with cold, eyes that were present somewhere else.

“Shhh, shh,” She whispered, “It’s going to be okay, alright? We’re going to work this out. But right now I just need you to breathe with me. Okay? Do you think you can do that?”

When he nodded in silent confirmation, still crying, she placed one of his hands on her chest, near her collar bone. She mirrored him, placing her hand on his chest and keeping the other on his face. Gingerly, she instructed in and out for several minutes. Eventually, he calmed down and she took him into her arms when Gladys ran back into the room.

“You’re still here?” Betty spat out, annoyed.

“She’s gone,” She said breathlessly, “Jellybean is gone.”

After they determined she snuck out through the window of the window, they also decided they should spilt up to cover different areas of the town. Gladys was covering the trailer park and nearby shopping center, Jughead was checking the park, high school, Pop’s and even asking the Serpents to keep an eye out for her.

That left Betty with…whatever else remained in Riverdale. After what felt like an eternity of checking the local communities and streets, she realized there was only one place that Jellybean could be.

The remains of the old Twilight Drive-In. Although it was considered to be on the Southside of Riverdale due to the crowds who hung out there, it was really located more in the center of the town.

Under the lights of the dimly lit construction equipment, Betty saw the back of a small, raven haired girl against the bed of a truck.

“Jellybean?” She called out, cautiously approaching.

“Go away,” The girl muttered weakly, tears evident in her voice, “I ha- “

“I know,” Betty said, standing next to her, “You hate me.”

“What could you possibly know?” Jellybean spat out.

“Let’s see… I know that you’re hurt, you’re angry, you feel like no one cares and you need someone to blame.”

JB looked up at her, confused and shocked when Betty continued, “And I can be that person, if you agree to let me sit.”

Curiously, the girl nodded, and Betty sat against the wall next to her and facing the open land of dirt. After Fred was shot, construction on the SoDale development was halted for what felt like an eternity.

They sat in a tense silent for a minute, while Betty weighed her options. She wasn’t sure if she could actually help JB, but she determined it was worth a shot. Before she spoke, she slyly texted Jughead their location.

“Last summer, I had the internship of my dreams. It was one of the best summers of my life,” She said, smiling at the memory of Toni Morrison, “But that all ended when I got home. I…I remember, I walked through the door and my parents were there. Acting as though nothing had changed, that I never left and wasn’t gone for ten weeks.

“That didn’t bother me so much. They’re always like that. Emotionless. But my sister isn’t, and when she wasn’t in her room I asked them where she was,” Betty felt tears springing at her eyes as she relived the memory, “And I’ll never forget…how cold and clinical they were. They told me she was sick so they sent her away. Just like that, overnight, like it was nothing. My sister was gone.”

Jellybean swallowed, feeling guilty before saying, “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

“The worst part is…I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I didn’t know she wasn’t going to be here when I got back,” she let tears fall from her face as she shook her head, “And it was all just a giant lie. She wasn’t sick, and my parents were telling her I didn’t want to see her, to keep us apart.”

“But Jughead…he helped me find her and set her free. My family fell apart even more after that, if you could believe it,” she laughed humorlessly, “But he was always there for me.”

Jellybean began to cry again, and Betty enveloped her in a deep hug. “I miss him. I miss my brother. I miss my family. I miss everything,” she sniffled, her tears soaking Bettys shirt.

Comfortingly, Betty ran her hand through JB’s hair, “I know. And you’re allowed to. You’re allowed to cry and feel hurt. You’re allowed to feel angry that things aren’t the way they used to be.”

“But,” she said, pulling the young girl back so she could look her in the eye, “Above everything else, you need to know…it’s going to get better.”

Tearfully, Jellybean laughed and retorted, “That’s so cheesy.”

“But it’s true,” Betty said earnestly, “Everything hurts now, but it’ll get better. And then it’ll get worse again, but it’ll also get better again. That’s how life is. And along the way, you meet people who make it all worth it.”

“I just don’t want him to forget me,” She hiccupped, “I don’t want to miss him anymore.”

Betty felt her heart pang at that before assuring Jellybean, “He could never forget you. He loves you, JB. You mean the world to him. He…after your dad was imprisoned, the Serpents offered him a spot in their gang.”

When JB stiffened and looked at her with wide eyes, Betty continued to say, “But he turned them down. Because he knew that he’d never be able to leave here and see you again if he didn’t.”

“Jellybean! Betty!” Jughead called out, running to them. When he approached Jellybean stood up and hugged him tightly, even tighter than when she saw him earlier today.

“Woah-hey, hey now,” He admonished, “Just because you’re being all cute and cuddly now and hugging me doesn’t mean I’m not angry for the nearheart attack you just gave me.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his shirt before pulling away, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” He said, hugging her back and placing his head on top of hers.

Seconds later, fireworks began to pop off in the North side of town. The three of them looked up at them in awe.

“Guess Betty was right,” JB admitted as she watched the lights in splendor.

Then, with a loud bang, fireworks sounded off in the Southside of town, equally grand and splendid. If Betty, Jughead and Jellybean turned 90 degrees, they’d be able to see both sets of fireworks. They looked at each other in amazement, as Jughead ran to get blankets from the pick-up truck.

In a few moments, he turned with an assortment of pillows and blankets, spreading them across the ground as the group laid down, with Jellybean in between them. As they cuddled together, they’d alternate between watching the fireworks at the high school and at the park.

They all knew that the war was far from over, and hard times were yet to come, but as Betty and Jughead linked hands in front of JB, the girl couldn’t help but realize that this was one of the better moments that Betty was talking about. The half of an hour they spent looking up at the fireworks and the stars would make the coming days all the more worth it.

#riverdale #bughead #bughead fic #aswellingstormwrites #did i tag my other story #probs nah #fuck i need to sleep

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