#I hate when your scrolling through a seemingly normal blog and then your just hit with that shit

[warmmilk-n-honey]

I hate sebaciel I hate sebaciel I hate sebaciel

[flannelplanet]

Stranger Than Fiction

**UPDATE**

Chapter 2

Rated: Explicit Summary: “Sure, I’m in.”

Again, my infinite thanks goes to @jandjsalmon for being the rockstar that she is. Also thanks to @colesmoles, @youbuildmeupbeliever, and @lilibug--xx who chatted with me throughout the writing process. You gals are the best!

Read on ao3 Find Chapter 1 here

Again, 

read under the cut!

She couldn’t breathe. She was covered in sweat. Her heart was pounding against the walls of her chest. All she could see were photos of herself; photos that she didn’t realize were being taken by someone she thought she could trust, some even right through her bedroom window. She couldn’t feel her fingers. “Dilton?” She said, scared to continue with her question. The uneasy feeling intensifying tenfold. The look in his eye was predatory. She was alone with a fucking psychopath. “Yes, Betty? Do you like them?” he asked her, innocence in his tone. “W-why do you have these?” “Because we belong together, Betty. You’re mine. You always have been. And I’m yours. Do you see? I’m everywhere you are.” He began walking towards her, his hand grabbing something from his back pocket. “What are you doing?” He came to an abrupt stop right in front of her. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt baring his forearms to her. By the time she figured out what he had in his hand, he had already grabbed her. “Betty, you’re mine. I mean it. You’re mine and I’m yours and I’m going to carve it into your skin so you’ll never forget it.”

She woke herself by screaming.

Tears had streamed down her face, she didn’t know how long she had been crying but she knew it had to have been a while. Her face was swollen and she was trembling. It had been so long. He shouldn’t be able to just come out of nowhere and infect her dreams anymore, especially not with him locked away.

“ Shit, Betty. Get yourself together,” she thought to herself.

After allowing herself a moment to regain composure, Betty padded her way into the kitchen where she began making coffee. She wasn’t the type to miss work, not even after a nightmare like the one she just had. She was feeling drained, sure, but she could be a little slower at work. She could use the distraction anyway. So once she finished her coffee, she jumped in the shower to wash the last of that horrible night’s sleep from her body, then got herself ready to kick the day’s ass.

-

She was feeling so much better by the time she was ready to leave the house. She had listened to music so she wouldn’t feel alone, checked her blog notifications, and read a little more of wordsbyjughead”s stories, trying to find an answer to his question. She decided she wouldn’t let the night die down without responding.

-

Walking from the house to her car, she spotted Mr. Jones next door doing the same. Thoughts of last night’s fantasy flooded her mind and she suddenly felt warm and flushed, just as Mr. Jones looked at her. He smirked. FUCK. “Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you today?” she called over to him.

“Please, Elizabeth. Call me Forsythe. I hate the name, but I hate it less than Mr. Jones. I know it’s cliche, but Mr. Jones is my father. I’m doing well, how are you doing?” He had an ease about him when he talked to her. He always maintained eye contact. Betty always felt like he was staring into her soul when they exchanged even the smallest pleasantries.

“I have had better mornings, Forsythe. But don’t worry. I won’t let it bring me down,” she said with a smile.

“Good girl,” he said.

Betty’s heart felt like it had come up her throat and dropped down to her toes all at once. Good girl. Good girl!!! She remembered him saying the same thing to her in the same fucking tone less than twelve hours ago as she sat in her bathtub and pleasured herself. Shit, shit, shit . She was losing focus fast and needed to say something so she didn’t look like a total jerk. Instead, she smiled her signature bright, blinding smile and winked before getting into her vehicle.

What the fuck am I even doing??? She thought to herself. First Jughead, now Mr. Jones? She mentally scolded herself for her out-of-the-ordinary behavior and set off on her way to the office.

-

Her day had seemingly flown by. She spent most of her day responding to emails. She did a little editing, and some research, and before she knew it, it was time to head home. After forging herself something to eat, she sat at the table scrolling through wordsbyjughead. She vowed to find him an answer before she went to bed, but it was proving difficult. She really enjoyed all his stories. He was always dominant in them, that much was clear, however he was also soft; almost overly romantic in some of them. Those, she decided, were her favorite.

-

“We went back to my place after, both of us tired and nearly spent. I couldn’t let the night pass, though. Not without telling you. So, I did. ‘I love you,’ I said, and I put my entire soul behind the words. When you looked at me in shock, I said it again. I put more feeling behind it, if that were even possible. ‘I love you,’ I whispered.

“A slow smile spread across your face as you walked toward me. ‘I love you, Jughead.’ You let out a small laugh as the words left your lips. Almost like you couldn’t quite believe your mouth had betrayed you like that. You were happy though, and I took a step to close the distance between us. I nudged your nose with my own before bending slightly. I grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up so that you could wrap your gorgeous legs around me.

“You could feel my arousal just as I could feel your warmth. I began walking toward the nearest surface I could think of, which happened to be my kitchen counter. Hands freed, I used them to stroke your legs, to push past your skirt. My mouth moved from your mouth to your jaw to your neck to your collarbone. I was starving.

“I hooked my fingers around the band of your panties and whispered ‘Lift.’ With your panties off and in my pocket, I turned back to you. You were panting, your normally bright eyes turned dark with want, and you were so turned on you could hardly stand it. I took a step back and gripped your ankles. ‘Scoot back,’ I directed.

“Once you were back far enough, I placed your heels on the edge of the counter one foot at a time. ‘Don’t move, Princess.’ You were totally exposed and glistening. Fuck, you looked delicious. I had to taste you.

“I wasted no time with teasing. Instead, I dove right in; your juices coating my tongue made me growl into you. Going down on you was an experience I’ll never be able to forget. You tasted amazing, smelled incredible, and you were so fucking responsive. I licked your core, closed my lips around your most sensitive spot, nibbled and sucked and devoured until you could hardly stand it.

“Once I sensed you were close, your legs shaking and your moans growing louder and more uninhibited, I thrusted two fingers deep inside you. I lifted my head only to look at your face, and damn you were a sight to see. Your eyes were rolling back, your mouth slack, your body straining against the pleasure. I smiled at you, my perfect girl, and got back to work.

“I dropped my mouth back to your gorgeous pink core and continued thrusting my digits into you. I curled them inside you while gently biting your clit causing you to scream. ‘Come for me, baby girl,’ I told you, and like always, you listened. You splintered. I removed my face and hand only to replace them with my cock, thrusting into you hard and fast.

“‘Oh god, please, please,” you cried. I thrusted harder, my body stimulating your clit consistently. I could feel you falling apart again. ‘Not yet, sweetheart. Wait.’

“You groaned in frustration but held back, waiting for my voice to tell you it was okay. I blissfully tortured you for a few more moments before nodding, ‘Now, baby girl. With me.’ The look of relief and ecstasy that crossed your features was something out of a dream.”

-

cookiesandcupcakes: I think I found my favorite story on your blog if you’re still curious.

wordsbyjughead: Oh, I’m still interested. Go ahead.

cookiesandcupcakes: I think they’re all good- I stand by my statement from yesterday, but my favorite is the one which features the kitchen counter.

wordsbyjughead: Hmm. Interesting. What do you like about it?

Betty grew slightly flustered at his question. She wasn’t expecting to have to admit more than which story she liked best. Was he psychoanalyzing her?

cookiesandcupcakes: I don’t really know. I can’t put my finger on it exactly. Maybe it’s because of the intimacy? There is an intimacy present in all your stories, but this one feels different. Maybe it’s the declaration of love?

cookiesandcupcakes: Also, as a woman, I would think it would be really exhilarating to be exposed like the woman in your story.

Hitting send before she could talk herself out of it seemed to be a recurring theme while talking to Jughead. Betty waited for what seemed like hours but in reality was only a few minutes for his reply.

wordsbyjughead: Not to be creepy, but can I ask your name?

cookiesandcupcakes: It’s Betty. Why?

wordsbyjughead: Because I just learned so much about you, but I realized I didn’t know you by any name other than the handle of a baking blog. Hi, Betty ;)

cookiesandcupcakes: Is your name really Jughead?

wordsbyjughead: No, it’s just a horrible nickname which hides my even more horrible birth name. I’ve been known as Jughead my whole life, at least until I started my career. I’m a writer, you know. Can’t be going by Jughead for my published works.

cookiesandcupcakes: Aha! I knew it! What genre are your published works, if you don’t mind me asking?

wordsbyjughead: I told you, it’s a secret. Why do you want to know, Betty?

cookiesandcupcakes: Because my day job requires me to interview up-and-coming authors and feature them in a well-known literary journal. I’m wondering if your writing would be the type of writing which would be interesting to our readers.

wordsbyjughead: Well I can tell you for sure that it’s not what I have on my blog. I enjoy writing mystery and suspense. Sometimes even thrillers. My published work is definitely different from what I post here. I keep them very separate.

cookiesandcupcakes: Do you enjoy one more than the other? What possesses you to write the kind of material featured on your blog?

wordsbyjughead: I love my professional writing. My first novel was born out of pure need to have my words published. That particular work was based off the town I grew up in. There was a great tragedy that affected the entire town. No one else was telling that story, and it needed to be told. I love that I’m capable of sharing such things with a large-scale audience and it’s well-received.

wordsbyjughead: On the other hand, though, this blog was born from a different kind of need. I am good with words. I always have been. I enjoy women. I enjoy making women feel good, both physically and emotionally. I enjoy building a woman up and then breaking her down blissfully. I enjoy giving a woman peace and safety. I have a dominant personality, Betty. I’m not into whips and chains, I don’t need them and never will. I use words.

wordsbyjughead: I needed an outlet for myself.

That surprised Betty. She wasn’t even sure why.

cookiesandcupcakes: So then, Jughead. What is your analysis on me based on my favorite story of yours, then?

wordsbyjughead: My analysis, Betty, is that you’re in desperate need of a guy like me. Someone who would take the weight of the world off your shoulders. Someone who would allow you the intimacy you crave without you feeling ashamed for it. Someone who would take care of you. That’s what you really want.

cookiesandcupcakes: Jughead, how… How do you know all that? Just from my story choice?

wordsbyjughead: Well, Betts. You took an entire day to decide on a story. I’m sure you scrolled through my blog in its entirety looking for the most perfect choice. You wanted to pick a good one. You subconsciously needed to pick one that would please me (it does please me, I promise you). You’re also revealing more of yourself today because you’re feeling more comfortable with me. I’m thankful for it too, by the way. I can tell you crave intimacy because of the story you chose, yes. There’s a different level of passion in that one. It’s like the upper echelon of emotions so intense there are no names for them. Am I wrong?

She thought for a while about what he was saying. He pretty much hit the nail on the head, she had just never put it into words before.

cookiesandcupcakes: You’re right. I’ve just never thought of myself in that way, nor would have had the words to describe it.  

wordsbyjughead: I’d say so! So what are you going to do with this new information about yourself?

cookiesandcupcakes: Honestly, I’m not sure. What would I do?

wordsbyjughead: I can think of a few things, if you want. You know, to test the waters a bit.

Betty thought about it. Jughead was absolutely right about everything he’s said so far. Besides, if she took him up on his offer, he probably lives on the other side of the country. She could always block him if whatever this was ended up getting too intense for her liking.

wordsbyjughead: I can practically hear you thinking across the chat window Betty.

cookiesandcupcakes: Sure. I’m in.

-

The next day was Betty’s scheduled day to work from home. She sat at her table, laptop open, staring at Jughead’s blog. His words still hadn’t left her from the night before.

Rather than pleasuring yourself to one of my stories, just plugging someone’s face in as mine, I want you to pick one and pretend you’re the woman. Pretend I’m the man. I want you to come with my name on your lips, Betty. I want to hear you say it.

She did. And then she did again. And again.

-

A little later in the evening, Betty received a message notification from Jughead. She settled in with her computer and opened it. She was prepared for just about any outcome. She had done as he asked, though picturing him without knowing what he looked like was a little difficult, but that was part of the appeal, she supposed. But, she had also ran every possible scenario through her mind. It’s what she does, what makes her Betty Cooper.

wordsbyjughead: Good evening, Betty.

cookiesandcupcakes: Hi Jug.

wordsbyjughead: So, I’m not a big fan of beating around the bush. I’m just going to come right out and ask, okay? Did you do as I asked? Were you a good girl?

cookiesandcupcakes: Yes, I did.

wordsbyjughead: And? How did you feel? How many times did you do it?

cookiesandcupcakes: More times than I should have, most likely. I lost count.

wordsbyjughead: Oh baby girl, you really were good for me. But you didn’t tell me how it made you feel.

cookiesandcupcakes: It felt different, but not in a bad way. It was insanely sexy knowing that someone else knew what I was doing.

wordsbyjughead: Good girl. Are you ready for your next assignment?

This was the outcome she was secretly hoping for. The one she spent the most time thinking about between the end of their conversation the previous night and right now.

cookiesandcupcakes: Yes. I’m ready.

-

A few days later, Betty found herself literally bumping into Mr. Jones again. She was returning to the house after checking her mail and he was out for his afternoon jog.

“Oh, Elizabeth! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going! Are you alright?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yes, Forsythe. It’s okay. I’m fine, see?” She turned to show him she suffered no bumps or bruises. “Thank you for checking, though. It’s very gentlemanly of you.”

He smiled. “I've been meaning to ask you but haven't had the chance. Are you feeling any better? Last we talked you seemed a little off, almost sad. Or scared.”

She returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “I'm doing very well. Thank you, honestly, for checking on me. It's nice knowing you have someone looking out for you.”

“Absolutely, Elizabeth. If you ever need anything, you know I'm just next door.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones. Enjoy the rest of your run.”