#i heat that puppy up so its the hottest thing besides my hand and she still acts like she cant see it

[the-mighty-python]

u ever have a night where your snake is record breakingly bad at striking their food. she could win medals with how much she hit the doors and hides around her and not the rat dangling an inch from her face

[writingbuckets]

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 6.8k

a/n: i present to you... jealous paige bc this is one of my favorite tropes literally ever! this was 16 pages on google docs so i apologize for that, gonna go through all my posts and add warnings to them so i shall see you later <3

You’re sprawled out on your bed, limbs heavy against the soft blanket, phone clutched in one hand. The screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, illuminating the furrow of frustration etched into your brow. Your thumb idly scrolls through your message thread with Paige—a barren wasteland of unanswered texts. Each message feels like a tiny stone dropped into the pit of your stomach, adding to the growing weight.

Monday

Hey, how’d practice go? You alive?

Wednesday

I know you’re busy, but can we talk soon? Paige?

Friday

Cool. Guess I’ll take the hint.

You sigh heavily, locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed beside you. The device bounces slightly before settling face down, but your mind refuses to let it go. A sharp buzz suddenly cuts through the silence, jolting your heart into a sprint. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers. You snatch up the phone, only for disappointment to flood in when Jasmine’s name lights up the screen instead.

You swipe to answer, switching to speaker and tossing it back on the bed. “What’s up, Jas?” you say, your tone flat and lacking its usual warmth.

“Clearly not you,” Jasmine replies, her voice teasing but tinged with concern. “You sound like someone kicked your puppy. Is this about Paige again?”

You pause, chewing on your bottom lip, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over.

“She’s been ghosting me all week,” you finally admit, bitterness seeping into your voice like a slow drip. “I get that basketball keeps her busy, but is it really that hard to send one text? Like, ‘Hey, sorry, can’t talk right now’? That’s all I’m asking. It’s not rocket science.”

Jasmine’s incredulous tone comes through loud and clear. “Wait. She hasn’t responded at all? Not even a quick ‘Hey, I’m swamped’?”

“Not a word,” you reply, the edge in your voice sharpening. “Meanwhile, she’s out here talking about how much she likes me and how she wants to make things work. For what? So I can sit here, feeling like a damn afterthought, while she… I don’t even know what she’s doing anymore.”

“You deserve so much better,” Jasmine says firmly, her voice a grounding presence.

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, picking up your phone again despite yourself. It’s a reflex, a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You open Instagram, swiping through stories without purpose, when something stops you cold.

KK’s latest post dominates the screen. It’s a picture of the team crammed into a booth at Ted’s, smiles wide and carefree. Paige is smack in the middle, holding up Dirty Shirley, her grin so effortless it’s like she hasn’t ignored a single text in her life. She looks happy. Relaxed. Completely unbothered.

The caption reads: “Dubs only, baby! Turnt up with the squad 🏀.”

Your grip on the phone tightens as heat rises to your cheeks. Your jaw clenches involuntarily. So, she has time for this? Time to party, to hang out with her team, to go to Ted’s of all places—your spot—but can’t find two seconds to acknowledge you?

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, the words simmering with anger.

“What happened?” Jasmine’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“She’s at Ted’s,” you say through gritted teeth. “With the team. Laughing, drinking, looking like life is perfect while I’m over here wondering if she fell off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jasmine says, her indignation matching your own. “She thinks she can ignore you and get away with it? Nope. Get up, put on your hottest outfit, and remind her who the hell you are.”

You sit up, heart pounding as the idea takes root. Your glare is fixed on KK’s post, as if staring at it hard enough might erase the image entirely. Locking your phone, you toss it onto the bed before swinging your legs over the side.

“You know what?” you say, your voice steady and laced with resolve. “Maybe I will.”

The moment you’ve had enough, something shifts inside you—like a fire being reignited. The frustration that’s been simmering all evening finally boils over, and you grab your phone with newfound determination. Sitting upright on your bed, you unlock the screen, your fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Y’all down for Ted’s tonight? Need backup.

The message is direct, no frills. This isn’t just a night out—it’s a mission.

Jasmine’s reply comes almost instantly, as if she’s been waiting for an excuse to hit the town. Say less. On my way in 20. Her energy is palpable even through a text.

Seconds later, Veronica chimes in: I’m in. Let’s cause some trouble. Her signature wink emoji follows, and you can’t help but smirk.

Finally, Serena’s response lights up your screen with a single word: Bet. Short, sweet, and packed with confidence.

With your friends locked in, you toss your phone onto the bed and head straight to your closet. It’s time to make a statement—one that’s impossible to ignore. You stand in front of your wardrobe, fingers brushing over hangers as you mentally critique each option. Too casual. Too plain. Too predictable.

After what feels like an eternity, your hand lands on the one. It’s bold, sleek, and undeniably sexy—a figure-hugging dress that accentuates all the right places and practically demands attention. You pull it off the hanger, holding it up in front of the mirror. The deep color complements your skin perfectly, and the hem does the absolute minimum in covering the bottom of your ass.

You slip into it carefully, smoothing the fabric over your body and adjusting it until it fits like a second skin. Taking a step back, you examine yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as a small smile plays on your lips. You look good. No—scratch that. You look amazing. But tonight, looking amazing isn’t enough. You want to turn heads. You want Paige to feel it.

Not done yet, you move to your vanity, flipping on the lights. Your makeup bag sits waiting, and you dive in with practiced precision. First, a flawless base, smooth and glowing, like your skin was kissed by the perfect Instagram filter. You follow with a contour that defines your features, giving you a sharp, sculpted look. Then comes the winged liner, bold and dramatic, with a flick so precise it could cut glass. Smokey eyeshadow enhances the look, making your gaze impossible to ignore, and a high-shine gloss adds the perfect finishing touch to your lips.

You lean back, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Every detail is on point, down to the faint shimmer of highlighter catching the light on your cheekbones. It’s flawless, if you do say so yourself.

As you’re spritzing on your favorite perfume—a scent both intoxicating and unforgettable—your phone buzzes again. Jasmine’s text reads: Outside. Let’s do this.

You slip on your favorite pair of chunky, heeled boots, the ones that make you feel like you own every room you walk into, and grab your bag. The rhythmic click of your heels on the pavement mirrors your determination as you stride out to Jasmine’s car.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you’re met with a low whistle from Jasmine. “Damn, girl,” she says, giving you an approving once-over. “Are you trying to destroy someone tonight?”

You smirk as you buckle your seatbelt, tossing your bag onto your lap. “Not destroy. Just remind a certain someone what she’s about to lose.”

Jasmine’s laugh fills the car as she reaches over for a fist bump. “Now that is the energy I needed. She won’t know what hit her.”

The ride to Ted’s feels electric. The bass of the music pulses through the car, a perfect soundtrack to your rising confidence. Jasmine keeps hyping you up the whole way, stealing glances at you every so often.

“You look so good, you’re probably going to start a fight,” she teases with a grin.

You meet her eyes with a smirk, adjusting a strand of hair in the mirror. “Good,” you say, your voice dripping with confidence. “Let her be mad. She’s got it coming.”

Jasmine’s laughter rings out, blending with the music as the two of you pull into the crowded parking lot. The neon sign for Ted’s glows against the night sky, and the hum of voices and laughter spills out into the cool evening air.

You step out of the car with purpose, adjusting your outfit one last time as your heels click against the asphalt. One final glance in the car’s side mirror confirms what you already know: you’re a vision, and tonight, you’re a force to be reckoned with.

Ted’s won’t know what hit it. And neither will Paige.

The low buzz of voices and the faint clinking of glasses hit you the moment you step into Ted’s. The warm glow of string lights overhead bathes the packed bar in a golden hue, and the energy in the room is palpable—loud laughter, animated conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from the direction of the pool table. Your heels click against the floor as you make your way in with Jasmine, Veronica, and Serena flanking you like a well-coordinated squad. 

It doesn’t take long to spot her. Paige is exactly where you expected, seated in a large booth near the back with Azzi, KK, Ice, and Jana. She’s dressed casually, black denim shorts, a black crop top, and an unbuttoned, white shirt, but she might as well be wearing a neon sign with the way she draws attention. She’s laughing, leaning back with her arm draped casually over the seat, completely at ease. You can see the sparkle in her eyes from here, even as she remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

The sight makes your stomach twist, but you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about Paige. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Let’s hit the bar,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you lead your friends in the opposite direction, deliberately ignoring the booth and the person in it.

The bartender greets you with a smile, and you order a couple rounds of shots for your group, letting Jasmine and the others hype you up as you throw them back the second they’re placed in front of you. Once you feel enough of a buzz to quell your anxiety, you decide to settle for a mixed drink to sip on for the remainder of the night. It isn’t long before you notice someone approaching, a tall, athletic-looking girl with broad shoulders and an easy grin. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and the confidence in her stride is unmistakable.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the bar. Her voice is low, smooth. “You look like you’re having more fun than anyone else here.”

You flash her a smile, tilting your head slightly. “You could say that.”

Her grin widens, and she introduces herself, launching into a conversation that you quickly match. Her compliments come freely—your outfit, your laugh, even the way you carry yourself—and you don’t hold back, laughing a little louder than usual and letting your fingers brush against her arm as you talk.

Across the booth, KK nudges Paige, a look of concern flickering across her face. “Uh, hey, isn’t that Y/N?” she says, nodding toward the bar.

Paige’s head snaps toward KK, her expression darkening as she follows her teammate’s line of sight. Her brows knit together as she takes in the scene—your effortless smile, the way you lean into the girl’s space, her hand resting on the bar just a little too close to yours. She recognizes the look in your eyes, it’s the same look she was on the receiving end of the first night you met.

“Yeah,” Paige says shortly, her voice clipped. She sets her drink down with more force than necessary, her grip tightening around the glass before she looks away.

Meanwhile, you pretend not to notice the silent storm brewing across the room. You keep your focus on the girl in front of you, leaning in just enough to keep the conversation flowing, though you can feel the heat of Paige’s jealousy from where you stand. It sends a thrill through you, equal parts satisfaction and spite.

As the girl laughs at something you’ve said, you turn your head to the side slightly, trying to catch a glance at the booth where Paige sits. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her tense, her hand balling into a fist on the table as she murmurs something to Azzi.

You can feel it in the air, Paige is reaching her breaking point. And that’s exactly what you wanted.

Paige sits stiffly in the booth, her grip on her drink tightening as her knuckles blanch. Her jaw works furiously, muscles twitching as if she’s holding back an eruption. The sound of your laugh, airy and effortless, cuts through the din of the bar, and Paige’s eyes flicker with barely concealed rage. Her teammates exchange uneasy glances, sensing the storm brewing beside them.

Azzi nudges KK and leans in. “Uh, is she okay?”

KK shrugs, her voice low. “I don’t think so.”

Paige suddenly stands, her movements sharp and deliberate. The scrape of her chair against the floor draws their attention.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asks, concern softening her voice.

Paige doesn’t look at her, her gaze fixed like a laser on you across the room. “I’ll be back,” she mutters, her voice clipped.

She doesn’t wait for a response, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Her steps are quick, her shoulders tight, and her eyes never leave you. You’re at the bar, leaning casually against the counter, completely absorbed in your conversation with the tall, athletic-looking girl beside you. The girl leans in close, her hand grazing your arm as she says something that makes you throw your head back with a laugh.

Paige’s chest tightens, and the corners of her vision blur with the heat of her jealousy. Each second feels like an eternity as she closes the distance, her blood boiling at the sight of the stranger getting a little too comfortable with you.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t pause to think. Her arm snakes around your waist in one swift motion, pulling you firmly against her side. The sudden contact makes you gasp, your conversation abruptly cut off. The flirty girl takes a step back, startled and clearly intimidated by Paige’s possessive presence.

“We’re leaving,” Paige says, her tone low and commanding. Her words are sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air.

You turn your head sharply, blinking in surprise as your eyes meet hers. The fire in her gaze burns so brightly it could scorch you, but you’re too stubborn to back down. “Now you have time to talk to me?” you ask, drawing the sentence out with deliberate sarcasm. “I think I’m fine right here.”

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, her arm tightens around your waist, her fingers pressing firmly into your side. It’s a silent warning, one you choose to ignore as you plant your feet against her attempts to steer you toward the door.

“Paige, what the hell?” you protest, your voice rising with irritation.

“Not here,” she snaps, her tone cold and final. Her grip remains unrelenting as she continues to lead you away from the bar.

Your friends notice the commotion, Jasmine standing halfway out of her seat. “Y/N, are you good?” she calls, her brows furrowed with concern.

You twist in Paige’s hold just enough to look back at them, throwing a hand up in a dismissive wave. “I’ll text you!” you shout over your shoulder, your voice dripping with frustration.

Paige doesn’t slow her pace until the two of you are outside, the cool night air biting at your skin. She releases you near her car, and you immediately step back, glaring at her.

“Seriously, Paige?” you snap, your voice sharp as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think you can just show up, ruin my night, and drag me out like this?”

Paige’s nostrils flare as she turns to face you fully, her expression thunderous. “I think I just did.”

Eventually you arrive at her apartment, and she has to practically pull you out of her car by your arm. The second you step into Paige’s entryway, you rip your arm out of her grip with enough force to make her stumble slightly. You spin around to face her, your chest heaving with frustration. The door slams shut behind you, echoing through the space like a gunshot.

“What the hell is your problem, Paige?” you shout, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Your words are sharp, fueled by anger that’s been simmering for days.

Paige whirls around to face you, her face already twisted in fury. “My problem?” she fires back, her voice rising to match yours, letting out a humorless chuckle. “You’re out there all over some random girl, and you’re asking me what my problem is?”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I am! Because you ignore me all week, and the second I talk to someone else, you suddenly care? Make it make sense, Paige!”

She runs both hands through her hair, pacing in jerky, frustrated strides between the door and the counter. “Do you know how insane it made me to see you with her?” she snaps, her words laced with raw, unfiltered emotion. “Laughing, touching her, looking like you were having the time of your life? Like I didn’t even exist?”

You laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you cross your arms over your chest. “That’s rich, Paige. At least she actually talked to me, which is more than I’ve gotten from you in weeks.”

The room feels charged, every word hanging heavy in the air, but Paige isn’t done. She steps forward again, her voice low and rough with frustration. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to talk to you? You’re all over her, touching her like it doesn’t matter, and it’s driving me crazy—"

“Gee, sounds like you finally get it,” you fire back, your words sharp with bitterness. “But hey, don’t worry, I’ll stop talking to people if it’ll make you feel better. Maybe next time, I’ll just sit in the corner and wait for you to remember I’m here, like some sad little backup plan.”

You turn your head, preparing to walk out, but before you can take a single step, Paige’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist with a force that stops you in your tracks. Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn to face her, ready to throw another snarky remark her way.

But before you can speak, she’s there, bringing her hands to grab both sides of your face, her lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes you by surprise. You freeze for a split second, then instinct kicks in. You try to pull away, pushing against her chest with as much force as you can muster.

But she doesn’t let up. Her kiss deepens, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, keeping you in place. The anger you’ve been carrying fades, replaced with confusion and something else you can’t quite name. You can feel her tension, her frustration, her need for something—maybe an answer, maybe redemption.

She slides one of her hands down to anchor around the front of your throat, her other hand drifting to grab at your hip through the thin material of your dress. She slowly starts to back you towards her kitchen, not stopping until the top of your ass is pressing against the island counter. She brings both hands to your hips, tapping the side of your ass with one hand, encouraging you to jump, and roughly squeezing your hip with the other.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as she lifts you effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop. Her hands slide possessively up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. She steps forward, wedging herself between your parted legs.

"You look so fucking good in this dress," she says, her voice low and thick with desire. One hand slips under the fabric to caress the bare skin of your hip while the other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat.

She dips her head, warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin before her lips press against your racing pulse. Your back arches as she nips at the delicate skin, soothing the pinch with her tongue and surely leaving a mark. A breathy moan fills the air and it takes you a moment to realize it came from you. 

Her lips trail lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You shiver as her tongue flicks out to taste your skin. The hand on your hip slides inward, fingertips skimming teasingly along the inside of your thigh. 

You wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her in closer, desperate for more contact. She chuckles darkly against your throat, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure racing down your spine. "I love it when you get like this," she murmurs approvingly. "All desperate and needy."

To punctuate her point, she rolls her hips, grinding against your center. The pressure and friction draw a keening whimper from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip her strong shoulders, nails digging into taut muscle through her shirt. 

Her lips glide over your skin, a delicate yet fervent touch, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. As she moves up from your jawline, each kiss ignites a spark, and her breath, hot and teasing, touches your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I've been thinking about having you like this all night," she murmurs.

You whimper as her hands skim higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric. She captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, leaving you breathless and aching for more. 

She reaches up to pull your dress down, revealing your bare breasts. Her lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting it gently. You arch into her touch, a moan escaping your parted lips as she places full attention on the sensitive bud. Her tongue flicks and swirls, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. 

Her other hand palms your neglected breast, kneading the supple flesh. She rolls the pebbled nipple between her fingers, pinching and tugging in time with the ministrations of her mouth, each pull sending another rush of heat flooding your body.

"So pretty, baby," she says, the words vibrating against your skin. She gives your nipple one last hard suck before trailing her lips across your chest to the other breast, circling her tongue around the straining peak. Her mouth is relentless, her tongue swirling and flicking over your nipple until it’s aching, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Her free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You’re already wet, your panties soaked through, and she groans against your skin as her fingers brush over the damp fabric.

Your head falls back as you cry out, hands fisting in her silky hair to hold her close. She smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the reactions she's pulling from your trembling body. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing your body closer to hers as you desperately seek more of her touch, the sound of her soft chuckle making you shudder with pleasure.

"Patience," she whispers, the word barely audible as her fingers trace lazy circles around your clit through the lace of your underwear. The sensation is frustrating, and you can't help but whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily in search of more contact.

You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body responding to her touch in ways you never thought possible. You already know she's jealous, you saw the way she looked at you earlier when you were talking to that other girl. But you can't help but feel thrilled at the way she's touching you now, as if she's trying to claim you as her own.

You lean back on your hands, your eyes locked on Paige's as she continues to tease you. Her gaze is intense, fiery, and you can see the possessiveness in her eyes. It sends a thrill down your spine, making you even more turned on. 

"You're mine," Paige murmurs, her voice low and husky, filled with an undeniable possessiveness. The words send a thrill throughout your body, making your heart race with excitement. “Say it.”

"I'm yours," you whisper back, your voice barely audible as the tension builds within you. You can feel the pressure growing more and more intense, your body aching for release. 

Paige's fingers finally slip under the waistband of your underwear, making contact with your sensitive skin. The feeling is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly as she begins to stroke you. Her touch is firm and confident, her fingers expertly finding your most sensitive spots.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation. Paige's gaze is locked on yours, her eyes filled with a fierce intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "Come for me, baby."

And with those words, you finally let go, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out her name. Paige holds you close, her fingers still moving rhythmically as you ride out your orgasm. As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Paige pulls her fingers away from your clit. 

Before you can fully catch your breath, Paige is on you again. She moves with a speed and agility that takes you by surprise, pushing your back onto the counter with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your body splayed out beneath her, you feel a thrill of excitement run through you. You're completely at her mercy, and the thought is intoxicating. Paige's hand makes its way back to your throat, her grip firm and unyielding. She pins you to the counter by your throat, her body pressing against yours as she holds you in place.

You gasp at the sudden change in position, your heart racing with a combination of fear and excitement. The feeling of being completely dominated by Paige is both terrifying and exhilarating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

Paige's other hand slides back between your legs, her fingers finding your entrance with ease. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment, your body responding instinctually to her touch. She finds your g-spot easily, her fingers curling and pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. You moan softly, your hips bucking as she begins to stroke you, her movements slow and deliberate at first, before building up to a feverish pace. 

But she’s not content with just bringing you to orgasm. She wants to claim you, to mark you as hers in every way possible. And as she continues to finger you, her grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, you know that you're completely and utterly hers.

Paige's movements become more insistent, her fingers moving faster and harder as she brings you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of another orgasm, your body writhing and bucking beneath her touch. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she continues, her movements growing more frantic as she feels your body starting to give in to the pleasure. “Paige, I can’t… it’s too much.”

“Nah, baby, I’ve been so mean to you this week, I just wanna make it up to you.” You moan louder now, your voice echoing through the room as Paige brings you to new heights of pleasure. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure. “C’mon, I know you can take it.”

And then, with one final stroke, you reach the peak of your orgasm, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Paige's fingers continue to move inside you, prolonging your orgasm and sending you spiraling into new heights of ecstasy. When it's all over, you collapse back onto the counter, your body spent and satisfied. Paige pulls her fingers away, a satisfied smirk on her face as she looks down at you, bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck at the remnants of your orgasm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, though the heat in your cheeks betrays your embarrassment. You quickly move to fix your dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious now that the moment is over.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replies, her voice steady but softer than usual. Still, her gaze doesn’t waver, her blue eyes fixed on you.

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. The distant hum of the refrigerator is the only sound, an almost mocking contrast to the charged tension between you. Sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, you swing your legs idly, trying to feign a casualness you don’t feel. The cool surface beneath you does little to soothe the heat creeping up your neck as Paige stands in front of you, close enough that her presence seems to fill the room.

When you finally look at her, expecting that same smug, self-satisfied smirk she’s perfected, you’re caught off guard. Her expression isn’t cocky; it’s something else entirely. The spark of amusement is gone, replaced by something heavier, something raw. Her blue eyes hold yours, steady and searching, as if she’s trying to find the words buried somewhere between you.

Paige shifts slightly, her hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that betrays the steady confidence she usually exudes. For a split second, it feels like the world narrows down to just this moment, just the two of you.

Her voice finally breaks the silence, low and uncharacteristically serious. “You know we need to talk about everything.”

The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. Her tone is firm but carries a vulnerability that makes your stomach twist. She’s not brushing this off or dancing around it like you half-expected. No teasing grin, no playful deflection—just a directness that makes it impossible to pretend this is something you can both walk away from unscathed.

Paige shifts her weight slightly, standing even closer now, the space between your legs shrinking until there’s barely any left. The warmth of her body radiates against you, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every inch of space she occupies. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and you can tell she’s waiting, giving you the chance to push her away—or pull her closer.

But the way she looks at you, so open and unguarded, makes it hard to do either. It’s a stark contrast to the Paige who had been ignoring your texts all week, and yet, it feels so achingly familiar. You’re torn between wanting to stay guarded and giving in to the pull of the moment. Finally, you arch an eyebrow, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions threatening to surface.

“Okay,” you say, your tone more challenging than you intended. “Start talking.”

Paige’s shoulders stiffen, and for a second, you think she might retreat into that wall of stoicism she hides behind so well. But then her jaw tightens, and she steps even closer, her closeness making your nervousness spike, but you don’t flinch, meeting her gaze head-on.

“I can’t stand seeing you with someone else,” she says, her words thick with frustration. “I don’t want you flirting, laughing, or even looking at anyone but me. I want you, Y/N. Only you. I want us to be exclusive. I’ll do better. Just… don’t ever do that again.”

Your breath catches, and you almost flinch at how accurately her words cut to the truth. Still, you say nothing, giving her the space to continue.

“I messed up,” she begins, her voice quiet but deliberate. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve made you feel like you’re not important to me, like basketball or… anything else in my life comes before you.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to maintain your composure, the snarky defense you’ve built up around yourself threatening to crack. You cross your arms, fighting to keep the sarcasm in your voice, even though your insides are a tangled mess of emotions.

“Exclusive, huh?” you challenge, your voice sharp, almost taunting, as you raise an eyebrow. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between you and the vulnerability she’s suddenly laying at your feet. “And what happens when basketball gets in the way again? When I’m just another item on your to-do list?”

Paige flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The slight crack in her usually unshakable confidence stirs something in you—satisfaction, maybe, or guilt. You can’t quite tell. Her jaw tightens, the muscles working as if she’s biting back the first response that comes to mind. Instead, her gaze shifts, no longer carrying the frustration or defensiveness you’ve grown used to. Instead, there’s something softer, rawer, in the way she looks at you now. The intensity of her eyes locks you in place, her expression quietly pleading yet resolute.

“I’m not going to let that happen again,” Paige says, her voice low and steady. “I know I’ve screwed up before. I’ve made you feel like you’re not a priority, like you’re just… there, waiting for me to fit you in.” She pauses, the weight of her own admission hanging heavily between you. “But that’s not how I see you. That’s not what I want us to be.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. There’s no rehearsed apology, no empty promises. Just a raw honesty that feels like she’s peeling back the layers she’s kept hidden from everyone else. Your heart twists, torn between holding onto your frustration and the pull of what she’s offering.

You narrow your eyes, unwilling to let her off the hook so easily. “And how do I know this isn’t just another one of your moments? That it won’t be the same cycle all over again?”

Paige exhales, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of your skepticism. “Because I don’t want to lose you,” she says simply, her tone almost breaking. “Because when I saw you with her tonight, it felt like the ground was being ripped out from under me. I don’t want to feel that again, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not enough, or that you’re not worth my time.”

You’re still sitting on the counter, and the height difference gives you a brief sense of power, though it doesn’t last long under the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re not some item on a list,” she continues, her voice softening as she tilts her head to meet your eyes. “You’re the list, Y/N. You’re the one thing that matters more than all of it. And if that means I have to rearrange my life, show up differently, or prove it to you every single day, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The vulnerability in her words catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and bitterness you’ve been clinging to starts to loosen its grip. Still, you’re not ready to let her win that easily. You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as if to study her, daring her to flinch under your scrutiny.

“You’re really laying it on thick, Bueckers,” you quip, though the usual sharpness in your tone is softened by the faintest hint of a smirk.

Paige’s lips twitch upward, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. “That’s because I mean it,” she counters, her voice steady. “I’m not going to let you walk away from this—not without fighting for you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings and the lingering tension of everything that’s gone unsaid for far too long.

“So, you’re telling me I’m the priority now?” you ask, your voice quieter this time, a little softer, though you keep your arms crossed in a weak attempt to shield yourself. There’s hesitation in your tone, an uncertainty you can’t quite hide, but the words still slip past your lips. “Not basketball, not your schedule, not the team?”

Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t waver. Her blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that pins you in place, her conviction written all over her face. “Yes,” she says, her voice steady, as though the truth of it is something she’s carried for a long time. “You. Only you, Y/N.”

You look down at where her hands rest, then back up to meet her eyes—those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold nothing but honesty and a hint of fear, as if she’s bracing for your rejection. Your defenses falter. The weight of her confession, the raw emotion in her voice, the way she’s standing there, so vulnerable—it all seeps into the cracks of your resolve. Slowly, your arms drop to your sides, the tension in your shoulders easing as you exhale a shaky breath.

“Paige,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, fueled with something more forgiving. “If you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, her voice firm but not forceful. Her hands slide up slightly, resting on your hips now, anchoring herself to you. “I swear to you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You hold her gaze for another long moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all you see is determination—determination and something deeper, something so achingly familiar it makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough. Enough to make Paige’s expression soften, her shoulders relax, and a spark of hope flicker in her eyes.

Her grip on your hips tightens slightly as she steps closer, standing between your legs, her face just inches from yours now. “Okay?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“Okay,” you say again, your voice steadier this time. You tilt your head slightly, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But you’d better back it up, Bueckers. I’m not making this easy for you.”

Paige chuckles softly, a sound filled with relief and affection. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Before you can respond, she leans in, her hands sliding up to cup your face gently, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. She hesitates for the briefest moment, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you don’t, she closes the distance.

The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. But it doesn’t take long for the intensity to build, for her to pour every ounce of her emotions into the connection. Her lips move against yours with a mix of passion and desperation, and you can feel her heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, then slide up to thread through her hair, pulling her closer as you kiss her back with just as much fervor. The tension, the anger, the frustration of the past week melts away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest like wildfire.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting together. Paige’s eyes search yours, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “I’ll make it up to you, Y/N. Every day. You’ll see.”

You can’t help but smile back, your fingers still tangled in her hair. “You’d better,” you reply, your tone soft but teasing. “Because I’m holding you to it.”

Paige grins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it feels like everything is falling into place.

[bagels-and-seagulls]

54 for Davenzi pls. The locker kiss

Against a Locker kiss (did u mean hot jock david with his awkward bf day of a football match? because that’s what this prompt told me)

check it out on ao3

Jonas slid up beside Matteo and slammed against the locker next to his, landing with a clang and making Matteo jump up a little on his toes. “Are you going to game tonight?” He asks in a rush, and Matteo barely has the second to process it before Jonas asks again. “Are you going or not?” There was a little more whine in his voice this time around. 

“To what?” Matteo asks slowly, grabbing the last book he needed and shutting the door to his locker with a click. 

“The game.” 

“What game?” 

“The football game obviously. You know, the one that your so-called boyfriend is the captain of.” 

“So-call- Don’t say it like that. He’s my actual boyfriend,” Matteo mumbles and turns away to start walking to class. 

Jonas follows right on his heels. “Well, that certainly would be a lot more believable if we ever actually saw you guys together-” 

“I’m a catch you know,” he interrupts, tired of having to explain to everyone he tells that him and David Schreibner, yes that David Schreibner, social king and hottest guy in the whole school, were in fact dating. Boyfriends, if you will. Matteo certainly does. 

“If you’re a catch, David is a fucking whale, and we both knows that’s true. Anyways, the game.” 

“I’m meeting my mom for dinner tonight. I already had to reschedule.” 

Jonas scoffs. “Likely excuse.” 

“It’s true,” Matteo rolls his eyes. “Besides, you’ve never been interested in football before. Something about capitalism and sports empires and socially approved violence, if I remember right.”

“That was before I saw you stashing a jersey in your bag that for sure does not belong to you,” Jonas dramatically looks into where Matteo’s bag is still slightly unzipped. 

“It’s David’s. He asked me to wear it to the game,” Matteo turns around the corner with his cheeks burning brightly at the confession. God, he felt like a fucking cliche when David had brought it up. Felt even more like one because he feels so giddy about it, like some teenage girl, twirling her pigtails around her fingers and popping bumble gum when her crush comes up to talk to her.

“So you are-”

“I already told him there was a chance I couldn’t go. There will be more games.” 

“So you’re going to wear it later then?” Jonas asks with an obvious glee in his voice and lightness in his step. 

Matteo rolls his eyes again, afraid her ears were fucking scarlet at this point. “I have to go. Byyyye,” he drawls out and enters his classroom. 

His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out to check it. 

⚽Da.Vid💋: 

What were you and Jonas talking about?

You looked like a tomato haha

Teo🍝❤️: 

stop spying on me weirdo

⚽Da.Vid💋: 

I haven’t seen my super cute boyfriend in like two days can you blame me for looking?

Teo🍝❤️ : 

super cute bf? do i kno him? dont tell me its jonas

⚽Da.Vid💋 :

You caught me. I’ve been hanging out with you for weeks just to get into Jonas’ pants. 

Teo🍝❤️ :

he asked me if i was going to the game

and he made fun of for the jersey thing

⚽Da.Vid💋 :

I see you’re not wearing it 👀👀

Will I still get to see you before? 

Teo🍝❤️ : 

its itchy

and everyone would jsut think i stole it like a creep

meet you after school? 

“Mr. Florenzi,” a sharp, nasally voice calls out. Matteo looks up from his phone, and the entire class is watching him as the teacher stares, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Is there something you wanted to share with the class?” 

“No,” he answers, and he catches Amira laughing at him out the corner of his eye. 

“Gotta be better than that,” she whispers, and Matteo just flicks her off with an exaggerated scowl. 

He doesn’t get a chance to check it until he’s halfway to Spanish. 

⚽Da.Vid💋:

I’ll get a matching one with Florenzi and a bowl of pasta.

We’ll be best dressed of the year. 

I’ll meet you at your locker after PE

Time ticks kind of slowly after that. Matteo wasn’t able to keep track of what was going on in class, scribbling down random doodles during all the lectures and looking up at Amira with puppy dog eyes until she rolled her and showed him her answers, and during lunch, Carlos and Jonas were busy working on some German paper in the library. Abdi spent the entire thing talking about Sam, and her eyes, and her laugh, and her hair, and yadda yadda yadda. Matteo stopped listening halfway though. Same old. Same old, he thought. He’s heard it all before. 

After what feels like a small eternity, or maybe just an average couple of hours, Matteo manages to make it to his locker. His locker that was currently sans any David near it. Matteo pouted at the sight and started shoving his books in some haphazard format inside, thinking that this game of tetris he had with all his stuff might pass the time a little. 

He hears quick footsteps come up besides him, and he turns, expecting to see his devastatingly dashing boyfriend, but was disappointed with just Jonas. He must notice when Matteo deflates a little because he says, “It’s good to see you too, man,” with a dramatic frown. 

“Sorry,” Matteo says, and bumps their fists together. “David is meeting me after gym.” 

“Did I hear my name?” Matteo shuts his locker and sees David smiling brightly back at him. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed, probably from PE class still. Wow, Matteo thinks. He really was a teenage girl. He thinks he might be swooning a little bit. “Na?” He asks when Matteo doesn’t say anything, his eyes flicking down to Matteo’s lips from his eyes quickly. 

“Na,” Matteo repeats dumbly. His mouth feels kind of dry, and he really remembers that they haven’t seen each other in two days all of a sudden. 

“Um,” Jonas drawls out, fiddling with his bag straps awkwardly. Matteo almost feels like it serves him right from the amount of times he’s been the third wheel for him, but decides that he probably should save him after all. 

“Oh, uh, Jonas, you know David, right?” Matteo says and takes half a step back so they could all look at each other better. 

David nods and raises his hand. “Yeah, yeah,” Jonas agrees and meets David halfway. “We had math together right?” 

“Something like that,” David laughs and takes half a step back into Matteo’s space until their shoulders were brushing. 

“Well, uh, I’ve gotta run. Uh, Carlos and I are meeting. Yeah. See you tomorrow, bro?” Matteo nodded and they bumped elbows. “See you, David,” Jonas waves, and then wonders off, giving Matteo a smug look as he left. 

“That was, uh,” David starts and then stops with a laugh. 

“Weird,” Matteo finishes for him. “That was weird.” 

“Yeah, a little,” David agrees, scrunching up his nose cutely. “So.” 

“So,” Matteo repeats and leans against his locker. 

David leans in close, and Matteo can feel the heat off of him. “Laura will be out tonight, if you wanted to come over after the game.” 

“What are you implying, Mr. Schreibner? I’m not easy, you know.” 

“I’m making no comment about that,” David replies with a smirk. “But it would be very nice to have my very cute boyfriend come over to celebrate tonight.”

Matteo hums. “Seems confident of you to plan a celebration before you even play. I’ll have you know I only hang out with the real winners.”  

“Well, if a win is what it takes to get you to come over, then that’s plenty of motivation to score a few goals,” David mutters into the side of Matteo’s face and kisses him sweetly right next to the lockers. 

[cooperjones2020]

To breathe the fire we was born in

Summary: Filling the prompt “Smut or rather smut with feelings where Jughead wants to have sex with Betty while they look at themselves in the mirror, but she's feeling insecure about watching herself. He persuades her to do it, because watching her come is the hottest thing he has ever seen and he wants her to see that too.” Also turned into fluff and domestic/vacation/future!bughead. Also Dom!Jug cause that’s just how I roll.

A/N: Soundtrack to this fic is (obviously, as you will see) Springsteen’s “Born to Run” album, specifically the A side, but really you should just listen to all of it.Title’s from “Backstreets” off that same album.

Word Count: 3,026

Rating: E (aka smutty smut smut below the jump)

ao3—>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11791893

It’s their last night in the little log cabin in the mountains. From her seat on the porch step, Betty watches as the watercolour sunset melts away, only to be replaced by a circus troupe of lightning bugs.  She stretches out and crosses her legs, brown and bare under a loose dress, and leans back on her hands. Dried dirt falls off her toes in clouds of dust from where she’d tiptoed through the mud in search of cattail stalks and garlic mustard for their salad earlier.

The screen door behind her bangs shut and she tilts her head back to watch, upside down, as her boyfriend hands her a glass of wine and comes to sit beside her.

She shuffles closer to rest her head on his shoulder and slips her arm through his. The night air is still muggy, so the skin of his shoulder is damp where it comes out of the strap of his white tank top.

“I’m not ready to go home.”

“Me either.”

“Are you sure we have to go back?”

“I got no less than five texts from Archie yesterday about what a little monster Scout is being. I normally don’t get that many texts from him in a week.”

Betty laughs. “I got some from Veronica too. In retrospect, we probably shouldn’t have left a fifty pound sheepdog puppy with a guy who forgets to feed himself sometimes and a girl who thinks dogs should fit in purses so you can carry them on the subway.”

“Yeah well, you live and you learn. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.” Jughead turns and kisses Betty’s hair before resting his cheek on her head. “Tonight, the real world doesn’t exist. I have twelve more hours of having you all to myself.”

“Plus the two and half hours back to Riverdale and then three more home.”

“You’re sure we have to have lunch with your mother?”

“Stop it,” Betty nudges him with the elbow looped through his. “Mom’s really excited. And we haven’t been home since Polly’s wedding.”

“I know.” Jughead releases a long-suffering sigh. “I’m just not looking forward to more pointed comments about you busting your ass and your earning potential and the ‘instability of artistic careers.’ I know you’re basically supporting me and this relationship isn’t fifty fifty right now, but—”

“The book will sell, Jug.”

“Yeah. And maybe I’ll get lucky and there’ll be an email from my agent waiting for me.”

“Hey, we said no email-checking on this trip.”

“I’ll wait till we’re within the town limits. Then if there’s nothing, I’ll have at most five minutes to be disappointed before Alice Cooper commandeers all my brain cells.”

Betty smiles up at him, the corner of her lips curving down. “C’mere.”

Jughead tilts his head down toward her and she captures his lips in a kiss. Neither makes a move to deepen it, so it’s sweet, smouldering with the promise of things both past and to come. She sighs when she lets go and when she opens her eyes, Jughead’s are still closed, a dreamy smile on his face. More than ten years and, still, she feels that sweet ache in her chest whenever she looks at him. She lifts her glass and it catches the light, reflecting the facets of the new weight on her left hand.

“Now then, if this is to be our last night in Eden, I want you to dance with me.” Their cabin had come with a turntable and a collection of classic rock vinyls that had caused JB to text her a disturbingly long string of emojis when Betty sent her a photo a couple of days ago. When Jughead refilled their wine just now, he put on Springsteen’s “Born to Run” album, and so the music floats out the window on the evening breeze.

He opens his eyes and squints at her. “Only because it’s our last night.” Then he kisses her on the tip of the nose and pulls her to her feet.

After a minute or two of awkward shuffling, they find a rhythm, barefoot on the bare dirt. Her nails scratch at the nape of his neck and his thumb sweeps across the back of her hand where he holds it.

By the third track, Jughead gets into it, twirling her and dipping her with a skill that she knows he has, but that always surprises her when it emerges. He swallows her laugh in a kiss while she’s bent back, then he launches her forward, catching her against his chest and hugging her tight. Eventually, they settle into a gentle sway, her face in his neck and his arm wrapped around the small of her back, fingers brushing the space between her hip bone and her ribs.

Their mellow rocking lulls her into a trance so that she doesn’t even notice when the music stops. But Jughead breaks it with a husky whisper in her ear: “Have you thought any more about my idea?”

She rubs her cheek on his shoulder before looking up at him. “Yeah, but I’m just not sure about…um, about it.”

“Well, not to put any pressure on you, but we are running out of time.”

She murmurs, “Mhm.”

“And, you know, we’ve done much kinkier shit than this. I seem to recall a certain favourite Hitchcock blonde of mine in a leather get up in a hotel in San Francisco”

“I know, but it’s not that.”

“What is it then, baby?”

“It’s just…Mom’s not wrong when she says I’m working all the time. I can’t remember the last time I went to the gym and we’ve been eating so much take out lately. Some of my shorts are feeling a little snug.”

He pulls back and raises his eyebrows at her. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about, that your ass will look fat? I’ll have you know I stare at that ass every day and every day it just looks better and better.”

She sighs. That’s not what she means. “You may have a slightly biased opinion.”

“So? Plus,” he pauses to drop a kiss on her shoulder. “You don’t even have to see it. I want you to watch yourself, that means face front.”

It’s not exactly about her ass, but the morning after they’d arrived she had caught him looking back and forth between it, where she stood in her panties and one of his t shirts in the bathroom brushing her teeth, and the antique standing mirror in the corner of the bedroom. It’s an ostentatious thing. Ornate and clunky with carved supports and lions’ paws for feet.

She spit and came to stand in the doorway. “What are you looking at, Jug?”

He smiled at her sleepily from the bed. “You, beautiful.”

Betty rolled her eyes and jumped on the bed so she landed beside him on her stomach. “And?”

“I was just thinking of how handy this mirror here is going to be.”

“Yeah, what for?”

He turned dark eyes on her and his voice dropped an octave. “Fucking you while you watch.”

Betty felt all the blood rush to her face. “Jughead!”

“What? Doesn’t that sound hot? I can’t think of anything better. We can put on a show for all the ghosts that must haunt this place.”

“What kind of ghosts haunt vacation cabins in the Adirondacks?”

“The kind of repressed nineteenth century ones that lived here before it was a vacation cabin.”

“So you want to spook the spooks with our crazy sex life?”

“Exactly.”

She kissed him before bouncing back out of the bed. “I’ll think about it if you get up and brush your teeth. I want to go on that hike.”

He caught her around the waist and pulled her back. “But I want to stay in bed and ravish you until it’s dark again.”

“There’s one flaw in your plan. There’s no food up here.”

While he contemplated solutions to that problem, she escaped his grasp and thundered down the stairs, mind whirring with the visual he’d planted there.

He’s still slowly spinning them to the sonata of the bullfrogs and the crickets. She knows he can tell her resolve is wavering. Because she does want to. Anything he suggests in that tone and she’s a goner, molten heat lapping at her stomach.

“Come on, Betts”

“I don’t know, Juggie”

“I’ll do five things on your list.”

“You really want it?”

And she does trust him completely, trusts him to love her and to not see the extra ten pounds where they’ve settled on her hips. It’s her own gaze she’s afraid of.

Somehow, in the course of their dancing, he’s snuck a thigh between hers and he pulls her against him in just the right way. His voice is rough, scratchy.

“Think about it, Betty. You, naked in my lap riding me. Your tits bouncing—”

“My thighs jiggling.”

He pinches her hip before continuing. “The contrast of your skin again mine. Watching yourself fall apart. I love you. You coming is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I want you to know how glorious you are.”

With her back to the house, his eyes are lambent in the porch light. They hold the answers to all of her questions. And they hold the promise that’s sustained her since she was a teenager, frightened and angry but never again alone.

So, she nods against his neck and presses a kisses to his jawline. She feels the muscles move as he smiles and the burst of joy in her chest is like unlocking a door and stepping through to the sunlight. She breathes deeply, thankful in the knowledge that he’ll once again help her to conquer her fears.

Inside, Jughead breaks away from her to flip the record so “Born to Run” can chase them up the stairs. Betty extinguishes all the lights and they meet at the landing.

The stairs creak as they climb them, the old house protesting at the friskiness of its young, lovestruck inhabitants. Yellowed lace curtains flutter like handkerchiefs lifted in horror.

Jughead pauses to take her mouth in a kiss, his hands hurriedly unbuttoning her dress and sliding inside to brush against her breasts until her nipples pucker. Then he tugs her hand and her dress flows behind them in his haste.

The old lamps in the bedroom still have incandescent lightbulbs which—between that and the scarves arranged artfully over the top of them—will at least be more flattering than their more environmentally-friendly alternatives. Betty’s thankful for small mercies, and for the warm, yellow glow glancing off the pine walls and bathing the room in soft light and shadowed corners.

Jughead grabs the chair from its place beside the table and slides it over the uneven wooden floor boards until it’s a few feet in front of the mirror. Then he frowns at it and slides it back a little further. Betty stands in the doorway, bunching the material of her dress in her hands.

“Come here.” He pulls her to him so they’re standing in front of the chair, and hugs her back to his chest. His arms form a stripe of brown where they hug her pale stomach.

“Look at me, Betty.” Her eyes find his in the mirror. “I want you to let go and let me take care of you, okay?” She nods. “Good.” Then he slides one of her arms up so it’s behind his head and he kisses her so thoroughly the air whooshes all the way down her body and back up and she’s lightheaded.

He’s playing with her breasts, pinching and pulling and stroking, and she’s getting antsy, rubbing her ass against him. He releases her mouth with a scrape of his teeth against her bottom lip.

“Now look at yourself again. Look how pink and swollen your lips are. And look at your chest heaving and that pretty blush that spreads down. I wonder what I’d have to do to get it to reach your belly button.” He brushes her hair so it rests over her far shoulder and nips at her ear before kissing her neck. Betty has always hated her pale skin, how anyone can tell what she’s feeling by how she flushes so easily. Once, she’s pretty sure she blushed just cause someone looked at her funny. But when Jughead describes it, when she sees through his eyes, she feels beautiful.

Then his hands reach up and push her dress to the floor, his foot kicking it away so she’s standing in front of him, in front of the mirror, in only her days of the week underwear—it’s the wrong day too. She’s wearing her Thursday panties on a Sunday.

But his hand skims down the plane of her stomach and brushes against her and she loses her train of thought. He sucks a hickey onto the back of her neck as he touches her over the damp cotton.

“Are you wet for me?” He hits a spot that sends an electric current through her body and she gasps. “Yes.”

“Are you ready to take these off then?”

“Please.”

“Go on then.” And she does, bending over and then kicking them away while he slides off his own jeans and tank top. Then he pulls her back against him, all warm flesh and goosebumps. His cock nestles in the cleft of her ass and she fights the urge to roll her hips.

He uses one of his feet to slide hers farther apart, then reaches a hand back down. He dips a finger inside her then spreads the moisture around and strums her clit, before repeating the circuit.

“Do you need a warm-up?”

“N-no,” she manages to stutter out.

“Okay.” He lets go of her to sit on the chair, then pulls her back and guides her onto his lap.

“Jug?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Fuck me now.”

“You got it.” Then he spreads his knees so hers are hooked over his and she can see herself, so wet she glistens in the mirror.

“Lean up for a second.” She complies and feels him lining himself up.

When she sinks down, her eyes roll back in her head, this position stretching the muscles in a new way.

She makes a tentative circle with her hips.

“There you go, honey.” Jughead peppers kisses across her shoulder blades as she experiments with direction and pace until she finds a rhythm that hits her clit on every pass. He intertwines one hand with hers and hugs it against her, while the other continues to caress her breasts.

Her gaze flits around, from their hands to objects in the room. Whenever it lands on the mirror, he’s staring at her, his gaze focused on where their bodies join, on where he slips in and out of her. She knows it should be lewd, obscene. But god if it isn’t the hottest thing she’s ever seen.

After a few minutes of letting her be in charge, she can feel him tensing beneath her, can feel him itching to push them harder. So she leans back and lets her head fall onto his shoulder. She lets him take control of her and lets him free her from herself.

He scoots forward on the seat of the chair so he can brace his legs on the floor for better leverage. His hands move to her hips as he thrusts upward and pulls her down in time. She knows when he starts to lose control because his hips begin to stutter and he pulls back, slowing them down and wrapping one arm back around her stomach while the other moves to rub gentle circles on her clit.

She clenches her hands on the ropey muscles of his arm and squeezes her eyes shut as she feels her own orgasm rushing towards her.

“Are you close?” She nods with her head still on his shoulder. Then she feels him skim a hand up her back and cord his fingers through her hair. He tilts her head forward. “Open your eyes, Betty.” It takes a tremendous amount of effort, but she does and she meets his in the mirror. Her mouth falls open and she knows she’s panting, a high-pitched yelping noise that she can’t control.

His whisper in her ear sends shivers down her spine. “Look at yourself. This is what I see when I close my eyes at night. When I rub one out in the shower thinking of you. When I look at you, I remember this gorgeous, glazed look on your face and I know I put it there. Because you’re mine. You’re mine, Betty Cooper, forever and always.”

Then he sucks a kiss below her ear and she’s gone.

In the years they’ve been together, Jughead’s given her more orgasms than Rain Man could count. He’s given her fireworks and starbursts and glass shattering and earthquakes. Her favourite, though, is the wave the starts in the soles of her feet and rolls through her, curling everything from her toes up to hair, a slow contraction and release that leaves her breathless.

When she gets her breath back, Jughead’s forehead is pressed into her shoulder blade and she can feel his heavy breathing. She can also feel their hot come, where it’s begun to seep out and roll down her thigh.

He lifts her off and holds her steady while he stands, a move for which she feels an appreciation she can’t put into words at the moment. When she can stand on her own, she sneaks into the bathroom to pee and clean herself up.

When she comes back out, Jughead has collapsed onto the bed. She crawls toward him and snuggles up by his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and plays with a strand of her hair as she strokes a foot up and down his calf.

“Maybe we should look into getting a cheval mirror.”

She feels more than hears his answering chuckle as it reverberates in his chest beneath her ear.

[redgillan]

Rotten Judgement - part 4

AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Hercules!AU After selling your soul to save your lover’s life, you become one of the Lord of the Underworld’s slave. Bucky is obsessed with one thing: collecting hearts. But why?

Word Count:1,877

Warnings: -

A/N: I died three times while writing this. I dedicate this one to the sun, kindly f*ck off. I hope you like this one, some fun stuff coming soon :)

Rotten Judgement - Masterpage

You and Steve walked hand in hand down the street, enjoying the cool breeze. You knew you had angered Bucky, but you didn’t care. You would deal with him and his silly pride later. Right now, you wanted to enjoy your time with Steve. He was charming and, quite literally, perfect.

“I’ve got a friend who wants to meet you,” Steve said.

“You told your friends about me?” A slight blush crept up his cheeks, making you chuckle. “Relax, Cap. I’d love to meet your friends.”

He gave you the most beautiful smile you'd ever seen. It made your stomach do a pleasant flip. You felt your face heat and bashfully lowered your eyes.

It’s too cliché, you thought. Get a grip, girl!

You raised your head when you reached a restaurant. It wasn’t just any old restaurant; it was SHIELD. People queued outside for hours to get a table. You skipped the line and went straight to the bouncer. Steve held the door open and motioned you inside.

You stepped into a room so large that it didn’t seem that crowded. The restaurant had black mahogany tables and oak chairs with plush dark purple cushioned seats. The owner, a blond man in his late sixties, stood behind the bar, staring into space.

Alexander Pierce.

You recognized him easily, everybody in town had heard of him. Pierce had given up a lucrative career as a financier to open a restaurant with his associate, Nick Fury. Their restaurant became the hottest spot in town and they became even richer.

“You alright?” Steve asked him as you approached.

Pierce closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Lost a friend last night,” he said, a sad smile on his lips.

Steve touched his upper arm, offering comfort. “I’m really sorry.”

“Life’s full of surprises, huh?” Pierce said before he turned his attention to you. “Steve has told us so many good things about you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you replied, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling sweetly. “Please, make yourself at home.”

You let Steve lead the way. The thick, dark purple curtains were all that separated the VIP section from the rest of the restaurant. The room felt more intimate than the main room. In the back, there were two pool tables and a dart board. You noticed that all the darts formed a circle in the centre of the board.

A waiter brought a bottle of red wine and poured a small amount in Steve’s glass. When Steve said it was good, the waiter poured the red liquid in two glasses.

“It’s delicious,” you said, licking your upper lip.

“They have some really good wine,” Steve agreed.

You set your glass down on the table. “Pierce seems like a nice person.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, I’m worried about him though. His associate died a few weeks ago, he had a heart attack. Nick was his best friend. It really took its toll on him.”

“Two friends in a month? He must be devastated.” Your heart ached for the man. “How did you meet him?”

Steve shifted in his seat, a half smile curling one corner of his lips. You cocked a brow at him as you took another sip of wine.

“That’s why we’re here. I have something to tell you.” He waited until you nodded before continuing. “I’m not an ordinary man.”

He raised his hand, the long claw marks left by Nat were gone. You reached out and took his hand, examining it closely.

“How-”

“Told you, I heal fast.”

“But it happened two hours ago.” You raised your gaze in challenge and looked him straight in the eye. “What are you?”

His smile faded and his face fell serious. “I’m a demigod.”

Steve released a long sigh that seemed to deflate his entire body. He wasn’t good at keeping secret and now that you knew the truth about him, he felt like he could breathe again. Your gaze softened and you squeezed his hand.

“I knew you were special.”

“Y-You’re okay with this?” He tilted his head, looking like a lost puppy.

“If that’s who you are,” you shrugged, “who am I to judge you?”

“You’re something else.”

He looked at you in awe and you couldn’t but smile. You cleared your throat. “So, how did you meet Pierce?”

“He’s my guardian angel,” Steve said, still holding your hand. “And I mean that in the most literal sense of the word. Nick was one too, but they were completely different. Pierce can be too obliging and Nick was kind of hot-tempered. They were a great team, we were lucky to have them.”

You opened your mouth to ask a question when two men entered the VIP room. Steve looked over his shoulder and smiled at his friends. You straightened up in your seat as you observed them.

The man with an uncorrected gap between his front teeth looked up at you and nodded. You remembered him, Bucky had warned you about Sam. He walked over to you and held out his hand.

“Sam Wilson, trainer of heroes,” he said before he gestured at the man with blue Mohawk, “and that’s Clint.”

Clint rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he shook your hand. You suppressed the urge to fidget under Sam’s stare. He looked at you intently, seemingly waging a silent debate with himself.

“You’re the one who kicked Rumlow in the nuts, right?” Clint smirked when you nodded. He took Steve’s chair and turned it around before he sat down. “Good job, Nutcracker.”

Sam took the seat next to him as Steve rounded the table and slid into the chair beside you. He took your hand in his under the table so that nobody could see and looked sideways at you.

“Have you ever considered becoming a hero?” Sam asked. “I could train you.”

You looked up at him, expecting him to laugh. He didn’t.

“Me? I’m no hero.”

“When I met Steve, he was as skinny as a broomstick. Look at him now.” Sam jutted his chin toward Steve who rolled his eyes. “You’re brave and bold. We could use someone like you. Our new mission requires a bit more finesse and we’re...”

“-big guys,” Clint finished.

“Wait!” you said, frowning. “If Steve’s a demigod and Pierce is a guardian angel, what are you?”

Sam and Clint exchanged an amused look before they leaned over the table toward you. Instinctively, you sank further into your seat. Steve gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m a Phoenix,” Sam said, cracking a smile, “and believe me, it comes in handy when your job is to train amateur heroes.”

You heard Steve mumbling something under his breath. Sam gave you a wink as he sat back in his seat. You turned your head to face Clint.

“If you laugh, I’ll kill you,” he said, his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be a baby, Clint.” Sam grinned.

You knew it was an empty threat, but you still raised your free hand like you were taking an oath. From the corner of you eye, you could see Steve covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. Clint kicked his shin under the table.

“I’m a Cupid, the Messenger of Love.”

Sam and Steve bit their lips like they were trying not to laugh before they burst out laughing. Hysterical laughter filled the room and you chuckled quietly. It felt good to laugh again.

“And no I’m not one of those chubby, naked babies. But I do have arrows and they’re very sharp,” he warned, glaring at his friends.

“Okay, baby,” Sam chuckled before his face turned serious again. “Now, like I said, we need a new member. Our enemy is a very powerful man.”

“He’s a God,” Steve chimed in, “and he’s as clever as he’s dangerous.”

You were sure Bucky would love the way they described him. The man had an ego the size of his kingdom. You listened carefully to Sam’s story.

During the battle for Olympus, Sam worked closely with the Gods. Their most ferocious enemy was the Lernaean Hydra; for every head chopped off, two more grew in its place. Unfortunately, the Hydra captured Bucky and turned him into a weapon to kill the Gods.

When Sam found him, it was too late. The other Gods said that for their own security they were obliged to lock him up. After the war, they freed his mind and gave him the Underworld –mostly because no one wanted to be locked in a cave for all eternity. They argued that he would never be the same again.

The Hydra tortured his body and his soul. He was a victim, but it didn’t change the fact that he made you do unspeakable things. Your heart constricted painfully, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“He has a group of demons stealing hearts for him,” Sam concluded, unaware that you were one of Bucky’s minions. “We have to free them, but we can’t do anything until we find the Underworld. Are you with us?”

This was your chance to make things right, to speak up and betray the man you sold your life to. You swallowed hard, your stomach churned, as you silently made your choice.

 “I will kill him,” Bucky shouted at the empty courtroom as he walked over to his throne. “No, better yet, I’ll make her rip his heart out of his chest and crush it.”

“Yikes,” Nat muttered.

She trailed after him, her face twisted in a grimace of disgust. Bucky sat on his throne, his foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the ground.

“You’ve acted like a jerk and you’re still acting like a jerk.”

“Watch your tongue,” Bucky hissed through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. If you could just talk to her-”Nat stopped talking as the ground trembled under her feet. “Never mind, I forgot you had a cold cold heart.”

She pretended to zip her mouth shut when he gave her another dirty look. After a short moment of silence, Natasha started humming the tune to Tony Bennett’s Cold Cold Heart. Bucky was about to lose his temper again, when he heard Wanda’s frantic footsteps.

“So?” he asked, unable to contain himself any longer. “Did you see them?”

Wanda came to a halt next to Nat. She bent at the waist and rested her hands on her knees as she worked to catch her breath. Bucky took a deep breath, trying not to show his impatience.

“I saw her and Captain America. He took her to SHIELD,” Wanda said, her brows furrowed in worry. “She met Pierce.”

Bucky stared at his metal hand, hiding his emotions from his servants. Anger coursed through him like poison, quickly followed by fear. Nat and Wanda observed him, their hearts pounding.

“What are you going to do?”

“That will be all,” he sighed, dismissing the Furies with a wave of his hand.

The Furies exchanged panicked glances, they knew exactly what he had in mind.

“No, please, my Lord,” Nat begged. “Don’t do it, I like her.”

“My decision is final,” he replied, avoiding their pleading eyes. “Now leave.”

Part 5