#Neck Deep Dallas

[fuddaround]

HOME² › paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary : after ending on what you two would consider “good terms”, you end up surprising her in dallas.

warnings : mentions of slight panic attack, angst angst angst, mood swings, strap (r!receiving), fingering, cunnilingus, slapping (ish)

word count : 7.6k

original

kay’s notes : yes! i did skip the after game presser but 😛😛 anyways thank you guys sm for being patient i had finals this week 🤧

you land in dallas mad as hell. at yourself, at the weather, at the stupid ass decision to book this flight in the first place.

you said you wouldn’t come.

you promised yourself that you would let her go. let her leave uconn, let her grow up, let her start over without you.

but you’ve always been way too weak when it comes to her.

the air hits different the second you step out the airport. hotter. heavier. like even the wind knows you’re both here now.

you check into the hotel. hoodie up, sunglasses on. you act like she might see you in the goddamn lobby even though she’s already said in an interview she’s moving in somewhere.

you try to kill time. go for a walk. hit a smoothie spot. wander downtown.

and still—she’s everywhere.

her rookie poster’s on a billboard right off elm street. mouth parted. eyes locked in. all attitude and promise.

you look away too fast. like the city’s doing this just to remind you of everything.

you step into a store to cool off. and of course she’s on tv inside. a highlight reel running on loop. the strap of her jersey slipping off her shoulder in slow motion. smile all teeth as she laughs with her new teammates. your stomach drops as it switches to her post practice interview.

“you play minnesota tomorrow, that one’s gonna mean a lot.”

she smirks at the camera, “yeah i’m really grateful for the experience, i wanna show out for them and my new organization.”

you leave. can’t breathe. can’t think properly. your chest is on fire.

you swore you’d stay invisible, sit in the nosebleeds, just see her with your own eyes one last time. nothing more. no texts. no calls. no more damage.

but dallas already feels like her hands, like her breath on your neck, like her voice in your head saying “you’ll never outrun me, baby.”

and deep down? you already knew. you didn’t fly here just to watch. you came here to break your own heart again.

you make it back to the hotel by seven.

door locked, curtains shut, and tv playing some random movie just for background noise.

it’s quiet. too quiet.

like the city went still just to let your thoughts eat you alive.

you sit on the bed. scroll through your phone.

see the game promo again.

“bueckers vs the hometown,” her face lit up in the picture. still cocky. still so goddamn beautiful.

your hands start shaking.

you throw the phone on the bed behind you.

pace the room.

turn the ac colder.

peel your hoodie off.

still sweating.

you feel like you’re gonna throw up, like your chest is caving in, like you should’ve never come here in the first place.

but you also knew you couldn’t stay away.

you sit down again, hugging your knees.

bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

you cannot go to that game.

you cannot see her.

hear the crowd scream her name.

watch her in her element like she didn’t fuck you up just a few weeks ago when she left.

you cover your face, try to breathe.

in.

out.

in—

nothing.

your heart won’t chill. your brain’s too loud.

it’s all her, her, her.

what if she sees you?

what if she doesn’t?

what if she’s already moved on?

what if you can’t?

you cry, just a little though.

quiet. alone.

not because you’re still in love with her.

but because that love never got to end right.

it just dragged.

split open and left you both bleeding and calling it normal.

you crawl under the covers around midnight. heart still pounding. eyes burning. you tell yourself you won’t go. you’ll just stay in bed. maybe fly home early. maybe even try to explore the city again.

you wake up slower than you expected.

no panic, no cold sweat—just sunlight slipping past the curtains and the hum of the city outside. your body’s tired, but your mind is strangely still.

you don’t feel good, exactly.

but you feel better. like maybe the worst already passed, and now all that’s left is this moment.

you get up, shower too long, and spend forever picking an outfit, even though you told yourself this was supposed to be lowkey.

but you put the cargo pants on anyway.

the black ones she used to sneak her hands into when she thought no one was looking. you pull your hair back into a slick ponytail, clean and tight.

the mirror doesn’t lie—you look good.

good enough to be noticed.

you leave the hotel and hit a store three blocks down, just to browse, but you walk out with a bueckers jersey in your bag. but not the uconn one.

not the one you used to wear religiously.

this one’s fresh. navy and green. number five bold across the back.

you swore you wouldn’t go that far.

but your heart was never good at boundaries.

you slide your airpods in and hit shuffle on the playlist you swore you wouldn’t touch again. the one with all your shared songs. all the slow ones, the loud ones, the late-night-in-the-car windows-down ones.

and just like that, she’s in your ears again.

singing along off-key.

hand on your thigh at a red light.

you walk through the city like a ghost. one foot in the past, the other chasing whatever this is. and you don’t stop until you’re at the arena.

ticket pulled up on ticketmaster, heart in your throat, and her name already on your skin.

you find your seat thirty minutes before tipoff. lower bowl. row eight. center court.

close enough to see the sweat on her forehead, but far enough that she won’t notice you right away.

the arena’s smaller than the big ones—but louder somehow. intimate. packed. already hers.

you sink into the seat and try to act like your heart’s not rattling in your chest. like you’re not gripping the edge of the chair every time she dribbles past your side.

like you don’t still know the way her legs look in motion better than your own name.

paige looks locked in. bun tight. jaw clenched. dallas practice gear fitting like it was made for her.

she’s warming up with the rest of the team—all business, all rhythm. that is until she runs past the sideline closest to you.

she hesitates. just for a second. like she felt something.

but she doesn’t look.

not yet.

the lights go down, introductions start. crowd roars and the music blasts and her name gets called last.

number five, paige bueckers.

and you’re on your feet before anyone else. just like old times. hands clapping, the feeling of knowing your voice would be gone from cheering, chest open like it was never broken.

you don’t even think about it. your body just moves. like natural instinct.

and that’s when she sees you.

at first, she freezes. not completely. just—a pause. mid-step. blink too long. eyes stuck on one face in the crowd.

no way.

she looks away quick.

blinks again.

shakes her head.

keeps moving.

gets into the huddle, but her heart’s in her throat now.

is she seeing things? did the lights play with her head? there’s no way you’re here. no way you flew out. no way you’re sitting in the stands, in her jersey, cheering for her like nothing ever changed.

but then she hears you again. first one screaming when she hits that first three. the same way you used to in storrs. like the shot belonged to you, too.

and now she can’t ignore it. she glances back once. sees the ponytail. the cargos. the goddamn smirk.

her chest stutters, her vision flickers.

for a second, she’s not in dallas. she’s not a rookie. she’s back home in connecticut with you.

you. it’s really you.

and the whole game changes. her hands tighten around the ball. her steps get sharper—sharper than they’ve ever been.

because you’re here and she can’t fuck this up now.

she plays like she’s got something to prove, and she’s convinced she does. because you’re still watching.

and if you’re watching—there’s still time.

she’s locked in when the anthem ends. or at least she’s supposed to be. first game. rookie debut. full house. new home court.

but her skin’s buzzing, and it’s not the nerves. it’s not the cameras or the crowd or the lights too bright on her face. it’s you.

she saw you, she knows she saw you.

you were on your feet, clapping like you used to, yelling her name like it was yours.

tight ponytail. cargos she loved to pull down slow. her jersey on your back like nothing ever changed.

and now she’s out here pretending to breathe normal. pretending to listen in the huddle. pretending her heart’s not punching against her ribs so hard it hurts.

coach is talking about defense at halftime—about switching on screens, about setting the tone early—but all paige can think about is the way your eyes lit up when she hit her first three. that split second when she let herself glance over and saw your face break into the kind of smile she hasn’t seen in weeks.

she told herself she was done. she swore after the last time that this was it. she was moving on. new city. new chapter. clean slate.

but you being here? you just being here ruins all of that.

because now her stomach’s twisted. now her shot feels too heavy in her hands.

now every time she drives to the rim, she swears she sees you out the corner of her eye, front row, lips parted, hands clenched in your lap.

and it’s not just seeing you—it’s what seeing you does to her.

because you didn’t just show up.

you dressed for her.

you put her name on your back again.

you made sure she’d know exactly what you came for.

and now she’s pissed.

not at you—never really at you, but at herself.

for not being able to let go, for knowing exactly what it means that you’re here, and still acting like it doesn’t matter.

she tries to shake it off. gets a steal, runs the break, finishes with a clean layup. crowd roars. she slaps hands with her teammates. it should feel good.

but when she glances over and sees you nodding, biting your lip, pride all over your damn face—she forgets how to breathe again.

she can’t unsee you. can’t unfuck the memory of your moans. can’t stop thinking about the last time she had you pressed up against your kitchen counter, saying her name like it was gospel, like it still meant everything.

and it fucks with her.

all game long.

her passes are now a second late. her eyes keep drifting to your row. even when she tells herself not to. even when she reminds herself she’s done.

and then there’s the jealousy. because she’s not stupid. she knows you’ve probably got someone new now. knows that little break between when she left and now was enough time for someone else to slide in.

someone else got to touch what’s her’s.

but if that’s true—why the fuck are you here?

why would you fly to dallas? why wear her jersey? why cheer for her like that?

every look you throw her during the game sets her on fire. it makes her play harder, faster, sharper.

she starts talking more shit on the court. starts clapping in defenders’ faces. starts calling for the iso plays just to show out in front of you.

because if you’re gonna sit there and watch—then she’s gonna make damn sure you you stay watching her.

she hits a step-back mid-third quarter and doesn’t even celebrate. just turns, locks eyes with you, and raises her eyebrows making sure you were still watching.

your reaction is instant. you stand again, biting that same damn lip, hands in your hair now like she’s stressing you out. she watches your mouth form the word fuck.

she almost laughs, almost loses her cool completely.

and that’s when it hits her—she’s not mad that you’re here. she’s not confused. she’s relieved.

because now she doesn’t have to pretend. doesn’t have to fake that she’s moved on. doesn’t have to lie to herself every night and say she’s fine without you.

you’re here.

you came.

and that means you’re not over her either.

and that’s all she needed. all she ever wanted. just to know she wasn’t the only one stuck.

the game ends with a dallas win and she’s still staring at you.

from the bench. from the court. from the corner of her eyes. trying to figure out if you’ll stay.

and deep down she already knows. you didn’t fly here just to leave.

not a chance.

you’re not leaving yet. not before you see her up close. not before you break each other open again.

the second the game ended, her crashed.

not physically—her body’s still moving, still running on adrenaline, dap after dap, towel slung over her shoulder, head nods to the fans, cameras flashing left and right. but inside? she’s spiraling. full speed.

because you’re still sitting in that seat. because she caught you watching her walk off. because she knows you’re not leaving until you see her again.

and that should make her feel good. should be a win. but all she feels is the slow, familiar burn of what the fuck happens now.

the locker room’s loud. music bumping. celebration in the air—first game, first win. everyone’s hyped.

but she’s quiet.

sits on the bench with her jersey half pulled up, legs stretched out, towel over her head like she’s cooling off. but she’s not tired. she’s thinking.

and thinking always leads back to you.

“yo, p,” dijonai yells from across the locker room, half-laughing, but watching her too close, “you good? you look like you saw a ghost mid-game.”

paige doesn’t answer right away. just rubs her hands over her face and lets out a breath that’s too shaky to be chill.

arike’s next, leans back in the chair, smirking a little, “nah, look she’s in her feelings. she’s going through something.”

“shut up,” paige mutters, not even defensive. just exhausted. because they’re right. they’re so right.

“damn,” dijonai says, eyebrows raising, “it’s really like that?”

paige shakes her head, like maybe if she moves fast enough, the thoughts will fall out. but they don’t. you’re stuck in there, just like always.

“she was here,” paige mumbles finally. quiet. soft. like the words hurt just to say.

they both freeze, look at each other, then back at her.

“who?”

“you know who.”

“oh.”

paige leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it’s gonna give her an answer.

“i didn’t know she was coming,” she says, “like, she didn’t say shit. she just showed up. i looked up and there she was. in my fuckin jersey.”

arike lets out a low whistle.

dijonai nods slow, like it makes sense now.

“that’s crazy,” dijonai says. “how you feel about it?”

paige laughs, bitter and breathless. how does she feel? she doesn’t even know the answer.

“i don’t know,” she lies first but then her mouth starts moving. like her chest can’t hold it anymore, “i wanted her here. i wanted her to care enough to come. and she did. but now all i can think about is how bad it’s gonna hurt when she leaves again.”

no one says anything. just silence thick between the three.

she looks up, eyes glossy but hard, voice lower now. heavier, “i still want her,” she admits, “like, still want her. and that’s the fucking problem.”

dijonai leans in, not joking anymore, “so why’d y’all stop?”

paige shrugs, jaw tight, “we were toxic as hell. we fought all the time. jealous. possessive. too much history, too much pain. but it was always real. and when it was good—fuck, it was so good.”

she runs her hand through her hair. laughs again, but it sounds like she might cry.

“she made me feel like home. like the only version of myself i actually liked. but we kept breaking each other and pretending it was love.”

arike’s quiet for a minute. then she says, “but she’s here. after all that, she still came.”

paige nods, eyes stinging.

“i know,” she whispers, “and that’s what’s killing me.”

she looks back down. lets herself feel it now. lets the pain bloom in her chest without fighting it off.

“’cause if she walks out again, i don’t know if i can keep pretending it didn’t matter. like i didn’t just see the love of my life sitting courtside, looking at me like she never stopped being mine.”

the room moves around her. teammates laughing, music still thumping.

but paige is somewhere else. in your arms. on your couch. in your bed pressing her lips to your collarbone and whispering promises she knew she couldn’t keep.

she closes her eyes.

she wants to go out there and see you. wants to touch you. wants to tell you everything she just said in here.

but she’s scared. scared that wanting you again is a mistake. scared it’ll feel perfect, just like before—right up until it breaks again.

and still… she knows she’ll go. knows she’ll look for you the second she changes.

because this is you. and when it comes to you, paige bueckers has never known how to stay away.

paige doesn’t leave the locker room right away.

she paces behind the row of lockers, pulling her hoodie on slow, hands shaking like she just finished playing a double-overtime game. she keeps checking her phone even though there’s nothing new. no texts. no missed calls. no you.

dijonai squeezes her shoulder as she passes. arike throws her a look telling her to go.

so she breathes. and then breathes again. and finally forces herself to leave.

the walk to the hallway is the longest one she’s ever taken. every step feels like a gamble. because she knows there’s a fifty-fifty shot she’s about to get her heart cracked open in public.

what if you already left? what if you saw enough and bounced? what if she blew it, and this was your way of giving her closure without saying a damn word?

she rounds the corner, chewing her lip, hoodie pulled low over her eyes—and freezes.

you’re still there. right outside the double doors. leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

her chest pulls tight.

you’re in her jersey and you stayed. you really stayed. but she plays it cool, she has to. walks up slow. hands in her pockets. eyes soft but guarded.

“hey.”

you look up, and for a second she sees it. sees that flicker of something real in your eyes. but then your face smooths out and you say, “congrats.”

your voice doesn’t shake, but hers nearly does. “thanks,” she murmurs, kicking her foot lightly against the floor, “wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

you shrug. like this is nothing. like it didn’t take everything in you to show up. but that’s not important now.

“you played good,” you say, eyes skating past her, then right back again.

she nods. tries not to let the silence stretch too long between you. tries to find the version of her voice that won’t sound so desperate.

“can we… talk?” it comes out too fast, too quiet. then she clears her throat and says again, steadier, “you wanna come by the house?”

she was playing her cards smart, you both knew that. she wanted to talk and to have you back in her home again and with her.

you blink. and for a second she thinks you might say no. might shut it down before she even gets a chance.

but you just nod. once. sharp. like you don’t trust your own voice either.

and just like that, you’re walking side by side again. just like that, it’s her and you in motion. i again.

but this time feels different, heavier. like both of you are holding something inside your mouths and neither of you wanna be the first to spit it out.

you don’t touch. not even close. but the energy between your bodies is unbearable. her hand brushes yours once and she swears she hears you exhale.

she doesn’t look at you. she keeps her eyes forward, jaw tight, throat dry.

the whole walk through the tunnel is quiet.

but not empty.

she wants to say something. she wants to reach out. wants to pull you into her and ask you why you stayed, why you came, why you’re doing this again.

but instead, she says nothing. because she’s scared of what you’ll say back.

because she knows once it starts, it won’t stop.

you make it to the lot. paige hits the unlock button and the lights flash. you both flinch at the same time.

she opens the passenger door for you but doesn’t look at you. just stands there, waiting.

you climb in slow as she walks around the front and gets in next to you.

and for a second, in the low light of the car, she lets herself feel it.

you.

this.

the weight of your presence beside her.

the smell of your skin and the heat of your body and the fact that you’re here again, in her space, in her life.

she starts the car, doesn’t drive yet, just grips the steering wheel and stares ahead.

“you look good,” she says, voice raw, like it’s been buried under too much silence.

you don’t say anything back, but you don’t look away either.

and in the stillness of the car, as the engine hums beneath her feet, she fights the urge to reach for your thigh, to pull your hand into hers, to kiss you stupid right here in the lot.

but she doesn’t. not yet.

you both stay quiet. both pretending it’s no big deal. both drowning in all the things you won’t say.

and when she finally pulls out onto the road, all she can think about i s how long she’s waited to be this close to you again.

and how dangerous it is that you said yes, that you came, that you’re sitting beside her and pretending you’re not just as ruined.

the city passes in flashes. neon signs. red lights. the occasional burst of headlights from the opposite lane. you’re watching it all through the window like you’re in a dream, like none of it feels real.

paige is calm now or at least pretending to be.

one hand on the wheel, other draped lazily over her thigh. eyes on the road, lips twitching like she might say something, then thinks better of it.

finally, she speaks, “so, uh how long you in town?”

your heart flinches at the question, even though it’s casual. you keep your eyes forward, “just for the game,” you lie not even well because for a second there’s that smirk that knows you only bought a one way ticket. your voice sounds thin, like it’s trying to hide how heavy your chest feels.

she hums, nods slow, “cool. i mean cool that you made time. that you came out.”

you glance at her. she’s not looking back. her jaw’s tight. her knuckles a little whiter on the wheel than before.

“dallas suits you,” you say, softer.

she lets out a short laugh. not sarcastic—just surprised.

“you think so?”

you nod, turning back to the window, “yeah. you look settled.”

it’s not a compliment, not really. you just don’t know how else to say “you seem different.”

she catches it anyway, always did read between your words too well.

“settled doesn’t mean happy,” she says. and that’s the first honest thing either of you has said since the hallway. but then she flips the vibe again, like she regrets letting you in for even one second.

“you still working that job that was killin’ your sleep schedule?” she asks, voice light again.

you nod, “yeah. still can’t sleep past 5 a.m.”

she huffs a laugh, shakes her head, “some things don’t change.”

and for a minute, it almost feels like old times. like you’re just driving home from her practice. like there’s no breakup. no history. no heartbreak in the middle of the console.

she reaches out and adjusts the air vents and you have to pretend not to notice how that same hand used to rest on your thigh every time she drove.

“you still listen to our playlist?” she asks suddenly, and it’s almost a challenge. you swallow, “yeah.”

she nods, barely, like that answer mattered more than she wants to admit, “me too.”

silence again. but it’s not uncomfortable. not as much as it should be.

you’re both better at this than you should be. better at pretending it’s nothing. better at pretending you’re not dying to ask the questions neither of you can afford to hear the answers to.

you see her exhale slowly, grip loosening just a little on the wheel. the further she gets from the court, from the team, from the memory of you in the stands—the more armor she puts back on.

by the time she pulls into the driveway, she’s damn near stone. cool. smooth. unbothered. mask on. voice leveled. like she didn’t spend the last hour remembering what your skin smells like.

she parks, lets the engine idle, doesn’t move to get out right away. you unbuckle. she does too. but neither of you opens the door.

you both just sit there, quiet again, staring forward. the house looming in front of you, waiting for what’s coming next.

her voice breaks the stillness first.

“you ready to come in?”

you nod, heartbeat heavy. but you don’t say yes. you just reach for the door handle. and her fingers twitch like she almost stopped you. like she almost touched you. but she doesn’t. she can’t. because the moment she touches you—you’ll both stop pretending.

the door shuts behind you with a low click. it’s quiet inside. not cold, but still bare. the kind of quiet that says someone’s here, but not settled. not rooted.

you toe off your sneakers near the door, not even thinking about it. you’ve done this before. your body remembers even if your heart’s still catching up.

paige drops her keys on the counter and shrugs off her hoodie, throwing it over the back of the couch. her place smells like her. detergent and sweat and something earthy. you try not to let it hit too deep.

“it’s still a mess,” she mutters, waving a hand at the half-built shelf in the corner, boxes by the wall, basketballs everywhere, one of her shoes on the kitchen counter for some reason.

you raise an eyebrow, “looks about right.”

she smirks, just a little. leans on the opposite side of the island as you pull yourself onto a barstool, thighs sticking to the leather. her arms fold across her chest, like she’s trying to make the distance feel like control.

“wasn’t expecting company,” she adds.

you nod slowly, rest your elbows on the counter, “wasn’t expecting to be here.”

paige tilts her head. lets the silence stretch. then says, too casually, “so why are you?”

you blink. it’s not a soft question. it’s not cruel either. just too careful. too light. like she’s trying to sneak it past your defenses. you stare at her. try to read her face, but her expression is all calm.

your heart’s doing too much. your brain is screaming but your mouth moves anyway. “i don’t know,” you lie, even though you do.

paige huffs a laugh and leans forward on her elbows, “bullshit.”

your brows lift, “what?”

“you do know,” she says, voice low but firm. “you’re not the type to just pull up to a game in a city you don’t live in for fun. especially mine.”

you look away. jaw clenching. you don’t want to start this here.

“it was your debut,” you say.

“so?”

“so i came.”

“why?” she presses again.

and it hits different this time. like she needs to know now. like her hands are tightening on the wheel again. you look back at her. eyes sharp.

“why do you care?”

her expression doesn’t change. but something flickers. something quiet. something raw. “just asking,” she shrugs, and that shrug sends heat through your ribs. because it’s not just a shrug. it’s armor. it’s her way of hiding again.

you scoff.

“you always do that.”

her brows pull together, “do what?”

you laugh, but it’s bitter “act like you don’t care. act like nothing ever touches you.”

she straightens up, arms still crossed, “what do you want me to do, huh? cry? beg?” you shake your head, fingers gripping the edge of the counter, “i want you to stop pretending like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”

paige’s jaw flexes, “you think it doesn’t?” she shoots back, voice still low but tighter now. “you think it was easy for me to see you in that crowd, knowing you weren’t mine anymore?”

your chest squeezes. but she doesn’t stop.

“you think it was easy not to touch you in the tunnel? not to pull you into me right there and forget all the shit we never fixed?”

your throat’s dry, your fingers tremble.

“then why didn’t you?” you ask.

and your voice is small now.

real. scared.

paige looks at you for a long second, eyes sharp but glassy. then drops her gaze.

“because i didn’t wanna make it worse.”

you swallow hard. the space between you feels like fire now.

“i wanted you to care,” you whisper.

“i do care,” she says, louder. “fuck, you think i don’t? you think i haven’t been thinking about you every damn night since i left?”

your lips part, but she keeps going.

“i see you in every goddamn city. every time i lace up. i hear a song and i think about you. i can’t even take a nap without dreaming about your dumb ass and the way you always steal the blankets.”

your eyes sting.

“then why’d you leave like that?” you ask, voice cracking.

paige laughs bitterly, “you know why.”

you shake your head.

“no. i don’t. all i know is you left and then started pretending like we weren’t even real.”

she pushes off the counter, running a hand through her hair, pacing once before turning back.

“because if i didn’t pretend, i wouldn’t survive it.”

you stare at her.

your breath catches.

and for a second, neither of you speak.

then paige’s voice drops, quiet again. tired.

“i’m sorry,” she says. “i didn’t know how to love you from a distance. so i acted like i didn’t.”

you wipe your face. don’t even remember starting to cry.

she walks around the island. slow. careful.

stands in front of you, hands hovering like she wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if she’s allowed.

“i don’t know how to be around you without falling,” she says. “and i’m so fucking tired of pretending it doesn’t kill me to see you.”

you look up at her. and for the first time in months, she looks like yours again. and it’s terrifying.

you don’t move at first. just sit there with your face tilted up toward her, cheeks wet, throat burning. and she looks down at you like she’s seeing a ghost. like you’re everything she ran from and everything she missed all at once.

then her thumb brushes your jaw. soft. trembling. and she leans in like it hurts to get close, but not getting close would kill her. she kisses your tears. one at a time. and then all over; forehead, cheek, chin, nose. not rushed. not desperate.

like she’s making up for every time she didn’t show up, for every time she closed herself off when you needed her open. you exhale, shaky, aching. your fingers curl around the hem of her shirt, tugging her closer like muscle memory.

“it’s okay,” you whisper, your voice cracks right through both of you, “just let me in, p.”

her breath hitches and then she’s crumbling. her forehead drops to yours and she’s crying now. not loud. not messy. just quiet tears that feel like thunder in your chest.

you wrap your arms around her middle, pull her into you, and she sinks.

into your lap, into your body, into the only place she’s ever truly felt like she could fall apart.

“i fucked everything up,” she whispers, her voice breaking in a way you’ve never heard. not even the night she left.

you run a hand up her back. slow. grounding.

“no, baby,” you say, brushing your lips against her hair. “we both did.”

she shakes her head, fingers gripping your shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling through the floor.

“i got scared,” she admits. “when the draft came, when everything got real—that i was leaving connecticut—i didn’t know how to hold onto you and chase this shit at the same time.”

you blink through your own tears, “so you let me go.”

“i thought it would make it easier,” she says, and it sounds like a confession she’s been holding in for months, “i told myself distance would help. that cutting you off clean would hurt less than dragging it out.”

you close your eyes, bite your lip. “but it didn’t.”

she shakes her head.

“no. it made everything worse. i kept waking up expecting you to be there. i kept wanting to tell you about shit—practice, media, everything—and then remembering i couldn’t.”

you tilt her chin up, make her look at you.

“you could’ve,” you say. “i would’ve picked up.”

her eyes are red, lashes clumped.

“i thought you hated me.”

you suck in a breath, “i did,” you admit, soft. “for a minute. but mostly, i just missed you.”

her hands find yours and squeeze. tight.

“i hated seeing you with someone else,” she says suddenly. it’s a whisper, but it punches through the room.

you nod, “i hated hearing about the girl in your insta story two days ago.”

paige blinks. her mouth twitches.

“she’s just a friend. her brother plays for the mavericks. she was helping me move a dresser.”

you stare at her. try to believe it. try to let it be that simple. and for once, she lets you in without resistance.

“i didn’t fuck her,” she adds, eyes locked on yours. “i haven’t touched anyone since you.”

your chest caves in.

“i wish i could say the same,” you whisper.

paige swallows hard.

“was it serious?” she asks.

you shake your head, “no. it was nothing.”

she nods like she understands. she hates it, but understands.

“it felt like dying,” she says. “seeing you with her. but i couldn’t say anything. not after the way i left.”

your fingers brush her cheek. her skin’s warm. eyes still wet.

“why’d you stop talking to me?” you ask. you’ve wanted to ask that for so long.

she exhales.

“because every time i talked to you, i wanted to come back. and i knew if i did i’d never leave again.”

your stomach twists.

“so you shut me out.”

“only because i thought it was the only way,” she says. “to be great. to focus. to do this the right way.”

you nod slowly. you get it. but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “i just wanted you to fight for me. that’s all,” you whisper.

“i wanted to,” she says. “every damn day. i just didn’t know how to fight without ruining everything else.”

you lean your forehead to hers again.

“so what now?”

paige is quiet for a beat. then she brushes your hair back behind your ear.

“now we stop lying.”

you sniffle.

“about what?”

“about how we feel. about what we want. about the fact that we’re still in love with each other.”

you bite your lip. your whole body feels like it’s been cracked open.

“we still got all that shit we never figured out,” you remind her.

she nods.

“so let’s figure it out,” she says. “not tonight. not all at once. but don’t leave dallas yet. please.” you look at her. really look.

and she looks terrified. but hopeful. like maybe—for once—she’s ready to let you in and keep you there.

you squeeze her hand. press your forehead back to hers.

“okay.”

she breathes out. and then she kisses you. slow. salty. full of everything she never said. and this time, she doesn’t pull away.

you barely get the chance to breathe. she kisses you deeper, rougher. like her mouth’s the only way she knows how to fully open up. her hands grab your waist and she groans into your mouth like the taste of you has her losing her mind.

“let me be the last person you’ve fucked,” she mumbles against your lips, low. gritty. like it’s a promise and a threat all in one. your body tenses.

“p—”

but she’s already got her fingers curled around your thighs, lifting you clean off the barstool like you weigh nothing.

you gasp. wrap your arms around her neck on instinct, legs around her waist like second nature.

“where are we going you’re house isn’t unpacked,”

“bedroom, ma, don’t worry,” she mutters.

you look at her. her eyes are dark. blown wide. not just from want. from need. you don’t say anything. you just let her carry you through the still-mostly-empty house. boxes lining the hallway. half a couch in the living room. but none of it matters.

not with her holding you like this. like she already has you right where she wants you. once again.

when she kicks open the door to her bedroom, it’s chaos. half-unpacked bags. two pillows. barely any sheets. but all she sees is you.

you. in her jersey. number 5 and bueckers stretched across your back like it belongs there.

“keep it on,” she whispers, setting you down on the bed. you’re breathless. flushed. aching already.

her fingers trace up the side of the mesh, eyes glued to how it fits your chest, her voice is lower now, rougher, “you wore this for me?”

you nod, cheeks hot, “i bought it this morning.”

her jaw flexes. thats all it takes, that seals it, “lay down on your back.”

you blink, heart pounding, “paige.”

“jersey on. panties off. now, please.”

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body floods with heat. you lay back on the bed slowly, eyes never leaving hers. her hand strokes your cheek, then grips your jaw.

“you still mine?” she asks quietly. not a question. a test. you nod, “say it.”

your voice shakes, “i’m still yours,”

paige breathes out like she’s been waiting her whole life to hear that again.

“good,” she says, “then i’m gonna make sure no one else ever even tries to take you from me again.”

“face down.” her voice is sharp. not yelling. not soft. just serious. low. firm in a way that makes you obey without thinking.

you crawl up the bed, still in her jersey. bare from the waist down. thighs already slick and trembling. you don’t even get all the way before she’s behind you again.

her hands grip your hips and drag you back toward her, rough.

you gasp, elbows sinking into the mattress, back arching. you feel her eyes all over you.

“damn,” she mutters. “you look so fucking good in my name.”

you shiver. her hand smooths up the jersey, bunching it at your waist, fingers brushing the letters across your spine.

BUECKERS.

“this how you wanted it?” she asks, voice dark, “wanted to surprise me? pull up in my jersey just to end up face down like this?”

you whine, face buried in the sheets.

“answer me.”

“yes—fuck—yes.”

she groans. you hear the low click of her lube bottle. the shuffle of her strapping up. you’re panting just from the sound. but she doesn’t fuck you right away. she gets on her knees behind you. pulls you open with both hands and leans in. and then her mouth is on you. your back bows.

“paige—”

she sucks your clit slow at first. like she’s tasting. savoring. then her tongue slides down, curling in circles, making you shake. and when her fingers slide in—two, deep, smooth—you sob into the mattress. she groans behind you like your moans are fuel.

“so wet for me already,” she says, voice thick. “who made you like this?”

you try to answer but your mouth is useless. just open, gasping, drooling on the sheets. she curls her fingers up and pumps harder.

“i said—who made you like this?”

“you—fuck—you paige—”

she hums like that’s what she wanted. her fingers stay deep, knuckles slapping your pussy, her mouth never leaving your clit. she’s feasting. messy. loud. relentless. your thighs shake. your voice breaks.

“paige i need to—” she pulls back before you can even finish the sentence, breathing heavy.

“you think you get to cum when you want, ma?”

you whimper, shake your head fast.

“no—no, i don’t—”

“damn right,” she mutters, standing.

you hear her spit in her hand. feel her palm smooth over your ass, the slap that follows. you jolt. cry out. and then—she’s in.

deep. slow. filling you all the way. strap thick, stretching you open until your jaw drops in a silent scream. her hands grab your hips again.

“that’s it,” she growls. “take it. take me.”

you try to breathe but your lungs don’t work. you clutch the sheets and push back into her, already addicted to the feeling. she pulls out almost completely, then slams back in. your whole body jolts forward. and she loves it.

“look at you,” she pants, thrusting harder. “taking dick in my jersey. fucking pathetic.”

you moan. “paige—please—”

she’s pounding you now. fast. hard. each stroke louder than the last. the bed creaks. your skin slaps. your moans echo off the walls. and the whole time—she’s staring at her name on your back. she grips your shoulder, pulls you up by the jersey.

“who’s pussy is this, baby?”

“yours—fuck—yours paige—”

she slaps your ass again. deeper stroke.

“that’s right. you can fuck a thousand girls, and it’ll still be mine.”

you cry out, feel your orgasm crawling up your spine. and she knows, “you gonna cum for me, baby?”

“yes please—”

she leans forward, her chest to your back, teeth grazing your neck, “do it. cum for me in my name.”

and you do. screaming. shaking. falling apart. and she doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it, hips slamming, hands greedy. she’s starving for the sound of your pleasure. you collapse. limp. wrecked.

you’re buried in the blankets. face in the pillow, back towards her, barely able to think. “you with me, baby?” she murmurs, voice low and warm.

you hum. barely. a lazy, muffled noise that says you’re here. barely. her lips kiss the top of your spine. then lower. then back up. slow. soft. a different kind of love this time.

“you okay?” she asks again.

you nod this time. a little more alive. “yeah,” you whisper. she kisses your shoulder and breathes in, “good.”

she stays there for another minute. not saying anything. just rubbing your side, helping your body calm down.

when she finally sits up, it’s gentle. she peels the jersey off you with care—no teasing now, no smirking. just her hands, slow and warm.

and then she’s slipping one of her dallas wings sweatshirts over your head. it swallows you whole,

soft and oversized.

you give her a tired smile, ���thanks.”

she helps you get back under the covers, then slides in next to you. wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close like she’s scared you’ll vanish if she’s not careful.

for a while, you both just lay there.

sweaty. sore. hearts still too full. but the silence isn’t heavy. it’s warm. safe.

“you tired?” she asks after a while.

“kinda.”

“body okay?”

you nod.

she presses a kiss to your cheek, then your temple, then your forehead. her gentle routine.

you turn to look at her, eyes a little glassy still.

“i don’t want this to be a one-night thing.”

her expression softens, the shield she always wears finally falling, “me either.”

you swallow hard, “we can’t do that to each other again. we either try, or we don’t.”

she nods. and for once, she’s not defensive. not snarky or flirty or trying to dodge.

“you’re right,” she says. “we either show up or we let it go. no more half-assing.”

you blink at her. this version of her—the grown one, the honest one—it makes your chest ache.

“so what do we do?” you whisper.

she shrugs, brushing your hair off your face.

“we try. starting tomorrow. not perfect. but real.”

you nod. you can live with that. you want to live with that.

“okay.” her thumb strokes your jaw.

“okay,” she echoes, like it’s a vow. then she pulls you into her chest, wraps her arms around you tighter.

the city outside is quiet. the room’s barely put together and it’s your first time here, but somehow, this still feels like home.

you fall asleep with her heartbeat under your cheek. wrapped in her sweatshirt. and for the first time in a long time—you believe her when she says she’s gonna try.

© fuddaround

[prettygirl-gabi]

Dinner, Dessert, and Desperation

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Warning: Explicit sexual content (18+), public teasing/sex, edging, dom/sub dynamics, oral sex (fem receiving), language, soft dom!Paige, slight exhibitionism

Summary: Paige always has room for dessert

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @gabischeeseballs

I should’ve known Paige had plans the second we stepped into the private dining room. The moment the waiter closed the doors behind us and Paige saw the curtains, the candlelight, the fact that we were alone—her eyes lit up like it was Christmas.

“This,” she whispered behind me, her arms sliding around my waist as I looked over the menu, “was the best anniversary idea you’ve ever had.”

“I thought the beach picnic was your favorite,” I teased.

“It was,” she said, and then she cupped my tits through my dress. Just like that. No warning. “But this has potential.”

“Paige,” I gasped, glancing at the door, even though no one could see in. “Behave.”

“Not a chance.”

She didn’t stop touching me the entire time. Not once.

During the appetizers, her hand slid up my thigh under the table like it belonged there. The waiter hadn’t even left the room before Paige leaned into my ear, lips brushing my skin.

“Mmm. Finger foods,” she murmured, taking a breadstick.

I didn’t get it—until her fingers slipped under my dress. Bold, quick. Warm fingertips pressing between my thighs.

“You’re soaked already?” she whispered, teeth catching her bottom lip. “From this? From dinner?”

“No,” I whispered, trembling. “From you.”

Her fingers didn’t hesitate. Two slipped between my folds, just enough pressure to make me twitch. And then she was circling my clit, slow and deep, while I struggled to stay still.

She kissed the side of my neck, breath hot. “Come for me, baby. Right here. I know you can.”

I nearly lost it.

My thighs tensed around her wrist. My whole body tried to hold it together while Paige silently fingered me into an orgasm before the appetizers were even cleared.

I came with my hand covering my mouth and Paige’s smile pressed into my skin.

And right as I slumped into the booth, dazed and warm, the server returned.

“Entrées,” he said politely.

Paige sat up straight like nothing happened. I could barely breathe.

As the plates were placed in front of us, she leaned over and murmured, “You wore the red ones,”

I blink. “The red ones what?”

She grins, biting her bottom lip. “Thong. Lace. You wore the red ones. The ones with that little bow in the back.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “What, baby how did-”

She tilts her head as she interrupts me. “I saw you picking them from the drawer when I was in the hallway. I know what they look like under that dress. Now give them too me.”

I blinked. “You’re serious?”

She gave me a sharp, sweet grin. “Baby, when have I not been?”

I didn’t argue. I reached beneath the table, slid them down as discreetly as I could, and handed them off. She took them without shame, folding them into her pocket.

Then she went back to eating. Like she didn’t just ruin me and rob me in under ten minutes.

The whole damn dinner, she whispered the filthiest things in my ear.

“I can still smell you on my fingers.”

“I wish the waiter knew how sweet you taste.”

“Your thighs still twitching, baby?”

“I’m not gonna let you cum again. Not yet.”

I was aching. I could barely pick up my fork. Paige cut my steak for me and fed me bites like I wasn’t falling apart next to her.

By dessert, I could barely form words. I was wrecked. The sugar hit my system just enough to keep me standing. I was packing up my bag, ready to leave, when she stood behind me and pressed her front to my back.

“There’s still time,” she said.

“For what?”

“More dessert.”

I turned—half confused, half ready to melt into her—and before I could react, Paige dropped to her knees right there in front of me.

In our private booth. With the curtains drawn and the lights dim.

“Paige—”

“Shh,” she said, sliding her hands up my thighs, pushing my dress up high. “I wanna taste you again before we go.”

I should’ve stopped her. I should’ve at least hesitated. But when her mouth latched onto me, tongue moving like she’d been dreaming about this all week, my knees nearly gave out.

She ate me out slowly this time—methodical, like she was memorizing every sound I made. I tangled my hands in her hair and whispered her name, thighs tightening around her head.

“I’m close,” I moaned. “Please—”

But she pulled back. Just like that.

My orgasm hovered, denied, unsatisfied, starving.

I looked down at her in disbelief. Her chin glistened. Her eyes sparkled.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I know.”

In the car on the way home, she didn’t even look at me.

I reached across the center console. Nothing. I slid my hand onto her thigh. She swatted it away playfully.

“Seriously?” I asked. “You’re not gonna touch me now?”

She smirked, eyes fixed on the road. “I can’t attend to you right now. I’m busy driving.”

I groaned, shifting in my seat. “You’re evil.”

She leaned back, looking like the smugest little shit. “No, baby. I’m patient. You’re the needy one.”

My panties were still in her pocket. My thighs were sticky. I’d been edged to hell and back and Paige was acting like we just left a movie and had popcorn.

“I hate you,” I mumbled.

She reached over and took my hand, kissed my knuckles like the perfect wife.

“You’ll thank me later,” she said.

And I knew she was right.

The front door clicked shut, and I barely gave her a second.

I turned on my heel, grabbed her by the collar of her open leather jacket, and shoved her back against it. Her body hit the wood with a thud, but she only smirked, like she’d wanted me to break first.

“Oh,” Paige murmured, voice low, amused. “Look who’s finally snapped.”

I glared at her, breathing heavy. “You’ve been teasing me all night.”

“And you’ve let me.” She grinned, cocky, loving it. “You gonna do something about it?”

I crushed my mouth to hers, kissing her hard, messy, desperate. Her lips moved with mine like she’d been waiting for this since we left the restaurant. I yanked her jacket down her arms, not bothering to be gentle.

Paige moaned into my mouth, like she’d missed touching me already. Her hands settled on my hips, fingers gripping tight.

“I should make you beg again,” she whispered. “Drag this out longer.”

“You drag it out one more second,” I growled, “and I’m gonna sit on your face until I get off this time.”

Her breath caught. Her whole body shivered.

“I fucking knew you liked it,” I added, voice low in her ear. “Getting on your knees in that booth? You didn’t do it for me. You loved it. Didn’t you?”

She didn’t answer with words. She just dropped.

Right there, at my feet, Paige sank to her knees again. Like it was instinct. Like she couldn’t help it.

She looked up at me with flushed cheeks and wild eyes, hands sliding up my thighs. Her voice was rough when she spoke.

“I didn’t finish earlier because I wanted to do this right,” she said. “Here. Alone. Where I can actually fall apart over you.”

My heart stuttered. My breath hitched.

“Sit,” she said, patting the back of her own shoulder. “Or ride me. I don’t care. I just need—”

She cut herself off, already shoving my dress up. Already licking her lips.

“I need to taste you again.”

I straddled her shoulder, my back to the door, one hand gripping her blonde hair, the other braced against the wood.

And then her mouth was on me.

It wasn’t soft.

Paige devoured me.

Her tongue moved frantically, searching, swirling, pushing inside me with a desperation that made my knees tremble. She moaned against me like this was what she wanted all night. Not the fancy dinner. Not the teasing. Just this: me, dripping, grinding against her face while she licked me like it was air and she hadn’t breathed in hours.

Her hands clutched my thighs, pulling me closer, anchoring me to her mouth.

She wasn’t even trying to be perfect. She was messy. Sloppy. Passionate. Inexperienced but eager—hungry to learn everything that made me twitch and moan and come undone. I could feel it in how her tongue slowed when I gasped, how she latched onto my clit when I whimpered, how she moaned when I tugged her hair and ground down hard.

“Fuck—Paige,” I cried, head thrown back, body shaking. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

Her tongue fucked into me again and again, deep, insistent, like she needed me to lose it.

She whined into my core when I clenched around her mouth.

I was close. So fucking close.

“You love this,” I breathed, looking down at her. “You love eating me out, don’t you?”

She groaned in response, nodding against me, mouth still buried in my cunt, her eyes hazy, ruined with desire.

“I’m gonna come,” I warned, and her mouth latched onto my clit like she wanted me to.

No teasing this time.

She let me.

She wanted me to fall apart.

And I did—with a scream, with my thighs clenching around her head, with my whole body pulsing against her mouth like I was made to be tasted.

She held me through it. Drank down every twitch, every moan, like I was a drug she’d never get enough of.

Once she was up off the floor and I was steady she kiss me.

Tasting myself on her tongue.

She pulled away while grabbing my hand. She gently tugs my hand, leading me to the bedroom. Her jaw’s clenched like she’s not done with me just yet.

“Let me take care of you some more, hmm..” she whispers.

Her voice cracks a little, vulnerable under all the hunger. “Please.”

I nod. I don’t even think. I just nod and lie back.

She kisses my knee like it’s sacred, like she has to earn her way in.

The bed dips as she settles between my thighs, her hands skimming slowly from my ankles to my hips, not rushing.

Not yet. Not this time.

Her eyes are already glassy. Her voice is low, almost reverent.

“How are you still so wet.”

“Because of you,” I whisper. “All cause of you, P.”

She presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh—soft, then again, open-mouthed this time, a little wetter.

Her tongue peeks out, dragging a slow line.

I feel her inhale deeply against me, like she’s trying to ground herself.

“Fuck,” she breathes.

I reach for her hand and lace our fingers together.

She squeezes tight, already trembling a little.

I know that grip by now—tight, grounding, almost panicked.

Like she needs something to hold so she doesn’t fall too deep.

And then she starts.

Paige eats me out like she’s still starving. Like she didn’t just make me cum less than five minutes ago.

She’s not smooth or practiced; she’s messy.

Tongue flicking in sharp uncertain patterns at first, like she’s relearning me all over again.

But she pays attention.

Every gasp, every twitch of my hips, every sharp inhale—she locks it in and adjusts.

“Oh my God,” I moan, legs spreading wider for her.

Her mouth is soaked within seconds, chin slick, tongue frantic in its exploration.

She moans softly against me, and the vibration shoots straight through me like lightning.

“F-fuck, Paige…”

She pauses, glancing up, pupils blown wide. “Too much?”

“No,” I breathe. “Not even close.”

She groans into me, hips grinding down into the bed, chasing pressure she’s not getting because she’s too focused on me.

I feel the slickness of her tongue as it dips inside me, slow at first. But when I moan her name and tug her hand harder, something in her snaps.

She moans against me—low, deep—and suddenly once again she’s devouring me.

Her chin is soaked, nose bumping my clit, tongue fucking into me like she wants to live inside me.

Her hips rock harder into the mattress beneath her, slow and desperate.

She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

I feel it in the way her breath gets heavier.

In the way her free hand clenches the sheet.

She’s chasing her own high from mine.

She loves this.

I whimper and arch into her mouth, and she moans again—like I taste better when I’m falling apart.

“You’re doing so good,” I gasp, my voice shaky. “So fucking good, Paige…”

She whimpers at the praise, her tongue flicking faster.

Then slower.

Then deeper.

She’s studying me—like I’m a test she needs to ace, ace something she’s done a thousand times now, like every little gasp I make is another clue she’s filing away.

She shifts slightly, changes her angle. And when she hits just right—when her tongue curls deep and her lips drag perfectly over my clit—I cry out, legs locking around her shoulders.

“Fuck, right there, don’t stop—”

She doesn’t. If anything, she doubles down.

I tug on her hand, trying to pull her up so I can kiss her, but she shakes her head, lips flushed and wet. “Not yet,” she whispers. “I’m not done.”

She drags her tongue up and flattens it over my clit.

I jolt.

My hips rise off the mattress and she follows, mouth locked to me like gravity doesn’t apply when she’s this far gone.

Her other hand—once gripping mine—sneaks up to rest on my stomach, grounding me.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” she says, voice trembling. “I could do this forever.”

I’m spiraling.

Moaning.

Writhing under her.

She’s still grinding into the bed like she can’t help it, trying not to be obvious, but it’s so fucking obvious. And it makes it hotter.

Because this is hers too.

Not just for me.

Never just for me.

And then she hums.

That’s what does it.

I break.

God, the vibration—her tongue on my clit, lips soft but persistent, the pressure building—and I snap.

My orgasm crashes through me, electric and raw, legs locking around her shoulders, hand squeezing hers so tight I might bruise her. I cry out, gasping her name like it’s the only word I know.

“P—Paige, oh my God—”

She doesn’t stop right away. She licks through it, chasing every last tremble of pleasure from me, groaning low like she’s the one cumming.

When she finally pulls back, she rests her cheek on my thigh, breath shaky, lips shiny and swollen. “You okay?” she asks, voice hoarse.

I nod, dazed. “Are you okay?”

She hides her face a little, bashful. “I came.”

I blink. “Wait… what?”

She looks up, cheeks flushed, eyes guilty and radiant all at once. “I… I didn’t mean to. I was grinding and—yeah. That happened.”

“I love you,” she whispers.

I kiss her again, slow and deep, then pull the blanket up around us.

“God, you’re dangerous,” I whisper.

She grins into the kiss. “Only for you.”

I don’t even realize I’ve started to doze off until I feel her shift.

My face is still buried under her chin, body curled against hers like I’m trying to fuse into her skin. I’m beyond sore. My legs ache in that sweet, stretched-out way. My thighs feel like lead. But I’m warm. I’m safe.

“Babe,” she murmurs against the top of my head. “Come on, we should get in the bath.”

I whine like a child. “No. No bath. Don’t make me move. I’m perfectly fine like this.”

She laughs softly—just a breath of air into my hair. “You’re literally sticking to me, love.”

“Good,” I mumble, curling tighter into her. “Just let me be in your arms. No moving. Ever again.”

“Baby…”

I shake my head, not even lifting it. “If you love me, you’ll let me die here.”

Her chest vibrates with another quiet laugh. “Okay. Fine. Guess I’m carrying you, then.”

“Wait—no—Paige—”

But before I can protest properly, she’s already sitting up, arms sliding under my back and knees. I yelp a little, arms instinctively wrapping around her neck.

She stands with me like I weigh nothing, and the second I bury my face into her collarbone again, I go quiet. Content. She smells like me. Like sex and sweat and that vanilla skin oil I always steal from her nightstand.

She sets me gently on the bathroom counter and kisses my forehead like it’s instinct. Like her mouth just knows where I need to be kissed.

“You’re ridiculous,” I murmur.

“Mmhm,” she says, reaching over to run the bathwater. “And yet, you let me wreck you.”

“You did not have to go that hard.”

She smirks but keeps her focus on the water. “Couldn’t help it.”

I watch her in the mirror. The flush still on her cheeks. The way her skin glows under the soft bathroom light. Her eyes flick toward me like she feels the stare.

Then I ask, soft and curious, “Did you really… cum?”

She freezes just a little. Not embarrassed—just caught.

She nods, slowly, face pink. “Yeah. God, I wasn’t planning on it. It just… kinda happened.”

I blink. “You weren’t even—like—you didn’t touch yourself?”

“No,” she says quietly, looking almost stunned at herself. “I was grinding into the mattress and just—watching you fall apart like that—I don’t know. It was overwhelming. I came so hard I almost bit my tongue.”

I giggle.

She glares at me playfully. “You’re not allowed to laugh at me. That was a spiritual experience.”

“Spiritual?” I echo, beaming.

“Divine,” she says, deadpan. “I think I saw God.”

She reaches over and tests the water. “Okay. Bath’s ready.”

“Can we just lay here instead?” I pout again, already slumping like my body’s made of syrup.

“Nope. You’re sticky and sore and I know you’ll sleep better if we soak first.”

She helps me down gently, guides me into the tub before sliding in behind me. I settle between her legs again, back to her chest, her arms looping around me like nothing ever changed from the bed.

The warm water draws out a sigh from my lips. Her chin rests on my shoulder. Fingers trace lazy circles on my stomach under the bubbles.

I hum. “This is nice.”

“Told you,” she whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

We sit in silence for a while. Every now and then she kisses the back of my shoulder. I let my head lean against hers. The quiet is thick and comfortable. The kind of silence you only get with someone who knows your body, your soul, your whole heart.

Eventually she pulls away and says, “I’m gonna get out first and change the sheets. They’re, uh… yeah.”

“Gross?”

“Let’s say ‘well loved-on,’” she snorts.

She gets out and wraps herself in a towel, pausing to kiss my forehead again before slipping out. I stay in the water a little longer, fingers wrinkling. My body still throbs in that blissed-out way.

By the time she’s back—fresh sheets on the bed, candles lit again—I let her help me out and dry me off with a tenderness that borders on reverence.

She pulls a soft tee over my head—hers, obviously—and kisses my jaw once I’m tucked in.

We crawl under the clean covers, the smell of lavender clinging to our skin, and turn on our favorite show—volume low, more of a lullaby than actual watching.

She spoons me from behind, arms around my waist. Her breath is warm against the back of my neck.

“Happy anniversary,” I whisper.

She nuzzles deeper into me. “Best one yet.”

“You say that every year.”

“And I’ll keep saying it,” she murmurs. “Because every year with you gets better.”

I smile, eyelids growing heavy.

“Love you, Paige.”

Her arms squeeze tighter. “Love you more.”

And just like that, in the glow of TV static and candlelight, I fall asleep with her wrapped around me—safe, still, and completely hers.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ when i feel you (from within), i exist.

wnba!paige x wnba!azzi. men & minors dni.

cw: that weird blurring of lines in your friendship when you're both in love with each other, non-sexual intimacy, mentions of drugs, weed (p!smoking), being desperately affectionate but refusing to call it what it is, ambiguous but hopeful ending.

notes: not necessarily my best, but it's what i needed. giving credit to where credit is due. this was written because i reread everything @loeysoi has written because every single one of her works is a comfort to me, and then i was inspired to write this. i love you.

anyway, i hope you enjoy. coucou.

no matter how late the phone rings, azzi always picks up. paige knows she’s good for it. 

an unspoken rule of their friendship is the constant space they leave for one of them to hopelessly, helplessly need the other. it's one of the few constants between them. the quiet latitude they give each other—the open-ended kind. 

i’ll be there. no explanation needed.

so when the wings lose on national television, and paige’s face does that thing—just a little twist, like a split second of everything cracking before she smooths it back over—azzi doesn’t wait. she already knows. even when the phone doesn’t ring. 

especially then.

one a.m. passes. the silence stays. she books the flight.

she doesn’t deliberate. doesn’t change. just grabs her black weekender and slides in a travel charger, the deep red pajamas she always brings to paige’s, and the toiletries still packed from last time. she doesn’t bother changing out of her black skims maxi dress, the matching kitten heels, or the oversized uconn alumni sweatshirt she’s been meaning to return to her mom. 

her skin’s still warm from the day; sweat slick at the back of her neck, humidity sitting heavy on her shoulders. she loops her curls into a high bun, gets irritated when she can’t catch the shorter strands at the base of her neck, and then lets it go, recognizing the impulse to fixate. the way she always does when she’s nervous, but doesn’t want to call it that.

outside, her driver’s waiting, the a/c humming. the partition stays down, and they stare out of their respective windows—he to the front, she to the side. the city slides past in streaks of grey, red, and a dusky yellow. she doesn’t check her phone until they’re a few blocks out.

fifteen minutes in, she texts arike.

think her phone’s dead. need the address.

she keeps it simple. doesn’t say what she means: i’m worried.

arike sends it back without extra words. some story about a party. some attempt from paige to “let loose”. azzi knows better. she knows paige, knows that this is her trying to “be better” about losing because she can’t help but beat herself down about anything she can think of. 

when the plane lands, dallas is quiet. the city hums quietly, and even the passing cars seem only to purr. azzi calls an uber, sitting on top of her bag instead of the stained sidewalk. she prays no one asks for a photo if they recognize her. she’s not up for it.

upon arrival, the place is exactly what she expects. upscale, impersonal. gleaming glass and brushed metal. it’s someone’s penthouse, a luxe space that was built to photograph well but feels immeasurably cold when you’re actually in it. security lets her up without question. maybe she appears more desperate than she feels.

when she arrives, the elevator opens with a sad unlatching, and the party seems to be going the same way, settling and thinning like blood after a pill.

somebody’s aux’d up a frank ocean song, and now everything feels a little easier, like the night’s keen to finally sleep. she walks in, stepping carefully around bodies busy with meaningless action. she sees someone do a line and she starts feeling stress, her chest tightening at the dry sniff and the easy disappearance of the powder. 

she continues despite the anxiety making her ears ring. by now, her heels are pinching, and she’s had enough of people pressing into her space with their sugar-rushed energy and red cup breath. she weaves her way through the house, whispering paige’s name a couple of times, softly. it’s muscle memory. 

no answer. 

her feet are starting to ache. she exhales, tugs her heels off at the base of the stairs, and toes the rest of the way barefoot. 

azzi finds her near the back,  a cracked door casting a warm, flickering glow across the hallway. paige is lying on the bed, one leg bent, the other dangling off the edge. she’s so beautiful, almost relentlessly so: hoodie stretched loose over her thighs, silver chain peeking from the collar and catching what little light there is.

there’s a half-finished joint in the dark green ashtray on the windowsill, the porcelain pressed with a pop art image of kendrick lamar’s grinning face; the soft scent of weed mingles with leftover body heat and laundry detergent.

“yo,” paige says, barely lifting her head. her voice is low, rough with smoke and sleep. she sounds annoyed that someone is in a space that’s only temporarily hers.

azzi sighs and leans against the door. “hey. been looking for you.”

paige sits up on her elbows then, her brow scrunching as her low eyes lock onto the phantom of her best friend in the doorway. a myriad of emotions scrape over her face, running her ragged, until something like relief decides to be the one that stays. 

“hey, az. you found me,” paige murmurs, gaze drifting down her body and back up again. “lucky you.”

azzi doesn’t answer. just rolls her eyes and steps forward, dropping her heels off to the side as she crawls onto the bed, slow and unbothered, one knee then the other sinking into the mattress. her dress hikes up higher with each movement, second-skin, clinging to her waist and hips like it was sewn on. paige watches her, eyes half-lidded, pulse skipping for no good reason.

azzi moves like she’s done this before—because she has. the bed dips under her weight. she sinks beside her, trying to settle.

“don’t sit there,” paige says suddenly, tugging on azzi’s arm.

azzi pauses, brows pulling together. “why not?”

paige shrugs, eyes glinting. “zone of sin.”

azzi resists the urge to scoff, a bright pop of jealousy fireworking in her hindbrain. she tells herself to ignore it and smooths her voice like static. 

“jesus, paige.” she makes a face instead. “you’re disgusting.”

“mhm,” paige hums. “but you love me, mama.”

before azzi can roll away or say something smart, paige’s hands are on her waist, strong and warm, and she bodily lifts her, pulling her up and over so azzi ends up on top of her, straddling her lap. 

azzi’s breath catches, but she lets it happen. she always does. with paige, she can afford to be less active within her own life.

her dress stretches just a bit more over her thighs. paige’s hands linger on her lower back, her thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. azzi settles, carefully, her hands braced on either side of paige’s shoulders.

“you’re high,” she says.

paige grins, the kind of easy smile that makes azzi want to hit her and kiss her all at once. “only a little.”

they fall quiet. paige shifts beneath her just enough to make azzi feel the heat creeping up her neck. her eyes are steady, though, hooded and dark and weirdly honest under all the bravado. azzi can’t take the attention, so she slides down until she’s lying on the other woman’s chest. her head is cushioned tenderly by paige’s body. she can smell her cologne: bourbon, vanilla, and jasmine. 

“did your phone die?” azzi murmurs after a moment, voice careful.

paige’s torso shifts beneath her. “yeah. sorry. didn’t mean to stress you.”

azzi sighs. “i know, p. don’t worry about it. i think stress is a permanent part of me anyway.”

there’s a beat. paige reaches up, smooths a loose curl behind azzi’s ear like it’s instinct. then she leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead—warm, firm, and much too long to be casual.

“you been stressed?” she asks, right against azzi’s skin. “what’s going on, mama?”

azzi’s fingers twitch against the fabric of the comforter. her heartbeat’s loud enough that she’s sure paige can feel it. paige smells like weed and a late night, and that stupid fabric softener azzi’s always secretly liked.

something is shifting.

“nothing, just game shit. don’t distract me. it’s about you right now.”

“you’re annoying,” paige says back, but azzi can tell she doesn’t mean it.

“i know,” azzi says. “still here though.”

paige sits up at that, her hands gentle on azzi’s shoulder as she brings them to a sitting position. azzi is still somewhat on her lap, and she can feel paige’s knee between her thighs. the pressure makes her shiver and slide off. 

the music from the party is still playing low from someone’s half-dead speaker downstairs. now, it’s some rap song chopped up by bluetooth lag. paige doesn’t touch her, but sits across from her, close enough that she can reach out and hold on to her if she needs to.

“i’m fine,” paige says, voice flat.

azzi doesn’t answer right away. she curls a leg under herself, watching paige from beneath her lashes.

“i know, p,” she answers finally. “you always are.”

that’s all they say for a while. azzi can better smell the memory of this room, of what it had been like before she intruded. it’s a heady mixture of sweat and an unidentifiable sweetness, probably spilled liquor. paige leans back and exhales through her nose like she’s trying to hold it all together with silence. azzi only gives her time, bending her neck to look down at her hands as she plays with a stack of favored rings—all gifted by paige.

she looks back up—lets herself really look at paige—at the curve of her jaw in the dim light, the tension sitting just behind her mouth, like a pressed-in secret. there’s something about being here, in this strange city apartment with its ambient lighting and perfect sadness, that makes the night feel too long. 

paige meets her gaze, and azzi slides her hand across the sheets, flips it over so that the palm is up. paige’s lips part, and she makes an odd noise, but slides her hand into her best friend’s empty one. she makes sure to interlace their fingers so it’s more of an effort to break apart.

“can i take you home?” azzi asks.

paige hums, then leans forward and pulls azzi into a hug that settles the brunette’s face deep into her neck. she kisses the tip of azzi’s ear, then pulls back.

“‘course, ma.”

they leave.

✈︎

azzi drives paige’s car. she tries not to think too hard about the fact that paige drove here; maybe even planned to drive back drunk. her anger simmers and snakes around her heart, ready for when she’s better able to firm it.

paige’s place is only thirty minutes away, and when azzi pulls into the parking deck, it feels all too soon. the door clicks shut behind them as they clear the landing, and it’s dark except for the muted glow of the kitchen light left on. paige drops her duffel bag by the door, the bag as wilted and sad as it had looked in the backseat, and kicks off her sneakers without untying them. 

her hoodie is pulled over her face. she’d yanked it low the second she buckled in, and it hasn’t moved since. in her own domain, she looks worse. azzi can tell she’s been trying not to fall apart for hours. 

she steps in behind her, quiet, giving her space, but not too much. she watches as paige looks down the dark hallway that leads to her bedroom with a drawn expression, her jaw working as she tries to articulate her desires.

“can you—fuck,” paige starts, voice scratchy, almost shy. she stops. still, azzi is silent. “can you—will you shower with me?”

azzi blinks. “you want me to shower with you?”

“not like—not like that,” paige says quickly, shaking her head. azzi feels her stomach twist at the swift correction.“i just don’t want to be alone right now. i don’t want to think.”

azzi softens immediately. “yeah, i get it.” she tilts her head, puts her weekender on the counter. “of course, p.”

paige relaxes and reaches out a hand, relinking their hands as she guides azzi to her bedroom. paige dips into her closet to grab something to wear for the night, and azzi moves into the suite’s bathroom, tipping the handle until water begins to run steadily and warm. 

they undress in the soft silence, steam already beginning to curl against the mirror. paige’s movements are slow, almost clumsy, with exhaustion and her inebriation. azzi steps in first, holding the door open until paige follows.

when she does, she doesn’t say anything. she only slides in and rests her forehead on azzi’s shoulder, the water cascading over both of them.

azzi runs her hands gently over paige’s back, slow and soothing, like it’s instinct. she holds her under the warm stream, teaches her to breathe. paige’s arms come up around azzi’s waist, not tight, but close. close enough. as the minutes pass, she feels paige getting more comfortable. she can tell she’s starting to come down from her high, her body lax and pressing in.

azzi lets her have free rein because there’s not any part of her that doesn’t belong wholly to paige already. sometimes, she wishes she could slip inside paige’s skin if only to have her blood, bone, and flesh. she trembles as her best friend’s fingers climb up the ridges of her spine, callouses pressing against the spheres of bone. 

paige’s exploration comes forward, fingers gliding across azzi’s ribs and then lowering to her tummy. she pokes a finger into azzi’s belly button and listens to her laugh. then her hands rise again, traveling upward as paige leans back to allow for a modicum of space in between them.

azzi watches with a tight throat as paige’s hands cup the soft fat of her chest, her fingers pressing into the tissue. she focuses on breathing through her nose as paige thumbs at her wet nipples, adjusting her grip to better hold the weight of azzi’s breasts. it’s not sexual—not really, but there is something about being touched.

azzi sees her mouth twitch, watches her lips come apart like she’s debating placing one in between them. after a minute, paige speaks.

“you’re so fucking pretty, azzi.”

the use of her full name is like a final, blissful blow.  soft and staggering. azzi’s voice gets stuck in her throat, so she leans up and presses a kiss to paige’s temple. the blonde of her hair has gone dark gold with an oversaturation of water. 

“thank you,” she finally manages, and paige squeezes her side in response. 

from there, paige brings her hands down to azzi’s lower back, then her hips, and then the back of her thighs. she lifts azzi carefully, turning to sit on the bench with the other woman in her lap. the shower’s head is perfectly angled to still soak them, the spray sending soapy rivulets off their limbs and onto the floor.

“i just needed to feel someone,” paige murmurs, water dripping off her lashes.

“i know, p,” azzi tells her, sounding like a broken record. “i know you.”

paige sighs and braces her head on azzi’s shoulder. azzi feels a hot stream that she knows can only be paired with the salt of tears.

i’m here,” azzi whispers, pressing her cheek to the crown of paige’s head. “i got you.”

they stay like that until the water starts to cool, and even then paige lingers, always so reluctant to let go.

✈︎

after, azzi pulls on one of paige’s oversized tees and a pair of shorts, barefoot on the tile. she doesn’t know why she always packs pajamas she rarely ends up wearing.

she’s moving around the kitchen like she’s done it a thousand times. because she has. she makes pasta with garlic and oil, simple and warm. comfort food.

paige doesn’t say much. she leans against the counter, hair wet and dragged into a messy bun at the base of her neck. she looks young in her boxers and her vintage, navy yale sweatshirt. her face is soft but unreadable. azzi is unsure of what she needs, but she trusts paige will find a way to tell her.

true to form, when azzi tries to hand her a plate to go eat on the couch, paige just shakes her head and says, “c’mere.”

azzi looks at her. “why?”

“why you always gotta ask a question? just sit with me, ma,” paige says, already moving to the floor with her plate, back against the lower cabinets. “here.”

azzi hesitates for a second, then she follows, curling into paige’s lap as requested, letting herself be cradled. paige wraps one arm around her waist, chin on her shoulder, and they eat like that: quiet, warm, close.

“don’t think i’ve ever eaten like this,” azzi mumbles with a small laugh, mouth full of pasta.

paige hums. “don’t think i’ve ever needed someone like this,” she says back, quieter. 

azzi isn’t sure if she was meant to hear it, but she does. 

they both leave it alone.

when they finish, azzi tidies the kitchen, rinses their dishes, and checks that the stove’s off. she locks the door with the care of someone who’s made herself at home here before, who’s always had a key. paige watches her do it until azzi tells her she’s acting like a fucking creep. paige leaves her alone with a wry smile, and azzi calls after her to remind her to brush her teeth.

when she pads back to the bedroom, paige is already curled up on her side, sweatshirt swapped for a loose tee, blankets pulled to her chin. her eyes are blue and open, like the ocean when it mirrors the sky, watching azzi quietly.

“you staying?”

azzi smiles gently. “nope, i only brought my weekender for decoration. of course, i’m staying.”

paige doesn’t answer immediately, just lifts the blanket in a silent invitation. azzi climbs in, tucks paige in tighter, and strokes her hair back. the sheets are muslin and broken in, smelling thickly of the organic guava room spray paige buys straight from puerto rico. the pillows on her side are extra fluffed, with three instead of paige’s normal two. azzi’s chest warms as she thinks of paige making the bed while knowing exactly what she likes. 

“thank you for coming, az. you ain’t have to do all that.”

“you would do it all if it were me,” azzi mumbles back. her exhaustion is tickling the back of her throat, coaxing her into its arms like a mother to a child. 

paige rolls onto her side, tucking a loose curl back into azzi’s bonnet. 

“i know, but still,” she says. “i want you to know i appreciate you.”

“never doubted it,” azzi murmurs. “now, go to sleep. i’ll be here in the morning.”

and paige finally allows herself a kindness and falls straight under.

azzi stays awake a little longer, hand resting on paige’s waist, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing. as the world begins to fade out, she thinks about the ache in her chest. about how the lines keep getting blurred every time she and paige see one another. about how there’s no word to describe what it feels like when they’re together.

well, there is. but neither of them is ready to say it yet.

✈︎

the apartment is still wrapped in the velvet hush of pre-dawn when azzi wakes. paige’s alarm is going off, but it’s the one that paige has specifically tailored to her. 

azzi had once read an article that said changing your alarm to something soothing, rather than the jarring iphone default, helps better start the day. she’d sent it to paige, who had responded with “if i do that, then i won’t wake up, az.” but then the night after, when azzi stayed over yet again, she’d woken up to the mellow strings of an acoustic guitar.

it was a section of one of her favorite songs: “air forces” by mustafa. she’d lain there in the rising morning, the melodic sudanese tribal chant carrying her from the moon’s pull into the sun’s capable hands. 

 now, she listens to it all over again as she blinks into that grey-blue silence where time feels like it’s holding its breath. the only sound apart from the alarm is the slow hum of the shower and the low murmur of paige’s voice as she talks to someone on the phone. 

eventually, azzi rises. she has a plane to catch. 

the same thing plays out again: paige and azzi’s bodies moving in sync, together under water and soap with their feet bare on the shower’s tiled floor. they keep brushing against each other like they forgot how to be apart.

at one point, azzi stands behind paige in the tub, fingers gently massaging her coconut milk shampoo into her hair. the water is hot, almost scalding, fogging up the glass. paige tilts her head back slightly, eyes closed, pink lips parted, breathing easily for the first time in what feels like days.

azzi is careful, reverent. her thumbs trace little circles near paige’s temples, her nails gently scraping her scalp.

“you tryna put me to sleep again,” paige mumbles, smiling lazily.

“maybe,” azzi says softly, “but you never sleep enough anyway.”

paige shrugs, and azzi pinches her side at her constant lack of care toward herself. the water pelts down paige’s back as if to punish her, too. she leans into azzi without thinking; her body already knows who it belongs to when it’s soft like this. 

when azzi rinses the suds from her hair, she lets her hands linger for a moment, sliding over paige’s shoulders and down her arms. they don’t speak again until they’re toweling off, wrapped in clean cotton, and slipping back into the half-light of the bedroom.

the sky outside is still dark as azzi dresses. her hair is damp, and her bag is slung over her shoulder.  paige wanted to skip practice to drive her, but azzi knows she’ll be irritated with herself later if she does. 

she’s got a flight to make, but she moves with a stark lack of urgency. she watches paige stand in the kitchen, one sock tucked halfway on, eyes still bleary. there are two travel mugs in her hands.

“which one’s mine?” azzi asks, her hands flexing by her sides.

“the one with almond milk,” paige says, offering it over. “obviously.”

azzi smiles. “thank you.”

paige reaches out before azzi can turn away, tucks her hoodie sleeve into place, and presses a kiss to the plush skin of her cheeks. she feels azzi’s smile rise. she feels her own come alive.

“have a good flight, mama,” paige says, still close. “let me know when you get home, okay?”

azzi nods. her breath catches, just for a second. she can feel the tears coming, the salt beginning to pack against her nose and throat. she blinks fervently.

“‘kay,” she says, trying to keep her voice light, teasing. it doesn’t work.

“hey, c'mon. don’t cry, az,” paige tells her, her voice deceptively teasing. “imma see you soon, promise. gotta get you back.”

“you don’t have to get me back for anything, paige. this wasn't a big deal in the slightest. i’m your best friend. it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

paige shifts backward and looks at her. long and heavy-lidded, with something thick and syrupy swirling underneath.

“mmm,” she hums, low in her throat. like she’s accepting it. like she’s not.

azzi tucks a curl behind her ear and glances at the door, needing to move before something slips.

“you have a good day too,” she says quietly, opening it. “don’t go too hard at practice.”

they watch each other, the distance between them crippling. azzi is haloed by the sunlight as she stands in the mouth of the open door, her brown skin glowing like a spill of sugar. paige only gives herself two seconds to think it through before she closes the gap.

paige’s fingers are sure as they slide from azzi’s chin to her jaw. she pauses, giving azzi space. but azzi refuses to run. and so, just barely, paige kisses her. soft, questioning, scared.

it lasts all of three seconds.

paige pulls back like she’s touched fire.

“i’m sorry,” she breathes.

azzi shakes her head. “no. please. please, don’t be.”

paige looks at her, watches every line they’d ever drawn in the sand get drowned by the tide. “i didn’t—i didn’t plan that. swear. i just couldn’t not.”

azzi’s voice is a whisper. “i know.”

paige’s lips quirk up at that, and azzi thumbs across the curve. she leans in, gathering all the bravery she has left, and kisses paige again. this time it’s harder, and her tongue slips into paige’s mouth. she licks the coffee off of her teeth, mewls as paige guides her by the back of her neck. 

paige, again, is the one to pull away. she presses their foreheads together, fixes azzi’s necklace with the golden scale pendant at the end. it’s paige’s star sign—libra.

“you gotta go, mama. you’re gonna miss your flight.”

azzi nods, her heart held just behind her teeth.

“okay,” she whispers.

paige practically has to rip her hands off of the other woman. she’s always struggling to loosen her grip. she tells herself she has to trust that the things she loves will always return. 

with one last wide-eyed glance, azzi is gone. the door clicks shut behind her, and it sounds like a gun.

paige leans against it, closes her eyes, and starts to pray.

they won’t talk about this tomorrow. 

that’s another rule.

© hcneymooners.

[casssmalefantasy]

PLAYIN IT COOL

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: your best friend drags you out to a dallas club for a much needed girls’ night, but the last thing you expect is to spend it making eyes with paige bueckers across the room.

| warnings: smut, dom!paige, heavy sexual tension, explicit language, club setting, alcohol use, oral sex (f receiving + giving), strap 👀, confident!paige, flirty banter, minor teasing/dirty talk, reader is kinda cocky but lowkey nervous too

| word count: 4.6k

the thing about dallas is… it’s hot. even at night. even when you’re tipsy and wearing next to nothing.

“goddamn,” your best friend whistles when you step out of your apartment, hands dramatically framing your body like she’s casting a spell. “you trying to get fucked tonight orrrr…?”

you roll your eyes, smoothing your palms down the sides of your denim skirt. it’s short, snug, and sitting just right on your hips. paired with the slinky little sparkly top barely holding onto your chest and your favorite black boots, you were definitely giving that. unintentionally of course.

“i’m trying to get a drink,” you say dryly. “and maybe a dance.”

“mm right,” she smirks, unlocking her car. “bet you won’t be saying that once you see who’s at the club tonight.”

you shoot her a look as you slide into the passenger seat. “why, who?”

she shrugs, the casual kind of shrug that means she knows exactly what she’s doing. “heard some of the dallas wings team might be there. it’s one of their spots, apparently.”

you blink. “okay? and?”

she laughs, shaking her head. “girl, they’re hot. they’re athletes. most of them are gay. sounds like your exact type.”

you snort. “they’re also famous. you think they’re fucking regular ass people from dallas?”

“uhhh yes?” she counters immediately. “athletes be horny too, bitch. they don’t care who you are as long as you’re hot.” she looks you up and down again. “which you very much are.”

you just laugh, resting your head against the seat as she drives. your phone buzzes in your purse, but you ignore it. tonight’s about letting go. or at least pretending to.

—

the club is packed by the time you get there.

some 90s hip hop track is blasting through the speakers, bass so deep you feel it in your chest. the lights are dim, neon purple and pink casting shadows across the dance floor. the air is thick— perfume, cologne, weed, alcohol, hookah and people are already pressed up against each other, laughing, drinking, grinding.

“this is so our vibe,” your friend says, grabbing your hand as you both maneuver toward the bar.

you order a tequila soda—strong, but manageable, while she goes for something vodka-based that smells like it could knock you out in one sip.

“i’m getting fucked up and getting some dick tonight,” she says confidently, clinking her glass against yours.

“have fun with that,” you grin, taking your first sip.

and then you see them.

a group of tall-ass women in the corner, posted up like they own the place. they move like athletes, hold themselves like it too. and when you scan the group, eyes skating over braids and biceps and bottles—

you see her.

she’s leaning back against the booth, one arm slung casually over the backrest, a lazy smirk on her face like she knows exactly how good she looks. she’s wearing a fitted white tee, jewelry glinting on her wrist and neck, blonde hair in that messy perfect state that looks both effortless and deliberate. and she’s looking at you.

hard.

you weren’t expecting the eye contact. weren’t expecting it to feel like a fucking pull.

you drop your gaze immediately, acting cool as you turn back to the bar just in time to grab your drink.

but your best friend caught it. obviously.

“bitch,” she says, eyes wide. “you two were eye- fucking.”

“no we weren’t,” you scoff, sipping your drink.

she cocks her head. “okay, so why is she walking over here right now?”

“shit.”

you barely have time to fix your expression before she’s in front of you. paige fucking bueckers. in the flesh. up close. prettier than her highlights, smoother than you were ready for.

“hey,” she says, voice low, smooth.

you glance up, matching her energy. “hey.”

she looks you up and down—not subtly. “you got a name?”

you bite back your smile. “you first.”

that gets a laugh out of her. “i’m paige.”

“oh yeah?” you say innocently. “you play ball or something?”

her smile deepens. “something like that.”

you tell her your name, and she repeats it, like she’s trying it on for size. it sounds real good coming from her mouth.

“you from dallas?” she asks, sipping whatever drink she’s holding.

you shrug. “born and raised. why?”

“just curious.” she’s close now, arm brushing yours. “you got that local vibe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “what does that mean?”

“means you’re fine as hell and chill bout it.”

you laugh. “so that’s your type?”

“tonight it is.”

the conversation keeps going like that—easy, teasing, warm. paige is bold, but never cocky, smooth without trying too hard. you keep your tone light, but your heart’s beating fast. the tension’s building. every time she leans in closer, you feel it.

“so what do you do?” she asks, gaze slow as it trails down your legs and back up, eyes catching on the hem of your skirt. “besides drive people crazy looking like that.”

you grin. “i work in sports media. real job and everything. been with bleacher’s report since i graduated.”

her eyebrows go up, impressed. “okay, big-time.”

“you’re one to talk.”

she smirks. “you’ve been watching me?”

“you were hard to miss.”

there’s a pause. her gaze dips to your lips.

“you wanna get out of here?” she asks, voice lower now. rougher.

you tilt your head. “who said i was interested?”

her expression falters, just for a second. and then she recovers, leans in even closer. “your body language. it’s saying otherwise.”

you stare at her for a beat. then smile.

“give me five minutes.”

you find your best friend, ask her if she’s good. she grins, waving you off toward paige like a damn matchmaker.

and that’s how you end up in the passenger seat of paige bueckers’ car, her hand sliding onto your thigh the second she pulls out of the lot.

—

her apartment is nice. new, clearly—modern countertops, tall ceilings, basketballs and duffle bags tossed in the corner. not a ton of decoration yet, but it smells like her. expensive cologne, subtle vanilla.

she hands you a bottle of water before you even sit down.

“hydration is sexy,” she says with a wink.

you laugh, sipping it. “you always this polite after trying to pick someone up?”

she shrugs. “just making sure your hydrated.”

you sit on her couch. the tension between you is practically humming.

and she’s just… staring.

like she wants to devour you.

you raise an eyebrow. “you just gonna keep looking at me like that?”

she leans forward, voice dropping. “or what?”

you smirk. “or you could do something about it.”

she doesn’t need to be told twice.

she’s on you in seconds—lips on yours, hands already gripping your waist, pulling you into her lap like she can’t wait a second longer. the kiss is hot—all tongue and teeth and desperate breaths. she tastes like vodka and mint, and her fingers are already pushing up your skirt.

“fuck,” she mutters, tugging your top off, eyes drinking you in. “you’re so fucking sexy.”

you laugh against her mouth, tugging at her shirt. “you too cocky to be this good a kisser.”

“you’ve seen nothing yet.”

she stands, pulling you with her, dragging you toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

by the time you hit the mattress, your skirt is gone. her hands are everywhere—pinning your hips down, trailing over your thighs, slipping under your underwear.

and then she’s eating you like she’s starving. no hesitation, no warm-up—just her mouth, hot and slick and fucking relentless.

“shit, paige—”

she moans into you, sucking your clit, holding your legs open like you might disappear if she doesn’t keep you in place. it’s intense. overwhelming. fast.

“feel good?” she mutters, voice rough.

“yes don’t stop—”

you cum embarrassingly quick, thighs shaking, but she doesn’t stop. not until you’re crying out again, and then she finally lets up, crawling over you with a smug smile.

“you gonna be good for me now?” she asks, breathless.

you flip her over in response, grinning. “your turn.”

you go down on her, making her writhe and moan and beg—and you love every second of it. love the way her voice breaks when she says your name. love the way she tugs your hair when she gets close

you don’t stop until she cums hard, hips shaking, voice raw from moaning. her hand stays in your hair, fingers tightening every time you kiss your way up her stomach, over her chest, up to her throat.

you’re still catching your breath when she flips you.

“you think you have one more in you?” she asks.

quick. effortless. like she’s been waiting.

“yeah.” you say quickly.

“you look so good like this,” she murmurs, eyes dragging down your body like she wants to ruin you. “legs spread, already so fucking wet for me.”

you reach for her, but she’s already off the bed, grabbing the purple strap from the drawer like she knew exactly when she’d use it. you swallow hard, breath catching as she steps into it—slow, teasing, powerful.

“you ready for me, baby?” she asks, tone low and smug. “or do i need to make you beg a little first?”

you don’t give her the satisfaction—just hold her gaze, daring her. “i’ve been ready.”

she climbs back on top of you, hands firm on your hips as she lines the strap up and slides in slow, making sure you feel all of it. your mouth falls open. a gasp leaves your throat, needy and unfiltered.

paige smirks. “that’s what i thought.”

then she fucks you.

deep, relentless strokes that leave you shaking. every thrust hits just right, has you crying out her name, clinging to her back, your nails dragging over her skin. she leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“you take me so well,” she whispers. “so fucking good for me. look at you—already close, huh?”

you nod, whimpering, thighs trembling around her. she picks up the pace, one hand slipping between your legs to rub tight, fast circles over your clit while she keeps pounding into you like she owns you.

“cum for me,” she growls, breath hot against your neck. “right now.”

and you do—loud, messy, body arching up into her like she’s the only thing that matters.

but she doesn’t stop.

she fucks you through it, chasing her own high from the way you fall apart underneath her.

“fuck. i’m gonna cum again.” she says.

and she does moaning your name.

when she finally slows down, she kisses you soft. breathless. a sharp contrast to everything she just did to you.

“still breathing?” she teases, stroking your cheek.

“barely.” you say jokingly.

she just grins at you, tracing your hip with her fingers.

“so… think you’ll be at that club next weekend?”

you roll your eyes. “you already trying to run it back?”

she shrugs, kissing your shoulder. “you’re local, right?”

you smirk, snuggling into her chest. “we’ll see.”

“well give me your number, just incase you need to know when i’ll be there.” she says smirking.

“yeah whatever.” you say laughing.

[katemoneymartinsgf]

Jealous in Dallas |pazzi|

a/n: okay so i don’t know how to respond to comments so thank you @asiahoov12 for this request. Sorry i’ve been slacking guys. I got lots of recs and i’m trying to write for all of them. Thank you so much for taking the time to request something, I love it so much.

Request: Ok do one what Azzi is in Dallas at a bar with Paige and Paige gets jealous when someone try's to hit on Azzi

—

jealous in dallas

It’s not fancy. Just some Dallas spot with good music and a patio out back, packed but not too much.

Paige has one arm draped across the back of Azzi’s barstool. The other holds her drink loosely. She’s leaning in close, head tilted as Azzi tells her something about the playlist, something Paige won’t remember because her entire brain is focused on the way Azzi’s shirt fits her just right.

They’ve been like this all night — attached at the hip, close enough to share breath.

So when some dude in a denim button-down slides up next to Azzi and throws out a, “Hey, can I get you another?” like Paige isn’t literally touching her — Paige freezes.

Azzi blinks once, then glances at Paige.

Paige sets her drink down. Slowly.

Azzi opens her mouth to say something polite, but Paige beats her to it.

“She’s good.”

Her voice is calm. Not sharp. Not yet.

Denim Guy looks her over, confused. “Oh — I was talking to—”

“Yeah. I know who you were talking to,” Paige says, sliding her hand from the back of Azzi’s stool to the back of Azzi’s neck. Her fingers curl there. Firm. Claiming.

Azzi shifts slightly in her seat but doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into it.

“I’m just saying hi,” the guy tries again, still clearly not reading the room.

Paige smiles — but it’s the cold kind. The try it again and see kind.

“She’s not saying hi back.”

Azzi reaches up, laces her fingers through Paige’s.

“I’m good,” she tells the guy, voice even.

Paige doesn’t even look at him now. She’s looking at Azzi — jaw tight, pupils blown, like her blood’s running hotter than it should be.

“Let’s go outside,” she says, but it’s not a question.

Azzi’s already nodding.

-

The patio is quieter. A little breeze, string lights, the faint echo of music pulsing from inside.

Paige pushes Azzi gently up against the wall just outside the back entrance. Not rough. Not rushed. Just urgent.

“You didn’t even look at him,” she says, voice low. “You didn’t even entertain it.”

Azzi tilts her head, amused. “Was I supposed to?”

“No. You did everything right,” Paige mutters, stepping in closer. “I just— I saw his hand on the bar. Saw him lean toward you like I wasn’t even sitting there.”

Azzi wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. “And now what?”

Paige doesn’t answer. Just kisses her — hard.

It’s messy. Intentional. A little too much for public, and still not enough. She kisses her like she’s daring someone to look. Like she wants them to.

When she pulls back, breathless, she whispers:

“You’re mine.”

Azzi smiles. Calm. Steady. Dangerous.

She grips Paige’s jaw, guides her back in, and kisses her slow this time — deep, full-body, until Paige’s fingers tighten on her hips like she might come undone right there.

Then Azzi pulls back and says in her ear:

“And you’re mine, baby. So relax.”

Paige exhales like she’s never heard anything more grounding in her life.

But she still doesn’t let go.

Not all night.

-

They don’t leave the bar.

Paige’s hand stays on Azzi’s hip the entire walk back inside, thumb tracing slow, effortless circles through the fabric of her jeans like she’s not even thinking about it — like it’s instinct now, like she’s making sure the bar remembers.

Azzi grabs their drinks from the counter. Paige grabs Azzi from behind — arms low around her waist, chin resting lightly on her shoulder, voice brushing her ear like something private.

“You good now?” Azzi asks, handing her the glass without looking.

“No.”

Azzi hides a grin in her drink. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige shrugs against her like she’s not bothered — like she’s always this collected.

“He looked like a ‘let me show you my truck’ kind of guy.”

Azzi hums. “Could’ve been.”

“I would’ve broken his jaw.”

Azzi finally turns in her arms, laughter soft under her breath. “You were so pressed.”

Paige’s eyes narrow — not in annoyance, just deliberate. Confident.

“Yeah. And?”

Azzi lifts a brow, still smiling. “You almost knocked the man’s beer off the bar with how fast you stood up.”

“Maybe I should’ve.”

Paige doesn’t say it loud. She doesn’t have to.

It sends heat up Azzi’s spine anyway — that mix of calm and danger, the quiet kind of possessiveness that doesn’t need attention, just presence. Paige doesn’t get loud. She just gets close. And she stays there.

Azzi slides her hands under Paige’s shirt — cool fingers against warm skin — and leans in.

“You jealous,” she says, “or just obsessed with me?”

“Yes.”

The answer lands heavy between them — no hesitation, no blink.

Azzi kisses the corner of her mouth.

“You love me.”

“I worship you.”

Azzi laughs, low and breathy, heart thudding in her chest.

“You were real quiet when I wore this sweater earlier.”

Paige doesn’t move. Just drops her hand lower, slides it down to Azzi’s thigh, and pulls her in — slow, commanding.

“I wasn’t quiet. I was fighting for my life.”

Azzi exhales. She’s still smirking, but her breath catches — because Paige is so unbothered in it all. Cocky, calm, and still completely wrapped around her.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Some would call it possessive I think.”

“You’re whipped.”

Paige tilts her head. “Same thing.”

Azzi kisses her again, slower this time. Lips brushing her ear like a dare.

“You didn’t have to kiss me like that in front of the building.”

“I absolutely did.”

“Now everyone knows I’m yours.”

“Good.”

Azzi pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. “And they know you’re mine?”

Paige smiles — the kind of smile that makes Azzi forget everything else in the room.

“Let ’em try me.”

And Azzi — cool, composed Azzi — just laughs into her neck, arms looped behind her back like Paige is gravity.

She doesn’t move for the rest of the night.

And neither does Paige.

Because Azzi likes being wanted like this. She likes the weight of it — the steady hands, the unwavering attention, the fire just beneath Paige’s control. She likes knowing that even when Paige is calm, she’s still choosing her — loudly, fully, without apology.

[pbaz7]

FINDING PEACE IN YOU: PART 8

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content ‼️

word count: 12.7k

A/N: Not going to lie the plot on this is very minimal towards the end. BUT I do think the way I wrote things advances the story so if you are uncomfortable with reading sexual content just lmk and I’m more than happy to post a little synopsis of this chapter and the important aspects of their growth that I kinda wove into the scenes. Don’t want anyone to miss out just because of their preference! Anywho this is for everybody who’s been begging for a part 2 of heat check! Let me know what you think and leave reactions if you can 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

When Paige finally got back into town in the middle of the day on Friday, she checked the shared calendar on her phone, scanning Azzi’s schedule for the day. Seeing a small block of free time, she smiled to herself, already turning her car out of the Dallas facility toward her next destination. She made a quick stop, grabbing Azzi’s lunch from a spot they both loved, then ducked into a flower shop that was right on the corner. With a small bouquet of roses in hand, she headed back to her car.

A few minutes later she parked out front of Azzi’s clinic, locking the door behind her as she stepped out. The building was quiet, sun filtering through the glass entryway as Paige made her way inside, the elevator dinging softly as she pressed the button for the correct floor. Her hands full—lunch in one, flowers in the other.

Upon walking into the clinic, Kelly looked up from her desk and smiled warmly. “Long time no see.”

Paige returned the smile politely, adjusting the food in her hand. “Hey, Kelly. How you been?”

“I’m good, thank you for asking,” Kelly replied, before nodding toward the door. “She’s in her office—I’ll buzz you in.”

“Appreciate you,” Paige said, waiting for the soft click of the door before pushing through and making her way down the familiar office. She passed the recovery and training rooms and when she reached Azzi’s office, the door was cracked open. Paige paused in the doorway for a moment, her eyes tracing the scene in front of her—Azzi in a low squat, her knees pressed together tightly because of the skirt she had on, documents spread neatly across the floor as she skimmed through them.

Paige stepped inside quietly, setting the food down on the desk before speaking. “Anybody ever tell you how sexy you look in a skirt?”

Azzi’s head turned at the sound of Paige’s voice, a startled smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of her standing there—flowers in one hand, that familiar blue in her eyes lighting up the room more than the sun spilling through the window. Still crouched, Azzi arched an eyebrow and said, “Only every single day you’re in town.”

Paige grinned at the response, stepping further inside and nudging the door shut behind her with her foot. She set the flowers down next to the food on Azzi’s desk, eyes lingering for a moment too long on the way Azzi’s skirt hugged her legs. “Damn shame I wasn’t here yesterday then,” she murmured.

Azzi stood, smoothing down the front of her skirt with a smile. “You’re lucky I like surprises,” she said, her voice dropping just slightly as she moved toward her; Paige’s eyes raking over her shamelessly as she did. “Mmm, I’m definitely lucky.”

When Azzi reached her, her hands slid around Paige’s neck with ease, as though they hadn’t been apart for any time. Paige’s arms wrapped around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in until there was barely any space between them. Their lips met in a slow kiss—warm and familiar, yet still filled with a deep spark. Azzi’s nails grazed the back of Paige’s neck, just enough to make her hum against her mouth.

“I missed you,” Paige whispered into the kiss.

Azzi smiled against her lips, the kiss deepening for a moment before she pulled back enough to look Paige in the eye. “Yeah?” she whispered, her fingers still gently brushing the nape of Paige’s neck.

Paige hummed in response, her arms tightening around Azzi’s waist like she wasn’t ready to let go of her yet. Their lips met again as Azzi began to walk them back toward her desk, her steps guided by instinct and Paige’s gentle pressure.

When they reached the edge, Paige gave Azzi’s butt a small squeeze, earning a small breathy laugh from her between kisses. Azzi pulled back to look at her again, eyes a little dazed, cheeks flushed.

“I miss you more,” she said quietly. Paige's lips curved into a soft smile as Azzi reached up her thumb wiping the smudge of her lip gloss from the corner of Paige’s mouth. Paige started to step back to gesture toward the food she brought, but Azzi’s fingers tightened around the fabric of the black tank top, tugging her back in.

“Where you going?”

Paige laughed, “I got you lunch gorgeous,” she said, nodding toward the desk.

Azzi didn’t even look. Her eyes were still on Paige’s lips, then drifted lower—across her shoulders, the definition in her arms, the dip of her collarbone exposed by the tank top. With her fingers still holding Paige, she mumbled distractedly, “I’m not hungry.”

Paige smirked at Azzi’s response, dipping her head to press a soft kiss just beneath her jaw, whispering against her skin, “You sure?”

Azzi’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers sliding up the curve of Paige’s bicep, eyes fluttering as she whispered back, “Positive.” Her head tilting, offering Paige more access as her body leaned into the warmth between them.

Paige chuckled, letting her lips trail a few more kisses along Azzi’s jawline, before pulling back. “Promise I’mma get you right later,” she said. “Lemme just feed you before your next meeting. I know you haven’t had nothing but coffee today cause it’s Friday.”

Azzi exhaled, relenting with a soft smile as Paige finally stepped away to grab the lunch she’d brought. She nodded toward Azzi’s chair. “Go sit down.”

With a small shake of her head and a grin, Azzi obeyed, walking over and easing into her chair. Paige handed her the roasted salmon and quinoa bowl, her usual.

Paige sat on Azzi’s desk, settling right in front of her chair. From that vantage point, Azzi couldn’t help but take her in—up close now instead of over FaceTime. The stitches near Paige’s eyebrow had been removed, only needing to be in for a few days but there was still a small scar there that would eventually fade. A few bruises painted her arms in faded purples and greens and a few scratches looked newer than others.

Azzi chewed slowly, her eyes trailing over every detail before spearing a piece of salmon with her fork. Without saying anything, she lifted it toward Paige like she always did.

Paige laughed softly, leaning back away from the fork. “Stop, that's for you.”

“You need some,” Azzi countered easily.

“I don’t—” Paige started, but Azzi cut her off with just a look. One of those looks Paige had grown used to.

Paige sighed, the sound exaggerated but affectionate, and leaned forward just enough for Azzi to feed her. “You don’t play fair,” she mumbled as she took the bite.

Azzi smiled, pleased with herself. “Never claimed I did.”

Paige grinned, licking a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth after the bite. “We got a date later.”

Azzi chewed slowly, one eyebrow lifting as she eyed her. “You could barely keep your eyes open this morning when we were on FaceTime.”

Paige shrugged casually. “I’ll be aight. I wanna take you out.”

Azzi laughed, spearing another piece of salmon and offering it to Paige. “And where would we be going, exactly?” she asked, leaning in just a little. Azzi already knew she’d say yes no matter the answer.

“There’s this wine tasting.”

Azzi perked up before she could catch herself, her eyes lighting up slightly, and Paige caught it instantly, grinning. “Exactly.” Paige added casually, “I prolly can’t drive though.”

“Sam can take us,” Azzi replied without hesitation, trying to keep her tone even, but Paige was already grinning.

“Ohh, so you’re interested now,” Paige teased, watching Azzi try—and fail—to go back to being nonchalant.

Azzi shook her head, feigning indifference. “Not that interested.”

“Nahh,” Paige laughed, leaning back on her hands a little, “don’t start backpedaling now. I saw that lil sparkle in your eye.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, getting another bite of food and popping it in her mouth. “Whatever,” she mumbled around the fork.

Paige just watched her with a soft smile, clearly amused. “I missed you, pretty girl.”

Azzi’s chewing slowed for a second before she put her bowl down beside her and moved closer to where Paige was sitting on the edge of the desk. Her hands slid up Paige’s thighs, settling just above her knees as she looked up at her with a small smile of her own. “I missed you too.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other—soaking in the warmth of being near one another again.

Paige’s voice softened as she looked down at Azzi. “It’s only been, what, a week and a half? Why it feel like a month?”

Azzi rested her hands lightly on Paige’s belt. “Because you’re dramatic,” she teased.

Paige let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like being away from you that long.”

Azzi’s fingers began tracing, idle circles against Paige’s hip bone. “You FaceTimed me every day.”

“Not the same,” Paige murmured, her voice dropping just a little. “I can’t touch you through a screen.”

Azzi tilted her head, their eyes locked. “So you missed touching me?”

Paige’s smirk returned, as she leaned down until their noses brushed. “I missed all of you. Definitely missed touching you though.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked to Paige’s lips. “Good. You can have me later… Maybe.”

Paige’s smirk lingered until Azzi’s fingers slid just beneath the edge of her belt, tugging her forward a half step. Paige’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, the motion shifting her balance enough that her hands instinctively settled on the armrests of Azzi’s chair.

“Oh?” Paige murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “What’s that about?”

Azzi didn’t break eye contact as she shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you’re really here.” Her thumbs grazed along Paige’s waistband and Paige could tell that answer was bullshit so her smile only grew.

“Whatever you say.”

Azzi hummed at that, breaking the moment as she pulled her hands back and picked up her fork again. “Good. Then feed me. I have a client soon.”

Paige shook her head with a huge grin on her face as she grabbed the food container. “My girl’s bossy when she’s hungry, huh?”

Azzi looked up at her, shaking her head no. “Only when I’m in love.”

That made Paige's gaze soften. “I love you too beautiful.”

Something soft passed between them for a second. Before Paige grinned looking away and picking up the fork and scooping up another bite of salmon to hold it out to Azzi.

Azzi leaned forward to take it, still smiling as she chewed. “This is actually really good,” she mumbled through the bite.

“Would be better if you ate it without tryna feed me every other bite,” Paige grumbled, swatting lightly at Azzi’s hand as she tried to raise another forkful to her lips.

Azzi ignored her protest and held the food closer. “Open.”

“Azzi—”

“Paige.”

Paige huffed, laughing, before reluctantly leaning forward and accepting the bite. “This is textbook manipulation.”

“This is me making sure my girlfriend, who’s an athlete and doesn’t eat enough, eats more.” Azzi corrected.

They fell into a rhythm, talking about random things—practice, Lukas, a funny video that Paige’s mom sent them the night before. Paige fed Azzi slowly, and in between, Azzi snuck bites into Paige’s mouth every time she looked distracted or paused too long mid-story.

As Paige was reaching for the napkins, the office phone rang—its sharp tone cutting through the warm moment between them.

Azzi sighed through a soft laugh, grabbing the receiver as she mouthed behave before answering.

“This is Dr.Fudd,” she said, voice switching into her professional tone effortlessly, though there was still a trace of amusement tucked into the edges of her words.

On the other end of the line, Kelly’s voice came through the receiver. “Hey, just a heads up—your next appointment’s already here. Ten minutes.”

Azzi thanked her before hanging up, exhaling softly as she glanced at the clock.

Paige stood from the desk with a stretch, her tank top shifting up slightly to reveal her stomach muscles, Azzi’s eyes flicking down briefly. She reached for Azzi’s hand, gently pulling her up from the seat. “I’ll see you later?”

Azzi hummed, already stepping in to kiss her. It was slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that said she didn’t really want Paige to go. When she pulled back, her voice was softer. “What’re you doing for the rest of the day?”

Paige let her thumb graze over Azzi’s waist as they started walking toward the front of the office. “Bout to just chill with Lukas until later. He said something about wanting to switch his dirt bike engine since he’s ‘big’ now.”

Azzi smiled at that, nodding as they walked in sync down the hallway, their shoulders bumping once.

When they reached the door, Paige tugged Azzi into one more hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you,” she murmured.

Azzi smiled, nose brushing Paige’s as she whispered back, “I love you too.”

Then they stepped into the receptionist area where Kelly was typing quietly. Paige pulled Azzi into one last hug, more casual this time, but still lingering. “Put those flowers in water,” she said.

Azzi laughed softly. “I will.”

They exchanged one final glance, Paige winking at Azzi—before parting ways. As Paige walked toward the elevator, Azzi turned back toward the front, smoothing her skirt and offering a warm smile.

She motioned toward the client waiting in the seating area. “You can come on back.”

…

Later that night, Sam pulled up to the front of Paige's house, the blacked-out luxury vehicle idling quietly in Paige’s driveway. From the backseat, Azzi pulled out her phone and sent Paige a quick text.

Within a minute, the front door opened and closed. Azzi looked up to see Paige walking out—her diamond studs catching the faint porch light, silver chain resting against the loose white button up she wore. She moved with her usual calm confidence.

When Paige slid into the car, the scent of her cologne drifted in with her. She greeted Sam with a nod. “Preciate you, man.”

“Anytime,” Sam said before reaching forward to press the button that sent the partition up, giving them privacy.

As soon as they were alone, Paige turned toward Azzi, grinning. “You look good.” Eyes sweeping slowly down Azzi’s frame and back up with no rush.

Azzi leaned back into her seat, crossing one leg over the other, her skirt hugging her curves in a way that didn’t go unnoticed. “You saw me earlier today,” she pointed out.

Paige shrugged, her grin growing. “All of a sudden it looks better when I know I can take it off you soon.”

Azzi let out a laugh, rolling her eyes playfully. “You really know how to flatter a woman.”

Paige tilted her head. “You can take mine off if it makes you feel better.”

Azzi gave her a slow once-over, eyes dragging down Paige’s relaxed, tailored fit. She lingered for a beat, then looked back up at Paige with a smile. “Might take you up on that.”

“Yeah?”

Azzi didn’t answer—just smiled at her like she already had plans.

Paige played into the moment, a smirk creeping in as she licked her lips and leaned into Azzi. “Say the word and I’ll cancel the wine tasting right now.”

Azzi let out a soft scoff, immediately lifting her hand and pressing two fingers to Paige’s forehead, gently pushing her back. “Relax, Mr. Steal-Your-Girl,” she said, laughing.

Paige laughed too, leaning back with her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just sayin.”

Azzi shook her head with a grin, both of them settling back into their seats.

…

The tasting room was warmly lit, making the atmosphere more intimate for each table. Paige and Azzi sat at a table near the back like always, legs pressed together beneath the tablecloth. Paige’s arm was casually draped along the back of Azzi’s chair, fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder or her neck in a way that felt possessive and protective at once.

They were in the middle of a conversation. Azzi tilted her head, swirling the wine in her glass as looked at Paige with amusement. “You literally said, ‘This wine stuff’s kinda boring unless you’re cute.’”

Paige shook her head, trying to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “That’s not what I said. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Azzi leaned into her slightly, close enough that Paige could smell her perfume. “I’m not, I’m quoting you. Word for word. Then you looked at me and winked.”

Paige laughed, taking a sip of her wine before mumbling, “That doesn’t sound like me.”

Azzi gave her a look, smirking. “You winked, Paige. There was literally a witness.”

“Okay fine, maybe I winked. But I didn’t say the wine part was boring.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “You absolutely said it was boring.”

Paige turned in her seat slightly, angling toward her more. “Alright alright, maybe I did say it. But only ‘cause you looked too good for me to pretend like I care about what a wine’s body means. Specially when yours was right there.”

Azzi blinked once before laughing, trying to hide her smile behind the rim of her glass. “That’s your excuse?”

“Mmhmm.” Paige let her hand slip down just slightly behind Azzi’s chair so her fingers brushed the small of her back. “You got me out here talkin’ reckless over pinot noir. You should be proud.”

Azzi tried to play it cool, but her eyes darted down to Paige’s mouth for a second too long. She turned her head, pretending to refocus on the tasting menu in front of them. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you already undressed me in your head twice.”

Paige grinned, the corner of her mouth twitching as she leaned back a bit, moving to drape her arm over the back of Azzi’s chair again. “Twice?” she echoed. “That’s definitely lowballin’ it.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she swirled her wine. “You’re so unserious.”

“But you like that about me,” Paige said, her voice quieter now. Her fingers brushed against the side of Azzi’s neck under the guise of adjusting her arm. “Don’t lie.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly in challenge, but there was a smile tugging at her lips she couldn’t hide. “I tolerate it.”

“Tolerate it so much you let me take you out.”

Azzi raised her glass. “I came for the wine, actually.”

Paige leaned in again, close enough that Azzi stilled for a moment. “You always stay for me though.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She took a sip instead, eyes locked on Paige’s over the rim of her glass. Then, slowly, she set it down and whispered, “Don’t get cocky.”

“It’s not cocky if it’s true.”

Azzi bit back a smile, nudging Paige’s thigh gently with hers. “Keep talkin’ like that and I’m not responsible for what happens later.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, lips parting like she was about to say something bold—but then she caught herself, laughing under her breath. “You tryna out-flirt me right now?”

Azzi rested her chin on her hand, looking at her with a calm sort of confidence. “Who said I’m trying?”

Paige leaned back a little, smirking. “This isn’t you trying?”

Azzi batted her lashes once at Paige. “Not at all, baby.”

Then casually Azzi rested her hand on Paige’s thigh. Not just her knee or above it, but higher, her fingers grazing the fabric just where Paige’s quad curved. Her thumb moved slightly, brushing in a small, slow arc like she wasn’t even thinking about it.

Paige looked down at the touch, then back up at Azzi with a sucked-in cheek and a bite of her lip, like she was weighing whether to say something slick—or just kiss her.

Before she could do either, the server approached with a fresh flight of wines. He placed the glasses down carefully, giving his well-rehearsed spiel: “This round is a Syrah—fruit-forward with a little spice on the finish.”

Azzi retracted her hand smoothly, fingers grazing Paige’s thigh on the way down as she picked up a new glass. Her expression never faltered, like her hand hadn’t just been inches from making Paige forget what planet she was on.

Paige cleared her throat and took the glass in front of her, eyeing Azzi sideways. “Spice on the finish, huh?”

Azzi glanced at her over the rim of her glass. “Sounds familiar.”

Paige choked on a laugh, covering her mouth just as the server walked away. “You really wanna do this here?”

Azzi gave her a beautiful smile and shrugged, sipping the wine like nothing was phasing her. “What? I’m just appreciating the wine love.”

Paige narrowed her eyes and leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Azzi’s ear as she dropped her voice. “Keep playing, and imma forget we’re in a public setting.”

Azzi took another slow sip, but her cheeks warmed. “That's your problem, P, not mine.”

Paige just chuckled again, the kind knowing laugh that lingered as she sat back and finally brought her glass to her lips. Shaking her head because Azzi didn’t know what she was getting into.

From there, the mood shifted, the space between them had shrunk. The wine loosened them up and somehow wound them up at the same time, like every glance and touch lingered a second too long.

Paige’s arm rested more firmly behind Azzi now, her fingers messing with the back of Azzi’s neck every time she leaned in. Their legs were fully pressed together beneath the table, and neither of them moved to fix it.

Azzi took another sip of her wine, and when she set the glass down, Paige leaned in, her lips brushing beside her ear.

“You know I been thinking about you all day,” Paige murmured, her voice low and steady. “It;s your fault though. That skirt you got on... you really gon’ wear that around me and expect me to not say something?”

Azzi smiled, cheeks flushing, but she didn’t move away. “You like it?” she asked, a little smug.

“Liked it so much I almost stopped by your office again just to see it one more time.”

Azzi turned slightly to look at her, lashes low as she whispered, “Almost?”

Paige’s fingers traced up Azzi’s thigh. “Had to save some self-control for tonight.”

Azzi bit her lip, playing along, leaning in like she was going to say something—but instead she tilted her head slightly, giving Paige even more access to her ear. “Mmm.”

Paige leaned in closer. “I keep picturing you in that skirt on my lap… whispering in my ear...”

“You’re really trying to start something in a wine bar?”

Paige smirked, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear now. “Start? Baby, I’m already halfway through the scene in my head.”

Azzi giggled, eyes glinting with interest as she turned toward her, noses nearly touching. “Oh yeah?” she murmured.

Paige tilted forward like she was about to kiss her—but Azzi leaned back, just enough to dodge it, her lips still curved.

“Not here baby,” she said softly.

Paige tilted her head slightly, her eyes dropping to Azzi’s lips and lingering there. “Why not?” she whispered, her voice a little more hoarse now, a little more affected. The wine running it’s course through both of them.

Azzi laughed under her breath, leaning back in her chair just enough to breathe. “I can see the headlines now. Dallas Wings star caught.’”

Paige licked her lips, not even trying to hide how she was looking at her. “Don’t nobody in here know who I am.”

Azzi raised her eyebrow as she finished the last bit of wine in one of her glasses. “You’re really underestimating your visibility, Miss Bueckers.”

Paige shrugged, her fingers now drawing circles on Azzi’s thigh. “Visibility’s overrated,” she muttered. “Nobody in here’s paying attention.”

Azzi shot her a pointed look. “They are. You just don’t care.”

Paige leaned in again, her breath hot on Azzi’s neck as she whispered, “I only care about you right now baby.”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she pressed the tip of her index finger to Paige’s chest, holding her back with a smirk. “You keep sweet-talking me and we’re going to finish the night early.”

Paige grinned, biting her bottom lip. “Say the word.”

Azzi let out a low laugh, shaking her head as she looked forward again, but her fingers slid across the seat beneath the table, finding Paige’s hand and lacing them together. She gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re insane,” she whispered, unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“I know and you love that shit so let’s stop playing.” Paige said the words laced with an arrogance that made Azzi pause for a beat.

She turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise—not because of the words themselves, but because of the shift in tone. Paige, who was usually teasing, soft, sweet… had said it with something different in her voice. A little rougher. A little bolder. A little more her.

The surprise flickered in Azzi’s eyes, but so did something else lower in her stomach.

“You’re feeling yourself tonight, huh?” she asked, trying to play it off but her eyes told the truth. She loved it.

Paige’s tongue swiped across her bottom lip, eyes locked on Azzi like she already knew exactly what was going through her mind. “Nah baby I’m just feeling you. I keep telling you that mama.”

Azzi laughed again, quieter this time, more breath than sound, like she was trying to keep herself composed.

Just then, their waiter approached with their final flight—four new wines lined up with elegant precision. He began explaining each one, describing notes of citrus and oak, subtle spices, a bold finish. But Paige barely heard a word.

She was staring at Azzi.

Her elbow rested casually on the back of Azzi’s chair, body angled toward her, and while the waiter’s voice filled the air, Paige’s gaze stayed fixed on the curve of Azzi’s lips, the way her fingers delicately spun the stem of her new glass, how her tongue peeked out just briefly to wet her bottom lip. Paige’s eyes dropped for a beat before lifting again, hunger flickering behind them.

Thoughts were clearly running wild behind her eyes.

Azzi could feel it—could feel her looking. She slowly glanced over, catching her in the act, and raised her eyebrows like really? while the poor waiter was still talking about “mouthfeel.”

Paige didn’t even flinch. She just smirked, leaned in a little, and whispered, “Swear I don’t care about what he’s describing, I’m just tryna remember what you taste like. Been too long.”

Azzi’s eyes widened for a split second before she snapped her head forward, covering her laugh behind a cough. She was blushing now, nose wrinkling with effort as she tried to keep it together.

“You are so inappropriate,” she whispered through her teeth.

“M’just being honest. Too drunk to care.”

Azzi smiled, shaking her head as she squeezed Paige’s thigh.

Paige looked up at the waiter briefly, offered a tight-lipped smile like she hadn’t just whispered something filthy a second ago, and nodded along to his last words.

The moment he walked away, Azzi turned to her with a sigh, trying to act annoyed but failing. “You can’t behave for one second, can you?”

Paige grinned, reaching under the table to trail her fingers up the inside of Azzi’s thigh. “Didn’t hear you ask me to.”

Azzi inhaled sharply, then clamped her legs together, placing a warning hand over Paige’s. “Okay. Finish your wine,” she said with a smile, “before I actually get up and make us leave early.”

Paige chuckled, lifting her glass. “You keep saying that like it’s a threat.”

Azzi’s eyes were still dancing, but Paige could see the shift—how that usual collected edge softened just a little. So she pushed Azzi’s thighs apart, trailing her hand higher. Azzi didn’t move Paige’s hand this time. In fact, she let it stay there, her thigh tense beneath Paige’s palm.

Paige leaned in again, voice low. “You’re shaking.”

Azzi didn’t deny it. Her gaze flicked to Paige’s lips, then up to her eyes, and for a brief second, she looked like she wanted to say something but all that came out was a breathy, “Maybe I’m just cold.”

Paige smirked, brushing her thumb higher against the inside of Azzi’s thigh. “I promise I can warm you up.”

Azzi bit her bottom lip, her breath catching. She turned slightly, shifting to face Paige more directly now, her shoulder pressed into Paige’s chest. “We’re in public baby,” she whispered, the words slipping out softer than she intended. As if the point she was making became less important every time Paige spoke.

Paige leaned her forehead against Azzi’s temple, her lips barely grazing her skin as she murmured, “I told you I don’t care. I only care about you right now.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut for a second like she was giving in to the feeling—then she caught herself and pulled back slightly, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

They stared at each other, the tension between them thick, almost heavy enough to pull them together.

Then, without another word, they both lifted their glasses.

They tipped them back in sync, draining the rest of their wine in silence—Azzi’s throat moving in slow swallows, Paige watching with an appreciative flicker in her gaze.

Paige set her glass down, reached for her wallet, and pulled out a few bills. She tossed them on the table—enough to cover the wine and leave a tip that was more than generous. Then she stood and extended her hand.

Azzi slipped her hand into Paige’s, letting herself be helped up, and with a small smile tugging at her lips, she stepped slightly ahead to lead the way out.

Paige followed, their fingers laced, her eyes shamelessly trailing the way Azzi’s skirt hugged her hips, the way her legs looked in her heels, the sway in her walk just enough to make Paige shake her head to herself. “Unreal,” she muttered under her breath, a small grin curling at the corners of her mouth.

Even distracted, Paige didn’t miss the door. As they reached the exit, she took two quick strides to slip around and pulled the restaurant door open.

Azzi glanced at her, eyes warm with a smile that said she noticed—and appreciated—every little thing Paige did. She stepped past her slowly, squeezing their interlaced hands.

They walked toward the car, the air cooler now, a soft breeze catching Azzi’s curls as they reached the vehicle waiting on the other side of the street. Once again without saying anything Paige moved ahead, opening the back door.

Azzi lets Paige help her in, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary before she drops her hand. Paige closed the door gently behind her before making her way to the other side and sliding in next to her.

The low glow of the car’s interior lights flickered softly at the open door before fading out. Paige felt a subtle wave of relief wash over her when she looked up to see the partition still closed.

She doesn’t even let Azzi reach for her seatbelt. The moment she settles, Paige slides across the leather seat and pulls Azzi closer, one hand on her waist, the other finding the curve of her thigh. There's barely an inch between them now—heat passing back and forth, both of their hearts out of rhythm.

“You look too fucking good, baby,” Paige murmurs, her lips grazing Azzi’s jaw as she speaks.

The way she says it—not just the words, but the desperation in her tone—sends a jolt through Azzi. Her heart spikes, and warmth spreads like wildfire in her stomach. Without thinking, Azzi crosses her legs tightly, trying to settle the ache building in between them. Paige notices, her eyes dropping for the briefest moment.

Her jaw tenses.

She swallows hard.

Because as much as she loves Azzi—loves her deeply, in ways she’s never fully said out loud—none of her current thoughts are gentle. None of them are respectful.

Her hand tightens at Azzi’s waist, but she doesn’t move closer. She just looks at her, blue eyes dark and swirling with everything she wants to do but isn’t sure she should because they’re still not at home.

Azzi noticed the shift in Paige—the way her breath hitched, the sudden tension in her shoulders. But she didn’t back away. Instead, she leaned in and reached up to Paige’s chest. Her fingers found the silver chain resting against her shirt and began to play with it, twisting it gently between her fingers.

Paige couldn’t take her eyes off her.

Azzi’s gaze stayed on hers—like she already knew exactly what Paige was thinking. Like she was openly inviting it but was waiting for Paige to say something.

The silence in the backseat was heavy. Not a word between them, but everything was loud—the way Paige’s heart pounded against her ribs, the way Azzi’s breathing was shallow, the way heat pooled in both of their stomachs. Paige felt like her whole body was on fire, her restraint slipping fast, her thoughts dangerously unchecked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck you this bad, baby,” Paige whispered, her voice rough and broken at the edges.

Azzi didn’t respond. She just smirked, eyes still locked on Paige’s, and gave the chain a gentle tug—pulling her in, closing that last inch of space.

Their lips met like it was inevitable—slow and heated as their tongues traced one another’s mouths. Paige let out a low, involuntary sound from the back of her throat, something caught between a sigh and a moan, her hand sliding up to cup Azzi’s jaw. Her fingers curled beneath her ear, holding her in place like she couldn't bear the thought of any distance between them.

Azzi’s grip on Paige’s chain tightened, knuckles tight as she tugged her closer, their mouths moving together like they’d been waiting for this moment to explode between them. And it did—every brush of their tongues, every pull, was laced with desperation.

Paige tilted her head slightly and bit down on Azzi’s bottom lip—just enough to make her gasp, her breath catching in her throat before melting into a quiet moan that slipped out without permission.

Paige trailed her lips down the side of Azzi’s jaw, hot breath fanning against her skin. Her mouth found the space just below her ear, her tongue flicking and dragging, followed by soft bites that made Azzi’s fingers twitch against her chain. She pressed her lips to every exposed inch she could find, lapping sloppily at her neck before nipping just above her collarbone.

Azzi let her head tilt back, eyes fluttering shut, her chest rising and falling in tandem with Paige’s movements. Her hand was now holding Paige’s head like she wasn’t sure whether to pull her closer or stop her before she lost all composure in the backseat of a moving car.

“P…” Azzi whispered, like maybe she was trying to be the voice of reason—but even her breathy voice didn’t sound convinced. Her body arched toward Paige’s touch, and her fingers pushed into Paige’s hair that was pulled into a bun.

Paige didn’t stop. She just hummed against Azzi’s skin like she was somewhere else entirely, drunk on the taste of her neck, the feel of her, the heat radiating off her body in waves. Her kisses slowed, then paused, lips grazing the curve of Azzi’s neck one last time before she pulled back just enough to look at her.

Azzi’s breath got stuck at the sight.

Paige looked disheveled in the most gorgeous way. Her lips were slightly swollen, a soft blush painting her cheeks, and her blue eyes were dark and glassy—dilated. A strand of her hair had come loose from her bund and fallen across her forehead, messy and untamed in a way that made Azzi’s core pulse.

“Wassup?” Paige asked, she was trying to play it cool, but the desire behind her eyes gave her away.

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to say something, anything—but the words didn’t come. She blinked slowly, lips parting then closing again, her brain blank as she looked at Paige. She didn’t remember why she’d said her name. Didn’t remember why she was supposed to stop this.

All she could focus on was the way Paige was looking at her. The way the alcohol combined with not seeing Paige, being touched by Paige for so long made every inch of her body crave the athlete.

All she could feel was the ache between her legs and the way her heart was pounding. “I…” Azzi started, but then just shook her head with a breathless laugh. “I don’t know. Never mind.”

Paige grinned, leaning in again, close enough to brush the tip of her nose against Azzi’s. “That’s what I thought.”

Azzi didn’t say another word; she just tugged Paige forward by the front of her shirt, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was messier than the first. This one was different—urgent and impatient, like they were trying to make up for every second they’d spent apart over the last week and a half.

Paige groaned into it, her hands gripping Azzi’s waist. Azzi leaned back against the seat, and Paige followed, not caring about the angle.

Azzi’s hands moved without thought, reaching up to undo the bun at the back of Paige’s head. The moment her fingers loosened the bun, Paige’s hair tumbled down around her face. Azzi let out a quiet sound of approval, threading her fingers through the blonde strands.

Still kissing her, Azzi’s hands found the top button of Paige’s shirt and made quick work of it, then the next, and the next. Paige’s breath caught when Azzi’s knuckles brushed against her skin, but she didn’t stop her.

By the time Azzi reached the last button, her fingers were already pushing the fabric off Paige’s shoulders, revealing the warm, flushed skin underneath. Paige shivered at the cold air, but didn’t flinch—just pressed herself closer, hands sliding up Azzi’s back as if to say keep going.

The second Paige’s shirt slipped off completely and pooled somewhere on the floor of the car, her black tank top clinging to the warm curves of her body, she guided Azzi lower against the seat—just enough so Paige could hover over her, lips latching onto the curve of her neck.

Azzi’s head fell back against the leather seat, breath catching as Paige’s mouth moved deliberately, sucking at the sensitive skin.

Her fingers, half-shaking, found the belt loop of Paige’s pants, and she began to undo the buckle, metal softly clinking in the backseat.

Paige’s hand slid up Azzi’s thigh, pushing at her skirt a little bit as she deepened the kiss against her neck, whispering something into her skin that made Azzi bite her lip and arch into Paige, her free hand tangling back in her loosened hair.

Azzi let out a soft sound as Paige sucked just beneath her jaw, the vibrations shooting straight through her. Her hand slipped under the hem of Paige’s tank top, fingertips grazing the warm ab muscles. Paige hummed at this, her hand gripping Azzi’s thigh tighter as she pushed her hips into Azzi.

There was a soft knock against the tinted window.

But neither of them heard it.

Azzi was opening her legs further for Paige now, eyes fluttering shut as she arched into her touch. Paige’s lips moved lower again, leaving another mark she didn’t even bother trying to hide. Her other hand slid in between Azzi’s legs, pushing her skirt up further in an attempt to gain better access.

Knock. Knock. Louder this time.

The sound sliced through the fog surrounding them. They slowly pulled away from one another, eyes dazed, breathing uneven. Paige’s pupils were completely blown, lips swollen from kissing, jaw tight as she looked down at Azzi. Her black tank top was pushed up her chest and her belt hung open at her hips. Azzi’s hair was tousled, her bottom lip glistening where Paige had bitten it, her expression caught between frustration and breathless disbelief.

Neither one of them spoke for a moment.

Then Paige whispered. “We’re at your place.”

Azzi barely nodded.

The second knock on the window still echoed in the back of their minds as they stepped out of the car, not even pretending to pull themselves together, Paige only pulling Azzi’s skirt down before they stepped out. The cool air hit them, but it didn’t help—didn’t cool the heat between them. Paige helped Azzi out first, hand slipping a little too low on her back, and Azzi leaned into her, lips grazing Paige’s neck as she murmured a breathy, distracted, “Thank you, Sam,” to the driver standing outside the vehicle.

Sam gave a polite nod and immediately turned away, pretending not to notice anything.

Paige didn’t even glance at him—her hand was already tangled in Azzi’s, the other wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her close as Azzi nipped at her jaw as they stumbled toward the front door, completely lost in each other.

Paige wrapped herself around Azzi from behind when they reached the door, her arms slipping around her waist, lips finding the slope of her neck. She kissed and nipped at her skin between hushed, breathy whispers that made Azzi’s fingers tremble as she tried to find the key.

“Can't believe I let you wear this out the house…” Paige whispered against her ear.

Azzi shivered, laughing softly under her breath as she fumbled with the lock. “You didn't say anything on the phone this morning when I was getting dressed,” she said, breath hitching as Paige’s teeth grazed her pulse point.

“That was me trying to behave.”

“Not doing a great job now,” Azzi mumbled, finally getting the key in after the third try.

The door clicked open and they practically stumbled inside, still tangled up in each other, neither willing to break contact. Azzi pushed the door shut behind them, but Paige had already spun her around, backing her up against it as their lips met again.

Paige’s hand blindly reached behind her to twist the lock with a soft click, not pulling her eyes from Azzi. The second it was secure, her fingers slid to the buttons of Azzi’s shirt, moving with ease. One after another, they came undone under her touch, and Paige pushed the low V-neck button up off Azzi’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

She started to lean in again—ready to attach her lips to the exposed chest—but paused mid-motion when her eyes dropped.

Red lace.

Paige blinked once, twice, her breath catching as her gaze lingered on the delicate fabric clinging to Azzi’s chest, the bold color looking criminal on her tan skin.

“Jesus christ,” Paige muttered, her brain short-circuiting for a full second. She let her eyes drag back up to Azzi’s face, jaw tight, eyes somehow appearing darker than before. “You wore this on purpose.”

Azzi tilted her head with a slow smirk, saying nothing—but the glint in her eyes said everything. She didn’t even try to speak—just pulled Paige into another desperate kiss, their mouths sliding together. Paige’s hands were everywhere—gripping Azzi’s waist, sliding down her back, tugging her closer as they moved with no coordination toward the stairs, each of them kicking off their shoes. Every step was clumsy, rushed, their breaths ragged and uneven.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned against Azzi’s lips, her voice wrecked. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

Azzi’s knees nearly buckled at the sound of Paige’s voice. Digging her fingers into Paige’s arms to stay stable as Paige’s teeth grazed her neck. “I do. I was hoping you’d see it,” she whispered, just before Paige captured her lips again.

They made it halfway up the stairs before Azzi had to press a hand to the wall to steady herself, laughing breathlessly between kisses. “We’re not gonna make it to my room at this rate.”

Paige shook her head, her lips dragging down Azzi’s throat. “Then move faster, baby. I need you.”

The desperation in her voice lit a fire under Azzi, making her pick up the pace down the hallway, passing the guest rooms until she reached her own at the end. Her hands trembled as she reached for the door handle, Paige still pressed against her back, lips hot against her neck as her hands slid up beneath her skirt.

The second the door clicked open, they stumbled inside. Paige kicked it shut behind them, already tugging at Azzi’s skirt, fingers finding the zipper and dragging it down with deliberate care.

When it slipped off Azzi’s hips, Paige once again froze—her breath catching in her throat.

Because if the red lace bra had stunned her before, what it was matched to made her mind go completely blank. Matching red lace, delicate and sheer, hugged Azzi’s hips—attached with a small, garter belt clipped high up her thigh so Paige couldn’t feel it earlier. It made Paige forget where they were, who she was, and how to speak entirely.

“Holy… shit,” she breathed, eyes locked on Azzi like she was something out of a dream she’d been afraid to ask for.

Azzi smirked despite how hard her chest was rising and falling. “You going to just stare, P…or do something about it?”

Paige’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, but she still didn’t move. It was like she physically couldn’t. Her eyes were devouring Azzi—tracing every single inch. The way her dark, hazy brown eyes burned. The fullness of her lips. Her curly hair messily flipped to one side. The curve of her chest. Her body, perfectly hugged by the lace that left very little to the imagination. Paige’s mouth parted slightly, like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Just air. Just awe.

Azzi tilted her head, watching her watch her. She let Paige soak it all in, just for a second longer—relishing the way her presence alone had Paige stuck. Then slowly, she stepped forward and reached out, fingers slipping into the front of Paige’s waistband as she tugged her gently toward the bed.

Paige followed, almost dazed, her movements slow, breath shallow. When they reached the edge of the mattress, Azzi flipped their positions with ease—guiding Paige backwards before giving her a light push that had her sitting down, legs spreading slightly on instinct as Azzi climbed on top of her.

Paige’s hands instantly found her thighs, gripping them as her eyes flicked up. “You tryna kill me tonight or some?” she murmured.

Azzi leaned in, lips just brushing Paige’s ear. “Not kill you,” she whispered. “Just work you up a little.”

Paige swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room, her throat bobbing as she looked up at Azzi. Her hands moved up to grip Azzi’s hips tighter. “Fuck, baby you’re so–shit I don’t even know” she whispered, voice unstable.

Azzi smiled down at her, leaning in closer. “Shh,” she breathed, lips ghosting over the shell of Paige’s ear. “Just sit there and be quiet, P.”

Before Paige could even think of replying, Azzi’s mouth was on her neck—soft, then biting, then soft again—her tongue trailing across every inch of skin she could reach. Paige’s head tilted back with a low gasp, her fingers flexing against Azzi’s sides as her body reacted to each kiss.

Azzi’s hands moved with slow, confident purpose, slipping down to the hem of Paige’s black tank. Her fingers slid beneath it, pushing the fabric up until the tight muscle of Paige’s abdomen was exposed. Paige’s breath hitched, her stomach tightening under Azzi’s touch as her whole body seemed to vibrate under her.

Azzi pulled back just enough to look down at her, breath fanning across Paige’s skin. “You’re so fucking sexy,” she whispered, fingers tracing the subtle dip between Paige’s ribs.

Paige let out a breathy groan when Azzi suddenly bit down on the curve of her neck, a little harsher this time, like she was claiming her. Paige’s hips lifted instinctively, her body aching for more. She tried to use that leverage to flip them, her hands pressing to Azzi’s waist.

But Azzi caught them. She grabbed both of Paige’s wrists and laced their fingers together, pushing them gently but firmly above Paige’s head, pinning them to the mattress as her thighs tightened around Paige’s hips.

Paige’s breath caught, her eyes burning into Azzi’s. “Why you tryna tease me? You know how much I want you.”

Azzi leaned in close, her nose brushing Paige’s. “I’m trying to help but I need you to stay still for me, baby.”

Paige nodded, breath shaky. But Azzi still didn’t let go of her wrists—one hand stayed firmly above Paige’s head, anchoring her in place.

Then Azzi started moving again.

Her lips trailed down Paige’s neck, teeth grazing just enough to make Paige gasp. She left a mark just below her collarbone, then another right along the neckline of the bunched up tank top.

“God, I love those,” Paige murmured, her voice a whisper of need. Her head tilted back slightly, eyes fluttering every time she felt Azzi suck at her skin.

Azzi didn’t answer. Her mouth continued its descent, soft kisses and sharp nips scattered down Paige’s torso. Paige’s abs tensed beneath her each time, breath catching when Azzi licked a slow stripe right under her ribs.

Azzi finally reached Paige’s waistband, her free hand playing lightly with the open belt and fabric of her pants. But instead of moving further, her dark eyes flicked up. Paige was already watching her, mouth parted, chest rising and falling like she’d run a mile.

Azzi smirked then leaned forward and licked a slow path back up Paige’s stomach, her tongue warm and wet, never breaking eye contact.

Paige’s eyes fluttered, struggling to hold the gaze, completely unraveled by the sight of Azzi crawling up her like that.

“F—fuck,” Paige mumbled, the word barely formed. “What the hell you doing to me, baby?”

Azzi just hummed at the sound of her voice, the vibrations low in her throat as she shifted slightly helping Paige pull her tank top and sports bra over her head, discarding them somewhere off the side of the bed.

The sight of Paige—bare skin flushed, taut muscles flexing slightly with every shaky breath, her chest rising and falling like she was barely holding it together—lit something deeper in Azzi. Her mouth parted slightly as her gaze traced over every inch of her.

Then Azzi was back on her—her fingers working quickly at the button of Paige’s jeans, dragging them open and tugging them down her legs to reveal the boxers underneath.

Azzi bit her bottom lip as she took Paige in. “You’re unreal,” she whispered, almost like she was saying it to herself as she traced the hem of the boxers.

Paige’s hips lifted slightly in response, silently asking for more, but her eyes didn’t leave Azzi’s body. “You—fuck, Azzi. You’re so perfect,” she murmured, gaze still caught on the red lace hugging Azzi’s frame like it was made just for her. “Look so good with your lace on baby.”

Azzi chuckled. “Yeah?” she teased, brushing her fingers along Paige’s side as she moved back up her torso. “Then maybe I’ll keep it on a little longer for you.”

Azzi leaned back down, capturing her mouth in another kiss. Azzi pushed herself into Paige’s stomach as they kissed, her body rolling into the contact, needing it just as much.

When Paige felt it—felt just how much Azzi wanted her, how wet Azzi was for her—she gasped against her lips and whispered, “Jesus Christ, baby. I haven’t even touched you.”

Paige’s head tipped back for just a second, her eyes fluttering shut as she tried to get her breath under control. But Azzi didn’t let up—not with her lips, not with her hands, not with the way her body moved just enough against Paige’s abs to drive her crazy and relieve some of the pressure in her own stomach.

“Azzi…” Paige whispered, her voice fraying at the edges. She moved her hands from above her head, placing them on Azzi’s hips and guiding her into a slow, grinding rhythm—helping her push harder, like she was trying to take control of the moment as Azzi’s wetness started to spread across her stomach.

Azzi let her have it for a beat or two, her lips curving into a smile as she watched Paige’s brows furrow, her jaw tighten, her chest rising fast beneath her. She liked the way Paige moved—needy, focused, just on the edge of losing it.

But then Paige tried to sit up again when Azzi let a moan slip out, once again trying to flip their position.

Azzi pressed both hands to Paige’s shoulders and shoved her right back down against the mattress. “I thought I told you to stop moving. Are you that desperate for me baby?”

Paige didn’t even bother to deny it. Her fingers dug deeper into Azzi’s waist, pulling her down harder against her as she whispered, “Of course I am. I can’t help it—you feel too good.”

Azzi’s lips twitched in a slow smirk. “I know I do,” and just like that, she rolled her hips down harder, biting at her lip, drawing a deep, broken sound from Paige’s throat.

Azzi leaned in, lips brushing the corner of Paige’s mouth. “Now be good, and let me take care of you.”

Paige nods as Azzi slowly starts kissing down her body again.

Azzi’s fingers grabbed the material of Paige’s boxers only tugging slightly before pressing her mouth to Paige's clothed center, feeling how wet Paige was through it.

Azzi let out a hum at this, kissing Paige’s center one more time before kissing back up to Paige's stomach.

Paige tenses her jaw at the teasing as she squirms a little before saying, "I swear Imma fuck you through this mattress when you’re done."

Azzi chuckles at this, clearly not taking Paige seriously as she moves back down attaching her lips to Paige’s thigh. She leaves a few soft kisses before sucking dark marks on the pale skin. Looking up at Paige to see her head tipped back and her lip between her teeth.

"Baby let me hear you." Azzi whispers, completely still until Paige follows directions.

Paige lets go of her lip mumbling out, “Shit m’sorry mama.”

At this apology Azzi finally moves to take off Paige’s boxers. Paige lifting her hips immediately to make the process easier as Azzi discards them without looking away from Paige, the sight causing her to nearly fall apart.

Paige was so soaked, the center of her body completely slick and pooling onto the sheets. The sight mixed with Paige laying completely bare in front of her, bright marks fanned all over the woman’s skin had Azzi’s mouth watering.

Azzi moved to adjust herself between Paige’s legs trailing her fingers in between Paige’s folds, slowly spreading her apart.

Paige's breath hitches when Azzi blows into her, the wetness mixed with the cool air causing her stomach to flutter. She pushes her hand into Azzi’s head. "Baby please-" she starts but she doesn’t get very far. The words falling off her lips when Azzi licks up her slit.

Azzi’s tongue begins to move slowly but expertly against Paige, causing quiet moans to slip past the blonde's lips.

Once Azzi finds a nice rhythm she takes Paige completely into her mouth, using her tongue to part Paige's folds and push into her with her tongue.

"Oh shit, baby." Paige whispers. Her legs already shaking slightly around Azzi’s head. "You feel so fucking good pretty."

Azzi digs her nails lightly into Paige’s skin, leaving marks on her thighs as Paige’s head falls back against the pillow mumbling something incoherent about not being able to last long.

This causes Azzi to look up, whispering “S’ok baby you’re doing so good for me I promise." Then she’s reattaching her lips to Paige’s center leaning her head on Paige’s thigh as she finds her rhythm again.

Paige is in complete awe as she looks down at Azzi for a few minutes, seeing her long curly hair, the red lingerie, the way Azzi is completely wrapped up in her. “You’re so beautiful Azzi baby. Swear you’re doing so good.”

A strangled moan falls from Paige’s mouth when Azzi pushes her tongue further into her, pushing at her walls in acknowledgement.

Azzi feels Paige’s legs begin to tighten and wanting to add to the sensation Azzi adjusts slightly before easing two of her fingers into Paige, working her fingers into her slowly as she continues to lick at her clit.

Paige’s hand pushes Azzi’s head down forcing her closer at the added feeling. "Shit Az…shit, I’m close baby."

Paige’s moans are music to Azzi’s ears as she pushes further into her girlfriend, Paige’s arousal making it effortless to work into her.

Azzi hums as she pulls her lips from Paige for a second mumbling, “I know love. Lemme have it baby,” before she attaches right back to Paige’s clit.

Paige nods at Azzi’s words, her legs starting to tremble. It only takes Azzi curling her fingers a few more times before Paige is gasping, her back arching up from the mattress. "Oh shit—baby I…shit m'cumming baby-” a loud moan and a slew of Azzi’s name rolling off her tongue cuts Paige off before she can finish her sentence.

Her hands tighten in Azzi’s long hair, tugging and pushing as she grinds against her to ride out her orgasm. Before she pushes Azzi's mouth away from her sensitive clit.

As Azzi slides her fingers out of Paige she’s still attempting to gather herself, her chest rising and following as she stares up at the ceiling.

Azzi climbs up her body, straddling her waist as Paige’s eyes find her. Paige’s eyes are completely glazed over and when Azzi sucks her own fingers into her mouth, eyes rolling back at the taste of her girlfriend Paige considers proposing right then and there. Willing to give up every cent to her name to have Azzi forever.

Paige exhales before she’s sitting up to roll them over, hovering over Azzi. "You're so perfect," she mumbles before connecting their lips, humming at the taste of herself on Azzi’s lips before she’s trailing her mouth down Azzi’s neck.

Azzi tugs at Paige’s hair, making her look up at her as she mumbles a little embarrassingly, “I can’t wait, baby,” her eyes flicking between Paige’s lips and eyes.

Paige’s mouth curls into a smirk. “You need it that bad?” she whispers, dragging her lips along Azzi’s jaw.

Azzi nods—her body already moving beneath Paige’s like she’s chasing contact. All that dominance she’d held moments ago flickering now, replaced with her desire to be

touched after so long.

Paige hums as she moves down Azzi’s body, eyes trailing to the dark spot on the red lace.

Under the guise of Azzi’s impatience but really just missing this herself Paige takes Azzi into her mouth for a moment, groaning at the taste despite the barrier between them causing Azzi to let out a small whimper at the vibration.

Paige begins to undo the lace pulling it down Azzi’s long legs. Once the lace is discarded Azzi doesn’t even have a moment before Paige is licking at her center completely losing herself in the taste of Azzi a little selfishly.

Azzi lets out a loud moan when Paige’s tongue pushes into her. “Oh fuck yes—Just like that baby, gimme more." She’s already pushing herself further into Paige’s mouth and the blonde easily takes the invitation, pulling Azzi forward as she lifts one of her calves over her shoulder.

"Swear I love how you taste baby." Paige whispers, her tongue tracing Azzi’s most sensitive spot, perfectly blue eyes locked on brown.

Azzi only hummed at Paige’s words using the leverage of her leg and her hands tangled in Paige’s hair to guide the blonde exactly where she wanted her. Somehow pushing Paige’s tongue deeper than it already was.

"You’re so so good love…but please I need more…please—need you to make me cum, baby." Azzi begged, thankful they were alone at her house instead of Paige’s.

Paige sat up, pulling herself from Azzi’s center peppering a few kisses as she did. Paige licked her lips clean as she reached over to Azzi’s bedside drawer grabbing the harness and strap. She gives Azzi a peck whispering, “You so impatient mama,” before sitting up so she can adjust the harness properly.

When she’s done she looks down at Azzi brushing her thumb gently across her bottom lip, wiping away the wetness left from their kiss. “You need my fingers first baby?” Paige already knows the answer. She can see it in the way Azzi’s hips are searching for any form of contact, the way her chest is still rapidly rising and falling despite Paige not touching her. Azzi’s past needing anything gentle. Still, Paige asks—because she always will.

Azzi shakes her head quickly, whispering out, “No baby.”

A pleased hum vibrates in Paige’s throat. She dips down, her lips ghosting along Azzi’s cheek giving her a gentle kiss before moving toward her ear. “I love you,” Paige whispers, before her tone dips slightly. “But I’m about to slut you out for talkin so much shit earlier, mama.”

For a moment, Azzi just blinks up at Paige, biting her lip, a little dazed at the thought, despite her usual preference for slower sex—then she nods.

Paige looks down, running the straps through Azzi’s folds a few times before she easies into her. She starts off slowly, giving Azzi time to adjust to the length with a few shallow thrusts. But then Azzi lets out a heavenly sound next to Paige’s ear, squeezing at her lower back.

The sensations go straight to Paige’s core and she speeds up her movements, looking down at the way Azzi is taking her in—completely in love with what she was seeing. She shook her head whispering, “Fuck you already taking it so well baby…can’t believe it.”

Azzi moaned out, “Feels so good that’s why,” pulling at Paige’s back in attempt to somehow bring her closer.

Realizing this Paige leaned in closer, sucking at Azzi’s neck as she moved her forearms to rest around Azzi’s head, caging her in.

Azzi whimpers at the closeness moving her arms to wrap around Paige’s neck.

Paige slows down her thrusts, rolling into Azzi harder at a deeper angle causing Azzi’s brown eyes to roll back. “Fuck baby you’re so deep…feels good.” Paige tightens her jaw as she feels the harness pushing into her already sensitive bud mumbling something before she’s pulling out of Azzi.

The brown-eyed girl protests this, her hips and hands chasing after Paige.

“Relax mama, I just gotta taste you again. Been too long, Imma get you right I promise.” Paige slides down Azzi’s body, hooking her legs with her arms holding her in place before she’s lapping at her again, finding a nice rhythm.

Paige hums into Azzi’s center as Azzi pushes her hips into Paige’s mouth. Matching each flick of Paige’s tongue with her own movements for a few minutes in complete bliss.

"Yes—yes just like that baby. I’m so close.”Azzi moaned, her legs starting to shake around Paige’s head.

Paige shook her head no mumbling, “Not yet sweetheart. Just started.” She held Azzi’s writhing hips down and pushed her tongue deeper causing Azzi to cry out. Paige’s name rolls off her tongue as her legs tighten around the blonde's head who continues to lap at Azzi like nothing is happening.

Then almost simultaneously another orgasm is rolling out of Azzi immediately and everything is too much. Her ears are ringing and her heartbeat is echoing through her entire body as she scrambles to push Paige’s head away.

Paige sits up, the entirety of her lower face wet as she grins at Azzi. She shifts up, her body hovering over Azzi's. Her lips brushed against Azzi's as she spoke, "You wanna taste, mama?"

Azzi nods before Paige can even finish speaking, her eyes glassy, lips parted in a silent plea. She looked completely fucked already-hair messy, chest rising and falling unevenly, a dazed look clouding her features that made Paige's stomach twist.

Paige cupped Azzi's jaw gently, her thumb brushing over her bottom lip before she pressed down slightly, coaxing her mouth open. "Open up for me, beautiful," she whispered. Azzi obeyed, her lips parting just as Paige leaned in closer. With her eyes locked on Azzi's, a trail of spit slipped from Paige's mouth and landed on Azzi's waiting tongue.

The second it hit, Azzi inhaled, her body arching into Paige’s as warmth rushed through her. Paige watched her reaction with hooded eyes, licking her lips as she whispered, "Good girl."

Paige shifted to the other side of the large mattress, her back pressing against the headboard as she sat up. She patted her thigh lightly, “C’mere.”

Azzi, still in that soft, hazy daze, moved without a word. Her body reacted before her brain could catch up, and she crawled over slowly, straddling Paige with an ease that made Paige's jaw tighten.

As Azzi settled into her lap, her arms looped around Paige’s shoulders and Paige let her hands glide over Azzi’s hips. Looking up at her like she was something unreal, something divine. Paige dragged her lips up Azzi’s jaw, whispering, “You look so fucked out already, and I haven’t even fucked you the way I want to yet.”

Azzi whimpered softly at that, burying her face in Paige’s neck for a moment as her fingers tightened slightly against her shoulders.

Paige just smirked, hands smoothing up Azzi’s back, feeling the warmth of her skin as she waited for Azzi to be ready.

Azzi lifts slightly, using Paige’s shoulders for support as she eases onto the strap, her eyes fluttering closed as she settles onto it. She spends a minute trying to set a rhythm, moving up and down as she's always done but her legs are already trembling every time she sinks back down on it and her movements are faltering.

Paige shakes her head whispering, "Know you can ride it better than that baby don’t play with me,” knowing it’ll spur Azzi on.

Right on cue Azzi tightens her jaw, pushing the sensitivity aside and her hips rise and fall at a quicker pace, her moans filling the room as she pushes her face into Paige’s neck, kissing and sucking at the pale skin.

"Mhmm. Shit baby—Yeah. Ride it just like that." Paige moans, her hands guiding Azzi’s hips.

Paige reaches behind Azzi, undoing the lace bra and throwing it to the side as she latches her mouth to Azzi’s chest. The combination of Paige’s mouth and the tip of the strap pushing into Azzi perfectly has her completely at a loss. No sounds falling out of her slack jaw.

Paige smirks up at her "You like that shit baby?"

Azzi nods frantically as she speeds up her movements. "Fuck yes baby. Love that. Love you.”

Paige begins to meet Azzi’s hips halfway, the entire length of the strap sliding in and out of her each time causing Azzi to let out a loud moan. "Shit oh my god—so…so—big baby, shit!" Azzi’s eyes rolled back at the feeling.

Each bounce and roll of Azzi’s hips pushed the harness into Paige. The blonde's hands tightening on Azzi’s ass as she struggles to find her own control. Her jaw tight as she watched Azzi bounce perfectly on top of her.

The band in Azzi’s stomach was unbearably tight and the burning feeling in her thighs was starting to be too much but she pushed through because of how much she could tell Paige was enjoying it.

Attempting to get Paige as close as she was, Azzi's hand moved to Paige’s neck squeezing it very slightly, nails digging into the skin as she pushed herself harder into Paige’s hips.

For a moment the only sounds in the room was their heavy breathing and the headboard hitting the wall as they worked into each other. Neither wanting to be the one who fell apart first.

"Shit baby—you’re doing so good for me. Just like that, need it just like that baby." Paige moaned out, squeezing at Azzi’s ass. She removes one of her hands, wetting it with her own spit before she’s rubbing at Azzi’s center, both of them keeping the frantic rhythm of their hips.

The sex they’re having is uncharacteristically loud. Both of them are complete messes as they attempt to get one another off.

“Yes right there—“ Azzi moans out as Paige pushes into her at a relentless pace, meeting Azzi every single time.

"Fuck, Azzi." Paige responds her legs starting to shake. "Shit—cum for me mama, l'm right there. Need you so bad baby."

Before either of them can say anything else they’re both seeing stars. The pressure too much to handle as they fall apart together, the orgasms rushing through them without their permission.

Azzi feels like she’s about to pass out and Paige is breathing heavily under her. Yet somehow Paige has the energy to pull out and put Azzi on her stomach, lifting the girl's hips into an arch exactly how she wants it.

Azzi hasn’t even come down from her last orgasm before Paige is pushing back into her. She can’t do anything but arch further into Paige, biting at her lip painfully hard as she grabs at the sheets for support.

Paige looks down at Azzi’s dripping center, thrusting in and out of her slowly, shaking her head in complete disbelief at the sight. She reaches forward wrapping Azzi’s curly hair into her hand gently before tugging it back to get a better view. Paige was completely drunk off of the sight of Azzi. The arch of her back, her fucked out expression on her face, her wetness dripping onto the sheets each time Paige pushed into her.

She smirks when she sees Azzi’s mouth open and close. Words completely lost on the girl. “Fucking you so good you can’t even talk to me huh baby.” Azzi nods and Paige somehow pushes deeper into her causing Azzi to let out a scream, tears building at the corners of her eyes.

“Feels so..so— fuck feels so good, baby." Azzi hiccups, her brain a complete mess.

Paige tugs Azzi back further, her back now pressed to Paige’s chest. She tilts Azzi’s jaw up towards the mirror on the ceiling that she’d gotten installed after an offhand comment Paige made. Paige whispers near her ear, “Open your eyes for me baby.”

Azzi’s eyes open slowly, her brown eyes hooded as she takes in the sight of the two of them. Paige wraps her hand around Azzi’s throat as she makes eye contact with Azzi in the mirror mumbling, “I’m so in love with you baby.”

Azzi nods, the rise and fall of her chest becoming erratic as she breathily says, “I—I love you too.”

“This my shit forever ok pretty?”

Azzi nods again.

Paige shakes her head, their eye contact in the mirror never breaking as Paige works into her faster. “You gotta say it for me. Use your words and tell me it’s mine forever baby.”

“I’m yours! Fuck it’s all yours baby—forever I promise,” Azzi cries out her body starting to tremble again.

“Finish for me then sweetheart. Wanna look at you while you cum for me.”

The words turn Azzi into mush as she screams Paige’s name as she finishes, a few tears falling down her cheeks. She collapses onto the bed, body still shaking as Paige follows her down to help ride it out.

But Azzi is so spent, so sensitive that she’s reaching back frantically, pushing Paige out of her. “Stop..stop baby. I can’t.” Paige immediately pulling out after hearing Azzi’s words.

Paige removes the harness, letting it fall to the side before she pulls Azzi into her arms carefully, guiding Azzi back against her chest. Azzi's body was still trembling, the aftershocks running through her.

Paige held her from behind as she pressed kisses to the bare skin of her back. The room quiet except for the sound of their breathing.

Every few seconds, Azzi’s legs trembled, and each time, Paige pulled her tighter. Her thumb brushing soothing circles over Azzi’s collarbone whispering I love you’s.

After a few minutes Paige glances down at Azzi—lips parted slightly, brows relaxed, completely lost to sleep. A small chuckle escaped Paige’s lips as she slowly untangled herself from Azzi and made her way to the bathroom. She grabbed a clean towel, soaked it with warm water, then wrung it out until it was just damp. Returning to the room, Paige kneels gently on the bed, taking her time as she wipes at Azzi’s thighs and legs knowing she’ll complain about sticky legs in the morning.

Once she finished, she padded back to the bathroom to rinse the towel and placed it on the sink to dry. On her way out, she spotted Azzi’s bonnet on the counter so she grabbed it before she walked back toward the bed. Taking a small moment to watch Azzi’s chest rise and fall in rhythm with her breathing—peacefully—safe. Paige swallows, pushing down the thought she’s having knowing it’s way too soon for that.

She climbs back into bed slowly, bonnet in hand, reaching to gently gather Azzi’s curls, doing her best not to wake her as she gathered them before settling the bonnet carefully on her head.

“Goodnight beautiful,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s temple before pulling the covers over both of them and wrapping her arms around her again. Azzi’s body naturally rolling onto Paige’s chest.

…

In the middle of the night Paige stirred faintly at the feeling of something warm and soft against her neck. At first, her tired brain thought it might’ve been the brush of sheets or her own hair. But then there was a kiss. And another. Slower this time—bare lips trailing a line down her throat, pausing at her collarbone.

She blinked groggily, adjusting to the faint moonlight still lingering in the room. Azzi’s face was tucked close, her lips dragging gently across Paige’s skin, her breathing slightly uneven.

Paige squinted, voice hoarse with sleep. “Az?”

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, just pulled herself closer, her hand smoothing over Paige’s stomach. Her lips ghosted up to Paige’s jaw as she finally whispered, “I want more baby.”

There was a beat of silence as Paige processed the words. For a second, she just blinked at the ceiling, still half-caught between dreaming and being awake—until the words clicked into place and Azzi’s lips found her neck again, warmer now, a little needier.

A sleepy laugh formed low in Paige’s throat as her arm wrapped around Azzi’s waist. “You don’t even gotta ask,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of Azzi’s ear. “Ever.”

She rolled over slowly, pressing Azzi into the mattress with a soft exhale, gazing down at her, sleepy hooded eyes full of want.

Inwardly, Paige grinned to herself, heart pounding a little faster—not just from the automatic desire she always felt for the woman under her, but from the way Azzi looked at her like she hadn’t been touched in weeks even though just a few hours ago tears were coming out of her eyes. I created a monster, Paige thought, chuckling at her own thoughts.

Azzi gave her a small grin, eyes flickering between Paige’s lips and her eyes. “You sure you’re not too tired?”

Paige leaned in, kissing her slowly. “For you?” she whispered against her mouth. “Never.”

And just like that, they lost themselves in each other all over again, letting the night bleed into morning—neither of them noticing when the moon disappeared and sunlight began to stretch across the room.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which the rookie surprises you in the best way possible

you’ve been with the dallas wings for two seasons now. long enough to know the routines, the playbook, the best locker room snacks, and exactly which assistant coach will let you skate out of conditioning drills with a good enough joke.

but even with your experience, something about this season feels different.

maybe it’s the buzz of new energy. or maybe it’s the woman walking into the gym with a quiet kind of confidence that makes the air feel charged.

paige bueckers.

you’ve watched her tear it up at uconn, followed the hype, seen the interviews, but none of that compares to seeing her now—hair tied back in a clean ponytail, wings practice jersey loose on her tall frame, eyes scanning the court like she’s already ten steps ahead.

you try to play it cool, keep your focus during shooting drills, but your eyes keep drifting. and the second she catches you looking, she walks over, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"didn’t mean to interrupt your rhythm," she says smoothly, tossing her duffel down. "but if you keep staring, i’m gonna have to ask you to take me out to dinner first."

you blink. “i—what?”

she laughs, low and easy, extending her hand. “paige. i figured i should introduce myself before i start giving you a hard time.”

you take her hand. firm grip. warm. confident without trying too hard. "i know who you are, rookie."

she grins. “and you are…?”

“y/n,” you say, still holding her hand maybe a beat too long. “wings. year three.”

“i’m playin’, everyone knows who y/n is,” she says, a teasing smile forms on her lips, “hope you’re ready to share the spotlight.”

you raise an eyebrow. “hope you’re ready to earn it.”

her eyes glint, playful. “challenge accepted.”

the first practice is intense. paige is quick—faster than you expected—and has a way of reading plays before they unfold. you’re not sure what impresses you more: her court vision or the way she instinctively moves with the team, like she’s been there for years.

by the end, you’re dripping sweat, sore, but energized in a way you haven’t felt in a while.

as you sip from your water bottle, she strolls over again, towel slung around her neck.

“you always this competitive?” she asks, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours.

“only when i’m trying to impress someone.”

she raises a brow, amused. “you trying to impress me, y/n?”

you grin. “did it work?”

her smile softens. “yeah. a little too well.”

you swallow hard, then try to recover with a smirk. “so what’s a girl gotta do to convince you dallas isn’t all bad?”

“show me the good parts,” she says simply. “you offering?”

you nod. “pick you up at seven.”

that night, you take her to your favorite late-night taco stand just outside deep ellum. nothing fancy—just good food, neon lights, and a truck with paint chipping off the side. she’s wearing a hoodie and leggings, no makeup, hair still damp from a post-practice shower.

but somehow, she looks better than anyone has a right to.

“i’m trusting you,” she says, eyeing the menu. “you don’t steer me wrong.”

you grin. “bold to assume i have good taste.”

she leans on the counter, glancing sideways at you. “you play like someone who does.”

that makes your stomach do a flip.

she takes a bite of her taco, groans softly, and closes her eyes. “okay, you win. this is the best thing i’ve eaten in a month.”

you laugh. “told you. dallas has its gems.”

“and apparently, one of them plays for the wings.”

you turn your head slowly. “did you just call me a gem?”

she shrugs, totally casual. “i call it like i see it.”

you realize then that she isn’t just charming—she’s disarming. the kind of person who can say the simplest thing and still make your heart stutter.

over the next few weeks, you become inseparable.

paige quickly becomes the team favorite—her blend of humility, humor, and fierce competitiveness winning everyone over. but the bond you two build feels different. special. you’re not just teammates—you’re partners in something neither of you has the guts to name yet.

she starts bringing you coffee before practice—always your exact order, right down to the extra cinnamon sprinkle. you take her to your favorite little bookstore, the park where you run on off-days, the jazz bar your dad introduced you to on your rookie season.

she listens. she asks questions. she holds doors, pulls out chairs, and always makes sure she walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic.

a gentlewoman in every sense.

you’re hopeless.

one night, you're sitting in her car after a team dinner. neither of you wants to go inside just yet. the radio hums softly in the background—something slow and acoustic—and your hands are dangerously close on the center console.

“i ever tell you how easy you make this all feel?” she says, staring straight ahead.

you glance over. “easy?”

“yeah,” she says, turning toward you. “being here. adjusting. playing. i was nervous, y/n. like, stupid nervous.”

you smile softly. “you didn’t show it.”

“i was hiding behind sarcasm and smoothies,” she admits. “but then you showed up and gave me tacos and basketball and books and… i don’t know. you made dallas feel like home.”

the air shifts.

“i like you,” she adds, voice quiet but sure. “not just as a teammate. not just because you’re hot when you hit a step-back three.”

you laugh, your heart racing.

“i like you too,” you say. “like… really like you.”

she doesn’t hesitate—leans in, kisses you softly, like it’s something she’s been wanting to do forever but needed permission.

you melt.

she pulls back, just enough to whisper, “can i take you out properly this weekend? no tacos. real date.”

you smile, breathless. “i’d love that.”

your first real date is sweet. simple. a cozy little dinner spot downtown, fairy lights strung across the patio, live music playing softly in the background. paige is a perfect gentleman—opens every door, pulls out your chair, brushes her thumb against your knuckles when she holds your hand across the table.

“you clean up nice,” you tease.

she smiles, lifting her glass. “only for you.”

you swear your face stays flushed the whole night.

eventually, everyone finds out. you’re holding hands at a team event, and a photo leaks. social media explodes.

the next day, she texts you:

paige: guess we’re official-official now.

you: was I ever unofficial?

she sends a selfie, pouting. rude.

when the season kicks off, things change—but only in the best ways. 

you’re not just teammates, not just friends. you’re girlfriends, and everyone knows it. you show up together. practice together. laugh together. you kiss her good luck before games, and she kisses you after wins.

and every night, when you curl into her side, the city lights outside your window glowing softly, she pulls you close and whispers something sweet—something gentle, thoughtful, loving.

and every time, you think:

yeah. she’s it.

she’s the one.

[joaeriz]

you should write uconn!azzi surprising wnba!paige after one of her games!

📎 you always find me

🏷 pairing: azzi fudd x paige bueckers (uconn!azzi / wnba!paige)

📝 summary: after weeks apart, azzi surprises paige after one of her games — and reminds her what home really feels like.

⚠️ warnings: heavy fluff, minor angst (loneliness mentions), kissing, sleep cuddles, domestic softness, food mentions, extreme sapphiness, general yearning vibes (THE MOST FLUFFIEST FLUFF EVER)

📎 word count: ~1.4K

🧸 author’s note: hi anon! i love u for this req. this one made me so emotional to write because i love the thought of azzi being the kind of person who would fly across the country just to make sure paige feels loved 🥺😭 this is just full of hugs, soft kisses, and them being each other’s safe place. pls let me know if you liked it!!! my inbox is always open for screaming about them 💌💌

The late March air outside the Dallas arena was heavy and warm, the city humming under a velvet sky. Inside, the stadium buzzed with fading energy, fans lingering by the court to get one last glimpse of the night's stars.

Paige Bueckers barely registered any of it.

The game was a blur behind her — the points, the assists, even the standing ovation she got after a no-look pass that made the highlight reel. She smiled, she waved, she answered reporters’ questions like she was supposed to. It was automatic now — a mask she slipped on and off depending on who was watching.

But inside, she was lonely.

Bone-deep lonely.

The kind that made her chest feel hollow no matter how loud the crowd screamed her name.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her life — the WNBA had always been the dream. She loved the grind, the speed, the stage of it all. She loved her team, her coaches, the fans. She even loved Dallas, most days.

But none of it was enough when she went home at night to a cold, empty apartment.

Home.

That word barely meant anything without Azzi.

God, she missed her.

She missed her laugh, the one that bubbled up from her chest and made Paige feel weightless. She missed the smell of her shampoo. She missed the way Azzi would curl into her side, stealing all the covers, mumbling nonsense in her sleep.

She missed having someone to come home to.

And tonight, after another long game, another exhausting performance, she felt the ache sharper than ever.

Paige trudged off the court, towel slung around her neck, ignoring the lingering flashes of cameras. She just wanted to shower, crawl into bed, and maybe FaceTime Azzi until she passed out.

She wasn’t ready for what was waiting just around the corner.

Paige slowed instinctively as she rounded the hallway into the players' tunnel. Something — she didn’t know what — made her glance up.

And froze.

There, leaning against the wall in her beat-up sneakers and her UConn hoodie, clutching a bouquet of half-crushed sunflowers, was Azzi Fudd.

Paige’s brain short-circuited.

It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real.

Azzi.

Her Azzi.

Her best friend, her favorite person, the girl who still showed up in every one of Paige's dreams no matter how far apart they were.

Azzi’s eyes found hers across the distance — wide, shining, nervous — and for a second, neither of them moved.

Paige’s heart slammed against her ribs, wild and desperate.

And then she ran.

The gym bag hit the ground with a heavy thud as she sprinted across the hallway, crashing into Azzi with so much force that the flowers went flying.

Azzi let out a soft "oof," but she caught her easily, wrapping her arms around Paige like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Paige buried her face in the curve of Azzi’s neck, breathing her in — warm skin, vanilla shampoo, the faintest trace of airplane air. It was so Azzi it hurt.

"I thought I was dreaming," Paige whispered, voice breaking.

Azzi laughed, shaky and close to tears. "I’m really here."

Paige pulled back enough to see her face — flushed cheeks, shining eyes, that perfect crooked smile.

She cupped Azzi’s cheeks in her hands, thumbing away a tear she didn’t realize she was crying. "You didn’t tell me."

Azzi shrugged, ducking her head, suddenly shy. "I wanted to surprise you. We got a break after the tournament, so... I booked a flight. Almost missed my connection. The Uber driver almost killed me on the freeway. But—" She smiled, tilting her head. "Worth it."

Paige laughed wetly, the sound half-sob, half-joy. She shook her head, overwhelmed, and leaned in.

Their kiss was slow and tender, a thousand I-missed-yous poured into a single touch. Azzi melted into her like she always did, like they were two pieces of the same whole finally slotting back together.

Around them, the stadium noise faded into a distant hum. It was just them. It had always been just them.

They barely made it back to Paige’s car, hands tangled together like lifelines.

The drive to her apartment was a series of stolen glances and half-finished sentences. Paige kept reaching over to brush her fingers against Azzi’s thigh, like she couldn’t bear not touching her.

Azzi was still in her travel clothes — oversized hoodie, leggings, hair messily knotted — and Paige thought she looked like the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

"You’re really here," Paige whispered again at a red light.

Azzi smiled at her, sleepy and radiant. "I’m really here."

Paige wanted to cry all over again.

Inside the apartment, Paige dropped everything at the door.

Azzi wandered through the small space, taking it all in — the framed photos of Paige’s first WNBA season, the pair of sneakers abandoned by the couch, the lone sunflower stuck into a water glass on the kitchen counter.

Paige stood in the doorway, watching her nervously.

"It’s not much," she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Azzi turned around, her smile soft. "It’s perfect. It’s yours."

Paige crossed the room in three steps and kissed her again, fierce and grateful and aching all at once.

They stumbled to the couch, laughing breathlessly. Azzi straddled Paige’s lap, her hands bracketing her face, her forehead pressed to Paige’s.

"I missed you so much it physically hurt," Paige whispered.

Azzi nodded, eyes glassy. "Me too."

They stayed there for a long time, tangled together, whispering nonsense and trading kisses so soft they barely felt like touches.

Paige traced lazy patterns on Azzi’s back, feeling the way her breathing slowed, the way she relaxed fully for the first time in months.

At some point, they drifted into the bedroom, barely managing to peel off their hoodies and jeans before collapsing onto the bed, wrapped around each other like ivy.

Paige fell asleep with her nose buried in Azzi’s hair, Azzi’s fingers tangled with hers under the covers.

She woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows, birds chattering somewhere outside.

And Azzi.

Still there.

Still real.

Paige watched her sleep for a long time, memorizing every little detail — the way her nose scrunched slightly, the faint smudges of eyeliner still clinging to her lashes, the slow, even rise and fall of her chest.

Azzi shifted, mumbling something incoherent, and tucked herself closer to Paige’s side, throwing a leg over her hip.

Paige smiled so wide her face hurt.

Eventually, Azzi blinked awake, bleary-eyed and adorable.

"Mornin’," she mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Paige kissed her forehead. "Best morning ever."

Azzi giggled and buried her face in Paige’s neck. "You’re clingy."

"You showed up across the country," Paige said. "You’re stuck with clingy."

Azzi just smiled, pressing a sleepy kiss to her collarbone.

They stayed like that for a while, cocooned in each other, until Paige’s stomach growled loudly enough to make Azzi snort with laughter.

"Food?" Azzi offered, grinning.

Paige groaned. "I don’t wanna move."

"I’ll cook," Azzi teased. "You just sit there and look pretty."

Paige perked up instantly. "Marry me?"

Azzi laughed, shoving her playfully before dragging herself out of bed.

Paige watched her pad into the kitchen, stealing one of her oversized shirts to wear, her hair a sleepy halo around her head.

And for the first time in months — maybe longer — Paige felt whole.

Not because of the wins or the trophies or the fans.

Because of this.

Because Azzi had found her, across miles and airports and chaos, and she wasn’t letting go.

Paige grabbed her phone and snapped a quick, blurry picture of Azzi at the stove, flipping pancakes with her tongue sticking out in concentration.

My favorite view, she captioned it, sending it to Azzi with a heart emoji.

Azzi looked up, caught her, and winked.

Paige laughed out loud, heart so full she thought it might burst.

She didn’t know where the season would take her. She didn’t know what challenges were waiting. But right now — messy apartment, burnt pancakes, sunflowers wilting in a glass on the counter — this was home.

This was everything.

And she wasn’t letting it go.

Not now.

Not ever.

[johnnycadesmuse]

♱ ⋆ . ༄ knockin on heaven's door

—dallas winston x preachers daughter

warnings: nsfw, pnv, f!receiving, creampie

"you're to never see that boy again." that's what your father said before he sent you off to boarding school, one so religious that it made mormons look like atheists.

you had invited your boyfriend Dallas over earlier that day to hang out. your father was to be teaching a sermon all afternoon, giving you and Dallas plenty of time to spend together alone. he had your thighs over his shoulders, his lips slowly trailing toward your core, causing you to let out soft giggles. the door suddenly bursts open, your father standing in the doorway, still in his clergy.

next thing you knew, you were in the back of your fathers car, sitting next to a suitcase as he began to lecture you.

after 3 long, gruelling months of constant praying and bible studies, you were finally back in Tulsa, Oklahoma. you never thought that you'd be so happy to see such a shithole of a town again. you missed the constant greaser vs. soc rivalry, gang fights, and even the insults that were thrown at you by the soc girls that hung around the diner.

you slammed your suitcase onto the velvet armchair that sat in the corner of your room before flopping onto your mattress.

"fuck it's hot" you sighed, ripping off your soft white dress, tossing it into the corner of your room.

"your hot." you heard a familiar deep voice say from behind you.

"jesus christ!" you shouted, turning around to see Dallas standing in the corner with his arms crossed, a big smirk plastered across his face as he admired your body.

"you okay sweetheart?" you heard your father shout.

"yup! just.. praying." you smiled as you and Dallas continued to make eye contact. Dallas let out a chuckle, one that sounded like music to your ears after not hearing it for so long.

"what are you doing here?" you whispered, walking over to him. his hands quickly found their way to your waist, his fingers toying with the lace that lined your panties. "how'd you know I got back?"

"I've been counting the days." he smiled, kissing your neck softly. "I missed you."

"baby if my father finds you here, your done."

"then i'll confess" he shrugged, making you giggle. "what?, is it against the lord to see my beautiful girlfriend?"

"it's against the lord to trespass. it's also against the law."

"you know I don't do laws." he smiled before slowly walking you over to your mattress, laying you down onto the floral cotton sheets below. "I'll do you though"

"your an animal, Dal." Dally began to softly kiss you, his hands rubbing the plush skin of your thighs. he settles himself between your legs, his st. christopher dangling over you, the cold metal brushing against your hot skin.

"honey!" your father yelled from the bottom of the stairs. your heart stopped, dally and you looking at one another in fear as you heard footsteps making their way closer up the stairs before stopping halfway. "i'm going over to Mrs. Porters house for prayer! i'll see you' later! and if I come home to find that hoodlum in my house again you'll be gone for a year!"

"yes daddy!" you shout back downstairs, Dally smirking. the front door shuts and you immediately lean in to begin kissing him again before he pulls away, stopping you.

"daddy?"

"oh shut up and fuck me." you tell him before pulling him in by his chain, your lips meeting in a passionate kiss.

"yes ma'am" he said into the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

you slipped your fingers through his brown tufts, tugging slightly at the roots, causing him to groan into your mouth. "god I missed you. I missed this sexy little body. I missed how sweet you taste. I missed all of you" Dally whispers into your ear before sitting up, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest. you raked your nails down his stomach, creating goosebumps down his spine.

he licked his lips as he looked down at you, the life sight in front of him hardening the bulge in his pants. your hair was sprawled out onto the bed, your matching white set blending in with the sheets below, your cross necklace sitting perfectly over your collarbone. "fuck your gorgeous."

you bit your lip at the compliment, turning your face to the side to hide your flushed expression. he placed his finger on the side of your cheek, pulling your face back toward him. he placed soft kisses all over your cheeks and forehead before making his way down your body. "I wanna taste you." Dally whispers, leaving opened mouth kisses upon your inner thighs. the last time you were both in this position, it ended in you being sent away— but now, you two could finish what you started.

he hooked his fingers onto the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down and tossing them to the side. he spread your legs apart, revealing your soaked folds. his eyes looked up at you with a mix of innocence and lust. just as he was about to place his mouth where you needed him most, he pulled away, clasping his hands into a prayer pose. you laughed, slapping him playfully.

"what? a man can't pray before eating. I thought that's what y'all christian's did?"

before you could response, his tongue was eating you out like a man starved. your hand flew to his hair, the other gripping the sheets as you let out loud and desperate moans. "fuck.. yes...." you gasped, biting your lower lip.

your reactions only spurred him on, his technique growing more aggressive yet passionate. he groaned into your pussy as you tugged harshly on his hair, sending vibrations throughout your core. "fuck! do that again!" he obeyed, humming into your clit as he sucked harshly, bringing you closer to the edge. "fuck.. i'm gonna cum!"

"do it sweetheart, cum on my face." and you did, letting out a pornographic moan as you came, your liquids dripping down his chin as he raised himself back up, climbing on top of you.

you two began kissing again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. he reached behind your back, unclipping your bra as you unzipped his jeans, both of you pulling off each article. he pulled his boxers down, revealing his hard dick that you missed the feeling of.

"this okay?" he asked, you humming in response. he stroked himself a few times before lining up with your soaked hole, slowly pushing himself in, inch by inch. "fuck.. I missed this pretty little pussy. my pretty little pussy"

he began moving at a slower pace, allowing you to adjust to his length after not being filled with it for so long. he grabbed your thigh with one hand, his other holding your face as you both maintained eye contact as he fucked himself into you. "shit.." you whimpered, staring into his dark eyes.

the moment was so intimate. your sweaty bodies were pressed against one another, practically becoming one. his breath fanned over your neck as he hid his face into your shoulder, his grip on your thigh tightening as he could feel the both of you growing closer to your peak. you wrapped both of your legs around his waist, allowing him to go deeper than before, your body exuding a loud moan. "there we go" Dally praised as his thrusts became faster and harder, making you grow louder and louder. "you're such a good girl baby.. such a good girl. taking me so well. you always fit me so perfectly don't ya'?"

you couldn't respond, you only nodded at his words as you felt yourself growing closer to climax. "i'm gon- cum-" you sobbed, tears in your eyes as he continued to hit that one sweet spot within your womb.

"yeah? you gonna cum baby?" he whispered almost sympathetically, giving you the dark doe eyes that you loved oh so much about him, especially during times like this. "cum for me"

and you did, finishing with a loud moan of his name. "i'm so close, where do you want me?"

"inside.. I want you to fill me up" you muttered, Dally's eyes widening. "it's okay. i'm on the pill." you reassured him, sending a wave of relief over him. you pressed kisses against the skin of his neck as he came inside of you, shooting thick ropes into you.

"fuck.." he said breathlessly on top of you, kissing your chest that was still glistening with sweat. "I missed you so bad baby, you have no idea"

"I missed you too.." you smiled before passionately kissing him, your hand cupping his jaw.

"now let's get cleaned up huh?" he says, moving to get off of you before being stopped. you both look down to see your necklaces caught in one another, your cross laying on top of his st. christopher pendant. you both chuckled as your fingers brushed against one another, slowly untangling the jewellery.

Dally laid a peck on your cheek before scooping you up into his arms and carrying you to the bathroom.

[diorgirl444]

moonlight serenade or the first time reader has sex with dallas winston...

okay first let’s get this out of the way, yes i’m a minor but everyone’s aged up in this fic so don’t come for me. please don’t comment trying to police what’s appropriate for me and what’s not i’m seventeen and where i live i can legally have sex so it’s really not that deep. i’m a young woman - i’m exploring my desires in a healthy safe way and if you cannot shake this livid rage coursing through you maybe try touching some grass. xxx

this fic absolutely could not have been written with out the help of @avroravia she not only proofread it but also edited it and just offered me constant encouragement and support. basically she is just an absolute angel and i implore you to go read her fics right after you finish this 😛 amar thank you and i luv u

warnings: bad writing? (baby’s first time writing smut), um smut obvs (you are responsible for your own media consumption), fem! reader, characters are aged up, reader is a virgin, kinda dom dallas ig tho this wasn’t planned it just happened that way, 2,690 words <3

there is something poetically erotic about dallas winston.

you have known this since the day first saw him: his eyes wild and dark, his grin crooked and breath smelling of whiskey. he is animalistic in his vigor, a power that simmers and hums through his body so that you might think he was the devil. it is beautiful in a twisted way and right now you are more aware of this than ever.

shadows are cast across his face, and he leans over you in nothing but his oil stained wifebeater and jeans. he's smiling down at you, tickling you with kisses along your neck. this is as far as you've gone and because of your lack of experience as far as you've wanted to go for a long time. but right now with his st christopher glinting and dangling down in front of your gaze all you can think about how much you want him. how much you want all of him from his calloused palms to his voice made raspy with cigarettes.

“i want you to fuck me”

it comes out before you can you can think it through, words unbidden and unwanted choking your throat up. your face flushes hot and you press your hand to your mouth as if you can put them back where they came from but it’s too much too late.

he laughs lowly, voice making your skin break out into goosebumps and his hand toys with the edge of your nightdress.

“you mean that angel? you want me to be your first doll?” he grins, teeth glinting vampire like in the low light.

if you weren’t flustered before you are now from his teasing tone and you hide your face in your hands which only makes him laugh more.

“oh baby don’t hide your pretty face from me” he says before gently pulling you hands away. you’re greeted with a more genuine smile then before and he fondly tucks a stand of hair behind you ear.

“if you really mean that - i’d be real lucky to be your first, seriously i know i talk a lot of shit but if you really are sure then i’m gonna make you feel so nice” as he speaks the rough pads of his fingers draw circles along your thighs in what you’re sure is supposed to be a soothing gesture but is actually incredibly distracting. to be fair though you find everything he does distracting.

he looks at you like he’s waiting for an answer so you nod and he shakes her head.

“nah, i wanna hear you say it,” he murmurs, “say it f’me”

“please dal...” you say, shocked by how breathy your voice has become but he groans softly and it makes something pleasant creep up your gut.

“please - christ - sweetest thing i’ve ever known ain’t you?” he says hands slowly making their ascent but to your disappointment they go right up to resting on your waist. seeing your pout he smirks.

“impatient thing too, i bet. you want me to take it off?” dallas whispered, fingers lightly tugging on the soft silk straps of your nightdress.

slowly he pulls it up off you and though you’re terribly shy laying there in nothing but your now wet cotton panties, his face makes up for it.

“christ you look so fuckin’ good” he rasps lowly, tongue darting out to hungrily trace his lip.

despite your nerves you lean forward slightly and lift his vest over his head. you’ve seen dallas shirtless before and so feel confident navigating it as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. a small offering of affection where words are difficult.

and he seems to understand as he guides your hands to the cool metal of his belt buckle, your trembling fingers unclasping it and brushing over him. he groans softly and so with confidence from who knows where you press more intentionally, gasping slightly at the way he bucks into you.

“tease” he grunts out, pupils dark with something you’ve only seen a couple times before and something that makes you press your legs together absentmindedly. pushing you hand away he finally pulls his jeans fully off and you stare desperately at your boyfriend in nothing but his boxers. beautiful feels an understatement, a word that is much too fragile to describe how he looks. in fact it feels like your whole brain is simply humming with him, anything else feels deeply unimportant.

you watch as his big hands, all of him is big really, settle on the inside of your thighs. making purchase on the skin there in such a way that you wonder if there will be marks, you hope there is. that you can take a part of him with you everywhere, a marker of what it is to be touched by such a man as dallas winston.

he idly thumbs at the small bow of your panties before slipping his hand beneath the soft fabric, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth teasingly. the soft mewl you let out at his touch would be humiliating were it not for the way pleasure sparks through you as his fingers part your folds. you’ve touched yourself before sure but it has never felt like this, dallas’s fingers just so much bigger and experienced then yours. as if he knows what you need before you do.

“god you’re already so fuckin’ needy... soakin’ wet” his teasing voice drawls out but formulating a response is much too hard now his finger has found your clit and is drawing soft little teasing circles over it - both not enough and too much at once. he speeds up ever so slightly, smirking cockily at the soft gasp he draws from you. he’s lazy as he strokes you - as if he has all the time in the world and all he wants to do is watch your lashes flutter and feel the way you absentmindedly buck against hand.

the thing is though it’s not just the way his fingers know just what you do to make you feel good, though of course that is part of it but it’s just him as a whole. the way you’re completely sarrounded by him, his large frame dwarfing your smaller one, the smell of cigarettes and his shaving cream that seems to permeate the air, the praises that he almost reverently mumbles but mainly it’s the fact that it’s him. your dal - your first kiss, your first boyfriend, your first love and now your first..

you whine softly when he suddenly pulls his hand away, brows scrunched up but he simply shakes his head and licks his fingers clean before fully hiking your panties down your legs.

“taste like honey” he tells you, his warm brown eyes fluttering shut at the taste.

grinning all teeth, he thumbs at it watching the way your hole flutters and clenches around nothing, dribbling down onto your floral bedsheets below.

you blink up at him through hooded lashes, the way girls do in movies and hope it is enough to seduce him into touching you again. once again though he seems to understand what you need without you even speaking as he tentatively pushes the pad of his finger into you. the gasp you let out is sinful, even just the tiniest part of him making you feel more full than ever before. gently he nudges the finger further in, eyes zeroed on the way the tight hole sucks it in like a vice. once it’s fully in he begins, slowly at first - easing you through the rhythms as he fucks you. grunting lowly as if he’s getting pleasure just from the way your face scrunches up and body trembles.

“shit - think - think you can take another one baby” he asks is as if he’s not already pushing it in, making you feel impossibly full.

he’s faster now, clear goal in mind as he stretches and curls his fingers till he finds what he’s staring for. when he feels the way you clench around him and offer him a delicious moan he knows he has. with renewed vigour he rubs that spot inside you till it’s almost too much, your legs kicking out, hands almost trying to push him away.

“dal - oh - i” you’re babbling out softly as the sensations course through you, but he just hums encouragingly.

with his free hand that had been resting on your thigh he trails it down to you clit - rubbing it in quick, tight figure-8s whilst curling the ones inside of you against that spongey spot. without warning it suddenly happens, like a pot bubbling over as you tighten around his two fingers and spill out. lips keening out a high-pitched sound somewhere between a moan and a sob as your lashes shutter quickly. that earlier tension softening to the most wonderful feeling that has your body trembling and arching.

when you come to, eyes opening you’re greeted with brown eyes glancing over you. his gaze softer then you’ve ever seen it as he messily kisses you and mumbles against your mouth “did so good for me doll - can’t wait to feel you cum like that on my cock”

“need you now dal” you whisper back using your legs to pull him in closer - it’s not enough you want to be as close to him as possible.

following your encouragement he quickly rids himself of his boxers and finally he is fully bare before you. what strikes you about dallas is the lack of shyness, as if he knows that every part of him is harshly beautiful. grecian statue with his broad nose, lightly muscular chest and his now hardened cock. he holds out a condom and with his hands leading yours, you roll it onto his dick. tentatively wrapping your small hands around it and being rewarded with a gravelly moan. “next time baby” he says and you watch, entranced as he angles himself perfectly with his palms tightly gripping your hips.

“might hurt at first babydoll but it’s gonna feel real good pretty soon okay?” he warns, brows furrowed with the tension of waiting. you nod impatiently, grabbing onto shoulders as if you can push him in by them alone.

he laughs, classic crooked grin on his face. “god real greedy aren’t you?”

his smirk is knocked off his face when he slowly pushes in, groaning lowly at how tight you are still. he’s right, there’s a slight sting between your legs but you trust him that it will get nicer. his fingers seemed big earlier but now you know they were nothing compared to the way just the head of his makes you. ever so slowly he bullies his way into you, a bead of sweat clinging to his brow as he pushes all the way. when he’s finally full sheaved, you whimper - the feeling indescribable and like nothing you’ve ever known.

“gonna... gonna... fuck... move now okay pretty girl?” he rasps out, pressing his forehead to yours. you can do nothing but nod, as your breath is stolen from you.

purposefully he begins to move, rocking in and out of you and the sting has faded now, replaced by white hot beams of pleasure that course through you with each of his movements. his mouth finds your neck and your collarbone and your breasts - basically any part of you within reach and you are almost certain there will be marks tomorrow. the steady pace is torturous now though and almost tearfully you beg him, pouting “dallas - need more!”

“spoilt little thing needs more hm?” he says and if your eyes weren’t closed you would of seen the devilish grin on his face.

and the thing is with dallas he truly can never backdown from a challenge. without warning he speeds up, a truly punishing pace that leaves you feeling such intense pleasure that all you can do is lie there and take it, your body boneless as you moan and babble.

“too much? just gonna have to fuckin’ take it…” his teasing words only serve to make you even more humiliating wet - your body having an almost pavlovian response when he mocks you.

he laughs cruelly, the pad of his thumb finding your bud and rubbing tight little circles as he jackhammers into you.

“christ- you’re so fuckin’ tight”

you can feel that familiar pleasure coming over you - your body tightening up as he continues his frantic movements. you think he’s getting close to from the way his words have faded into animalistic grunts, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and the st christopher bouncing against his bare chest. he suddenly pinches your clit and that’s all it takes. your body seizes up, eyes rolling back as you cum all over his cock. the pleasure comes in waves, rolling over you as you dig your nails into his back to ground yourself.

you tightening around him is the last push he need and with a loud moan of your name he comes into the condom, head tiredly falling against your shoulder as the high fades.

“shit wasn’t too rough was i? was tryna be gentle but then you had to give me those damn fuck-me eyes and i lost it” he says and if you didn’t know any better you might think he was feeling a bit insecure.

you smile softly though and shake your head “dal i’m so glad it was you” his ego restored he shrugs, smirking as he pulls out of you. he rises and you feel a stab in your gut - is he leaving? catching your gaze he rolls his eyes.

“cool yourself duchess, i’m just getting you something to clean you up okay?” you flush, pleased and embarrassed all at once but true to his word he reappears with a flannel wet with warm water which he uses to gently wipe you clean. once that’s done he curls up beside you, loosely wrapping his arm around your middle.

“sleep now - delicate things like you need their rest after their hot greaser boyfriends rail them within an inch of their life” he grins against your shoulder and you scoff softly, too tired to bicker. still with his arm slung around you and the warmth of his breath on your neck you’ve never felt more loved. you really are lucky to have dallas winston as your first.

bonus the next morning:

“what’s that on your necklace dal - next to the st christopher?”

“oh that it’s just your purity ring?”

“why on god’s name do you have that!” what if my parents see! they’ll kill you!”

“well shit angel it’s not like you need it anymore - not after the way i fucked you stupid last night ”

“i hate you...”

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

[callme-holly]

Gang x reader first time sharing a bed and sleeping over? Plssss

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐝

a/n: oh i loved this sm

Darry Curtis:

Darry isn’t used to sharing a bed with anyone, so he’s so incredibly stiff at first. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable; it’s quite the opposite, actually. It’s just that he’s not sure how to handle the situation and doesn’t want to push you away or put you off.

He might keep his distance, lying on his back and giving you space, but when he curls up onto his side and realises you do actually want to be with him, he’ll wrap an arm around you and hold you close. Having someone sleeping next to him brings him a surprising amount of comfort, and he finds himself struggling to sleep unless you’re there next to him. 

Sodapop Curtis:

Soda is all over you the second you crawl into bed with him. He’s very clingy and so he just loves to hold you whilst you sleep, wrapping you up in his arms and letting you lie on his chest.

He’ll bury his face in your hair, trade lazy kisses with you, and whisper sweet little words to you until you fall asleep… If you shift around in your sleep, he’ll adjust so that he’s still holding onto you, and while it can be a little overbearing and crowding, he means well. In the morning, he’ll wake you up by peppering your face with kisses, smiling brightly. 

Ponyboy Curtis: 

Pony is very nervous at first, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or put you off. He’ll lie pretty stiffly, keeping his distance, and letting you cuddle into him if you want to. 

He overthinks everything, not wanting you to find him awkward (you do, but in an endearing, sweet way). It isn’t until sleep starts to take over and his mind is foggy with exhaustion that he turns onto his side and curls into you, letting you play with his hair as he hides his face in your neck. 

When you wake up in the morning, he’ll be completely wrapped around you, clinging to you tightly. And, hey, you stopped him from getting nightmares too!

Johnny Cade:

Johnny will try insisting that he sleeps on the floor at first, but when you tell him to just get into bed and that you don’t mind, he’ll climb in shyly next to you. He’s a little awkward at first but still holds you close once you realise you want him near you.

Something about lying with you in complete silence brings him so much comfort and for once he can sleep soundly knowing that he’s safe. 

The next morning, he wakes up with his face completely buried in your shoulder, his breathing steady and his entire body loose with contentment. 

Dallas Winston:

Dallas has shared a bed with lots of people before you, but never quite in the same way. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when it comes to sleeping around someone and kind of just ends up lying there until you cuddle up into him.

He’ll stiffen up at first, before wrapping an arm loosely around your middle and holding you close. He might press little, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and jaw, but he won't take it any further than that, content to just exist in the quiet with you. 

If you bring it up the next morning, he’ll deny it like hell, but deep down he doesn’t regret a single thing and is more than happy to let it happen every night afterwards.

Steve Randle:

Steve tries to act super casual about it, telling you he doesn’t really care as long as you don’t hog all the blankets. But the second you’re both under the covers together, he realises just how much he wants to be close to you.

He doesn’t resist it, simply pulling you into him and holding you close to him. He likes having his arm draped around you, his head resting against yours, content in the knowledge that you’re safe in his arms. 

When you wake up the next morning, he’ll tease you sleepily but loves every moment spent tangled with you.

Two-Bit Mathews:

Two is so incredibly excited but tries to play it off like its no big deal. He’ll joke around at first, but the second the lights go out, he melts and just wants to be held by you. Play with his hair, kiss him, and mumble to him; he doesn’t care. 

He’ll cling to you, falling asleep listening to the sound of your voice, and the next morning he’s more than happy to just lay in bed until early afternoon, existing in the moment and basking in the sunlight seeping through the blinds. 

[aphroditsdaughter]

AFTER HOURS

party p

paige bueckers x reader

sexual content, language, the hat stays on, save a horse ride a cowgirl

You watch her from across the bar, the music pulsing through your body like a second heartbeat, low and deep in your chest. It’s loud, thick with celebration and spilled liquor and voices raised just a little too high but it all fades. None of it touches you. Not when Paige is in the room.

God, she’s hot.

Not just “attractive.” Not just beautiful in some polite, acceptable way. No, she’s jaw-clenching, thigh-clenching, can’t-take-your-eyes-off-her kind of hot. She’s hot in a way that’s soft and dangerous all at once sharp jawline, collar popped, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, veined forearms you’ve kissed more times than you can count. Her shirt clings just enough to her chest to tease what’s beneath, half untucked like she got dressed in a hurry—or like she let you undress her before she even walked on that stage. The Dallas Wings draft cap sits low on her head, tilted with just the right amount of swagger. That hat shouldn’t be sexy. But on her? It is. Everything is.

She moves like she knows it, too. Like the world just shifts a little to accommodate her. Number one overall pick. The kind of headline that makes strangers toast her name, eyes lingering, hoping for a smile, a touch, anything she might offer.

But she’s not looking at them.

She’s looking for you.

Her eyes cut through the noise, through the bodies and the chaos, and when they find yours, something in your chest stutters. That look low, hungry, intimate makes your pulse flutter in places too deep to name. Her lips twitch, just the hint of a smirk, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. And of course she does. She’s always knows.

You shift on your stool, suddenly too warm, too aware of the way her gaze lingers like a hand beneath your clothes. It’s not fair. The way she can make you feel undressed with a single glance. The way she stands there, sweat glistening at her collarbone, shirt clinging to her back, radiating heat and power like she’s never doubted herself a day in her life.

You want her.

Not in some abstract, distant way but in the sharp, breathless, aching sense that makes you forget where you are. You want her mouth, her hands, her weight, the sound she makes when she exhales against your neck.

She moves through the crowd like a slow-burning flame, every step a tease, loose-limbed and liquid with heat, adrenaline, and the golden burn of tequila. The air seems to ripple around her, the room itself bending in quiet reverence, parting to let her pass as if even the noise and bodies know better than to interrupt her momentum. She’s magnetic, untouchable, dripping with the kind of confidence that makes people turn just to feel the wake of her presence.

That smile—God, that smile—is already tugging at the corner of her mouth. It’s lazy, full of mischief, arrogant in the most intoxicating way. A little uneven, a little wild. It hits you low, sharp and sudden, like a hook behind your ribs pulling you toward her. You feel it in your chest, your stomach, your hips every place she’s ever touched, branded.

And you love her like this. No you’re undone by her like this. Flushed from the high, her skin warm with the thrill of a moment seized, a dream tasted and swallowed down. She walks like she owns the night—like she is the night—and every look she casts says she wants to spend all of it wrapped around you, breathless and burning.

She spots the two tequila shots in your hands and grins like you’ve just handed her something sacred like you’re offering worship at her altar. There’s a glint in her eyes now, playful and wicked, and then she’s closing the space between you with a kind of gravity, her body brushing yours like she belongs there.

She smells like heat and adrenaline—salt-slick skin kissed by sweat, the bite of cologne still clinging to her from hours ago, and underneath it all, that electric scent of celebration and something distinctly her. She leans in until her lips hover just beside your ear, breath warm and humid, a whisper of contact that tightens every muscle in your body.

“What’s that look for?” she murmurs, voice rough-edged from yelling over the music, from laughing too loud, from the press of your mouth on hers earlier—still raw from wanting, from not having enough.

You raise one of the shots, offering it like a dare. Slowly, deliberately, you bring your hand up and drag your tongue across the line of salt at the edge—slow enough to feel her watching every inch of it. Your gaze never leaves hers, locked in and dangerous. “That look?” you say, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “That’s for the hottest girl in the league.”

Paige laughs—low, husky, ruined in the best way—and it slips out of her like smoke curling from a lit match. Her smile darkens, dips into something hungrier. “Say that again,” she breathes, like it’s not a request but a command laced with desire.

Her fingers find the small of your back, a light touch that ignites, like she needs skin-to-skin just to stay grounded. Like she’ll combust if she doesn’t anchor herself to you.

You let the silence build, thick and taut with everything unsaid. Then your tongue flicks across your bottom lip, slow and sinful, before you lean in—your mouth nearly brushing hers. Voice low. Dangerous.

“The. Hottest. Girl. In. The. League.”

She groans—deep and low, like the sound’s been dragged from her chest against her will. It’s raw, hungry, like she wants to tear the words from your mouth with her teeth, taste every syllable, and swallow them down like something that belongs to her. Her fingers dig into your waist, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to claim. Her gaze drops to your lips, slow and deliberate, and suddenly the bar vanishes around you. The lights blur into nothing, the music fades to a dull hum, and the crowd dissolves. It’s just her and you, suspended in the thick, electric air between two bodies that know exactly what they want.

She leans in, breath shallow and uneven, her mouth so close you can taste the heat of it. Her lips hover just shy of yours, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Keep looking at me like that,” she says, her tone rough with promise, “and we’re not gonna make it out of this bar.”

You don’t look away—not even for a second. Instead, you hand her the lime and salt like it’s a challenge, a dare wrapped in citrus and heat. “Who said I want to?” you murmur, voice steady, and tap your stomach in invitation.

Her eyes flare, slow-burning and ravenous. The corner of her mouth curves up, a dark smile playing at her lips. She gets it—oh, she gets it. And from the look in her eyes, she’s more than ready to play whatever game you’re playing.

You lie back against the cool, polished wood of the bar, the grain beneath you smooth and unfamiliar. The din of the room fades — the clink of glasses, the low hum of voices, the thump of bass — all of it dissolves into a distant blur. Your focus narrows to her. Just her.

She’s above you now, framed in the low light eyes dark, lips parted in a quiet, knowing smile. Her fingers move with deliberate care, trailing down your side, slow enough that your skin prickles in anticipation. She sprinkles the salt just above your hipbone, her touch feather-light, sending a ripple of heat across your stomach. You feel each grain land like a spark, each one a tiny burst of tension waiting to be set alight.

Then the tequila—cold as ice when she tips the shot glass, and the liquid cascades over your skin. You gasp softly at the shock of it, a shiver racing through you. It slides in a thin stream over the curve of your abdomen, settling in the dip above your navel. And then she leans in.

Her mouth touches you — hot, wet, soft. Her tongue flicks out, slow, deliberate, gathering the salt grain by grain. She moves like she has all the time in the world, savoring you, her lips pressing heat into your skin. She doesn’t rush. She lingers — her breath, her mouth, her presence and each second stretches out, suspended between your heartbeat and hers.

You feel her tongue trace the path of the liquor, following the chilled trail with molten heat. She kisses lower, tasting every inch, the drag of her lips almost too much to bear. Your stomach tightens, hips rising ever so slightly, involuntarily. When she reaches your navel, she pauses her lips pressing a single, lingering kiss there that makes you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for years.

And then… lower.

Just enough.

Enough to make your thighs tighten. Enough to make your pulse trip over itself. Enough to make your fingers curl against the edge of the bar in a silent, aching plea.

Finally, she rises, her face inches from yours. Her gaze holds yours hungry, unspoken things crackling in the space between you. You offer the lime wedge between your teeth, but she ignores it. Instead, she kisses you.

It’s slow. Deep. Open. Her mouth finds yours with a sweetness that smolders — lips parting, tongues meeting, the sharp bite of citrus between you, mixed with tequila and heat and want. It’s a kiss that melts you, that says this is only the beginning. You can barely breathe through it, but you don’t want to. You only want her.

And it’s still not enough.

The room swirls back into focus, but it’s too loud, too bright, too crowded for what’s burning between you. You reach for her, fingers wrapping into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer with trembling urgency.

“Come on,” you whisper, lips brushing her ear, your voice a threadbare plea. “Get me out of here.”

The hotel elevator barely pretends at privacy. The second the doors slide shut, she’s on you — breath hot, hands everywhere, kissing you like she’s already unraveling. You’re pressed hard against the mirrored wall, her thigh wedged between yours, grinding just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. Her fingers are under your shirt, impatient, rough, dragging along your skin like she can’t get close enough, fast enough. When her fingertips brush just beneath your bra, you let out a soft, broken sound you didn’t know you were holding back.

She groans into your mouth, like the sound drives her wild. The elevator lurches to a stop, but you barely feel it. You stumble through the hallway, half-blind, your hands tangled in her shirt, her mouth never far from yours — biting, panting, needy. The door slams shut behind you and then she’s on you again, pinning you to the wall like it’s instinct, like she couldn’t bear the inches between you for another second.

Her lips are relentless your jaw, your throat, your collarbone — licking, sucking, biting, marking like she wants to claim every inch. Her teeth scrape along your neck and it’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s desperate. She’s not thinking. Neither are you.

You yank at her shirt and she buttons it down in a hurry, skin flushed and muscles tense. Your eyes can’t stay still — the lines of her body, the heat radiating off her, the way her chest rises and falls like she’s trying to breathe you in. Then she lifts you without effort, your body folding into hers like you belong there. And maybe you do.

You don’t know if the heat in your skin is from the bar, from the tequila, or from her. It doesn’t matter. She carries you across the room and drops you onto the bed like you’re something sacred — worshipped, needed. She follows you down without hesitation, hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open like she’s already lost in the idea of you.

And then she pauses just for a breath hovering above you with that look, wild and intense. Like she’s drowning in it. Like you both are.

“You know how proud I am of you, right?” you whisper, voice almost shaking, because your body can barely hold everything you're feeling.

Her eyes are dark, her voice wrecked. “Show me.”

And then she’s between your thighs.

Her mouth is molten as it glides lower along your stomach, every slow pass of her tongue drawing fire beneath your skin. She moves like she’s rediscovering you—each sweep deliberate, reverent—tracing invisible paths over flesh she already knows too well, yet treats like a new map every time. The air between you crackles, charged with memory and hunger.

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your skirt, nails grazing just enough to make your breath catch. You hadn’t noticed it riding up, only that the weight of it now feels intrusive, like an unnecessary barrier between you and the heat building where her mouth just left. You lift your hips in a silent offering, needing no command, and she accepts it with a slow drag of fabric down your thighs, knuckles brushing tenderly as she goes.

Her eyes never waver from yours. There’s something ravenous there, something worshipful.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” she whispers, the words rough and low, like they’re meant only for you—like saying them louder might shatter whatever sacred thing is building here. She’s said it before, a hundred times, in locker rooms, against closed doors, in the dark—but tonight, it lands differently. Tonight, it’s not a compliment. It’s a claim. It’s devotion. All that fierce, unstoppable energy—the drive that put her at the top of her game—now turned inward. Focused entirely on you.

And it feels like being chosen. Like being the only thing in her world that matters right now.

She parts your thighs with reverent hands, thumbs pressing gently into the soft flesh as she spreads you open like something sacred — something hers. When Paige settles between your legs, it isn’t hurried or hungry just yet. It’s worshipful. Patient. A slow unraveling. Her breath ghosts over your skin, warm and deliberate, and then her lips press a kiss to the inside of your knee — soft, almost chaste. But you know better.

She trails higher, leaving a line of heat in her wake, her mouth brushing, then sucking, the tender skin of your inner thigh. When her teeth graze just above the pulse there, sharp and teasing, your whole body jolts — back arching, a gasp slipping free before you can stop it.

She chuckles, low and amused, her voice a delicious rasp against your skin.

“You’re already shaking.”

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” you breathe, fingers curling in the sheets, knuckles white with the tension of wanting.

Her arm slides beneath your thigh, strong and sure, anchoring you to her. She pulls you in closer, deeper, and then — she tastes you. Her tongue is hot, slow, devastating — dragging broad, unhurried strokes over your clit like she has all the time in the world and every intention of making you feel each second of it. Your head falls back, mouth open in a moan that’s raw and real, the kind that breaks loose when pleasure blinds you.

One hand tangles in her now curls, the other clutching the sheets as if they’ll keep you grounded. You’re already floating — every nerve lit, your body thrumming with need.

Paige groans against you like she’s starved, like the only thing that matters tonight is the sound of you falling apart. Her cap is still on barely tilted from your tugging, the brim nudging against your belly with every movement. It’s dizzying, the way she devours you, tongue relentless, pressure perfect.

Then she shifts — faster now, tongue flicking in rhythmic pulses that make your thighs tense around her. You barely register her fingers until they’re sliding through your slick folds, teasing, spreading, then slipping inside — two of them, thick and slow. The stretch pulls a cry from you, hips lifting to meet the thrust as she curls her fingers just right.

“That’s it,” she growls, voice dark and wrecked. Her mouth stays on your clit, tongue circling, relentless, while her fingers fuck you deep and steady. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you lose it.”

And you do. With her name on your lips and your back arching high off the bed, you shatter loud, messy, every nerve splintering into pleasure as your orgasm crashes through you in waves. Still, she doesn’t stop. Paige holds you open, her mouth catching every twitch, every pulse, licking you through it until you're trembling, breathless, utterly undone.

When she finally rises, dragging her body up yours, her mouth is wet and swollen, her eyes wild with heat. She kisses you hard, messy and claiming, and when you taste yourself on her tongue, it turns you on in way you didn’t know possible. Something primal stirs in you, a second hunger, greedy and unashamed.

“I’m not done with you,” she whispers against your mouth.

You reach for her belt. “Good. Because I want to make the league’s number one pick scream.”

Still above you, flushed and cocky, but her breath comes in ragged little bursts now, hitching in her chest. Her pupils are blown wide, dark and lust-drunk, and her lips are slick — gleaming with a mix of your want and her hunger. You can feel her heat, see the way her bare chest rises and falls like a tide she can’t control. Her trousers hang dangerously low on her hips, teasing the soft line of skin just above. And somehow impossibly that crooked team cap still clings to her curls, wild and defiant, like her.

There’s something about the way she looks right now all swagger and softness, her beauty unraveling at the seams, wrecked and still just a little drunk on you — that strikes a match in your chest, something primal, something greedy.

“Lay back,” you murmur, your voice low and edged with command.

Her mouth quirks, cocky even now, like she’s about to throw something smug back at you but then you move. You crawl up her lap, your thighs straddling hers, and you settle your weight deliberately, purposefully. The look in your eyes stops her mid-breath. It says don’t

“You had your turn, superstar.” Your fingers go to her belt, slow and unhurried — teasing more than taking. “Now it’s mine.”

She groans low, guttural, and utterly wrecked — the sound vibrating through her chest as her head falls back, sinking into the couch cushions. Her lashes flutter like the wings of something trembling on the edge of surrender, and you take your time with the buckle, popping it open with a soft click that feels louder than it is in the thick hush between you. One hand slips beneath the waistband, fingers firm and deliberate as you tug her trousers down just enough to expose the swell of her hip, the elegant, aching line of the V that leads your gaze further down. Her skin is warm, smooth under your palm, and your touch turns possessive languid and claiming, like you already own her.

Her thighs twitch beneath your body, tension tightening them as she gasps, breath skipping and catching like she can't keep up with the pace you've set. You sit up higher, straddling her abs now, feeling the rigid strength of her core under your knees. She groans again, softer this time — breathy, almost desperate when the slick heat of your arousal glides against the flat plane of her stomach. The contact is enough to make her exhale through gritted teeth, eyes dark and hooded, hands tightening at her sides like she's fighting the urge to touch.

You drag your fingers slowly down, nails tracing each sculpted ridge of her abdomen. They flex for you, contracting under your touch, as though her whole body is leaning into the attention.

“You’re so needy,” you whisper, breath brushing against her jaw as your hips rock just enough to send a jolt of friction between you. She bites down on her bottom lip hard, eyes fluttering shut, jaw tense with restraint. “How long have you been thinking about me riding you, huh?”

“Since the stage,” she breathes, voice thick with heat, rasping like it’s scraped from somewhere deep. “Maybe before.”

You chuckle, the sound rich and knowing, dipping your head lower so your mouth can brush the shell of her ear.

“You really did it,” you murmur, more to yourself than her, letting your nails skim back up, raking lightly across her skin. “Number one in the league.”

Her body answers before her mouth does — hips rising, stomach quivering beneath you.

“Holy fuck…" Her breath catches in her throat, the words slipping from her lips in a soft, breathless moan.

You lean in close, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper, "You like that?" Your hips roll with a slow, deliberate motion, pressing against the tight, sculpted muscle of her abdomen. Her skin is a molten heat beneath you, slick with the sweat of your shared passion, the sheen of your arousal mingling with hers. Every movement sends a wave of friction, the hard ridges of her body pushing against you in just the right way—perfect pressure, perfect sensation, as though she was made for this.

You feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath your fingertips, the heat of her body rising to meet yours. You pull back slightly to look at her, the desire in your gaze unmistakable. "You like being used like this, Paige?"

Her eyes flutter, the words hanging in the air, charged with a quiet intensity.

She groans, eyes rolling back. “Use me. However you want.”

“You feel so fucking good,” you murmur, your voice low and filled with desire as you press closer to her, your body moving with a rhythm that’s all about pleasure. Each shift, each thrust is deliberate, taking your time to savor every moment. “All those workouts really paid off, didn’t they?” you whisper against her skin, your hands exploring her curves, feeling the strength and softness beneath your fingertips.

You grasp the brim of her cap, lifting it with a slow, deliberate motion before settling it onto your own head. A smirk tugs at your lips as you look down at her, catching the flicker of something intense in her eyes. You can almost taste the tension in her, knowing just how much this small gesture is driving her wild.

You brace your hands on her chest and start riding her harder dragging your clit along every contour of her abs, slick spreading across her skin, your thighs starting to shake from the way your body’s winding up again. The muscles beneath you flex every time she breathes, every time she reacts to the sounds you're making and the pressure against your clit is so perfect, so intimate, you’re already dizzy.

She’s watching you like she can’t believe it’s real. “You’re unreal,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

You pull her head up just enough to kiss her messy, deep, desperate as your hips grind down faster, harder, chasing the edge.

“Fuck— Paige—” you whimper, mouth pressed against her jaw. “I’m gonna—”

She wraps her arms around your waist and flexes, tightening her abs under you and the pressure sends you crashing over the edge with a cry, your body clenching, thighs trembling, soaking her stomach as you come hard against her.

You collapse onto her, both of you panting, stuck together with sweat and sex and pride.

She strokes your back gently, voice a lazy rasp in your ear. “Might’ve just made that my new favorite workout.”

You laugh, lips brushing her collarbone. “Get used to it, superstar. This is what being number one gets you.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

No More Ghosts

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader

Warning: Smut….MDNI……

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball/ WNBA- Dallas Wings

Summary: A name slips; love fractures, then it heals

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @iwasbored-okay

It happened in a moment I couldn’t take back.

We’d been tangled up in each other, breathless and flushed, their hands everywhere, lips on my skin, bodies pressing into mine like they couldn’t get close enough.

Paige behind me, her strap deep inside, Azzi in front with her mouth trailing down my chest—until my head tipped back, and I moaned a name that shattered the world around us.

“Kie—oh, fuck—”

Everything stopped.

The air went cold. Paige froze mid-thrust. Azzi lifted her head, blinking like she’d been slapped.

Silence.

I stared at them, wide-eyed, heart plummeting.

“No,” I whispered, horror in every syllable. “No, that’s not— I didn’t mean—”

Paige stepped back. The strap slipped out of me. Azzi sat up, the warmth in her touch gone.

“You said her name,” Azzi said flatly.

“It just— It slipped,” I begged. “It was a mistake. I swear to God—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Paige muttered, grabbing her hoodie. “Just—don’t.”

They didn’t yell. They didn’t cry.

They just left me there. Naked. Cold. Alone.

For the next three days, they barely spoke to me.

I apologized every way I could think of—texting, calling, leaving little notes on their pillows, cooking their favorite meals.

I even sat on the couch in one of Paige’s hoodies, quiet and soft-eyed, hoping one of them would look at me long enough to see how sorry I was.

Nothing worked.

They weren’t cruel. Just… distant. Detached.

Paige sat across the room scrolling on her phone.

Azzi listened to music with her headphones in.

I’d walk into a space and feel it ice over, like I was the punchline to some awful joke they were trying not to hear.

I tried to be patient.

I understood why it hurt.

But by day four, something inside me cracked.

If they wanted to ignore me? Fine.

I can play that game too.

So I stopped trying.

Stopped saying good morning.

Stopped folding their laundry.

Stopped smiling when they walked into the room.

Stop letting them know when I was going out- which spoiler alert I would turn my location off and just hit the gym.

I gave them cold. And it wasn’t long before they hated it.

It hit Paige first.

She came into the kitchen while I was finishing my coffee, wearing just boxers and a cropped tee, messy-haired and pouty.

“Hey,” she said casually, leaning against the counter.

I didn’t look up. Just kept scrolling through my phone.

“…You ignoring me now?”

I sipped my drink. “Didn’t know we were talking again.”

Her jaw clenched.

Azzi found out next.

She walked in after her shower, towel around her neck, damp curls sticking to her collarbone.

“Want to watch a movie?” she asked.

I stood up without a word and walked right past her.

By that night, they were fuming.

I had walked into the room to go take a shower, when both Azzi and Paige walked in.

Paige entering the room first and speaking.

“You’ve made your point,” Paige snapped.

“Oh, now you care?” I said bitterly. “After four days of treating me like I don’t exist?”

Azzi crossed her arms. “You said your ex’s name while we were loving you. What did you expect?”

“I said I was sorry!” I shouted. “Over and over! You didn’t want to hear it!”

“We were hurt,” Paige muttered.

“And now you’re mad that I got tired of being punished for something I didn’t mean to say?”

I didn’t realize I was crying until Azzi stepped forward.

Her voice softened. “You hurt us.”

I blinked through the tears. “And now you’re hurting me.”

None of us spoke for a beat.

Then Paige stepped closer.

“You wanna know what I- we felt that night?” she asked, voice rough. “Like we weren’t enough. Like no matter how deep either of us were, how much we loved you, some ghost still had more of you than we did.”

My lip trembled.

Azzi cupped my cheek. “We were scared. That we don’t have all of you.”

My chest ached.

“You do,” I whispered. “You both do.”

Something shifted in the air.

Paige’s eyes darkened. “Prove it.”

I barely got the word “okay” out before Azzi shoved me back onto the bed and straddled my hips.

“You don’t get to say her name,” she said, kissing me hard. “Not tonight. Just ours.”

Paige pulled her hoodie over her head, muscles flexing under her sports bra. “We’re not holding back anymore.”

I gasped as Azzi’s hand slipped under my shirt, tweaking my nipple just as Paige dropped to her knees in front of me.

Her hands pushed my legs apart, her mouth kissing up the inside of my thigh.

“I missed this,” Paige murmured.

“Missed how sweet you sound when you’re begging.”

Azzi bit my neck lightly. “Let’s see how fast we can ruin her.”

They took me apart.

Azzi pinned my wrists above my head as Paige worked her strap in, slow and deep, my legs wrapped around her waist.

I moaned, eyes fluttering, body arching into every touch.

“Feels good?” Azzi whispered, trailing kisses down my jaw.

I nodded helplessly. “Y-Yes—God—yes—”

“You’re ours,” Paige growled, hips snapping. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I whimpered. “Only yours.”

Paige pulled out just long enough for Azzi to slide in behind her, her own strap already dripping with lube.

I barely had time to breathe before Azzi thrust into me, this time harder, deeper.

“Fuck—Azzi—”

“Shh,” she said, kissing me. “Take it. You can take both.”

Paige took my mouth, silencing my cries, while her fingers played with my clit in tight, delicious circles.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Just moaned and writhed and let them take what they needed.

At some point, they flipped me.

Azzi held my legs open while Paige slammed into me from behind, her strap hitting all the right spots.

Azzi leaned down, her own strap brushing against my lips.

“You want it?” she teased.

I whimpered.

She slid in, and I nearly choked, the sensation of both girls inside me overwhelming.

Paige’s grip tightened on my hips. “She’s drooling.”

Azzi moaned. “She’s so full.”

I gagged on Azzi’s strap as Paige reached around to rub my swollen, sensitive clit again.

“Come on, baby,” Paige whispered. “Let go. Come all over us.”

And I did—harder than I ever had.

We collapsed into a tangle of limbs, sweat, and shaky breaths.

Azzi pulled me into her chest, kissing my forehead.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Even when I’m mad. Even when I’m hurt. It never stopped.”

“I love you too,” I croaked.

Paige curled up behind me, her hand on my stomach, stroking softly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again.

She kissed my shoulder. “We know. We’re sorry too.”

I turned my head, meeting both their eyes. “No more ghosts. No more doubts. You two are everything.”

They smiled, tired and soft.

Azzi whispered, “Forever?”

“Forever.”

And as I drifted off, cocooned between the two women I loved, I felt whole again.

Unbreakable. Ours.

The next morning, sunlight bled in through the blinds, soft and golden, warm across my bare shoulder.

I was the first to wake up, which rarely happened—Paige was usually up before the rest of us, sneaking into the kitchen for coffee and shooting half-asleep selfies to her private story.

But this morning, she was still curled around me, shirtless, warm, one arm tucked under my neck and the other flopped over my waist like I was her emotional support plushie.

Azzi was on the other side of me, hair sticking to her cheek, lips slightly parted in that precious way she only slept when she felt safe.

She had one leg draped over mine and her hand resting low on my stomach, fingers twitching every now and then.

They were wrapped around me like I was gravity. Like if they let go, the world might tilt sideways.

And God, I’d never felt so loved.

I shifted a little, just enough to adjust my neck, and Paige let out a small groan behind me.

“Don’t move,” she mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

“I was trying to stop my arm from falling off,” I whispered.

She nuzzled into my shoulder. “Let it fall. Don’t care. Wanna stay here.”

I smiled. “You’re clingy in the mornings.”

Azzi stretched behind me with a soft hum, then kissed my temple.

“You’re warm,” she murmured. “Like a little space heater.”

“Hot girls run hot,” I teased.

Azzi chuckled. “Clearly. You nearly set the sheets on fire last night.”

I groaned and hid my face in Paige’s chest. “Okay, too soon.”

Paige laughed sleepily and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re lucky we’re obsessed with you.”

I peeked up at her. “Still?”

She blinked down at me. “Always.”

Azzi gently turned my face to kiss my cheek, then whispered, “Even when we mess up. Even when you do. We figure it out.”

I melted between them like honey left in the sun.

We stayed in bed way too long—sheets tangled, limbs wrapped, kisses traded lazily between all three of us.

At one point, Paige got up to pee and came back with a tray of water bottles and fruit snacks.

“This is what champions eat,” she declared, tossing two bags of Scooby-Doo gummies on the bed.

Azzi sat up, rubbing her eyes. “You brought exactly two fruit snacks and didn’t think we’d fight over Scooby?”

“There’s like five packs in there—” Paige started.

Azzi immediately snagged the pack with the blue Scooby gummies and tossed it to me. “She gets the best one. She earned it.”

I beamed. “Finally, justice.”

Paige rolled her eyes and collapsed next to me again. “Y’all are lucky I’m obsessed.”

“You keep saying that,” I teased, “but I don’t see a ring.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Careful. Paige has a Pinterest board.”

“Lies,” Paige muttered, blushing.

“Really?” I grinned, climbing onto her lap. “Am I on it?”

“You might be the whole thing.”

My heart fluttered. “Then I guess I’m lucky too.”

Eventually, we got up—Azzi in one of my oversized shirts, Paige in boxers and mismatched socks, me in Paige’s old UConn hoodie and nothing else.

They kept brushing against me—Azzi with passing back hugs while I poured coffee, Paige tapping her fingers against my lower back when she reached past me for the peanut butter.

At one point, Paige caught me leaning against the counter, eyes still sleepy, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“You look soft today,” she said.

“I feel soft,” I mumbled.

Azzi sat on the counter, sipping her oat milk latte. “That’s ‘cause you’re safe now.”

The words hit me deeper than I expected.

Because I was safe. With them.

And even after the hurt, the silence, the pain of saying the wrong name—they still chose me.

Still worshipped me.

Still loved me.

After breakfast, Paige pulled me onto the couch and laid with her head in my lap while Azzi curled up on the other side and threw a blanket over all of us.

We didn’t talk much. Just let the comfort settle.

I threaded my fingers through Paige’s hair while Azzi rubbed slow circles on my thigh.

At one point, Paige murmured, “I know it was an accident.”

I blinked down at her. “Huh?”

“That night. What you said. I know you didn’t mean to.”

Azzi nodded softly. “We were just scared.”

“I know,” I said, voice cracking. “And I hated that I made you feel like that.”

Paige reached up and pulled my hand down to kiss my knuckles.

“You didn’t lose us,” she whispered. “You never will.”

Azzi added, “Even when we sulk, we’re still yours.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You promise?”

“On everything,” Paige said.

“Always,” Azzi echoed.

We stayed there for hours—napping, talking, watching dumb videos on Azzi’s phone.

There was no more tension, no lingering anger.

Just the warmth of love that had bent but didn’t break.

They took turns kissing me until I couldn’t stop smiling.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered once, half-asleep.

“Yes, you do,” Paige said firmly, pulling the blanket higher. “You deserve everything.”

Azzi snuggled in closer. “And we’re gonna keep giving it.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[demie90s]

Workout

Natisha Hiedeman x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: After a grueling practice, all you want is a couch, a snack, and a good leg rub.

Genre: Fluff, flirtation, domestic tension

Warnings: Mild language, suggestive teasing, physical intimacy

Word Count ~ 0.6k

Practice done. Shower handled. Skin moisturized in record time, but my legs are Screaming. I limp through the front door like I just finished basic training, mumbling curses under my breath about Coach C.

She definitely hate me. She gotta. Because the way she ran me today was criminal. Like, basketball is a contact sport, not cardio bootcamp. And maybe I was cracking jokes during warmups. Maybe I was distracting the team. But girl… five suicides for calling court a munch? Be serious.

By the time I get to the couch, T’s already posted. Curled up in her blanket burrito, headset on, game controller glued to her hands like her life depend on it. Pink buzzcut glowing soft in the TV light, neck glistening still from her post-shower lotion, black tank top clinging in all the ways I hate when I’m tryna focus.

I drag myself across the living room like a wounded soldier, letting out the most dramatic sigh known to mankind before dropping beside her. Not even beside, actually—on her. Legs flopped right in her lap, my phone in my hand like I ain’t planning to move for the next four business hours.

My thighs are on fire. Glutes tight. Hamstrings feel like they finna sue. And Miss Natisha Hiedeman. She locked in.

“Baby you good?” she says without even looking down, thumbs tapping fast.

“Do I look good?” I groan, adjusting and hissing when I move too fast. “Coach ran me like I stole something.”

“…you did what? Five suicides?” she replies all casual.

I turn my head slow. “T. Don’t play. You saw Coach working me like a damn dog.”

She chuckles—chuckles!—before her game resets or something, and finally, finally she sets the controller down. Her hands land on my legs like she ain’t been plotting this. Like she didn’t wait for the perfect excuse to get me like this—laid out, weak, thighs right in reach.

The first rub is light. Just testing. Then she digs in a little deeper and I hiss so hard she freezes.

“Damn, Ian even touch you,” she mutters.

“You not funny.”

But she is. She always is. Her thumbs press into that tight spot just above my knee, slow circles. I groan without meaning to—one of them long, deep ones that make her pause.

“Mmm.” She hums. “Told you to stretch, but you don’t listen.”

“I was tryna clown diamond. It was important.”

She shakes her head like I’m helpless. Maybe I am. She adjusts the blanket, bunching it up behind my back while sliding my thighs higher in her lap. Her hand doesn’t leave my skin. In fact, now it’s climbing. Palms broad and warm, working up toward the meat of my thigh, then gripping it like she bought it.

“T.” I glance at her. “Don’t start, cause Ian doing shit.”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” she shrugs, hands still rising, “You the one laying here like a damn offering.”

“I’m in pain,” I shoot back, already repositioning my phone like I’m not arching into her grip. “You can eat this cat later, but right now I’m tryna recover.”

“Acting like you not already a pillow princess,” she says under her breath.

“Aye, don’t do me!”

“You laid out like dessert. Talking ‘bout ‘I’m not horny.’ Aight.”

Her laugh got that raspy edge to it, all smoke and confidence, but she still playing innocent. Meanwhile her hand is not innocent. Kneading the inside of my thigh like dough, then switching legs so smooth I don’t even realize till I feel her thumbs in the tender part right above my knee.

I groan again, this one damn near desperate.

“You tryna help or get me pregnant?” I mumble.

She smirks but doesn’t respond. Just keeps massaging while I scroll.

“Damn,” I say, jaw dropping. “Dallas lost again. They must be tryna break a record.”

“Girl hush,” she mutters, gripping higher on my thigh like punishment.

“Okay okay,” I whine, wiggling from the pressure. “That was a low blow, my bad.”

She snorts and leans down just enough to kiss the side of my leg. Her hand spreads across the front of my thigh, fingers drifting just a little too close. I don’t say nothing. Just shoot her a look and keep scrolling like I don’t feel every inch of her knuckles.

She lifts the blanket slightly, tucking it tighter around my waist like she real concerned with my comfort now.

“You warm?” she asks all sweet.

“Yeah,” I say slow. “But you gon’ keep that hand where it’s at?”

She lifts a brow. “You guiding it.”

“…Shut up.”

“You know where you put it.”

I pretend to refocus on my phone. “Girl, just rub the knot out.”

“You sure that’s all you want rubbed?”

“…T.”

She bites her lip, trying not to laugh, and then her game lights back up, distracting her just long enough for her hands to go still on my thigh. She rests there—fingers warm, grip steady, skin on skin—and we fall into that quiet kind of tension. The one where everything good already happened, but it’s still building.

I lean my head back, sigh again, and say, “Next time you gon’ run them suicides with me.”

She glances at me with that grin that say girl, you got me fucked up.

“I don’t need to run,” she says, going back to her controller. “I’m in shape.”

I roll my eyes. “Aight, bet. We gon’ see when your ass locked up from carrying me to bed.” She laughs so hard the controller damn near falls.

“Girl,” she wheezes, “You not even heavy.”

“You right,” I say, smug as hell. “I’m thick. That’s different.”

She shakes her head, and under the blanket, her hand shifts—resting gently on the inside of my thigh, palm up like it belong there. And I don’t move. Just lay there with my phone dimming, head sinking back against the couch cushion, legs aching but comforted, and my girl massaging me like I’m both the problem and the prize.

And honestly I am.

She back focused. Locked in again like the whole leg rub was just a halftime show. Controller in hand. Lips slightly parted. Eyes glued to the screen like she fighting for her life in whatever game she on. I’m damn near folded on the couch like I need physical therapy.

TV on but I ain’t watching. I’m sitting up now, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, stretching my legs out and wincing every time I move. These thighs feel like they been beat with a bat. Coach C really tried to humble me today. Like I didn’t already know pain. Like I ain’t already a child of struggle. She gon’ humble me again tomorrow too if I don’t loosen up.

I shift again—slow, cautious—and grunt under my breath.

T glance over for a second, clock the way I’m struggling, then look back at the game like damn that’s crazy. That’s how I know she in the zone.

“Ion wanna ask you…” I mumble, massaging my own leg with both fists like I’m kneading bread. “But I can’t even move these hoes right now.”

She don’t answer.

“I’m talkin’ bout locked up like—like old people knees,” I continue dramatically. “I need a massage gun or something. A weapon. One of them industrial ones they use on horses or sum.”

Still no response.

I squint at her. “T. I’m in pain. Crippling. Debilitated. And you over there tryna beat 12-year-olds on Call of Duty.”

She smirks, eyes still forward. “They not 12.”

“…so you losing to grown men?”

She side-eyes me, finally, and says, “You want a massage gun or you want me to shoot you?”

“Honestly? Whichever one gon’ make me walk tomorrow.”

I groan again and fall back into the couch like I’m dying. Ain’t no way I’m running shit in the morning if I’m limping like this. I don’t wanna be dramatic but Coach gon’ have to wheel me into drills. And Natisha just sitting there. Looking fine. Being unbothered.

A whole girlfriend in the room and I’m over here massaging myself like a sad little war vet.

I go back to my phone. Scrollin’ like I ain’t in distress. The burn’s mostly gone, but it’s still tight—like my thighs on strike and the union said don’t bend. I adjust in the cushion, lips pressed, tryna focus on whatever’s trending and not the fact that I still feel like a busted can of biscuits.

Then I hear her move. Not a little shift—a real move. Controller down. Headset off. I glance up and she’s already facing me, one leg folded up on the couch, the other planted on the floor, boxing me in like it’s an intervention.

And then she start again.

Hands firmer this time. Deep. Focused. Like she done made it her mission to realign my soul through my hamstrings.

I feel the first dig and damn near drop my phone.

“Shit, T—damn!” I gasp, head snapping back like I caught the Holy Ghost.

She don’t flinch. Don’t pause. Just leans in and says calmly, like she reading me my rights:

“You ight.”

Not asked. Told me. I blink, chest rising, eyes wide. “Girl… how you gon’ tell me I’m okay like you the muscles?”

She glance up, face calm, smug even. “Cause if I stop, you ain’t gon’ be.”

And tell me why she right.

I don’t say shit after that. Just grip the blanket tight, biting my lip, phone abandoned. Her thumbs working knots I ain’t know I had, and now I’m making noises that might get us evicted if I’m not careful.

I hiss again, body twitching. “You tryna help or hurt me?”

She chuckles low and leans in, close enough for her breath to graze my ear.

“Both.” Lord. I’m in danger.

She keep going, slow and steady like she knows she got me. Like she enjoying this way too much. Her hands glide up, dig into the back of my thigh, and then slide down again like she mapping me out from memory. Real precise. Real focused.

And I’m over here clenching the damn throw pillow like it’s a lifeline.

She notices. Of course she do. “You holdin’ that pillow like it owe you money,” she teases, thumbs dragging right into the meat of my thigh.

“I’m holdin’ it ‘cause you tryna kill me,” I mumble, but my voice all soft now. Real submissive. Like my legs done betrayed me and switched sides.

Then she leans in and kisses my knee—deadass kisses it like it’s something precious. Lingers for a second too long, like I’m not gon’ melt from that alone.

“Poor baby,” she coos, one hand still working me while the other wraps around the back of my calf, steady, warm. “All them jokes got you ran ragged.”

I glance at her sideways. “You like when I act up.”

She smirks, brushing her fingers up my thigh again, this time lighter. “I like putting you back together after.”

That make me shut right up. I blink slow, heart skipping, and try to act unfazed—but my eyes drop to her lips, then back to her hands, and I know I’m losing this battle.

“You gon’ carry me to practice tomorrow?” I ask, fake sweet.

She scoffs, biting her lip. “I’ll carry you to bed first.”

“Oh.” My voice real soft now. “Like… right now or…”

She pauses. Smiles all slow. Then: “Finish yo lil scrollin’. I ain’t done wit’ you yet.”

Cute and threatening. I hate her. I love her. I’m down bad.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264

[pintrestgrl]

Hey! Could I request a Dallas x reader where she has a dirty mind but is actually quite innocent and hasn’t experienced anything so Dallas just teases her. Then if you’re willing to write smut where he shows her what it’s really like whilst still being teasing and a bit gross but gentle 💖

boyfriend!dallas is innocent!readers first

you were sitting on his lap when it happened. his hands were on your hips, your head tucked into his neck, and the movie playing in the background had been long forgotten. you’d whispered something dumb, something you meant as a joke. something about riding him like the girl in the movie rode that stupid horse— and dallas froze.

then he laughed. not mean, but not sweet either. that crooked grin you knew too well.“ you say shit like that,” he said, dragging his hands a little lower, “but you get all squirmy if i even talk about gettin’ your shirt off.” your face burned. “i was just— i didn’t mean it like—”

“nah,” he cut you off, amused. “don’t walk it back now. i know how your brain works.” you whined a little, burying your face into his neck. he pulled back just enough to look at you. “dirty little mind, huh? always thinkin’ nasty, but you still blush every time i grab your ass.”

you tried to push him away, but he held you there, grinning. “s’ alright, baby. i like it. you think nasty, but you’re still all— soft. untouched.”

“i’m not untouched,” you mumbled. he raised a brow. “sweetheart, i’ve touched you plenty. but you haven’t been touched yet, not like that. not properly.” you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to. he could read you too easy— could tell just by the way your thighs shifted on his lap that you were thinking about it now. thinking about him.

and he leaned in, voice lower, rougher. “you want me to be the first, huh?” you nodded slowly, breathing shallow. “yeah.”

he kisses you for a long time first— deep and slow, like he’s trying to calm you down, or maybe like he’s already imagining how you’ll sound when he’s inside you. every time you shift under him, he smiles into your mouth like he knows you’re trying to hide how badly you want it. “take these off,” he mutters, tugging lightly at the waistband of your shorts. “let me see you.”

you’re shy, but you do it. he sits back on his knees as you slide them down, and his eyes drag over your thighs, your panties, the way you’re already wet through the cotton. he laughs lowly, mumbling. “well, shit.” he groans. “little miss innocent is all wet.”

your heart’s pounding. you mumble back, embarrassed. “im sorry—” he leans down and kisses your inner thigh, slow and hot. “no, babydoll. that’s a good thing. just means your ‘bout ready.” he mouths over the damp spot between your legs and hums. “anyone ever touched down here, kid?”

you bite your lip, shaking your head. “only me.” he grins. “gonna change that.” and he does— spreads your legs open and drags your panties down your thighs, then settles between them like he’s getting comfortable. he licks a slow stripe up your slit, then groans again. “you taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

your fingers dig into the sheets the second he flattens his tongue against your clit. he keeps the pressure steady, slow but firm, and when your hips jerk, he just grabs your thighs tighter and holds you down. he’s way too good at this. almost makes you remember how experienced he was, and how experienced you weren’t. almost.

“that’s it, baby.” he mumbled between your thighs, the vibration making you squirm. “don’t fight it.” your breath gets quicker, little whimpers breaking free as his tongue circles you, flicks over your clit, then dips lower to tease at your entrance. your thighs tremble.

“dallas—“ you breath out. you don’t even have to finish your sentence. he can tell you’re close. “go ahead,” he murmurs, thumb replacing his mouth so he can talk. “cum for me, baby. you got it.”

when you do, he moans against you, like your body reacting to him turns him on more than anything else. and once you stop shaking, he crawls back up your body and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “you feel ready now?” he asks, against your mouth. you hum a yes, making him grin.

he groans low in his throat. “shit, you’re gonna wreck me, kid.” you feel the blunt head of him press against your entrance, and you go still. he slows down a bit, not fully. “dont freak out on me now, baby. gonna give me blue balls.” you bite your lip. “i know, ‘m sorry. just nervous.”

“i got you, doll.” he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “i’ll go real slow.” he starts to push in, and even though it burns at first, he doesn’t stop touching you— his hand slips between your legs, rubs slow circles over your clit to ease the stretch. he watches your face the whole time.

“god, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he grits out, voice shaky. “can barely get in.” you cling to his shoulders, and finally, he bottoms out. you’re full in a way you’ve never been before— stretched, aching, but god, you’ve never felt anything like it.

he holds still, letting you breathe. “tell me when,” he says softly. “i’m not movin’ ‘til you say.” after a minute, the burn fades into something else. needier, deeper. you nod. “okay.”he starts to move— slow, shallow thrusts that drag along every inch inside you. you gasp, nails digging into his back.

“you feel me, sweetheart?” he groans, starting to push in deeper. “feel me fuckin’ you open?” you nod, dizzy with it. “feels good, dal.”

“yeah, it does.” his lips brush your ear. “you were made for me, baby. perfect lil’ cunt, all mine. all innocent.” the filth just pours out of him— “so warm,” and “so fuckin’ tight,” and “i’ll ruin you for anyone else.” but every word is laced with something softer underneath it. awe, almost. like he can’t believe he gets to be the first. like he’s obsessed with it.

he lifts your leg up over his shoulder and thrusts in deeper. you gasp, louder this time, and he groans like he’s losing control. “that’s it,” he pants. “you like it like that, huh? deep? bet you touched yourself imagining this.” you nod frantically, tears pricking at your lashes. “dallas— i’m gonna—”

“cum for me, baby,” he growls, picking up the pace. “let me feel it.” you fall apart with his name on your lips, and he fucks you through it, grinding in slow until your walls stop clenching. only then does he let himself go— pulling out and finishing all over your stomach with a rough groan.

he collapses beside you, dragging you into his chest immediately. “you good?” he asks after a second, voice rough and low. you nod, dazed and sore and glowing. he kisses your temple, before reaching over to the table and grabbing a cigarette. “you’re too fuckin’ sweet for me, kid.” he mumbles, shaking his head with a grin.

you hum, sleepy. “yeah. always was.” and dallas just grins, cause he already knew.

a/n : this is cute i like

tags : @cadescig @cades-outsider @enchantedstarfish @heavenlyangelbaby @cameronsbabydoll @johnnycadesthoughts @johnnycadesslut @1tsjustj @let-down-and-hanging-ar0und @harajukub4rb1e @browneyebby @avroravia please let me know if u want to b added to the outsiders taglist !!

[jellyfishsthings]

WARNINGS: this is quite angsty...no actual smut happens just a tiny scene. Also I messes around with some scenes so I feel like it doesn't follow the storyline in the series... that's about it... (should a do a part 2?) part 2 here, part 3

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He was nursing a long drink of whiskey on ice as he stared at the blank wall. The year was 1963, and he was currently sitting on a lousy couch in Dallas. The apocalypse was going to take place once again mere days away. He felt bone tired, no one around him understood the stakes and the pressure he was under. He got out of his jacket a black and white photo. A young woman in her early twenties had a huge smile plastered on her face, her head was slightly cocked to the side and loose hair from the messy bun that rested at the top of her head framed her beautiful face. She seemed radiant, her eyes were crinkled from her smile and she seemed like a goddess to him. A piece of heaven that he left behind.

“Who's that?” Klaus whispered in his ear and Five jumped from the sudden sound and he glared at his brother. Out of all his siblings, Klaus was the only one who would understand him. “She is beautiful.”

“She is my wife.” Five said quietly. His voice was soft and colored in an emotion that Klaus couldn't recognize.

“Your what?”

“Are you deaf? I said she is my wife, or at least she was.”

“What happened?”

Five had been at the Commission for several years. After a failed experiment he had turned back to his twenty-year-old self. He had heard whispers of the Scarlet Angel all around him, everyone seemed to talk about his rival, especially in his presence. It was supposed to be the deadliest assassin of the Institution besides him. One gray day he was called into the Handlers office. That was when he saw her for the first time. A tall woman was seated on a chair, her beautiful face turned towards him as he entered the room. Five had never been one to find in someone's physical beauty but at the moment their eyes met he could swear that his heart skipped a beat.

Their first assignment together had been such a success, that they were stuck together permanently. Throughout the following years, Five found himself falling for her harder every day, with every word she said, with every laugh she caused from him, the way she always had his back and defended him whether she agreed with his actions or not. Their fights were the best thing that ever happened to him, she always found ways to leave him speechless, with her smart comebacks, the way she was animated when she got angry, her hands flew around her, her face got angry red and her hair bounced with her movements. He had never seen someone look so exquisite when they were yelling at him. She made him feel alive, adrenaline coursed in his veins. She always got the better of him. She was so… infuriating. On one of those occasions he finally had enough.

He grabbed her face and smashed their lips together to silence her. She was breathless when he distanced himself from her. Her eyes were wild and her hand flew to his cheeks, slapping him. Before leaving him frozen on his spot. They were supposed to be undercover as a married couple at the gala of their target. They had been discussing tactics and strategies when things escalated.

With a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down and headed back towards the ballroom, searching for his supposed wife. They stayed together all night, dancing and acting like a couple. It seemed natural to him to be this way with her. Having her in his arms, and showing her off. Finally a few minutes shy of dawn, they tiptoed towards a huge room where their target hid diamonds. Diamonds they were going to steal after killing him, so the crime would seem like a robbery gone wrong. Just at the last corner, they were almost caught. Five quickly hoisted her up before he pinned her to a wall and he placed his face on her neck. Her skin flashed and her heartbeat was rapid beneath his mouth.

“Play along.” He whispered sweetly to her skin but she was shocked by his actions. So he had no choice. He sucked at her pulse point receiving an immediate reaction. Her legs drew back on his hold, her back arched, her eyes closed and her lips released a quiet breathy moan. At that moment he knew he was already addicted to her. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. He bit and sucked on her neck and her hands tangled into his hair as she tugged at the short strands on the back of his head. She was moaning in his arms and her hips rolled against his. He raised his knee and she started riding his leg shamelessly. He wanted to be inside of her or he was going to burst. He wanted to shut her smart mouth so it would no longer fire comebacks at him. He unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants before pushing her underwear to the side and he waited for a confirmation to continue. She could ask him to kneel, to beg and he would gladly do so. Just to steal one moment with her.

A loud bang echoed through the walls and they snapped out of their daze. But the damage had already been done. Their partnership had been blown to proposition forever. And the rest was history.

Several years later, and many happy years together after being married in secret. It happened, their big bang, the thing that embodied the doom of their relationship. Five had always been a pessimist, even in his early childhood. He was a firm believer in Murphy's law, which stated that when something could go wrong in a situation, always expect it to go wrong. They had traveled in Germany during the Second World War. Five posed as one of the ranking officers in Auschwitz as his wife was expected to do the same. Only, she had been compromised and now she was one of the prisoners. The terrible labor that she endured every day was the thing that would plague him for years to come. After completing their mission and several wounds later they managed to get back to the safety of their home.

“Why didn't you listen to me?” Five snap in frustration and terror. His hands shook as he tried to stitch a big guss on her stomach. She looked paper thin, her bones were visible and her veins along with her arteries stood prominent against her pale skin that lost its color.

“I did. I disagreed with your plan either way. And we had to do something drastic. I took a risk and I lost. It happens.”

“And did it have to happen in one of the most terrifying places that ever existed on this Earth?”

“Snap out of it. You would have done the same. And always where we are atrocious things have happened. So you don't get to lecture me. I am my own person. I made a call and it happened to be wrong. But if I hadn't done that we would have eventually failed this mission. And you don't get to lecture me when you have done nothing but be untruthful to me since the moment this started.”

“Wh- what are you talking about?” Five whispered, his voice quivered with unshown emotions. He could see the inevitable impact between them before his eyes, he had just hoped he could have a few more moments with her. A few more minutes, a few more hours, days, or years. Anything really.

Her eyes were hard and full of hatred. She pulled herself to her feet. The pain that consumed her must have been blinding. The open wounds leaked with blood that stained her skin. She moved towards her coat where she retrieved a dark green notebook and she slammed it against their kitchen table, before placing her hands on her hips and firing a challenging look towards him.

“You know I want to get back to my family, sweetheart.”

“Don't sweetheart me. These equations are only for one person. So is there something you want to tell me, dear husband of mine?”

“Please let me explain…”

“Explain what? That this meant nothing to you? You are an egoistic son of a bitch Five. And I am done with you. And you know why? You made the mistake of placing a date when you started. Our wedding date. You have already shown your true colors. You can leave now. And you can take this, I don't need it any longer. Either way, it was fake and it meant nothing to you.” She said before throwing her wedding ring at him. It thudded against his chest and he caught it mid-air, as he watched her walking away from him and slamming the door of their bedroom in her way. He stood frozen in his place. It was done. The one thing that made him feel alive, the one thing that made him happy left him. He lost it under his own hands. The same night, he left a letter behind him before he traveled back in time, back to his family. To them, he seemed a shy seven years older than when he disappeared. But they didn't know about the two things he carried with him from his last life. Her picture in the breast pocket of his smart jacket and her wedding ring on his collarbones as it hung from a golden chain, both hidden from the world.

“Five. That is just … I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't. It is already hard to think about her.”

“How long has it been since -”

“Six years, eight months and twenty days. My early attempts to get back to you weren't really successful.” He whispered as he toying with her ring. It was gold and smooth to touch, his name had been engraved on the inside. It had been a blast to convince the person who made them that his name was actually Five. And he smiled at the fond memory.

“Will you ever see her again?”

“I don't know. The selfish part of me wishes that, but another part of me knows that it is better this way. Because she is free and safe from me. Klaus, if you don't mind … no more talk please.”

Klaus looked at the pained expression on his brother's face. He had never heard him utter the world “please”, at least not to him. So he simply nodded and stayed with him in silence before their peace was disturbed by their reality.

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