#paige bueckers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingbuckets · 2 days ago

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𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 6.8k

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

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

Monday

Hey, how’d practice go? You alive?

Wednesday

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

Friday

Cool. Guess I’ll take the hint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wlw fanfic #wlw post #uconn x reader

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sharksmom69 · 3 days ago

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heres a clear quality of the pic

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb

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luvergirl-866 · 24 hours ago

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dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #pazzi smut #lilah’s works #that’s so true pt 2

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bballlvr8 · 2 days ago

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i love azzi fudd

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers

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rosemariiaa · 2 days ago

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~Caffeinated Crush~

𐙚- pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚-synopsis: Paige works at a bookstore, and Azzi is the girl who comes in every day but never buys anything. When a spilled coffee incident occurs, she learns Azzi is sketching her in a nearby cafe.

𐙚- this is so cuteeeee, yes i am still currently working on chapter 3 of RMH so you’ll have that soon, but for now enjoy these cuties! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚-themes: fluff, au

𐙚- taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @juspeaks @imaginespazzi @pbaz7 @bueckersbitch @xxloveralways14 @d3arapril @lupinqs @pazzilover101 @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful

enjoy!!!

I should’ve never let Nika get in my head.

My thumbs hover over the screen of my phone as I scroll through yet another endless TikTok, airpods blasting maybe the best R&B playlist handpicked by the queen. Anyway, the store is empty—of course it is. It’s barely 10 a.m., and no one is running to a bookstore this early unless they’re sixty or a morning person.

Not me, though. I’m here because Nika decided to call me lazy last week and the whole team agreed. Said all my NIL deals made me too comfortable, like I didn’t just have the Big East Scholar of the Year award, not to be cocky or anything but doesn’t that mean i’m smartest to ever exist? Exactly. But no, she just still had to run her mouth, so now I’m working this dumb part-time job at “Bound and Brew,” where the only exciting thing is the smell of cinnamon wafting in from the café next door.

Speaking of which, I mentally add a bagel to my lunch break checklist. Asiago, toasted, extra cream cheese—don’t judge me.

I glance at the clock on my phone. Still early. My chin rests in my palm as I lean on the counter, half-heartedly refreshing the store’s Instagram page. No new likes. Big surprise. God, I have practice tomorrow, and for what?

My earbuds buzz with a notification, but before I can check, the door chimes.

My eyes flicker up, and there she is. The girl with the brown, coily hair.

She’s been coming here for weeks now. Never buys anything, just walks around, poking through shelves like she’s on some personal treasure hunt. I’m pretty sure she works at the café next door—I always see her there, either taking orders or perched by the window with a book in one hand and a green matcha latte in the other. Matcha. It’s alright, I guess, but I can’t help the silent judgment. gatorade > tea.

Her eyes meet mine as she steps inside, and I clear my throat, pulling out one earbud. “Hey, what can I do for you?”

She smiles softly, the kind of smile that’s more polite than warm. “You’re fine. I don’t need help yet.”

Her voice is quiet, soft enough that it almost doesn’t match the confidence in the way she carries herself. She’s bundled in a gray puffer coat, her pink sweatpants tucked into winter boots. The UConn shirt under her jacket catches my eye.

She goes to my school? Weird. I’ve never seen her on campus.

I nod, going back to my phone, but I can’t help the way my eyes track her as she moves through the store. Her hands graze the spines of books, pausing occasionally to pick one up, read the back, then put it back in place.

She doesn’t rush. There’s something careful about the way she lingers in each aisle.

I shouldn’t be looking (staring) at her like this.I really shouldn’t, but her hair is just…nice. Thick curls that spring with life, framing her face like something out of a painting. And her skin? Smooth, glowing, the warm tone almost golden under the soft overhead lights.

Wow. I’m really gay.

I snap my attention back to my phone, pretending to scroll. My heart’s doing that annoying thing where it skips.

When I glance up again, she’s at the door. Leaving already. She didn’t pick up a book or anything again.

The door chimes softly as it closes behind her, and I’m left staring at the empty space where she just stood.

She’s really, really pretty.

And just like that, I’m shaking my head, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Get it together, Paige.

This is supposed to be a job, not some secret queer daydream.

By the time my lunch break rolls around, I’m practically counting down the seconds.

The café next door is my safe haven. Warm, cozy, and always smelling like cinnamon and espresso. It’s everything the bookstore isn’t. I step inside, stomping the snow off my sneakers, and head straight for the counter.

There’s no line, which is a small miracle, but then I see her pretty face again.

Brown curls, her same shirt, pink sweats, and those same bright eyes. She’s standing behind the counter, tying an apron around her waist.

Oh.

I knew she worked here! Scholar of the year i told you.

“Hi,” she says when she spots me. Her voice is just as soft as before, but there’s something about the way she looks at me that makes my stomach flip.

“Hey,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “Can I get an asiago bagel, toasted? Extra cream cheese.”

She nods, her hands already moving to jot down the order. “Anything to drink?”

“Just a black coffee,” I say. “Simple.”

She glances up briefly, the corner of her lips quirking like she’s amused. “Simple’s good.”

Her gaze lingers a second too long, and I feel the faintest heat creeping up my neck. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me, like she’s trying to figure me out but doesn’t want me to notice. I definitely noticed.

I glance at her name tag, needing some kind of distraction. “Azzi,” I murmur under my breath. It suits her.

She catches me looking, her cheeks tinting the slightest pink as she fiddles with the pen in her hand. “It’ll be ready in a minute,” she says quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks, Azzi.” Her name rolls off my tongue easier than I expect, and the way her eyes widen just a little makes it worth it.

Azzi ducks her head, pretending to check the order screen, but I can see the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. She’s shy, reserved even, but there’s something so genuine about the way she carries herself. It’s almost refreshing.

As I wait, I glance around the café, the hum of chatter and clinking mugs filling the space. A few students are hunched over laptops in the corner, and there’s an older couple sharing a slice of cake by the window. The atmosphere is cozy, intimate, like something out of a movie.

“Bagel and coffee,” Azzi calls softly, placing my order on the counter.

I step forward, and for a split second, our hands brush as I reach for the tray. Her fingers are warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside, and I swear I see her inhale sharply before quickly pulling away.

“Thanks,” I say again, trying to meet her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, like she wants to say something else, but instead, she bites her lip and busies herself wiping down the counter.

As I turn to leave, I catch her glancing at me again, her gaze lingering on my face before quickly darting away.

I smirk to myself, holding back a chuckle. So she does notice me.

Sliding into a seat by the window, I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes drifting back to Azzi. She’s leaning against the counter now, flipping through what looks like a notebook, nah definitely a sketchbook. Her curls bounce slightly as she moves, and there’s a faint smile on her lips, like she’s lost in her own little world.

For some reason, it’s hard to look away.

I finish my bagel way too fast, but instead of leaving, I sit there for a while, pretending to check emails on my phone while sneaking glances at her. She’s busy now, taking orders and chatting with customers, but every once in a while, her eyes flicker over to me.

It’s subtle—barely noticeable—but it’s enough to make my chest tighten.

When I finally get up to leave, I make a point to walk past the counter.

“See you around, Azzi,” I say, letting her name hang in the air.

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Yeah, uh—see you,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing as she fumbles with a stack of napkins.

I chuckle to myself as I step back into the cold, the warmth of the café lingering in my mind.

This job might not be so bad after all.

—

The next morning, Paige finishes practice, her muscles aching but her mind buzzing with anticipation. She now knows Azzi works morning shifts, and though she tells herself she’s just stopping by for breakfast, there’s no denying the extra pep in her step as she drags Nika along with her to the café.

As they walk in, the comforting aroma of coffee and freshly baked goods fills the air. Paige’s eyes scan the room, immediately finding Azzi at the counter, focused on a stack of receipts. Her heart skips a beat.

Paige shrugs off her hoodie, tossing it onto the back of a chair at an empty table by the window. She and Nika sit down, glancing over the breakfast menu. Paige tries to act casual, but Nika, ever observant, leans in.

“Calm yourself down and find something to get.” Nika pipes up.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, burying her face in the menu.

Just then, Azzi glances up and notices them. Her expression softens, and she waves, a shy smile spreading across her face.

Paige beams back, her cheeks tinged pink as she waves back.

“Hi,” Azzi greets, approaching their table. Her soft voice makes Paige’s heart flutter.

“Hey,” Paige responds, a little too quickly.

“What can I get you guys?” Azzi asks, pulling out her notepad.

“I’ll have eggs and a croissant,” Nika says, glancing between Paige and Azzi with a knowing smirk.

“I’ll take some pancakes,” Paige says, handing Azzi the menu.

Azzi jots down their orders and looks up. “What would you like to drink?”

“Orange juice,” Nika answers.

“And—” Paige starts, but before she can finish, she and Nika both say in unison, “Coffee, black.”

They burst into laughter, and Paige sneaks a glance at Azzi, whose dimples appear as she smiles.

“Got it,” Azzi says, gathering the menus and walking back toward the counter.

Paige’s eyes linger on her retreating figure, her gaze drifting downward until Nika snaps her fingers in front of her face.

“Yo twin, is that the girl you keep talking about in your sleep?”

Paige’s head snaps toward Nika, her eyes wide. “What? In my sleep?”

Nika leans back, smirking. “Yeah, I heard you last night saying her name over and over again. ‘Azzi, Azzi,’” she mimics, feigning a dreamy voice.

Paige’s face flushes. “Shhh! I don’t—whatever, I just say random stuff when I’m sleeping.”

“Sure, sure,” Nika says, winking. “But you keep staring at her. And she keeps looking over here.”

Paige shrugs, slipping into her usual cocky demeanor. “Well, I mean, it’s me. Can you blame her?”

Nika rolls her eyes. “Cocky ass.”

A few moments later, Azzi returns with their food. She sets Nika’s plate down first.

“Thank you,” Nika says with a grin.

As Azzi places Paige’s plate in front of her, she hands her the coffee. But before Paige can grab it, another worker bumps into Azzi from behind, sending the coffee spilling onto Paige’s shirt. Azzi stumbles forward, gasping as she falls right into Paige’s lap.

“Yo!” Paige snaps, turning to the worker. “Can’t you watch where you’re walking? You just made her fall.”

The worker mumbles an apology and scurries off as Azzi scrambles to her feet, her face burning red.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Azzi stammers, her voice shaking.

Paige brushes it off, trying to calm her down. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. But I do need a new shirt now.”

Azzi looks stricken. “I—I think I have an extra one in the back. Come with me to the bathroom?”

Paige stands, turning to Nika, who is smirking like the Cheshire Cat.

“Shut up,” Paige warns, flipping her off as she follows Azzi.

In the bathroom, Azzi motions for Paige to wait while she fetches a shirt. As soon as she leaves, Paige peels off her stained hoodie, leaving her in a sports bra and sweats. She grabs a paper towel, wets it at the sink, and wipes the remaining coffee off her stomach.

When Azzi returns, she pauses for a moment, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly hands Paige a black t-shirt.

“Sorry again,” Azzi murmurs.

Paige grins as she pulls the shirt over her head. “You’re good. Thank you.” She smooths the fabric and gives a playful twirl. “See? Good as new.”

Azzi giggles, her dimples deepening.

Paige’s expression softens. “You have a really pretty smile.”

Azzi ducks her head, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” she says softly. “We should probably head back before my boss notices.”

“Lead the way, Miss Azzi,” Paige says, motioning dramatically toward the door.

As Paige returns to the table, Nika raises an eyebrow. “Everything good?” she asks, smirking.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, sitting down.

Once they finish eating, Nika and Paige pack up to leave. As they’re about to walk out, Paige glances around, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Azzi. When she doesn’t see her, she sighs and heads for the door.

Just as she steps outside, she feels a light touch on her back. Turning, she finds Azzi standing there, holding a folded piece of paper.

“Hey,” Azzi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to say sorry again about your shirt.”

“I told you, it’s okay,” Paige says, smiling. “Things happen. And I love my new shirt.”

Azzi smiles nervously, then holds out the paper. “Okay, um, don’t think this is weird, but it kinda is? but it’s also- anyway I wanted to give you this.”

Paige takes the paper and unfolds it, her eyes widening at the detailed sketch of herself.

“Woah,” she breathes.

Azzi shifts on her feet. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. I just did it for fun.”

Paige fakes a pout. “And here I thought you did it because you liked me.”

Azzi blinks, her cheeks flaming. “Well… that too,” she admits quietly.

Paige grins, her confidence swelling. “This is so good I could literally kiss you right now.”

Azzi’s voice drops to a whisper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Paige steps closer, her hand cupping Azzi’s cheek as she leans in. Their lips meet, soft and tentative at first, before deepening into a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

When they pull apart, snowflakes drift around them, settling in their hair. Paige grins. “So, if I asked you on a date right now, would you sketch me again?”

Azzi laughs, her dimples showing. “Maybe.”

“Pretty please?” Paige pleads, pouting dramatically.

Azzi rolls her eyes playfully. “Fine fine. Since you’re begging.”

Azzi glances over Paige’s shoulder, spotting Nika in the distance, pumping her fist in the air and yelling, “Go gays!”

“Isn’t that your friend?” Azzi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “I don’t know her.”

#pazzi #fic talk #pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆#rosemariiaa

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