Did You Finally Go To Work Pookie🥺🫶🏾😞

Are you fucking okay⁉️

Who tf cares if teenagers have sex irl all the time. It's weird af to sexualize then and write about it. Weird af tryna justify that shit🤷🏾‍♀️

started crying ngl

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it was time for paige to share her life to the world

The Dallas heat clung to everything—your skin, your clothes, your breath. It had been one of those dry, hazy spring days where the city buzzed with anticipation, and today that energy had a name: Paige Bueckers.

Drafted to the Wings only a week ago, your wife had already been pulled in a hundred different directions—interviews, photoshoots, press conferences, sponsor obligations. And tonight, a team dinner to cap it all off.

You knew she was exhausted. You’d seen it in the slump of her shoulders when she got dressed earlier, the tired smile she gave you as she kissed your cheek goodbye. Still, she went. Paige always did the hard thing with grace.

You stayed home with your daughter.

The dinner had started off light—wings, tacos, laughter echoing around the table at some local spot her new teammates loved. Everyone was still riding high from the buzz around the team, and Paige, though quiet at first, settled in after a couple rounds of teasing and margaritas (which she didn’t even sip, but they still joked like she was three drinks in).

“So Paige,” Arike Ogunbowale said from across the table, grinning, “you and Azzi… what’s the deal?”

It was casual, playful—just a nudge in the middle of the chaos—but the whole table paused. Even the waitress setting down guacamole looked like she froze mid-motion.

Paige blinked once, then laughed. It was genuine, warm, and more amused than anything. “Me and Azzi? Nah. We’re just close. Like… family.”

Arike nodded, her mouth full of tortilla chip. “Okay, okay. Just checking. Social media’s obsessed.”

One of the rookies chimed in, “Yeah, I mean, you’re always together.”

Paige shrugged, still smiling. “That’s what happens when you’ve known someone since you were fifteen. She’s my best friend, that’s all.”

There was a flicker of something protective in her voice. Not sharp, but final.

The questions faded, and the conversation shifted toward next week’s training schedule. Paige let herself relax again, but a weight settled in her chest. They didn’t mean any harm. But part of her still hated that people couldn’t imagine her love life without assuming it had to be another basketball player.

No one had guessed the truth.

It was late when she got home. The house was quiet, soft golden light from the kitchen spilling into the hallway. Her sneakers came off with a sigh, and she padded softly down the hall.

First stop: the nursery.

The door was slightly cracked. Inside, a small figure lay sprawled on her belly, wild curly hair fanned out against the sheets. Her favorite stuffed puppy was clutched in one hand, the other hand thrown dramatically over her head like a tiny diva.

Paige stepped inside slowly, carefully. Her heart melted instantly.

She bent down, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “I love you, bug,” she whispered, so low it was barely sound. “So much.”

She lingered there for a second—watching, listening to the even rhythm of her baby girl’s breathing—then gently closed the door behind her.

You were propped up in bed when Paige came in, your face glowing in the light from the TV. A rerun of Chopped was on low volume, the judges arguing about undercooked scallops. You looked over as she entered, your expression instantly softening.

“There’s my superstar,” you teased.

Paige’s face cracked into a tired grin. She kicked off her hoodie and jeans and climbed into bed beside you, settling against the pillows with a heavy sigh. “I’m so tired I think my bones are asleep.”

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “You handled that media circuit like a champ. I saw the clips.”

She groaned, turning her face into your neck. “So many questions. And they all ask the same thing. ‘What are you most excited about? How does it feel to be in Dallas? Do you think you and Azzi are soulmates?’”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what?”

Paige leaned back and looked at you, laughing. “I’m not kidding. One of my teammates asked if Azzi and I are a thing. The whole table went quiet like it was the tea of the night.”

You couldn’t help your smirk. “And what did you say?”

“That she’s like my sister,” Paige said, deadpan. “But I guess people don’t expect me to be married to someone who isn’t also a Nike-sponsored hooper.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well, they can keep wondering.”

Paige reached for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours. She toyed with your wedding ring. “I don’t really care what they think. I just hate not being able to say it out loud.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But here, with us… you don’t have to hide.”

A beat passed.

Then Paige looked toward the ceiling, her eyes fluttering shut. “Sometimes I just wanna scream it. ‘I’m married to the love of my life and we have the most amazing little girl and I’m not dating my best friend!’”

You laughed quietly, running your fingers through her hair. “You’re tired.”

She nodded into your chest. “I am. But happy tired.”

For a few minutes, you lay in silence, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. Her breathing slowed. Her hand still clutched yours.

Then she whispered, “She was asleep when I checked in on her.”

“Was she curled up like a little croissant again?”

“No,” Paige said, grinning against your skin. “Starfish mode tonight. She’s dramatic, just like you.”

You chuckled, closing your eyes as Paige snuggled in closer, her voice barely a breath now. “Thanks for holding it down at home.”

“Always,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Now sleep. You’ve got a city to conquer tomorrow.”

And with your arms wrapped around her, the soft hum of the TV, and your daughter safe down the hall, Paige finally let go—of the noise, the questions, the pressure—and drifted off in the quiet comfort of home.

Saturdays had a different feel now.

In Connecticut, it used to mean quiet coffee runs and long naps between workouts. But now, in Dallas, Saturdays were noisy. Messy. Beautiful. They started with sticky pancake fingers, early cartoons, and your daughter toddling around the kitchen with one sock on, yelling that she was a “big girl” and didn’t need a bib.

You and Paige had decided early on that today was just for the three of you. No media. No workouts. No press. Just a family day under the sun.

And so you found yourselves at a park, right in the middle of downtown Dallas. It was a bright, cloudless day. Families filled the green spaces, music echoed from a nearby jazz trio, and the food trucks lined up like a mini festival.

Your daughter, Emma—two and a half years old and already a firecracker—clung to Paige’s hand like she was leading a grand expedition across the grass.

“Where are we going, baby?” Paige asked, her sunglasses perched on her head, her other hand holding your iced lemonade.

“To da dogs!” Emma shouted, pointing at the off-leash area where a dozen bouncing golden retrievers played in a chaotic fur ball.

Paige gasped dramatically. “THE DOGS? Why didn’t you say so sooner?!”

She scooped Em into her arms, spinning her in a wide circle that sent squeals of laughter into the breeze.

You followed behind, grinning like a lovestruck idiot, because no matter how many times you saw Paige with your daughter, it never got old.

After the dogs (which Em referred to as “her friends”), you found a shaded bench by the splash pad. Shoes were off. Chubby toddler legs were kicking water in all directions. Paige sat cross-legged on the concrete beside her, letting the spray hit her jeans, not caring one bit.

“Okay, okay,” Paige said, pointing at a tiny spout, “if I put my hand here, will it spray me in the face?”

Your daughter nodded, wild-eyed. “Yes! Do it! Do it!”

Paige pretended to consider. “I dunno… seems risky.”

“Do it, Mama! Be brave!”

You watched from the bench, barely holding back a laugh as Paige gave in with theatrical flair. She slapped her palm on the stream and—true to your daughter’s prediction—it shot directly into her face.

Both of them screamed.

Your daughter collapsed into giggles, falling back into your lap as Paige wiped her face and feigned betrayal.

“I trusted you!” she cried.

“I sorry,” your daughter said through giggles, not sorry at all.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a tiny little prankster, that’s what you are.”

She pounced, grabbing your daughter from your arms and tickling her belly until the poor girl was a breathless, wriggling mess.

Later, after lunch from a taco truck and ice cream melting faster than you could eat it, the three of you laid on a picnic blanket near the edge of the park. Paige was on her back, your daughter curled up on her chest, slowly blinking up at the blue sky. She was coming down from her sugar high, hair damp from the water, eyelids fluttering.

You leaned over, resting your head on Paige’s shoulder.

“Tired?” you asked.

“Like, I’d-rather-get-run-over-by-a-scooter-than-move tired,” Paige whispered back. “But this is the happiest I’ve been in… I don’t even know how long.”

You looked down at your daughter’s little hand resting on Paige’s shirt, her tiny thumb unconsciously stroking Paige’s collarbone. Paige didn’t even seem to notice—she was so used to the closeness now.

“She loves you so much,” you said, your voice quiet.

Paige turned her head to look at you. “I’d give her the moon if she asked.”

You smiled, and she kissed you softly, the kind of kiss that didn’t need fireworks or urgency—just comfort and presence. Just love.

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the buildings. You started packing up while Paige stayed sprawled out on the blanket, your daughter now fully asleep, mouth slightly open, cheek pressed to Paige’s chest.

As you folded up the corner of the blanket, Paige looked up at you, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think they’ll ever get used to this?” she asked.

“Who?”

“The world. The media. Everyone who thinks I should be with Azzi or still single. Everyone who can’t imagine I’d choose this—quiet Saturdays and sippy cups over spotlight interviews.”

You met her gaze and smiled softly. “They don’t have to understand it. You just have to live it.”

Paige looked down at the little bundle on her chest, then back at you. “I’m living it. And it’s perfect.”

By the time you made it back to the car, your daughter was groggy and muttering something about needing her stuffed puppy. Paige kissed her forehead, promised they’d find it when they got home, then strapped her gently into the car seat.

As she closed the door, you caught her hand.

“Hey,” you murmured, tugging her in.

She stepped into you easily, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“Thank you,” you whispered against her temple.

“For what?” she asked.

“For being this. For loving us like this.”

Paige tilted her head, brushing her lips across your jaw. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

And with your daughter softly snoring in the backseat, the air still warm with sun and laughter, you believed her with your whole heart.

Sundays in Dallas were slower, warmer in every way. The city was quieter. Even the breeze felt lazy, like it didn’t have anywhere to be. Today, you and Paige had taken your daughter to the Dallas Farmers Market — your favorite spot for fresh fruit, wandering stalls, and letting your toddler explore the world in her little denim overalls and butterfly sneakers.

She held Paige’s hand as she toddled toward a booth selling homemade soaps, squealing about the ones shaped like ducks. Paige, with her signature cap pulled low and sunglasses on, nodded along like this was a very important duck decision.

You were laughing, sipping your coffee, when it happened.

“Wait… hold up.”

You turned toward the voice just as Paige froze.

Two figures stood by a booth across the path. Tall, athletic, and unmistakable even out of uniform. Dijonai Carrington and NaLyssa Smith.

“PAIGE?” Dijonai called, her eyebrows practically hitting her hairline. “Is that you?”

Paige straightened slowly, adjusting her hat like it might help her hide in plain sight. “Heyyyy... guys.”

NaLyssa squinted. “Are you holding hands with a baby?”

You tried not to laugh, especially as Paige’s eyes flicked to you with a silent help me.

“She’s a toddler, actually,” you said, stepping up and offering a warm smile. “And yes. That’s our daughter.”

Dijonai’s jaw dropped so fast you swore you heard it.

“OUR?!”

Your daughter looked up at the sound and instantly broke into a grin. “Mama!” she shouted, lifting both arms toward Paige. Paige scooped her up with practiced ease.

NaLyssa blinked. “Mama?!”

“Okay, okay,” Paige laughed, already blushing. “Let me explain.”

After the initial shock wore off—and after your daughter insisted on showing them her duck soap and a sticker she got from a face painting booth—you all decided to hang out the rest of the day.

The five of you ended up grabbing Thai food from a food stand and sprawling out at a nearby park on the grass. The energy was light, Emma chasing butterflies and occasionally tripping into Paige’s lap, then laughing like it was the best thing ever.

NaLyssa took to her like an auntie in five seconds flat, giving her piggyback rides while Dijonai tried (and failed) to braid her curly hair.

By the time the sun started dipping low, you looked at Paige and smiled. “We should invite them over.”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. They’re not gonna let this go without the full story anyway.”

That evening, with your daughter finally asleep upstairs—curled in her bed with her stuffed puppy tucked under one arm—you all lounged in your cozy living room. The lights were dimmed, music soft in the background, a couple candles flickering on the coffee table.

You poured glasses of wine, passing them around before curling up next to Paige on the couch. She stretched her arm around you, fingers gently tracing your shoulder as you sipped.

“Alright,” Dijonai said, settling into the beanbag like she owned it. “Spill. We need the entire story. Like… Paige Bueckers has a family. Who would’ve guessed?”

Paige smiled, leaning into you a little. “It’s not as dramatic as you think.”

You nudged her playfully. “Kinda is.”

NaLyssa raised her glass. “Let’s hear it.”

You glanced at Paige, who gave you the go-ahead. So you started.

“Well… we met at UConn. I wasn’t a player—I was studying sports medicine and doing photography for the women’s basketball program.”

“She had a camera in her hand every time I looked up from the court,” Paige added with a soft laugh.

“I got pregnant right around the start of my second year, basketball season was just beginning,” you said, tone quieting a little. “It was… unplanned. The baby daddy didn’t stick around.”

Dijonai’s smile dropped. “Damn. That sucks.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It was rough. But Paige… she just showed up. Not all at once. Just… little things. Bringing me food. Walking me back to my dorm when my ankles were too swollen. Sitting with me during appointments when I couldn’t reach my mom.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Paige said. “But I knew I wanted to help her. I wanted to be around.”

“And then one day, she showed up with a crib she built herself,” you continued, laughing softly. “Badly built, by the way.”

“Hey!” Paige protested. “That thing held perfectly until month six.”

NaLyssa giggled. “So when did it… become more than friendship?”

You looked at Paige, your eyes softening.

“It was slow,” you said. “But honest. I think I loved her before I realized I did. Before I even knew I was allowed to.”

“I fell first,” Paige admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I waited until she was ready. I wasn’t going to push it.”

You looked down at your wine, smiling. “And by the time our daughter was born, it was just… obvious. She was already her mama. Her name deserved to be on the birth certificate. We got married shortly after Emma was born. No doubts whatsoever.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Dijonai let out a long whistle. “So I guess the ‘Pazzi’ rumors are just rumors, huh?”

Paige burst out laughing. “Yeah. Definitely. Azzi’s actually Emma’s godmother.”

NaLyssa choked on her wine. “What?! Y’all are out here playing chess while the whole internet’s writing fanfics!”

“Yeah,” Paige smirked. “And I read some of them. Wild stuff.”

You gasped. “Paige!”

“What?” she grinned. “Some of ‘em are kinda flattering.”

Dijonai shook her head, laughing. “I love this. I can’t wait to see the look on people’s faces when they find out.”

You looked at Paige, her cheeks flushed with wine and happiness, and smiled. “We’re not rushing that. But it’s nice to finally share it with someone.”

She leaned over and kissed you softly, letting her hand drift over your thigh. “Yeah. Feels good.”

NaLyssa raised her glass again. “To chosen family. And duck soap. And a little girl with the coolest moms in Texas.”

You all clinked glasses.

And in that living room—warm with love, filled with quiet laughter and soft confessions—you realized just how full your life had become.

Not just because of what you had with Paige.

But because of everything you’d built together.

The morning started with pancakes and cartoons, as it usually did. Paige had an early shoot around, but it was her first open-practice session with the team since the season officially kicked off — and she insisted on making it a family affair.

“You sure they won’t mind?” you asked as you buttoned your daughter’s little Wings jersey, the one with Bueckers on the back and “#5” in glitter iron-on patches.

Paige gave you a look like you’d just asked if basketballs were round. “They’ll love it. Trust me — they’re already obsessed with her and they haven’t even met her yet.”

You raised a brow. “They’re gonna be obsessed with me too, right?”

Paige leaned in, kissed you softly, and murmured against your lips, “I already am.”

The College Park Center buzzed with energy when you arrived. The team was mid-practice, music bumping through the speakers, sneakers squeaking across the court. Trainers and staff bustled around, but when Paige jogged in with you and your daughter in tow, heads turned.

A few players paused their drills, doing double takes.

“Is that…?”

“Oh my god, she’s here!”

NaLyssa was the first to run over, already beaming. “Hey! My favorite tiny human!” she called, bending down with arms open.

Your daughter squealed and took off across the hardwood — all bouncing curls and flashing sneakers — throwing herself into NaLyssa’s arms.

“You see that?” Paige said proudly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Star player in the making.”

“You mean star recruiter,” you teased. “She’s already got the team wrapped around her finger.”

Practice paused for a bit — not because it was scheduled to, but because your daughter had singlehandedly hijacked the gym.

Maddy Siegrist taught her how to spin a ball on her finger (badly), and Teaira McCowan gave her piggyback rides down the sideline. Arike pretended to “lose” to her in a 1-on-1 dribble showdown, flopping dramatically every time your daughter drove the ball (slowly pushed it across the court while making car sounds).

Paige, watching from the bench with you tucked under her arm, just smiled like her whole world was right there on that hardwood.

When Coach Chris Koclanes walked over, hands on his hips, you tensed — but the coach just looked at Paige’s daughter, then at you, and broke into a warm grin.

“So,” he said, “this is the little MVP we’ve been hearing about?”

“She’s the real star of the family,” you replied.

Coach nodded sagely. “Well, we’ve got open tryouts in 2042.”

Later, after a water break and some light drills, the team settled into a shooting competition, and Paige brought your daughter onto the court with her.

“Alright, baby girl,” Paige said, handing her a mini basketball, “show ‘em how we do it at home.”

Your daughter squinted at the toddler-sized hoop they’d rolled out, took three steps back, and chucked the ball with everything she had.

It bounced off the rim, hit the floor, and rolled to NaLyssa’s feet.

And everyone still cheered like she just hit a buzzer-beater in the Finals.

“She’s got that dog in her!” NaLyssa yelled.

“Sign her now!” Dijonai called from the baseline.

Emma spun around, arms high in the air, and shouted, “I WIN!”

The team exploded in laughter and applause, and Paige scooped her up and spun her around.

“You always win,” she whispered, kissing her cheek. “Always.”

Practice wrapped up with team stretches, and your daughter sat in Paige’s lap, mimicking every move with a dramatic flair that had half the players in tears from laughing.

You took a few pictures — one of Paige mid-stretch with her daughter copying her pose, both of them giggling, sweat-slick and sunlit under the gym lights. Another of the whole team posing around your daughter like she was their mascot.

By the time you were heading out, your daughter’s head rested sleepily on Paige’s shoulder, a little snack in one hand and her other thumb tucked in her mouth.

“She did great,” you whispered.

“So did I,” Paige murmured back with a grin. “I was so nervous.”

You looked up at her. “About what?”

“Bringing my world together,” she said. “You, her… them. I just didn’t want it to feel weird. Or too much.”

You kissed her gently on the temple. “You didn’t bring your world together, Paige. You built one. And we’re all lucky to be part of it.”

Paige glanced down at your daughter, kissed the side of her head, then looked at you like she couldn’t believe she’d gotten this lucky.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered. “I’ve got my whole team right here.”

The next morning, you were still in pajamas, your daughter sitting in her high chair absolutely covered in oatmeal, when Paige’s phone started blowing up.

She frowned at it, brushing oatmeal off her hoodie as she picked it up. “Uh… babe?”

You looked up from your coffee. “Hmm?”

“I think… I think we just went viral.”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

Dallas Wings – Instagram (@/dallaswings) [“Golden” – Harry Styles] “The Bueckers Era has officially begun 💙💚”

The video opened with Paige walking into the practice facility holding your daughter’s hand — her tiny legs moving double-time to keep up, her jersey bouncing as she walked.

Cut to:

Paige tying her daughter’s shoes on the bench

A shot of you sitting court side with your camera in hand, smiling at them

Your daughter making a shot in the toddler hoop and doing a victory dance as the team erupts

Paige picking her up and spinning her in the air, both of them laughing

Finally, a close-up of your daughter asleep on Paige’s chest during cool-down, Paige’s hand protectively over her back

And then…

Overlay text at the end: “Family.”

The comments? Unhinged.

@/wnbastan69: wait... PAIGE IS A MOM???

@/wingsnation: WHO IS THAT WOMAN ON THE BENCH. SHE'S GORGEOUS. IS THAT HER WIFE???

@/bucketsqueen: this is not a drill. paige bueckers is a MILF. i repeat—

@/azzistan: I KNEW she wasn’t with Azzi. THE BABY IS CALLING HER MAMA.

@/uconnfan1 ok. hear me out. that woman has a tattoo of Paige’s number on her arm. go back to the February UConn Gala photos. it's her. they've been together.

The TikTok version? Hit 1.2 million views in three hours.

And your DMs? Albeit being private. Piling up with everything from “CONGRATS OMG” to “how did you pull her???” to “tell us your love story pls pls pls.”

You just turned your phone over and looked at Paige, who was feeding your daughter a blueberry while trying not to panic.

“Well,” you said, sipping your coffee. “Hard launch.”

That night, the Wings media team reached out about doing a feature for their upcoming mini docuseries, “Inside the Paint.” Paige hesitated, but you looked at her and said:

“If we’re gonna tell it… let’s tell it right.”

You, Paige, and your daughter sat side-by-side on the couch in your home, camera crew set up across from you.

“She’s my whole heart,” Paige said, glancing at Emma who was now climbing into her lap with a granola bar. “She’s not technically mine. But she is.”

You nodded. “We met at UConn. I was pregnant — alone. Paige was just… Paige. Gentle. Always there.”

The camera caught Paige’s hand finding yours.

“She helped raise her. Changed diapers. Did midnight feeds. Built cribs badly,” you teased.

“She was the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t alone in it,” you continued. “And somewhere along the way, we just… fell in love.”

“My name’s on the birth certificate,” Paige added softly. “And my last name’s on both of theirs now.”

“Mama was all she knew Paige to be.”

The crew filmed the bookshelf with framed family photos. Paige carrying your daughter on her shoulders at the beach. You three asleep on the couch in a tangle of limbs. A picture of Azzi Fudd holding your daughter at her baptism with tears in her eyes.

“She’s the godmother,” Paige confirmed, grinning. “Azzi. The real MVP.”

The episode dropped on YouTube and Instagram the following weekend. And in under 24 hours, it was the top trending topic on WNBA Twitter and TikTok.

The reactions? A mix of sobbing emojis, fan art of your little family, and people just melting over how soft Paige was the whole time.

@/bballdreams: I thought I couldn’t love Paige Bueckers more. And then she became a wife and a mom. I’m DONE.

@/fanbrushfire: [art of Paige in uniform holding your daughter’s hand, with you in the background cheering them on] “Mama Bueckers”

@/sidelineheart: Paige Bueckers being a quiet, private wife and mother and then casually dropping the most beautiful love story I’ve ever heard?? How is this real??

That night, curled up with Paige on the couch, your daughter asleep upstairs, you scrolled through the chaos while Paige played with your fingers.

“You okay with it?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “I’m glad it’s out there. You deserved to be known like this.”

She kissed your temple. “We deserved to be known.”

The Wings had just pulled off a thrilling win against the Mercury. Paige had dropped 19 with 8 assists, but the real surprise came postgame.

As the buzzer sounded and the crowd erupted, the arena lights dimmed for the usual fan-appreciation wrap-up — but then the Jumbotron lit up with something unexpected.

“Special Presentation” — the screen read, flashing between highlights of the game and a video montage.

Your daughter appeared on-screen, wearing an oversized Wings hoodie, shyly grinning.

“Hi Mama,” her tiny voice said, echoing across the arena. “I proud of you. You my favorite player ever and ever. Can I give hug now?”

The arena melted.

Paige turned, stunned, and saw you at the tunnel — holding your daughter, her eyes bright and excited.

The crowd parted like the sea as the two of you walked onto the court. Your daughter wriggled out of your arms and ran straight to Paige, who dropped to her knees to catch her.

The ovation was deafening.

Tears welled in Paige’s eyes as she kissed her daughter’s cheek, holding her tightly, forehead resting against her tiny one.

The announcer laughed through the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen… the real MVP of the night.”

@/espnW: Paige Bueckers just got surprised on court by her wife and daughter after the Wings win. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. 🥹💙

@/wnbatalk: “Can I give hug now?” I’m SOBBING. Who raised that little angel?!

@/courtsidechronicles: Paige crying while hugging her daughter, then looking at her wife like she hung the moon? Love is so real.

@/fanartfridays: [Art of the three of you walking off the court hand-in-hand, with the Wings logo glowing behind you.] “The Heart of Dallas.”

You tucked your daughter into bed, her plush Wings blanket pulled up to her chin. Paige leaned down and whispered, “You were so brave today, baby. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mama,” she mumbled, already drifting.

You walked back downstairs together, hand in hand.

On the couch, Paige wrapped her arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder.

“I think they really know us now,” she murmured.

You tilted your head toward her. “They do.”

“And they love her,” she added, a proud smile blooming across her face.

“She’s impossible not to love,” you whispered. “Just like her mom.”

Paige kissed your cheek and pulled you closer, the glow of the moment still radiating through every room of your home.

“Thank you,” she said. “For letting me have this life.”

You turned in her arms, looked into her eyes, and smiled.

“We built this life together. And the best part? We’re just getting started.”

The WNBA season had hit its brief midseason break, and for the first time in months, the house was quiet. You were curled up on the couch flipping through a book while Paige lay on the floor with Em lying across her chest, both completely still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of Paige’s breathing.

Then Paige’s phone buzzed from the coffee table.

She carefully reached for it, glancing at the screen without disturbing the sleepy toddler snuggled into her.

Azzi: I swear to God if I don’t see my goddaughter in person soon I will riot

Paige smiled and nudged you with her foot. “Guess who’s demanding visitation rights.”

You looked up, already grinning. “Azzi?”

She showed you the screen and you snorted. “She’s obsessed. But, fair. You know we’ve been meaning to visit.”

Paige’s voice dropped to a softer tone as she looked down at the little girl sleeping peacefully on her chest. “I think it’s time we go back. Just for a few days.”

“Back to where it all started?” you asked.

Paige met your eyes, voice thick with nostalgia. “Back home.”

Kaitlyn Chen first points in the wnba!

classified. Connie. S

— ♡. you called for a gram but connie knew you wanted more

— ♡. black fem chubby reader! plug connie, mirror sex, secret relationship, readers high, is a repost!

connie was enjoying every moment of this. he enjoyed the way he used his hand; to pull you back on his dick, everytime you tried to move away

he enjoyed how the mummers of all the moving people throughout the house, loving how you two could get caught at any moment

“your enjoying this yea, mama? you didn’t just call me for a gram, you called cause you’re a needy little thing” his mocking; with the added chuckle only got worse when your eyes swelled with tears

you were on a high connie’s weed couldn’t take you. he was so deep inside of you, hitting the very spot no one but him- could hit

“fuck! feel you clenching; gone cum mama? cum on your dick” his command went straight to your lower half. your girl creaming all over him; eyes not being able to focus on his taunting features any longer, all of your senses coming down on you at once

it was as if your eras had given out, your orgasm so strong that the only thing that brought you back to life was connie turning you around; and putting you on your knees. his cum started to rain down on you - making your lash go heavy

“mm, fuck. such a good girl” rubbing over your cheek, a childish grin was on his face at the way you blinked at him mindlessly

just as the moment began, it ended with connie fixing himself up. he didn’t worrying about your watchful eyes, or how you had yet to get up from your place on the ground moving around your figure

as he fixed his puffer coat, and pulled his chain from underneath the white t-shirt. he licked his lips before reminding you of what to do when he left

“make sure you come out at least ten minutes after me. wouldn’t want people to know how you don’t pay with money, but pussy”

not leaving room for you to respond; he walked out of the bathroom his laugh and loud clap of him dapping someone ringing in your ears

but you didn’t feel sad - but accomplished, because you and him both knew your arrangement was better on the low

WEDNESDAY | Seven | smg x f!reader

Weight of the world on your shoulders I kiss your waist and ease your mind I must be favored to know ya I take my hands and trace your lines

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1.5k | Pairing: smg x f!reader | Genre: smut, romance

Warnings: praise, oral f. rec., fingering, squirting, cum eating/drinking

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, called pretty girl, wap

Mingi is fucking obsessed with your pussy. He’s obsessed with how it looks, how it tastes, how it feels. He wants to be inside of you as often as he possibly can, in whatever form possible. Whether he’s fucking you with his fingers, shoving his tongue in to feel your walls flutter, or sinking his aching cock into your perfect, wet warmth, he wants to be inside of you. 

Which is why he’s on his knees for you on this rainy Wednesday night, the TV flashing behind him and illuminating you where you sit at the edge of the sofa. He can barely hear the pitter patter of the raindrops, your thighs clamped tightly around his head as he licks and sucks at your clit. 

You’re so fucking wet it’s dripping down his chin, which is just another thing he’s obsessed with. You always get drenched for him, always leave him soaked with you, always leak enough to fill his mouth and his head and his heart. 

You’re the best he’s ever had, and he knows that will never change because you’ll be the last he ever has too. He doesn’t want anyone else, couldn’t want anyone else, not when you’re so fucking wet and hot and lush for him every single time. Plus there’s the fact that he’s fucking in love with you, in a way that almost scares him. 

He’s just never been so devoted to someone before, never been so enamored, so consumed, that he’s asked them for an uninterrupted two hours a week just to eat them out. The two hours you offer him usually fall on Wednesdays, making it his absolute favorite day of the week. 

He thinks he’s maybe halfway into his time, and he’s only made you cum twice so far. You’re having a stressful week, with lots going on at work and some drama within your friend group, and he thinks your mind may be a bit too busy for him to make you cum easily like usual. 

He’ll just have to work hard to clear it and do his best to keep your focus on him, starting with sliding two fingers inside of you and wrapping his lips around your clit. That makes you gasp, makes your back arch, makes your hand flex in his hair, and he groans in encouragement, the vibration of his lips sparking a full body shiver. 

He pulls them out a little and crooks them up, searching for the spot that always makes you gush for him. He’s glad he remembered to lay a towel down this time, because once he finds that spot, he’s going to grind into it with the tips of his fingers until he makes you squirt. He likes how empty your mind gets after, how you get all pliant and soft and sweet, how you either beg for his cock or beg him to make it happen again. 

Your hips jump against his face as he passes over a rough patch, and now that he’s found what he was looking for, he can get to work on making you forget all your worries. With his fingers curled inside you, he starts pumping them, tilting his hand up every time his knuckles touch your pussy so his fingertips rub into the spot. 

He’s relentless, his lips puckered around your swollen little clit and his tongue flicking over it until you’re whimpering his name. You grind into his face and he whines around you, feeling his cock jerk against his thigh as precum starts to bead on the head. You just keep getting wetter, your sounds growing louder and higher and your cunt squeezing his fingers so tight it makes him moan. 

He almost can’t take the anticipation, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before you’re drowning him with your arousal. He can tell you’re getting close, your body trembling and your pussy clenching, and all he can do is groan, “Cum,” into you and hope you listen. 

You do, thank fuck, you do, letting out a sharp keen and absolutely fucking coating him in you. He pulls away from your clit, replacing his lips with his thumb to lean down and open his mouth as wetness sprays out of your cunt. His fingers keep grinding into your g-spot, beckoning you to keep going so he can catch it with parted lips and a laid out tongue. 

You sob above him, one hand clutching his hair and the other holding your breast like it’s a lifeline. He commits the sight of you, the taste of you, the feel of you, to memory, files it away into the folder containing the most precious of things, and lets himself cum, just a little, just enough to sate him for the next forty five minutes. 

That’s how long he thinks he has left, and he’s planning to make the most of his time. 

He pulls away just far enough to regain his breath and ask, “Again?” 

You stare down at him dazedly, your starry eyes full of tears and your perfect tits heaving as you fight to take in air. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” Mingi says, nearly in awe. “Can I make you squirt again, pretty girl?” 

“Yeah, Mingi,” you whine weakly. “I wan-wanna-”

Another sob cuts your words off as he digs his fingers into the patch of nerves inside you and returns his mouth to your clit. He gets right to work, lapping at you with his tongue and thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy, pushing through your tightness to curl them rhythmically. 

Your hips jolt into his face and he feels the corners of his mouth curl in a grin, pleased as always by the way you react to him, and pleased even more by the gush of arousal that comes when he sucks your clit into his mouth and hums. 

Your hips buck with his movements and he has to grasp one with his free hand to keep you still, to anchor you down to the couch so he can continue taking you apart. Your hand covers his and he tangles his fingers with yours, looking up to catch your eyes and groaning roughly into you when he sees the fucked out expression on your face. 

Now that he’s holding you down, you’ve practically melted into the couch, your legs sprawled apart to make room for him and your chin tucked to your chest as you watch him work. It’s always easier to make you squirt the second time around, and Mingi nearly vibrates in excitement as he slides in a third finger, crooks them into your g-spot, and grinds. 

He can’t wait for you to cum again, to flood him again, can’t wait to drink you down and spin you out until he’s sure he’s the only thought left in your big, smart brain. He thinks he can see the rest fading away, your eyes growing hazier with every thrust and curl of his fingers inside you, with every suck of his lips around your clit and every squeeze of his hand on your hip.

Your cunt starts to flutter around his fingers, your walls clamping down to hold them inside, and he listens to your body, leaving them where they are and starting to massage your g-spot with his fingertips. He thinks he can feel your clit throbbing between his lips, and it almost makes his eyes roll back into his head, just thinking about getting you so hot that he can feel your pulse in your pussy. 

Your cries reach a fever pitch and your thighs snap closed around his head as you break, your wetness gushing out around his fingers in waves, spilling over his chin to trickle down his neck to his chest. He fucking loves how messy it is, how you soak his skin, how his fingers will be pruney when he pulls them out of you. 

With his internal clock ticking, he decides to just keep going. You’ll stop him when the two hours are up so you can take a bath and watch a movie, and until then, he’s going to keep making you cum, because it’s what you deserve. 

You deserve to be so full of pleasure, you don’t feel any pain. So full of his love, you never have a reason to doubt it. And maybe later tonight, so full of his cum, you’ll still be leaking it tomorrow. 

AN: WAP wednesday yeeeeehaw

pls reblog if you enjoyed!! as always, i would love to hear your thoughts 💖

Seven Masterlist

My Masterlist

made me want to start writing again

CHARGE iT TO THE GAME 🔌 — PAiGE BUECKERS

✐˚ ༘ WORD COUNT | baby idk. wildest guess 5-6k?

✐˚ ༘ SYNOPSiS | paige has spent forever trying make you hers. the only problem is that your shithead girlfriend stands in the way of that. you’re a good girl, loyal, but it’s no secret that you’re unhappy. even if you haven’t said anything explicitly, everyone sees the stolen glances the both of you take. you can feel the magnetic pull of your feelings for paige, but you just can’t give in. you’re firm on this— that is until your girlfriend unlocks your petty side.

✐˚ ༘ WARNiNGS | smut, revenge sex (though reader’s feelings are real), toxic!gf, technical cheating, fingering (r! receiving), cunnilingus (r! receiving), strap (r! receiving), reader turns into a video girl, slightly jealous sex (on paige’s part), etc.

✐˚ ༘ MiMiS NOTES | realized i’ve never written smut for paige and then decided… why not? excuse any typos, i was fighting for my life writing this

you’re sitting across from her, but it feels like you’re sitting across from a mirror made of ice. the wine glass in your hand doesn’t warm your fingers. the expensive dress she picked for you doesn’t feel like yours. and every time she laughs at something vapid, you feel a part of yourself shrinking to fit her mold.

your girlfriend—celeste—is the kind of girl who looks good in a press release. sleek hair, tailored words, instagram-curated love. she calls you babe in public, sweetie in private, and never once gets your coffee order right.

but you stay.

because it’s easy.

because people call you “power couple” under your pictures.

because she looks good beside you in photos, and even better when she’s leaving you voicemails about how you “could’ve smiled more.”

but then there’s her.

paige.

paige who calls you shorty even though you’re only two inches shorter. paige who remembers you like chaos, like extra caramel drizzle and sneakers that don’t match. paige who doesn’t ask why you’re still with celeste—she just watches, with that quiet ache in her eyes like she already knows.

you’ve been dancing around it for months. late-night texts. elevator silences that drag a second too long. the time her hand grazed yours at a post-game party and you didn’t pull away fast enough.

you thought you were hiding it well.

but paige?

she’s done hiding.

it starts at some swanky charity event celeste insists on dragging you to. another night of her clinking glasses with people who don’t know your name, correcting the way you stand, fixing your lipstick with a thumb like she’s brushing crumbs off a child.

paige shows up in a black suit with a white tee and eyes only for you.

and maybe you look at her a second too long. maybe your smile reaches your eyes in a way it hasn’t in weeks.

celeste notices.

“her again?” she says coolly, following your gaze.

you blink, trying to reel it back. “we’re friends.”

“hm.” she swirls her wine. “you have a lot of those lately. especially ones who don’t understand boundaries.”

you don’t reply.

because paige is walking toward you.

and there’s something in her stride that says tonight changes everything.

you find her again outside, where the night air tastes like freedom and her hoodie smells like her cologne. she tossed it over your shoulders without asking.

“you good?” she asks softly.

your nod is shaky. “yeah. just needed air.”

she leans beside you on the balcony railing, silent for a moment. her fingers brush yours.

“you always come back to her,” she says finally. “but you never look happy about it.”

you swallow hard. “it’s not that simple.”

“it is.” paige looks at you like she’s handing you a choice. “you don’t have to keep choosing what hurts you.”

you meet her eyes.

and for once, you let yourself speak without thinking. “then take me.”

paige chuckles like it stings. her hand brushes her face and the thumb of her right hand glides over her jawline. she allows her chin to rest in the palm of her hand and glances over at you. “i would but…” she trails off with a glint of doubt in her eyes. “you’re not ready.”

your mouth dries and suddenly the mucus in it tastes bitter. you can’t argue because you know it’s true. but you do yearn for that mistake.

“listen, shorty.” paige leans away from the railing and adjusts the lapels of her suit, seemingly pulling herself together. “i’ve been waiting and i’ll keep waiting for you. understand?”

you nod, blinking rapidly. in this moment, you feel small. and not because of what paige has said, but you almost want to shrink out of embarrassment. why would you stay where you’re unhappy?

with a huff, you turn on your heels and head back toward the dining hall. your palms sweat and your feet ache, but you’d rather that than face the distant yet longing gaze of paige madison bueckers.

by the end of the night, you’ve listened to about 100 speeches and had to give one of your own. the team is planning to head to ted’s afterwards— it’s still early and nobody really wants to go home just yet.

“we should go, you know,” celeste chimes, nudging you with your elbow.

you merely hum. you’ve been gazing at paige smile the brightest of smiles as she jokes around with kamorea arnold, the exuberant guard.

“you should fix up your makeup though. it looks all splotchy and… gross almost.” celeste tacks on.

after two years of dating, you’ve learned that she just loves to hear herself speak. you believe that she’s selfish, and annoying, and stupid, and quite frankly a piece of shit, and yet her words hit you in the gut.

you think all of the negative things about her, and yet her opinion matters to you. i mean— you thought your makeup looked good earlier. better than it had before, even.

paige shouted that you looked beautiful every time she’d gotten the chance.

“cel,” you groan. “really?”

“well… yeah. why would i lie about that?” celeste says all of this with her hand resting on your thigh. she’s scooched in close to you. and to the outside, you look oh-so in love. and yet, you’ve never been so unhappy.

celeste pulls you close, her arms wrapping around your waist. her fingers graze your lower stomach and she rests her chin on your shoulder as much as she can. you sniffle as your eyes well, and you’re hit with a flurry of what smells like axe body spray.

your eyes connect with paige’s eyes across the way like puzzle pieces. quickly, you try to gather yourself. you blink away your tears and give her an easygoing smile.

she smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. you recognize the look though. you know she understands— she does. but the disappointment is greater than the understanding right now.

you didn’t even want to go.

ted’s is sticky floors and screaming college kids and watered-down drinks, but celeste loves a scene. she wants to be seen. and more importantly, she wants you seen with her.

being with her puts a tinge on your senses. you’re sure that if you’d shown up with paige you wouldn’t have noticed all of those things.

“just smile, babe,” she says, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear like it’s part of her accessory list.

you don’t smile. not really.

you spot her the moment you walk in.

paige is leaning against the edge of a high-top table, her hoodie half-zipped over a cropped tank, surrounded by her teammates. there’s laughter around her, energy buzzing, but her eyes drag to you like gravity—soft, searching.

you look away too quickly.

because tonight you’re celeste’s plus-one again.

you told yourself the last year has been a fluke. a moment of weakness. you told yourself it wasn’t real, couldn’t be.

but paige’s gaze doesn’t burn. it calls.

celeste orders and orders for you before you can even open your mouth.

you nurse your drink. it’s a lemon drop, you think. but it’s not sweet and it’s not bright. everything feels bitter and dull.

celeste’s already on her third. she’s not even discreet about her wandering eyes. she never is when there’s a crowd. she wants attention like oxygen—needs it, devours it.

you’re halfway through texting your friend to come rescue you when you notice celeste’s no longer beside you.

you scan the bar.

find her near the jukebox.

and then you freeze.

because she’s not alone.

some girl in a tight dress with loose lips and looser morals has her hand on celeste’s arm, and celeste’s laughing like it’s her best joke all night. her fingers trace the rim of her drink. the girl leans in.

then they kiss.

not secretive. not a slip.

a kiss. you think it might be weird to watch, but you do. it’s sloppy and heated, yet passionate. and you realize that this random girl has gotten a better kiss out of celeste than you have ever.

you don’t cry.

you just blink.

once.

then you take a breath.

it’s not pain—it’s a snap. a clean, vicious cut across every excuse you’ve made for her. every “she’s just drunk,” every “she didn’t mean it,” every “she loves me.”

no, she doesn’t.

and you’re done letting her pretend she does.

you walk over calmly.

she barely looks surprised.

“babe,” she says, voice syrup-slick. “don’t be dramatic.”

you stare her down. “go to hell.” it’s strange, but it feels like the sweetener in your life has just returned.

then you turn.

and walk right back across the bar—

—straight to paige.

her eyes find you before you reach her. it’s like she senses you.

paige is halfway through sipping her drink, knuckles loose around the glass, the curve of her smile still laced with whatever joke she’d just tossed to aubrey. but when she sees your face, everything stills.

her grin fades—just enough. her brows pinch, barely.

and then the world around her goes quiet.

the team’s laughter dulls, even the music feels muted beneath the weight of your presence. it’s like the bar tilts with you, following your path.

you walk with a purpose you’ve never let yourself wear before. not around paige. not in public. not while celeste had her claws sunk into your spine, threading your decisions like puppet strings.

but tonight?

tonight something inside you broke—and not softly.

no tears. no cracked voice. just steel.

you’re not here to make a scene. you’re here to make a choice.

and you hate to admit it, but celeste just gave you your green light.

you stop in front of her, chest rising, face unreadable.

your lipstick’s still perfect. your dress is hugging you like armor. the same hands that used to tremble whenever you brushed hers now hang loose at your sides, clenched just tight enough to keep from shaking.

and when you speak?

your voice slices clean through the noise.

“please get me out of here.”

it’s not a plea.

it’s not a whisper.

it’s a quiet command dressed like surrender.

and paige—god, paige hears everything.

she doesn’t ask why. doesn’t turn to see if celeste is chasing behind you.

she just sets her glass down.

nods once.

and says, calm and sure, “come on.”

you hear the bar start breathing again behind you. whispers. someone mutters your name, maybe in shock, maybe in awe. you don’t care.

you don’t look back.

you follow paige out the door like you belong there—like you should’ve done it a thousand nights ago.

and this time, when her hand brushes yours in the parking lot, you don’t hesitate.

you take it.

grip it.

hold it like you’re finally holding onto something instead of letting yourself be dragged behind someone else’s power trip.

you don’t know exactly where you’re going.

but you know what you’re walking away from.

and that’s enough.

the moment the passenger door shuts behind you, the silence swells.

paige slides into the driver’s seat, jaw clenched, knuckles white around the wheel. the engine rumbles to life, but neither of you speak. the air in the car is warm, too warm, like your skin hasn’t quite cooled from the adrenaline still coiling in your chest.

you can still taste the bar on your lips—cheap vodka, regret, and something sour that clings to your throat.

but next to you?

paige smells like clean cotton and tension. like restraint about to snap.

she doesn’t ask what happened. she doesn’t have to.

her hand brushes the gear shift, then stills.

“you okay?” she asks finally, voice low.

you nod, but it’s not convincing.

your voice is rougher than you expect. “i don’t want to talk about her.”

“okay,” paige says, eyes still locked on the road.

but her hand reaches across the console anyway. it doesn’t touch you—just rests there, palm up, open. waiting.

you stare at it.

for a second, you hesitate.

then you lace your fingers with hers.

the breath she exhales is shaky. you feel it more than hear it.

the streetlights flicker across her face as she drives, casting sharp shadows on her cheekbones, soft glows on her mouth.

you try not to look.

but you do.

and when she glances over at you?

it’s different this time.

there’s no caution. no backing off. no pretending she doesn’t want you.

there’s just fire.

your thumb grazes the inside of her wrist. she swallows hard. her grip on your hand tightens, like she’s trying to ground herself.

you whisper, “you’re really not gonna ask?”

paige’s voice is low, ragged. “if i do, i might turn the car around.”

you bite your lip. “what would you do if you did?”

she doesn’t answer.

but the look she gives you is enough to make your thighs press together.

every red light is unbearable.

every turn she takes is slower than it should be.

by the time she pulls into her driveway, her jaw is set, her breathing shallow. your hand is still in hers, clenched tighter now. the second the engine shuts off, the silence becomes unbearable.

you speak first.

“if you don’t kiss me right now, i’m going to lose my mind.”

Paige doesn’t even take a second.

she reaches across the console, grabs your face with both hands, and pulls you in like she’s starving.

and maybe she is.

because the second your mouths crash together, it’s all heat and teeth and desperation and finally.

your hands are in her hair. hers are gripping your jaw, your waist, your thighs like she doesn’t know where to hold you first.

the windows fog fast. the world disappears.

you don’t know how long you stay there, kissing like the car is going to disappear beneath you. like you’ve been waiting years to do this without guilt tangled in your ribs.

and when she finally pulls away, forehead resting against yours, her voice is hoarse.

“come inside.”

you nod.

you don’t need to be asked twice.

she barely gets the door closed behind you before her hands are back on your waist.

you don’t even make it to the bedroom.

her mouth is on yours, urgent and unrelenting, pressing you back against the nearest wall. her hands slide under your jacket, shoving it off your shoulders without breaking the kiss. your fingers fumble with the hem of her hoodie, tugging it up until she lifts her arms and yanks it off in one motion.

“fuck,” she whispers when she sees the way your dress clings to you, straps slipping with every breath. her thumbs trace over the tops of your shoulders, dragging the fabric down slow—reverent. like she’s undoing every lie you ever told yourself about what love was supposed to feel like.

and when the dress hits the floor?

paige exhales like she’s finally breathing for the first time.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this.”

you lean in, lips brushing hers, voice wrecked and low. “we don’t have to wait anymore, baby.”

that last word almost makes her go weak in the knees. you grab her by her tie, pulling her into you more. you want, no— need her as close as possible.

you lock your lips again, tasting the sweetness of her tongue. your fingers tangle in paige’s hair, and her hands squeeze at your waist.

she lifts you—just enough to stumble you both back toward the couch. you don’t land gently. it’s hands and limbs and laughter caught between gasps, her thigh slipping between yours, your head tilting back when she kisses down your neck.

you claw at her tank top until she peels it off. her skin is hot beneath your fingertips. familiar from dreams, sharper in reality. your nails drag down her back, and she groans into your collarbone, biting back something primal.

her lips trail lower. over your chest. down your stomach. her hands map every inch like she’s daring herself to believe this is real.

you reach for her, threading your fingers into her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her look up.

“paige.”

she stills, breath caught.

“what?”

you search her face.

“don’t be gentle.”

something dark flickers in her eyes. she comes up to meet your eyes. her breath ghosts over your lips. the warmth of her body is something magical. she looks at you with so much love— but then the switch flips.

paige leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses to your neck in a vertical line. she bites and you recoil at the pain, but then her tongue swipes over the spot, like she’s apologizing for hurting you, even if it is for pleasure’s sake.

your skin is slick and your heart races, but the feeling is electrifying. your right leg is hiked up as paige holds it. her fingers running up and down it’s expanse.

suddenly, paige pulls away, fully. you’re laying down and she towers over you. you feel like you should be concerned, but you’re not, and if anything, it turns you on more. your core tingles as you gaze up at the woman.

she breathes heavily as she looks down on you. with the look in her eye, you can tell paige’s wheels are turning. you just don’t know with what.

the living room is dark, but you can see her thanks to the moonlight peeking through the curtains.

“take all this shit off,” she growls referring to your panties and bra. “when i come back, i want you naked, ass up.”

you nod eagerly. before disappearing into her bedroom, paige presses a kiss to your lips.

it’s patient and passionate, like a pre-ambulatory apology what’s about to ensue.

you kiss her back with everything you’ve been holding. all the frustration, all the guilt, all the ache of almosts. your hands are on her face, her shoulders, sliding under the hem of her sports bra like you need to feel skin. real, warm, hers.

the way she groans into your mouth when you bite her bottom lip? it makes your knees weak.

you only pull back for air—barely. your foreheads still touch, your breaths uneven.

her eyes are blown wide, pupils dark and focused only on you. a small smirk rests on her lips, “you just like kissing me.”

“wrong,” you chime. “i love it.

without words, she stalks toward her bedroom. you hear her rustling with things back there, but you don’t ask any questions. in the meantime, you peel out of your panties and bra.

you toss them to the ground and assume the position paige asked of you. it feels foreign to you, but you’re open to it. the apartment is a little chilly and your nipples pebble at not only that, but also the thought of paige ruining you.

it’s quiet, and she notices. she calls out to you. “you ready for me, baby?”

a shiver runs down your spine in anticipation. deciding to be bolder, you reply with: “less talking, more doing.”

you don’t have to be in the same room as paige to know that her eyebrow has just raised and she’s also vowed to herself that she’d make you regret having a smart mouth.

you hear paige padding back to the living room, and your skin tingles with excitement.

“aw,” paige tsks. “look at my good girl, all ready for me. you ready, baby?”

you nod.

paige stands behind you with a sickening smirk and you can hear it in her tone. her left hand palms your ass, running her thumb over the same spot. “so soft.”

without any warning, she reels her hand back and then forward, sending a snack to your ass cheek.

caught off guard, you yelp at the sensation. you take in a sharp breath through your barred teeth.

with a low thud, paige drops to her knees beside the couch. her body’s contorted so that she can easily reach you.

her hand rubs over the spot and then the warmth of her pink lips take it’s place. paige kisses the area gingerly. “you want me to ruin you?”

her words send shocks to your bare cunt— rightfully so.

“just… make me yours and make me forget.”

“oh baby… you’ve been mine,” paige mutters against your skin.

paige uses both hands to spread your cheeks and she licks her lips in anticipation. her breath ghosts over your pussy, and your toes curl as a result. it’s hard for you to keep your arch because you’re so eager and you want it so bad.

her lips pucker, and she blows a fan over your sopping southern set of lips. the breath is caught in your throat and you try hard not to back up and into paige’s face.

“what a pretty pussy, baby. can i have it? is it mine?” paige’s words come out in a carnal manner and the low baritone she uses turns you on even more. “so wet.”

you whine, “yes, it’s yours. all yours.”

with a hum, paige presses soft kisses to your inner thighs and around your pussy, in the shape of a horseshoe. the pulsing feeling in between your legs is astounding.

the moment you’ve been anticipating happens. paige gives a swipe to your pussy, get tongue flattening over the surface. she does this three times before finding your clit.

your hands claw at the fabric of the couch as you feel every bit of pleasure course through your bones. you bite down at your bottom lip, afraid to make any noise.

you’re not sure how paige knows you’re holding back, but she does. “mm, don’t do that. let me hear you, sexy.”

paige’s tongue prods your clit, sending a shock through you. you let out a funeral guttural moan at the stimulation. it feels so unfamiliar to you.

her lips envelope your button, sucking on the bundle of nerves nonstop. “o-oh fuck, paige!”

she chortles, the vibration protruding past her larynx shocks you almost. paige lets the saliva gather in her mouth as she forms a vacuum with her mouth.

all while still supporting your own body weight, you let your hand come up to tug at your nipple and roll it between your fingers.

paige expels the mix of your essence and her spit from her mouth and coat your pussy. some of it dribbles onto the couch— you hope it doesn’t stain, but paige doesn’t even care.

it’s not long before she’s back at it again, taking your clit between her lips. “aw, you taste so good baby. best pussy i’ve ever had.”

the arch in your back loosens and paige catches it, pressing down against it. her hands are warm and smooth, and fit perfectly with your body.

her tongue swats your clit and she takes this chance to slip a finger into your pussy. her wrist rotates as she ruins you, index finger pounding into you. the feeling is so specific. you’ve been waiting for this and you can’t believe you have it now.

the air is caught in your throat as you feel your climax approaching.

you can barely keep your eyes open as the pleasure mounts. “paige, d-don’t stop. i’m about to cum.”

“i know, baby,” she hums into your pussy. “fuck my face, pretty girl.

you do as she says without words, meeting her now two fingers and tongue in the middle. it’s loud and sticky and everything you’ve dreamed of.

paige sucks on your clit yet again and makes a scooping motion with her fingers inside of you. your eyes roll to the back of your head as your thighs begin to shake. you feel like you’re within inches of your life. but, you don’t stop.

paige speeds up, feeling you clench around her digits. you want to cum so badly.

and when your breath runs ragged and uneven, you do.

the rubber band in your lower stomach snaps and you moan into the throw pillow resting next to you. it does no muffling as your body convulses and shakes in pleasure.

paige pulls her fingers out of you and pulls away from your pussy, sucking your cum off of her long and pruny appendages.

you fall against the couch, recovering in silence. paige leans over you, warm breath hitting your ear. “she ever fuck you like that?”

her hand comes up and palms your ass, rubbing it. she’s breathing heavy, but you don’t mind, so are you.

you hum, “mm mm.”

paige laughs cockily, “yeah, i know.”

you turn over to meet her eyes and she doesn’t waste any time before pulling you into another kiss. she tastes differently now. sweet, but fleshy.

the kiss is tender and driven by pure libido. before you know it, paige is sat on the couch and you’re straddling her.

her clear purple strap taps the inside of your thigh as you look down at it, and then back at her. “you gonna ride me baby?”

now doesn’t seem like the time to shy away from a challenge. paige is sweaty and her skin almost glows as she peers up at you.

bracing yourself, you let your hands rest on the headrest of the couch, parallel to paige’s head.

when you look at paige again, you communicate with your eyes and she gets what you’re saying. she grabs the dildo and holds it in place, making it stand at attention for you.

you sink down onto it, slightly groaning at the feeling.

paige watches your face, searching for any signs of discomfort. she pulls you in for a sweet kiss as you begin to gyrate.

the kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything. It lingered, warm and unhurried, like a secret whispered against your mouth. her hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin, grounding you in the quiet tenderness of it all.

initially you smooth slowly over the plastic. you take your time, letting paige see you. her hand comes down from your cheek to press down in your clit.

you draw a breath in, and your eyelids flicker, but your eyes never fully close. the blue of paige’s eyes and the brown of yours collide.

your hand rests on the back of her neck. you make sure she can’t look anywhere else. but she doesn’t really want to. she only has eyes for you.

the strap hits your g-spot a few times, and your back arches in response. you’re so wet that a ring has began to form around it, and paige is quite frankly entranced.

you lean in to kiss at paige’s neck and mutter, “you fuck me so good, paige. do you see what you’re doing to me?”

paige whimpers at your words. you speed up, eager to put on a show for paige, and so is she.

your phone rests on the table next to the couch. paige grabs it and swipes over to the camera. she makes sure the flash is on and hits record.

with each ascent you make, you slam down on paige’s thighs and they begin to turn red.

your moans are loud and you’re not shy anymore.

paige’s free hand grips at your titties, kneading them like dough.

“you like fucking me, p?” you ask her through gritted teeth. the pleasure is insurmountable and you feel your climax nearing as you get that tingly feeling in your lower stomach.

the flash of your phone is almost blinding, but you can’t stand to look away from paige.

truthfully, she looks drunk off of your pussy, and you’re enjoying it.

“i love it, baby,” she grits out.

you smile, grind your body into hers more and chase your climax.

it’s not long before you cum, and collapse on top of paige. you’re breathing heavily and so is she. your head rest in her neck as she stops recording.

your moans are soft in her ear. paige drops the phone and instead cradles you, and you feel safe. safer than ever.

without words, she adjusts the both you so that you’re laying on the couch. your body on top of hers.

paige tugs the blanket off of the top of the couch and spreads it out over your bodies. your head rests on her chest and she places a firm kiss on your temple.

your limbs are tangled in one another’s and it’s not long before the both of you are asleep.

[celeste]

bro where the fuck are you

y/n i’m not playing

did you leave with her?

what the fuck are you doing

baby i’m sorry it was just a kiss

it didn’t mean anything

i’m sorry come home i’m waiting for you

baby?

y/n?

[you]

— one sent video attachment

charge it to the game

© domifreak, all rights reserved

and if I start viciously sobbing🧍🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

The Olympics but high fashion by Wisdom Kaye

You need to stop being so high and mighty and bragging that you don’t like someone or there ships without even knowing them.

Never bragged about it, that's not even close to how bragging works.

I asked a question and have yet to get an answer. I didn't know that grown adults like to beat around the bush like that.

I don't want to get to know incest lovers and their weird bearly legal super friend🤷🏾‍♀️

Answer my question or stfu.