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bucketbueckers · 1 month ago

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BIGGER IN TEXAS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth (and some plot, as a treat)!! language, light alcohol/body shots, oral, fingering, strap, fuck ass cowboy hats, freak shit im talm bout inittttt, slight overstim, mirror, light choking (author is unoriginal we know this), reader is honestly thirsty as hell but so is paige, idk how to tag smut properly just know im losing my spot in heaven for this fic

wc: 10.5k

synopsis: A Dallas Wings rookie and a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader walk into a club together. What could possibly go wrong?

notes: i wasn't ovulating when i drafted this but i am now! maybe tmi. sinners changed my life and my main takeaway from that movie is everyone is a munch and thats a life philosophy i think everyone should have. make sure you all say "thank you kali uchis" because i actually got insane writers block after waking up this morning but her album saved me. not much to say but im actually going to hell for this so please make it worth it and hit up my inbox pls and ty 🫶 as always i hope yall enjoy!

Let the record show that you weren’t serious.

Okay. You were like, 50% serious. As in if you were presented with the opportunity, you would take it, but if any of your friends were to ask about it, you would probably deflect.

You realize now that you tend to get a little overzealous on Twitter – it’s far more unhinged than your Instagram is, where you share pictures of your everyday life and action shots as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You have less followers on the bird app (it is not X), you’re a little more…real, and as a bonus, your mom doesn’t follow you, so you feel like you can be a little more insane on there.

Although you’d probably apologize to her later – because one of your recent tweets is going a little crazy.

It didn’t start as anything crazy. Being a Dallas athlete, you kept up with nearly every sports team – the Mavericks, the Stars, the Cowboys, obviously, but you loved the Wings, too. You watched the WNBA draft as did countless others in the country.

When the Wings admin posted the Welcome to Dallas, Paige Bueckers! tweet, you’d giggled to yourself, mostly because you were nursing a Chili’s margarita and because she looked insanely good in the graphic.

You retweeted it, typing, welcoming you into dallas w open arms @.paigebueckers1 🤠

Then, almost like an afterthought, you commented on your own retweet, typing, and with open legs 🙏

You didn’t think much of it. Obviously. You didn’t have a huge following and if anyone asked, you’d just be kidding. The next ten minutes are peaceful as you finish off your margarita and scroll aimlessly through TikTok, keeping one ear out for the next draft pick. And then your phone starts blowing up.

A bunch of likes. A few people retweeting your second comment with various laughing or crying emojis. But what makes you pause is the notification reading Paige Bueckers has liked your tweet!

Oh. You click just to make sure, and – yeah. Definitely the one about having open legs.

Any other day, this would probably be mortifying, but today you’re a little emboldened by the margarita in your veins and you can’t help but think this is a little funny. You’ll probably regret it later when everyone remembers that you’re kind of a public figure and decides to flame you for being a little unhinged on main. For now, though, it’s not that big of a deal.

When you wake up in the morning to an unread DM from Paige – who’d followed you back, mind you – on your Instagram, you suddenly realize that it actually is a big deal.

Paige 💕: I’m flying into Dallas on the 23rd for media Paige 💕: If the offer still stands maybe you could show me around the city?

You stare blankly at your phone. Then you blink once. Twice. You power off your phone, press your pillow to your face, and you scream.

You weren’t serious, but you think you’re being presented with the opportunity – and, well, who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

After you finally come back to your senses, you reach for your phone again, navigating back to your DMs with Paige. You only have to contemplate for a few seconds before your fingers are flying across the keyboard.

You: i’ve been known to be a thorough tour guide You: let me know what your schedule looks like and i’ll show you the pretty parts of dallas

Her response comes quicker than you were expecting.

Paige 💕: Looking forward to it 🫶 Paige 💕: Not sure how Dallas compares to you but I can be open minded

Admittedly, you have to reread her message twice to fully grasp the cheesy pick-up line, but you hate the way it makes your cheeks flush. You’re not sure how to respond to that.

You settle for screaming into your pillow again.

The week passes by quickly. You and Paige talk — a lot — truly enjoying getting to know each other during your rare moments of free time. Paige is busy with flights and appearances while your schedule is packed with practice and learning the audition choreography for the next season of DCC.

Despite yourself, you can’t help but think how nice it is. There’s no expectations. You’re both athletes with a combined two hours of free time. For now, you’re just content to see where this goes. You enjoy her company, and honestly, you’re really into her. Paige flirts relentlessly, but you can tell there’s an undercurrent of respect and admiration that makes you feel like that feeling is mutual, too.

She texts you a picture of the Dallas tarmac when she lands on the 23rd, a coy reminder that you did promise to show her around. Paige has media for a good portion of the day, though, so you know you won’t be seeing her for a while. You tune in for a little bit of her rookie press conference, and no, you weren’t cheesing while listening to her speak. But if you were, that wouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.

You don’t hear from her for the next few hours, which doesn’t bother you. You do get a call from one of your squadmates, Lielle, asking if you’d be down to hit the club before the DCC season starts – and who were you to say no to that?

You settle for a light, natural makeup look, throwing on a blue, mesh, halter corset top that sparkles in the light and a pair of cropped, white denim shorts. They’re long enough to cover what they need to, but it’s the perfect club outfit – something with the right amount of tease and will make you feel confident enough to truly let loose.

Lielle picks you up along with a few other of your friends who tease you relentlessly for your actions on Twitters – it’s no use defending yourself, although they’re nearly howling in excitement when you point out that Paige is in your DMs, so you’re probably doing something right.

You and your girls enter the club with high spirits, the atmosphere already electric, and two of your squadmates break away to find a table while you and Lielle make your way to the bar to order shots and drinks for everyone. Lielle leans over the bar, already laying it on thick for the bartender, who grins politely like he’s seen just about every variation of whatever game Lielle is playing.

On the bright side, he does end up discounting your drinks on account of being a DCC fan, which makes you think Lielle never truly had a chance, anyways – but a cheaper drink is a cheaper drink, especially in Dallas. Lielle walks away with a wink and the drinks in her hands as you remain to order something for yourself. The bartender has just slid the drink your way when you feel the heat of someone’s body next to yours. At first, you’re alarmed, but you soften when you hear their voice, followed by finally looking at their face.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” In person, Paige Bueckers is so much taller than you’d anticipated, which is probably a really stupid thing to say for a professional basketball player. She’s tall, her cologne a heady scent of warm vanilla and something distinctly floral, and she rests her arm against the bar in a way that’s devastatingly casual and dangerously alluring. Paige is wearing a black and white striped Nike sweater, the very same she’d done media in, a look not befitting of the club but you can’t help but think about how perfectly her it is.

You crack a coy smile, taking a quick sip of your drink for some liquid courage, because Paige is staring at you like she knows exactly what she wants from you and your heart thrums because if she said the word, you’d be willing to give it to her. “What, is this place too scandalous for a cheerleader like me?” you joke, and the heat of her gaze travels down your body in one quick motion.

“Nah, nothing like that,” she assures you. “Just didn’t think that out of every club in this city, I’d be lucky enough to run into you my first night out.”

“Seems we’re both feeling a little lucky tonight, huh?” you say, and she laughs gently under her breath. Paige holds out a hand to you. In lieu of a shake, you settle for hugging her instead, which she relaxes into immediately, her hands resting respectfully at the small of your back. “It’s great to finally meet you in person,” you say genuinely, pulling away at the right moment. “You enjoying Dallas so far?”

Paige shrugs a little, a smile on her face and gratitude on her tongue when the bartender slides a drink her way, too. “Haven’t got the chance to see much,” she says honestly. “Was in media all day, then I stopped by Costco so my apartment looked a little less pathetic. Now I’m here. Something about rookie initiation, according to Rike, but I think she just wanted someone to buy her drinks.”

You laugh. “Look at you already taking care of people,” you comment, your grin widening at her playful expression. “You’re here with your team, then? Where are y’all sitting?”

Paige purses her lips, her eyes squinting as she peers through the dim lighting of the club. “I think over there?” she says, pointing at the VIP section towards the back. She’s closer to you now, her chin resting just above your head, and you follow her gaze. You can’t help your smile, something she picks up on immediately. “What’s funny?”

“I think your team’s already hitting it off with mine,” you say, easily spotting Lielle handing a shot to Arike and clapping when she downs it in one go. You don’t think Lielle is drunk yet, but she has a natural excitement and zest for life that makes her the easiest person in the world to befriend.

Paige huffs a little under her breath, amusement lacing the sound, and her hand finds your waist. “Must be meant to be,” she says to you. Despite yourself, you preen, your smile widening when her hand finds your skin. “After you.”

Paige walks almost protectively behind you, the crowd of club-goers parting instinctively for the both of you. When you make it back to the VIP section, both of your teams cheer – like they know something you don’t – which causes a blush to rise on your cheeks and a nearly smug expression to take over Paige’s.

Introductions are swift, if a little unnecessary. You’d run into many of the Wings players before, having made a genuine effort your first year as a professional cheerleader to show up to many of the Dallas sports games.

Before you know it, Arike has ordered more shots for the table, and Paige slides into the booth next to you with a dangerous glint in her eye and two shots of tequila in her hands. The table is lively, raucous, with Kelsey – one of your squadmates – going shot for shot with Aziaha James and Lielle and Arike instigating.

But here, now, in this little corner you and Paige have tucked yourselves into, you’re enjoying the intimacy of the moment far too much, feeling as though you’ve been afforded far more privacy than you actually have.

Paige presses one of the shots into your hands, a loose smile on her face. “To Dallas?” she asks you, raising her glass.

You tap yours against hers, a matching smile of your own as you agree, “To Dallas.” You down your shots in one go, the liquid warming your belly pleasantly. “And to Twitter,” you add a little jokingly, but your blush deepens when Paige smirks, raising a thumb to your lip to wipe away the excess tequila beading on your mouth.

She sucks her finger into her mouth, humming a little insufferably, and you’re burning for an entirely different reason now. Your gaze hones in on her hand, flicking between her lips and her eyes. And, sure, she was constantly flirting with you over text. You knew she was feeling you as much as you were feeling her – but to watch her behave so confidently in front of you, to unravel you like it was nothing… The confirmation makes you ache. It reminds you that you’re not the only one feeling the warm buzz between the two of you.

“You always that forward?” Paige asks you, referring to your tweet. “Or am I just lucky?” Her words are punctuated with a heated grin, one that makes you shift in your seat. You hope that she didn’t notice, but you see the way her eyes darken and how she leans in a little closer to you.

“Only when I’m tipsy, apparently,” you mutter. You glance up, taking in her expression, the curiosity and desire in her eyes. Your lips quirk into an amused smile. “But I don’t think I have to tell you about the effect you have on people.”

“Good thing I don’t really care about other people,” she says, her gaze dropping down again. You can’t tell if she’s looking at your lips or your chest, but it makes warmth bloom under your skin, anyways. Paige makes eye contact as easily as she drinks you in. It’s disorienting, unwavering. It’s almost like you can see exactly what she’s thinking by the way her pupils dilate. Her fingers brush against the inside of your wrist, setting each and every one of your nerve endings on fire. “But you? Didn’t know I was affecting you like that.”

“Oh, you’re not,” you laugh, which just makes her laugh, too, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. Dangerous because you know you’ve already given in. Any other attempt at saving face or trying to look a little less down bad is just meant to make you feel a little bit better – like she hadn’t already won you hook, line, and sinker the moment you promised to show her around Dallas.

“Lying is a sin,” Paige murmurs.

“Lust, too,” you retort.

Paige’s subsequent grin is a little too wicked. “Touche,” she agrees, and you can’t help but lean into her touch when her hand splays over the expanse of your toned waist, her thumb brushing your skin like she’s trying to memorize every shift in your muscles. Her voice drops a few decibels, only loud enough for you to hear as she presses in closer to you. Your hair raises when her lips ghost across your temple, the shell of your ear. “You’re already burning for me, though. Probably soaked through these fucking shorts, aren’t you? So why pretend you ain’t?”

“Paige,” you whisper, your heart beating a little faster, pounding against your ribcage. Your hand finds hers, linking your fingers together, and you don’t stop her when she maps out every inch of skin not hidden by your top. If anything, you arch into it slightly, enjoying the heat of her palm against your belly. She grins like she knows, like she’s already called the Uber and is thinking about how she can ruin you in the car without alerting the driver.

“Jus’ say it, mama,” she murmurs, her breath hitting your ear. You should feel some type of way for how easily your body betrays your brain, pressing further into her without your permission. “Tell me what you want and we don’t gotta play these games in front of your girls.”

Your mouth opens, the words getting caught in your throat when Paige finally grips the meat of your thigh with her hand, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to claim.

But before you can give into the feeling of it all, the bubble of peace between the two of you is broken by Lielle exclaiming, “Who wants to do body shots?!”

Breathless, you glance up at Paige, who stares back at you with mischief. She squeezes your thigh gently, whispering, “Be good,” before tugging you to your feet and towards Lielle, who holds the salt, lime, and the bottle of tequila. You sigh a little, already feeling like you could combust.

Your combined teams cheer when Paige volunteers you. Her smile, which is borderline smug and nearly possessive, makes your skin burn, but her eyes betray the ease in her features. She scans her teammates like she’s waiting for one of them to think that they could take her place.

Kelsey clears space on the table while Lielle uncaps the bottle of alcohol. One of the other Dallas rookies – JJ, you think her name is, extends a hand to help you onto the table, but all it takes is one glaring look from Paige to make her raise her hands in surrender. Paige steps up, her gaze dark, and she grips your hips, raising you onto the table with a weightless ease. Her eyes never leave yours, watching you with rapt attention as you lean back, getting comfortable.

“You good?” she asks, her hand resting over your stomach, which rises and falls steadily under the heat of the moment. You nod quickly, needing her hands on her body more than you think you need air, and she allows herself a quiet smile as she reaches for a lime wedge. Gingerly, she holds it out to you. Your teeth part at her wordless command, clamping down on the lime, trying not to wince at the taste. Her fingers linger on your lips, pupils blown wide, and it makes warmth coil low in your belly when you realize just how reciprocated this feeling is.

She reaches for the salt next, uncapping it, too, and meets your eyes with one last unspoken question. You don’t hesitate before you nod, uncaring of where she lines up the salt. You are surprised when she leans down, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, wetting the skin there so the salt can stick. You hardly register the wolf whistles around you, far too focused on the satisfied, focused grin on Paige’s face as she sprinkles the salt on your skin.

Finally, Lielle hands over the bottle of tequila, and you try to steady your breathing as Paige pours a generous amount in your navel. A drop slips, trailing down and soaking into the fabric of your shorts. You swear you can hear Paige’s breath hitch, but the club is too loud for you to be certain.

Lielle is probably recording. There’s no way she isn’t – she’s the life of the party, and whenever you wake up tomorrow, you’re sure you’ll find the video of Paige doing a body shot off of you on her close friends. But right now, when Paige is staring at you like you’re the only person in the room, like she can’t wait to get you alone and ruin you? You can’t think about anything but the blonde athlete and how willing you are to let her unravel you.

With one last glance to check in on you, Paige leans over you, caging you in with her arms. Her head dips down, licking the salt off of your chest with a devastating slowness. You catch the edge of her grin as she trails her lips down your torso, settling at your belly and drinking the tequila directly off your stomach.

Her tongue probes for the last drop and she presses a farewell kiss to your skin that makes your breathing stutter. Then, finally, she makes her way back up to your lips, her skin a little flushed, and she parts her lips to take the lime wedge in between her teeth.

But Paige isn’t through with you. You watch with wide eyes as she punctures the flesh with her teeth. She takes the lime wedge in between her fingers and with her free hand, she cups your jaw, her thumb brushing against your lip. You adhere to the silent demand, your lips parting again, and she presses down on the bottom row of your teeth with her thumb, keeping you open as she squeezes the juice of the lime into your mouth.

You shudder, eyes slipping shut in a non-physical pleasure – Paige hasn’t even touched you yet, but you feel like you’re ready to fall apart. The lime juice makes your face contort from the sourness, but you hardly think about it when your eyes blink open once more to take in Paige’s lazy expression. She’s already gone – her smile wide, reverent, satisfied, proud, and she discards the lime peel.

Paige removes her finger from your mouth, closing your jaw for you, her features softening with pride as you swallow the juice dutifully. You barely hear her whisper, “Good,” before she helps you off of the table, steadying you when you sway a little unsteadily, and the both of you make every effort to ignore your friends.

They don’t focus on the two of you for too long – JJ is helping Kelsey onto the table to keep going, so you take advantage of their distraction and pull Paige down to your level by her collar. She grins insufferably, like she knows she’s teased you to the point of no return. Her smile widens when you demand, “Take me home. Or we’ll cause a scandal in the middle of this club.”

Her lips brush against yours. “Uber’s already here,” she informs you, her expression far too satisfied. If you were any less pussy drunk, you’d probably hate yourself for being too easy, but all you can think about is how her skin would feel against yours.

You let her pull you through the club. You let her hands linger on your hips when she helps you into the Uber. And without so much as a noise, you part your legs for her in the car, letting her fingers trace the inside of your thighs discreetly. Paige doesn’t give you what you need – you knew she wouldn’t.

You keep your reactions tempered, even when she leans in closer to you, her nose brushing against your ear as she whispers filth that the driver is none the wiser to. And when you make it to her apartment complex, you hardly hear the driver’s farewell before she guides you out of the car, through the apartment lobby, and into the elevator.

Paige’s grip on your hips is tight, like you’re not sure if she’s trying to keep you close or trying to restrain herself from defiling you in the elevator. Either way, you don’t mind. You press your hips to her front, grinning in satisfaction when her fingers tighten and her breath hitches, a groan building in her throat. The ding of the elevator breaks you both from your stupor and you follow her to her door, watching in amusement as she fumbles with the key in her haste.

“Do you remember my tweet?” you ask a little offhandedly, sliding your fingers under the hem of her sweatshirt. She curses under her breath when your fingers find her waist, splaying across her abdomen – it’s more for your pleasure than it is hers, feeling her muscles jump under your hold. Her eyes are a little wide and blown out when they meet yours.

“S’all I’ve thought about for weeks,” she confesses, finally getting the lock to turn. Her words give you pause as she throws open the door. Catching you by surprise, she picks you up, one arm looping under your ass, and your arms slide around her neck for stability as she shuts the door behind her, making sure to turn the lock back.

It’s all speed from there. Paige kicks her shoes off in the entryway, her hands gripping the back of your thighs as she blindly walks the both of you through the hallway towards the bedroom. You silently thank her coordination as an athlete, more so when she starts mouthing at your chest like it’s been the only thing keeping her going. Her tongue darts out, wet against your skin, and she hums against your breast as she tastes the residual salt from the shot and the sweat. Paige nips at your skin and holding onto her tighter with a wordless sigh is all you can do to keep it together.

Finally, she finds the bedroom door, throwing it open without a care in the world. Paige deposits you safely on bed and then almost falls over herself following – the dichotomy makes you ache, the way she’s so desperate to get her hands and mouth on you, but the evident care she makes sure to treat you with despite her need. You want her to turn you out in every single way she’s thought about since draft night, but the respect is touching.

She clicks on the dim lamp at her bedside, her eyes returning to your figure when her vision adjusts. She shakes her head like you’re not real, her hands touching your hips, your waist, your breasts covered by the thin material of your top. You’re sure she’s burning this image into her mind forever – you’re doing the same. You may never be able to forget the image of Paige Bueckers hovering above you, eyes wild and gone, messy like you’re already five rounds deep and not just pent up from fucking around in the club.

The first press of her lips against yours makes you keen, arching into her exploring hands while yours cups her cheeks. You’ve thought about this for weeks, too, how it would feel to have her on top of you like this. She tastes like a tequila shot and something distinctly fruity from the cocktail she was sipping on. Combined with the lime juice on your breath, your kiss is intoxicating for several different reasons, and the heat coiling in your belly reminds you of how badly you want this.

She tugs your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it back and letting it snap back before her lips find every inch of your skin. The hinge of your jaw, the tender spot on your neck that makes you thread your fingers through her hair to pull the tie loose, the dip in your throat where your moan vibrates against her lips. Paige is ravenous. Like there’s a million different things she wants to do to you before the sun comes up. You’d let her.

“Thought about this forever,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse and wrecked. Your breath stutters, back arching to help her untie your halter top and letting her pull it off you. She goes almost painfully silent when she takes in your breasts fully, your pebbled nipples. “Fuck.” Her curse sounds like a filthy prayer, one that you’d give up almost everything to respond to. One of her large hands splay over your breast while her mouth finds the other one, alternating between kneading and sucking and here – you’re sure you could fall apart completely, your hips jumping up for contact.

“You don’t know what that stupid comment did to me,” she continues, almost to herself, but she knows you’re listening. She feeds off of the way your breath hitches as she pulls back long enough to rip her sweatshirt and sports bra off in two quick motions, the chains around her neck tangling briefly before they trail cold caresses across your stomach when she leans back down to take your skin in her mouth. Your jaw falls open in pleasure, gripping onto her, the sheets, anything to stay rooted.

“Looked at your page, and those–” Her fingers find the waistband of your shorts, popping the button and pulling the denim off while she rambles. She falters when she takes in the white lace covering your body, a low, wrecked groan spilling from her lips at the sight of the wet patch at the apex of your thighs. Paige brushes her fingers against you, relishing in the way your hips jump and your whispered plea.

“Those stunts you do,” she continues finally. “That fucking uniform is sinful, you know that? Got myself off thinking about you, how good you’d be. You offered yourself up and all I could think about at the presser was how many different ways I could get you to come for me. I wonder if I could do it without my hands.”

You’re not coherent enough to tell her she could probably do it with words alone, but you reach for her and pull her back to your lips, kissing her hungrily, like you’re on death row and she’s your only chance of salvation.

Your hands explore while her kiss disorients you. Finding the waistband of her pants, you reach for the belt, undoing it. Paige helps you pull her pants off, leaving her in a dark pair of boxers. Her skin is impossibly warm against your palms as you press your fingers into the small of her back, undoubtedly leaving marks.

She pulls back to trail her lips down your body, sucking marks everywhere, her hands holding you like she’s afraid you’d float away if she didn’t keep you rooted.

Paige doesn’t make any effort to strip you out of your damp underwear – if anything, she stares at it like she’s more proud of it than getting drafted first overall, and she presses her lips to the skin just above your waistband until it blooms red and purple. She soothes it with a kiss, her expression far too smug and satisfied.

“You’re soaked,” Paige murmurs, pressing her thumb to your cunt again, her grin widening when you moan, your hands shooting down to grip her hair. She makes eye contact with you and sucks her thumb into her mouth, eyes slipping shut as she tastes you. You can’t help the curse that tumbles from your lips. “That ‘open legs’ offer must have been a cry for help, huh?” she teases, but her voice is rough, like the very taste of you is a drug and she’s addicted. “Nobody else doin’ it for you?”

“No,” you admit, cheeks burning under the weight of your confession. The truth is you’d stopped looking after a while, but now, with Paige tucked between your legs and staring at you like you’re the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen, you briefly consider the fact that she’s going to ruin you for anyone else. For yourself.

She grins again. “Shame,” she murmurs, her lips trailing down to the inside of your thighs, where she presses gentle kisses. “Someone got to you before me and they couldn’t even make it worthwhile.”

She nips at your skin, the pain blooming into pleasure instantly. Your breathing comes to you a little faster the closer she moves to your aching cunt, but she soothes you with a hand to your belly. “I got you, mama. Gonna be the best you’ve ever had. Swear.”

You don’t doubt it, your head already swimming, and she presses one last kiss to your clit through the damp material of your underwear. It makes you jolt, but she steadies your hip with her hand as she pulls the lace to the side slowly. You can’t help but gaze down at Paige, locked in on the way her eyes glaze over with desire when your cunt is finally revealed to her.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Maybe it’s been a fire that has been slowly burning ever since she initially hinted at flying out and taking you up on your offer. Now, all you can focus on is the way her hands grip your strong thighs, holding you open as she dives in to lick a long, slow stripe up the length of your slit.

You both moan in tandem – yours of pleasure and hers in awe. You’re dripping onto her comforter, hardly able to feel much remorse about it, but something tells you that Paige is really fucking into the fact that she has you so pliant beneath her.

Her tongue is exploratory, drinking in every drop of your arousal, her brows pinched together as she focuses on building you up. Her nose brushes against your clit while her tongue finds the source, licking you clean like she’s stranded in a desert and you’re the only thing that could satiate her thirst.

She’s wild, her tongue everywhere all at once, muttering messily into your cunt about how you “taste so fucking good,” but you’re sure you fall apart completely when her lips close around your clit and she sucks.

Your brain is mush. You’re not sure if you want to keep your eyes on her or let your head fall back into her pillows, unable to process the pleasure fully.

Paige makes the decision for you when your eyes slip shut and she nips at your clit gently – not enough to hurt (even though it sends a surge of pleasure up your spine, anyhow), but enough to get your attention.

The message is clear – she wants your attention. Thinking about how she’s probably getting off from you watching her makes the heat coil in your stomach, ready to snap at any given moment.

You tangle your fingers in her messy hair, pressing her deeper into you, head tipping back in pleasure when she doubles down on her motions. Paige is ravenous, tongue circling your clit, never once stopping or slowing.

Not until your thighs are shaking from pleasure. Not until the tears bead at your waterline. Not until she encloses her lips around your clit again, her cheeks hollowing from the pressure, and releasing you to drag the arousal from your entrance to your clit, coating it completely.

You’re wholly unprepared for the first press of her fingers against your entrance. Paige doesn’t push in – not yet. She drags her fingers through your folds, soaking them, listening and looking for your reaction as she probes deeper.

The first finger sinks in until it reaches her knuckle, punching a breathless moan out of you, and she curls her finger as she pulls out. She’s a quick study – learning what you like and how much pressure she needs to unravel you completely. But she’s slow, not adding in another finger. You get the message instantly when her eyes find you, her gaze dark and imploring.

Not above begging, your voice is hoarse, rough from your moans, your lips split-slick and bitten. “Please, Paige, keep going,” you request, clenching around the single finger in you. “More, please, fuck–” The words get caught in your throat when she smiles against you, taking your clit in her mouth again just as she slides in a second finger. Too far gone, you can’t help the repeated, delirious ramble of “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” or the choked out, “So fucking good.”

The more vocal you get, the more she gives you. Her lips and her tongue speed up, flicking against your clit with a devastating intensity. Paige’s finger’s scissor inside you more firmly, sliding in deeper with every thrust, particularly timed with her mouth. It’s a Pavlonian response. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can’t find it in yourself to be too embarrassed by how loud you are.

You chant her name, breathless little sounds that sound more like pleas than sentences. The grip on her hair must be painful but she never slows. She’s fucking you closer and closer to the peak, and when it finally arrives, warning her is all you can do.

She’s heedless, her pace somehow intensifying even more, and you come with a sob that’s a mix of her name and a string of curses as the pleasure washes over you.

Paige doesn’t stop, drinking in every drop of you like she’s parched, her fingers slowing as they work you gently through the shockwaves. You’re breathless, stuttering through the euphoria, gratitude lacing your words.

When she pulls away, the bottom half of her face is slick with your arousal, her tongue darting out to catch the edges of her lips, but it’s like drops of water in a bucket. For all intents and purposes, she’d been drowned, but her grin tells you she would have been more than happy to go out that way.

Boneless and limp in bed, she trails her lips up your body until she finds your lips, kissing you deeply and allowing you to taste yourself on your tongue. The taste is heady, something you’d probably attribute to the taste of her, too, and you can’t help but moan against her lips, your body burning under the touch again.

“Don’t think I’m letting you tap out so soon,” she murmurs, squeezing your waist and peering down at you. “We haven’t even started.”

“Greedy,” you say teasingly.

Her subsequent grin is sharp, nipping your lip gently. “And proud,” she states, already leaning over and digging through the drawer of her nightstand. When her hand comes back into view, she’s holding a strap and the harness.

The sight of it makes your brows raise – it’s modest in size, but it’s still bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, both in length and girth. “What?” she asks, a smirk appearing on her lips as she fastens the harness around her hips.

“It’s big,” you point out obviously, but the heat is already licking at your skin again as you stare at it longingly.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” she retorts. The strap hanging from her hips makes your mouth water, and you suppose this is what you wanted anyway – for Paige to ruin you. She glances at you curiously, able to read how your hesitation washes away. You’re safe with her. She wouldn’t hurt you. That thought alone makes you a little more hungry for it. “Trust me, you ain’t gotta worry.” She drags her fingers through your folds again, raising it to the lamplight and showing you how they shine. It makes you blush, but her smirk is a little insufferable. “But, I mean…if you wanna try something smaller–”

“No,” you disagree a little too quickly. She raises a challenging brow, one that infuriates you. She’d been mean all night – teasing you and working you up. And, sure, she delivered, but you think that she deserves to be knocked down a peg or two.

You wrap your legs around her waist, and in a quick motion, you flip the both of you over, straddling her waist with your hands on her chest. She’s a little breathless, eyes wide and pupils dilated, yet you can spot the impressed look in her gaze. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Didn’t say that,” she says, her eyes drinking you in, the fucked out look on your face and she bruises covering your skin. Her hands find your waist, pulling you onto her fully – onto the strap – and she guides you into a slow grind, taking back the control seamlessly as you gasp. Paige grunts, too, the strap pressing back into her clit, and the fact that she’s feeling as good as you are makes you tremble with want.

“You insinuated it,” you argue, a little miffed.

She grins like your indignance is cute. “Just tryna be in you, mama,” she says, tugging you down a little harder, and it punches a moan out of you. “You gonna let me do that or are we gonna sit here and argue all night?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but you don’t say much else, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she gazes down at where your centers connect. “That’s what I thought.” Her words are mostly said to herself.

She grips the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down your legs – you adjust to help her pull them off, and she throws them to the side.

Now that you’re completely bare, she pulls you down onto the strap again, your arousal coating the silicone. The unrestricted contact makes you shiver and you loop your arms around her neck for stability while one of hers finds your waist again.

With her free hand, she reaches for the base of the strap, guiding it to your entrance and holding you steady – the tip of the strap brushes against you, but she doesn’t allow you to move.

Her eyes are zeroed in on where you’re clenching around nothing, your arousal leaking out of you. Then, finally, she pulls you down slowly, controlling each and every small movement. Your breath hitches when the head breaches inside, pressing into you, and Paige kisses all over your chest to soothe you.

“Good, that’s it,” she murmurs, lips encircling a nipple as she pulls you a little further down. The stretch is delicious, splitting you open, her hands mapping out your skin. She grips the flesh of your ass in one large hand, the other reaching around to rub featherlight circles on your clit to distract you.

The sensations are overwhelming in the best way possible. Her mouth drags wet kisses across your body while she listens for your reaction. Paige lowers you further down, drawing a drawn out moan from you, and you feel her grin against your breast as you tighten your grip around her neck, pulling her tighter against you.

“Perfect girl. Taking me so well,” she coos. Her body is impossibly warm against you and you can feel yourself relaxing into it, wanting to sink down completely, but she doesn’t let you. “Want you to feel good, baby. Don’t rush it.”

Still holding onto your annoyance from earlier, you can’t help your slight eye roll as you nip at her neck, sucking a matching hickey into her skin. She hisses, letting you fall another inch before gripping your hips tightly. “Would feel good if you just fucked me,” you state, staring at her with an expression that’s borderline pathetic. “What’d you say earlier? Just tryna be in you?”

“Think you have a patience problem,” she muses. “I’d heard so much about this southern hospitality bullshit growing up in the north, but it seems like you got a manners problem, too. I gotta teach you how to say please and thank you?”

You barely resist a sigh. Instead, you let your lips pucker out in a pout, the motion drawing Paige’s attention immediately. You press closer to her, your breasts dragging against her chest, and she sighs from the feeling. “Please, Paigey?” you beg in a near whimper, taking the hitch in her breathing as a sign that you’re doing something right. “Just want you to fuck me. Been good for you all night, haven’t I? And I promised to welcome you to Dallas. Let me make you feel good.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but the way her throat bobs tells you she’s minutes away from flipping you over and making you forget your name. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers.

“I’m yours,” you respond, and that’s enough for her. Paige drags you down the last few inches, bottoming out. You moan into her neck, the hand at the small of your back pressing you into her. You’re sure that you’re soaking her lap, but judging by the way her hips rut up into yours, she likes knowing how fucked she has you.

Her hands settle at the bottom of your ass, pulling you up as she mouths at your chest, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. You sink down on the strap again. The sound is obscene, drawing a gasp from you, and you repeat the motion.

Up, then down. Up, then down, beginning to set the pace for yourself, but making sure you grind at the bottom of your strokes to make sure that Paige is getting off too. Her eyes are hooded, darting from your face, to your chest, to the apex of your thighs where you’re soaking the strap.

“Fuck,” she groans, her voice rough, and it sends white hot desire up your spine. She speeds up your motions, the veins on her hand protruding from the effort of keeping you upright, her jaw unhinging in awe as she stares at you.

You allow yourself a small smirk, your right hand tilting her head back, revealing the expanse of her throat as you grind down onto her. With your ears so close to her mouth, you can hear every stutter in her breath, every jilted moan she tries to hold back, the hiss of pleasure when you bite down, sucking dark marks into her skin.

When her motions start becoming desperate, her hips bucking up into yours in time with every drag down like she’s trying to chase her high, you reach down for her hands, tangling your fingers together and pressing them into the pillows over her head.

“Really?” you murmur, your lips ghosting the dip in her throat. “You’re this close just from helping me get off?”

She laughs a little, something that sounds like a sob mixed with a whine, and her jaw falls slack in a low groan when your lips attach to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Can’t help it,” Paige manages. Her lips are slick, bitten raw, so you kiss her deeply, swallowing the sound she makes when you grind down especially hard. “Think you like it, though.”

“Mmm,” you hum. You speed up your motions, feeling your thighs and your stomach burn with the effort, but also feeling yourself teeter on the edge of crashing down completely. Your thrusts draw out another moan from Paige, one that makes you grin – because she’d tried so hard to keep herself together, to pretend she was here to fuck you and not the other way around. “Think I just like you.”

That makes a lazy smile appear on her face. Paige pulls one of her hands out of your grip, inching towards your throat and tangling in the necklace there. “Yeah?” she goads, her tone a little insufferable. “Didn’t – fuck – didn’t think I affected you.”

You’re still rutting against her, sweat beading on your temples as you argue, “You don’t.”

But that just makes her grin turn a little more smug. She releases your necklace, her fingers pressing lightly into the sides of your throat, squeezing once in warning. It makes your hips stutter, your breath catching. “Keep lyin’, mama,” she mutters, something dark in her eyes as her fingers trail down your body. One tweaks a nipple, kneading a breast as you gasp. Then, she goes lower still, bracing her large hand over you while her thumb finds your clit, rubbing messy circles through the slick there.

You lose your rhythm again, whimpering, but you keep going despite the exhaustion. It’s less about your pleasure now. You need to get Paige off, to tear down that ego of hers, to silence her for once. Even as you stare down at her, your eyes a little hooded, you realize she enjoys receiving as much as she enjoys giving, and there’s truly no winning with her – she’s getting off either way.

“Actin’ like I don’t know you already,” she continues, her thumb as ruinous as her hips – as ruinous as her words. “What you like. What you need.” You could fall apart like this – her words picking you apart piece by piece, her thumb reminding you that she has you right where you want her. Paige gazes up at you, her pupils blown wide, but you can make out the challenge in the blue of her eyes – she’s daring you to get smart again.

But you’re just as competitive as she is. Without faltering in your movements, you lean slightly, reaching for the cowboy hat perched on her nightstand. It has Paige stitched on the bill. Her jaw falls slack again as she watches you slide it over your head.

“You talk too much,” you retort, and then you’re doubling down again. You can tell the image of you wearing Paige’s hat is doing something to her – the way it bounces in time with your thrusts, combined with the wrecked sounds leaving your lips, the slick sound of the strap deep inside you, the fact that Paige wants you so bad it makes her stupid.

It doesn’t take much longer after that. You and Paige were already pent up. Her thumb quickens on your clit, her free hand gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise as she drags you up and down relentlessly, her own hips meeting yours. You can tell she’s getting close when her breathing turns ragged and her face burns red. You’re right there with her, digging your nails into her shoulders for stability as you push yourself to your high.

Part of you expects Paige to open her mouth again, to say something slick that would leave you trembling, but you don’t give her the chance to. You pull her face to yours, silencing your cries with her lips. You shiver when she bites down on your bottom lip harshly, soothing the sting with her tongue. “‘M close,” you manage breathlessly, holding onto her tightly – feeling as though your orgasm would wreck you completely.

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice choked. “Let go, mama, I’m right here.”

So you do, the pleasure washing over you completely as you cry out, sagging onto her body bonelessly, the cowboy hat falling off to the side of the bed. Paige drags you against the strap, riding out the high, her jaw slack in wordless pleasure while her body burns. She doesn’t still until you push her hands off of you, the overstimulation buzzing under your skin.

Your thighs are still trembling, your breathing uneven. You hardly have the energy to slide off of the strap, so you settle for holding onto Paige, tucking your head into the crook of her neck where sweat glistens and the lingering scent of her cologne remains. You shift, feeling the soaked comforter beneath both of you. It’s enough to make you groan.

But then Paige is shifting, too, the strap brushing against a spot inside you that punches a moan out of you. You don’t have to look up to know she’s smirking. “Chill,” you admonish, your body still sizzling. You don’t know how she still has the energy and the stamina to go after she just turned you inside out, but she moves her hips again, on purpose this time, and the heat coiling in your belly returns tenfold. “You’re insatiable.”

“Look who’s in my bed,” she says as if it explains everything. You just shake your head, amused by her. Paige’s fingers trail down your sides, brushing against your skin while she presses featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. “Know you’ve got one more for me, don’t you?”

You can’t find the words, but you don’t need to. You grab onto her chain – mostly to hold her in place, and you kiss her – deep, lingering, soft despite the moment prior. She grins against you, sliding the strap out as she maneuvers you. The emptiness makes you sigh, but the shift doesn’t take long. She angles you until you can see your bodies in the mirror across her room, your breath catching at the insinuation.

You watch through the mirror as she reaches for the cowboy hat again, settling it over her messy curls. Her smile is determined – like she’s not quite satisfied, not content with the two orgasms she’d pulled from you; ravenous like she can’t wait to have you again. It shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but the flame is licking at you once more and you can’t help but succumb to the fire.

She wraps her right arm around your waist, pulling you up to a kneeling position while she settles in behind you. The strap brushes against you. The sensitivity makes you jolt, but Paige soothes you with a hushed murmur, her hand pressing against your stomach and keeping you tethered. “Want you to watch,” she whispers in your ear. Her right hand abandons your waist to hold you by the jaw, gently tilting your head up until you make eye contact through the mirror.

You’re rendered breathless by the sight – Paige’s body eclipsing yours, the hickeys adorning your skin, the slick between your thighs that shines from the lamplight. Paige isn’t much better, either. Her hair is a mess, the hat on her head skewed to the side, her neck littered with your teeth marks, skin shining from exertion. For stability, you hold onto the arm that’s wrapped tightly around you, pushing back against the strap.

“Can you do that for me?” she asks, pushing her hips forward, dragging through your folds. You nod quickly, letting out a soft whine when the tip of the strap catches your sensitive clit. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop.”

“I will, Paige, promise – just…please–”

She hushes you again, kissing your neck. “I got you, baby. Relax for me, okay? Gonna give it to you. Just need you to be good for me.” You nod again, melting into her body, and with the hand not holding you upright, she guides the strap to your entrance. You moan softly as she slides inside with little resistance, bottoming out as she murmurs, “That’s it, perfect girl. You take me so well.”

You can’t muster the words to respond to that, so you lean your head on hers when she drags the strap out, then pushes back in with a devastating slowness that you feel throughout your entire body. Your body is still buzzing with oversensitivity, but the slowness of her thrusts helps to ground you.

She glances up to the mirror to ensure you’re still looking at her – which you are, enraptured and unable to look away – before she trails her lips down your neck, pressing gentle, wet kisses to your overheated skin.

She’s softer now. Soft in a way that makes you clench around the strap breathlessly, tilting your head to give her more access to your neck. She recognizes that it won’t take much to build you up again, more focused on making sure you enjoy every second – every motion, every push and pull of the strap. Paige plants a kiss on every hickey she’d left on your body, her actions borderline reverent in a way that makes you want to come for her again and again and again.

With one arm still wrapped around your chest, holding onto your jaw, the other wraps around your hips, holding you by the stomach.

Unable to look away, you tighten your grip on her arms, trying not to fall apart too soon. Your stomach coils, already close, but Paige moves slowly, her thrusts hitting deep, and you’re all too content to float along the current of pleasure. Her lips still ghost across your body, licking the salt off of your skin, pressing gentle apologies to the dark spots on your neck.

“You want more, mama?” she murmurs in your ear, a gentle check in despite the question. You hardly have to think about it before you nod. With the hand braced over hers, you drag her left hand down, her fingers finding your clit with ease.

She doesn’t apply much pressure, just enough for you to feel it without overpowering the sensations. You don’t let go either, guiding her motions, moving it further down to gather more of your slick before bringing it back up to circle your clit.

The slide makes it impossibly sweeter – she tightens her circles, pushing deeper inside you with the strap, the tip brushing against the spongy spot inside of you that makes you keen.

Paige doesn’t slow. She doesn’t speed up. She keeps her pace deliciously consistent, the strap dragging in and out of you deliberately, her fingers working you up in tandem.

Her free hand keeps your gaze locked on the mirror, watching her as she kisses your neck, the shell of your ear, listening to her breath heavily as if she’s feeling everything you are, too. That thought alone makes your hips stutter, pressing back into her.

She soothes you with gentle whispers. “So good for me, baby,” she’d say, or she’d time the circling of your clit with a deeper thrust, murmuring, “You feel me? Want you to feel good.” And the stupid hat makes you unravel a little bit more – it hangs off of her head loosely, threatening to fall at any moment, but all you can think about is how you rode her wearing her hat, how she claimed you in the club and how she made you fall apart wearing something with her name on it. You’re hers now, and honestly, you don’t hate that idea.

It doesn’t take much longer before your eyes are slipping shut, confessing, “Close, P,” in a hoarse voice. The sensations are overwhelming – her hot skin pressed against yours, the strap sliding through you and hitting spots you’d never knew existed, the maddening feeling of her thumb against your clit, her breathing against your ear, the pounding of her heartbeat against your back revealing just how close she is to falling apart, too.

“Okay, baby,” she whispers, her motions never slowing, kissing your neck again. But she presses her fingers a little more firmly to your clit, her free hand tapping against your cheek to gather your attention.

Your eyes blink open, finding the mirror again, the ruined look on her face. She looks desperate – not to get off, but desperate to watch you get off. “Want you to watch yourself.” Her voice is a little broken, almost begging, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. “You look so pretty when you come for me, you know that? Wanna watch you do it over and over and over again.”

“Paige,” you gasp, the sound coming out like a half-sob, half-whine, the pleasure building and the heat coiling.

But she hardly hears you, her eyes glazed over and pussy drunk. Her jaw hangs slack like she’s the one being fucked, her breathing uneven and heavy. “You feel so good,” she rambles. “Like you were made just for me. Can’t get enough of you. Please, mama, wanna see you fall apart for me. You’re so good, so fucking perfect–”

The coil snaps, white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, electricity down your spine, and all you can do is sag back into her one final time, moans tumbling from your lips while she works you through the aftershocks.

Her hips and her fingers slow, murmuring incoherent sentences into your ear, her words dripping in both gratitude and a satiated desire like watching you get off finally quenched a thirst she’s been harboring for years.

You don’t have to say anything, either – it’s like she knows your body by heart now. Gingerly, she slips the strap out of your soaked cunt and detaches her fingers from your sensitive clit. As much as you’d love to feel her skin against yours, her hips dragging against yours, you can barely keep your eyes open. The final aftershocks dissipate, your thighs calming, the pleasurable fog in your brain clearing.

“You still with me?” she asks softly, smoothing the hair at the crown of your head with her clean hand.

At that, all you can do is muster a laugh, your eyes opening blearily. “Yeah,” you say, “no thanks to you, though.”

“Hmm,” she scoffs, amusement in her eyes. “Coulda sworn this was exactly what you wanted. You know, open legs and all.”

“Alright,” you deadpan, attempting to roll on your side, but you can’t summon the strength. You settle for some weird half angle that’s hardly worth the drama of the moment. “Goodnight!”

“No way,” Paige laughs. “C’mon. I need you awake. Lemme run you a bath and change these sheets so you can rest, okay? You good with that?”

You meet her eyes again, your smile softening at the gentle earnestness on her face. If she hadn’t already ruined you before, you’re sure you are now. But there’s something in her eyes that promises this might not be a one night thing after all. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing her closer to plant a chaste, affectionate kiss to her lips. You feel her grin. “You’re gonna have to carry me, though.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” she assures you, crawling off the bed and unbuckling the harness on her hips. She throws it haphazardly into the adjacent bathroom and you try not to laugh when something clatters to the floor. Paige picks you up with ease, one arm looping under your knees and the other wrapping around your back. She sets you on the edge of the tub as she heats up the water, helping you into it gingerly and tossing in a eucalyptus bath bomb for your aches. Before she leaves to swap the sheets, she plants a soft kiss onto your forehead.

You soak for a few moments until she returns, offering you a small smile before she slips in behind you. Her body is almost as warm as the water and twice as soft. She massages the shampoo and conditioner into your hair and jokingly points out her assault on your neck with a mixture of pride and concern. You tell her she’ll have to buy your concealer in bulk but when she murmurs, “As long as I get to see you again,” you find that you don’t really care about the marks on your neck as long as you get to keep this annoyingly charming, devastatingly beautiful athlete in your life.

Paige helps you out of the tub, your eyes drooping once more, dressing you in a pair of her boxers and an oversized t-shirt from her college days. She guides you back to bed gingerly, the sheets fresh and clean, and you have your head on her chest before she’s even got her head on the pillow. She grins because it doesn’t bother her at all. You smile because her heart’s pounding and you think you know why it is.

Just before you fall into a blissful, exhausted sleep, Paige’s voice cuts through the fog once more. “About that offer,” she whispers, tapping on the leg you have slung across hers. “Does it expire?”

She jokes, but you can hear the truth of her question beyond it. She’s not referring to your legs. Not literally.

Your smile is tired, but it’s no less affectionate. “For you?” you echo, drowsiness lacing your tone. “No. It’s renewable.”

“How long?”

You’re quiet for a beat, just enough to consider your words.

Is this something you want? Relationships can be hard. Tricky. But something about Paige tells you she’s in for the ride. That you can trust her – with you and your heart.

So you press a kiss to the hinge of her jaw, feeling her cheeks stretch with a smile, and you make her a promise:

“As long as you want.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #dallas wings #wnba

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abbotjack · 2 months ago

Text

Booked for One

pairing : Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!resident!reader

summary : A black-tie charity gala in Chicago. One bed. Months of tension. And a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.

warnings/content : 18+ content, explicit sexual material (fingering, penetrative sex, condom use), strong language, emotionally repressed characters, unresolved sexual tension (resolved), jealousy, mutual pining, power dynamics (attending x resident), one bed trope, clothing sharing (his hoodie/boxers)

word count : 4,850

18+ ONLY MDNI, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : This is me projecting every inch of tension into one hotel room and letting it burn. Robby is so done pretending he doesn’t want her. She’s so done pretending it doesn’t wreck her. No further questions.

The Chicago skyline glittered beyond the ballroom windows like something out of a dream, but the room itself was thick with too much perfume and performative laughter to feel romantic. Somewhere between the crystal chandeliers and the overpriced floral centerpieces, you remembered: this was a charity gala, not a fairy tale. Not that you’d expected it to be one.

Your heels clicked confidently across the marble as you stepped into the crowd, the sound sharp and unapologetic. The red dress did exactly what it was meant to do—stop conversations mid-sentence. Backless, sculpted, slit high enough to make someone drop their champagne. Almost inappropriate. Almost. But cut with just enough class to keep mouths shut and eyes glued. You didn’t stumble into this look—you chose it. Every inch of it said exactly what you needed it to.

And beside you—silent, composed, unreadable—walked Dr. Michael Robinavitch.

Not behind. Not trailing. Beside. Step for step, shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that your perfume reached him, close enough that his silence pressed against your skin like static. The air between you practically hummed. No words were exchanged, but you felt his presence—intentional, sharp, heavy. Not accidental. Never accidental. He wore that tux like a threat and walked like he already regretted coming.

You didn’t blame him. He’d hated the idea of this from the moment the assignment hit both your inboxes. He spent most of the flight to Chicago muttering about schmoozing donors and dressing up for people who’d never seen what a ruptured spleen looked like in real life. Said if AGH wanted charm, they should’ve sent a PR team—not a trauma attending and a second-year resident.

But for all his complaining, he showed up anyway.

Beard neatly trimmed, jaw tight, suit tailored to the exact width of his frustration. He hadn’t bothered with a tie—left the top button undone and rolled his sleeves up in the car, like he couldn’t stand the performance of it all but still dared anyone to question whether he belonged.

Classic Robby.

All precision. All control. Except, maybe, for the way his eyes kept drifting back to you like he hadn’t meant to.

You’d felt it before you even got here.

The moment you stepped out of your hotel room earlier that evening, still adjusting the strap of your dress, you felt the air shift. His gaze had dragged down your spine like heat—slow, reluctant, and absolutely devastating. He hadn’t said a word. No compliment. Not even a grunt. Just stood there in the hallway, watching you like a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

Then you got into the car.

And now, here you were. Walking beside him like none of that tension had happened—like it wasn’t still buzzing under your skin.

He said nothing.

So, you flirted.

You’d barely handed off your coat when a man caught up to you. Mid-thirties, polished, expensive suit, and the kind of grin that usually came with a boarding group upgrade and a trust fund. His eyes dragged over you—slow, practiced—and landed on your badge.

“Emergency?” he asked, matching your stride.

You didn’t break pace. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said, trailing beside you now. “Just wasn’t expecting it. Not in that dress.”

“Guess I don’t dress for your expectations.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly intrigued. “Wasn’t trying to offend. You just... don’t look like you’ve pulled a chest tube.”

You glanced at him, expression unreadable. “You don’t look like someone who’s coded a patient without crying, but I’m not holding it against you.”

He blinked, thrown for half a second—then smiled, slower this time, like the game had just gotten interesting.

“Alright,” he said. “I deserved that.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug. “Probably.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Should I try again?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him—cool, steady, unreadable. Not interested, but not walking away either.

“If you want,” you said finally.

And then you turned, letting him follow you into the crowd. He kept close, too close, like he wasn’t used to being dismissed.

“I’m Lucas, by the way,” he said, offering it like a favor.

“Of course you are.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly not sure if it was a compliment. Robby was across the ballroom, watching it all.

You watched him back. The way his jaw clenched every time you touched Lucas’s arm, the way he barely blinked when Lucas leaned too close.

"You here alone?" Lucas asked.

"That depends," you said, voice light.

"On what?"

You looked past him. Past the buffet table. Past the sea of donors and old-money medicine. Straight into Robby’s eyes. And you smiled.

“On whether he comes over here or not.”

Lucas turned, confused. “Who?”

You just tipped your glass toward Robby.

Robby didn’t move. He just stared back—still, unreadable, drink untouched in his hand like he wanted to throw it at something.

You turned back to Lucas. “Nevermind.”

You ended up pressed against the gold-veined marble counter in the bathroom ten minutes later, Lucas’s mouth hot and insistent on yours, his hands already on your hips like he’d earned the right. The chill of the marble cut against the warmth pooling low in your body, but you didn’t stop him.

Outside, rain had started to streak across the windows—steady now, soft at first and building. You barely registered it. All you felt was Lucas’s palm dragging slowly up your thigh, slipping beneath the slit of your dress, fingers skimming skin like he expected you to beg for it.

He kissed like a man used to being told yes. Confident. Greedy. A little too practiced. His teeth grazed your lip, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a low hum as he pushed closer, like he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted.

You let his hand slide higher. Let him mouth at your neck, at the soft line beneath your jaw. Let him tug the strap of your dress down far enough for the fabric to slide off your shoulder.

Your lipstick smeared between you. Your breath came faster than it should’ve. And all you could think about—even now—was how Robby hadn’t said a single goddamn thing about the dress.

Lucas tasted like champagne and ego. His hands were good. His mouth was eager. His knee pushed between yours and your back hit the mirror with a dull, aching thud.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered against your collarbone, breath hot, hand skimming the edge of your breast now. “Jesus.”

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes.

Pretending it was enough.

Pretending it didn’t burn.

Then, gently—too gently—you pressed your palm against his chest.

“I should go.”

Lucas blinked. “Seriously?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him, steady, breath catching, lips swollen from someone you didn’t want.

Then: “Yeah. Seriously.”

Not cold. Just done.

You slipped out before he could say anything else, smoothing your dress and swiping your thumb across your mouth.

Outside, rain ticked louder against the glass.

And just a few feet down the corridor, exactly where you didn’t want him to be—was Robby. Like he'd positioned himself there on purpose. Like he knew exactly where you’d be. His eyes tracked you the second you stepped back into the ballroom—sharp, steady, and unmistakably furious.

“Was that worth it?” Robby’s voice cut through the hum of the ballroom, low and sharp like a scalpel slipping beneath skin.

You froze mid-step, spine straightening. “What?”

He pushed off the column, slow and measured, like he’d been holding himself still for too long. “Lucas. From Hopkins, right? He’s been at a few of these things.” Robby’s voice was low, sharper than it had any right to be. “In the bathroom. That's how you planned to go about your night?”

You crossed your arms. “Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, stepping in closer. “I’m pissed.”

You lifted your chin. “Why? Because he touched me, or because I let him?”

His jaw flexed. “You really want me to answer that?”

“You’ve been watching me all night, Robby. If you had something to say, you could’ve said it before I walked away.”

“I didn’t think you’d let someone else touch you first.”

You laughed once, dry and humorless. “That’s on you.”

“Don’t twist this.”

You held his stare. “Don’t try to control something you keep pretending you don’t want.”

He stepped closer, voice rough. “You think I don’t want you?”

“I think you want me when it’s convenient. I think you want me more when someone else does.”

His eyes darkened. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

He shook his head. “You walked out of that bathroom looking wrecked—and all I could think was, I should’ve been the one to ruin your lipstick.”

Your breath caught.

“I mean it,” he said, voice lower now, almost ragged. “I stood here like a fucking statue while he got to touch you. Got to taste you.”

“Then do something about it,” you snapped, the air between you flaring hot.

“I can’t,” he said, jaw tight. “Not here. Not when I’m still trying to be the version of me that’s good for you.”

Thunder rumbled outside, closer now. A gust of wind rattled the balcony doors, and someone across the room shut one with a sharp bang that turned a few heads. Staff began to move like shadows between tables, and the string quartet shifted into something slow.

“Why not?” you whispered.

“Because the second I touch you,” he said, “I won’t stop.”

A waiter brushed past with a tray, and the spell broke—the quiet clatter of silver on porcelain snapping the air between you.

You stepped back like it burned. “We should go.”

Neither of you said another word.

Minutes later, you sat stiff in the back seat of the Uber, arms crossed tight, trying not to look like your heart was still somewhere back in the ballroom. Robby stared straight ahead, one hand flexing on his knee, the other resting uselessly between you. The driver didn’t ask questions. Neither of you offered answers.

By the time you stepped back into the hotel, the lobby was chaos—umbrellas dripping onto the tile, soaked coats draped over chairs, luggage leaving wet trails across the marble.

You were halfway to the elevators when the concierge spotted you.

“Miss?” she called out gently. “Room 124?”

You turned, already bracing.

“There’s been a situation,” she said. “A pipe burst on the first floor. Maintenance was able to shut it off, but your room was affected.”

Your chest tightened. “Affected how?”

“Flooded,” she admitted. “We pulled what we could from your room and sent everything to the laundry department for evaluation.”

You blinked. “Evaluation?”

She hesitated. “Some items were soaked. Our team is assessing what’s salvageable.”

You didn’t need her to spell it out. You could picture it already.

Your suitcase—soaked through from the bottom up, clothes clinging to the lining like wet leaves. The silk sleep set you packed on a whim, twisted and ruined. Your toiletry bag overturned, mascara tubes and tampons and a busted travel-size mouthwash bobbing in shallow water. Your heels wrapped in white hotel towels like they’d been injured. Your charger? Fried. The paperback you'd half-finished on the plane? Warped and curling at the edges like a dried flower.

You didn’t want it assessed. You wanted it not to have happened.

“We’re also fully booked due to the weather,” she added, almost apologetic now. “We’ve had cancellations, stranded travelers, local walk-ins. There’s a waitlist, but we can’t guarantee anything for tonight.”

Of course not.

You stared past her, toward the barricaded hallway at the far end of the lobby. Caution tape. Industrial fans. A sign printed in sharpie: FLOOR CLOSED FOR CLEANUP—1st. You could hear the low, constant roar of air pushing moisture out of drywall.

“Fine,” you muttered, reaching for your phone. “I’ll find another hotel.”

You had barely tapped the screen when Robby spoke.

“She’s with me.”

You turned your head slowly. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“You don’t have a room,” he said, measured. “You don’t have clothes. You’re not getting another hotel this late.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“I’m not offering help.” He looked at you then—just once, jaw locked, eyes hard. “I’m not letting you walk around Chicago at midnight with a dead phone especially during a thunderstorm.”

That shut you up. Not because he was angry.

Because he was worried. And trying not to show it.

The concierge handed over a second keycard.

Robby took it before you could say anything.

Just like that.

Final. No discussion.

He didn’t even look at you as he turned toward the elevators.

You followed him.

The click of your heels echoed against the tile, sharp and precise. Rain streaked the windows behind the lobby seating area, lightning flashing faintly across the marble floor. Neither of you spoke.

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you said finally, your voice clipped.

“I’ve got boxers and a hoodie,” he answered without looking back.

You stopped. Right there in the middle of the lobby.

“Oh, perfect. I’ll just wear your hoodie like this is totally normal and not weird at all,” you said, tone sharp.

He turned—slow, deliberate. Shoulders tense, jaw tight.

“What’s your move, then? Wander around downtown at midnight in heels that are cutting off your circulation, soaked through, no phone, no plan?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

His jaw ticked. “It’s a hoodie and boxers, not a wedding dress. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You blinked, slow. “Oh, I’m not. I just prefer not to sleep in something that smells like you’re still wearing it.”

He stepped in—closer than necessary. “You didn’t seem so bothered by that smell earlier. In the elevator. Or at the event.”

Your pulse jumped. You hated that it did.

You crossed your arms. “I’d rather not spend the night with someone who can’t stand to look at me.”

His eyes didn’t move from yours. “You’re not upset about me glaring.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” he said. “You’re upset because the wrong man undressed you with his eyes—and made a move before the one you wanted ever did.”

Your stomach dropped.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He didn’t move. He didn’t smirk. He just let the words sit there between you, heavy and sharp and so goddamn true you wanted to slap him for it.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re still standing here,” he said.

The elevator dinged.

You turned and walked in first.

He followed.

The doors slid shut behind you with a hush that felt like it should’ve echoed.

You stood a little too close to the mirrored wall. He stayed behind you, angled slightly off to the side. You watched him through the reflection. He wasn’t watching you, but he wasn’t relaxed either. His jaw was locked. His hands were in his pockets, knuckles tight enough to show through the fabric.

His chest rose slow. Measured. Controlled.

The air between you wasn’t just tense—it was alive. Like it had heard every word back in the lobby and didn’t believe either of you were done.

The elevator climbed.

At floor ten, your arms were crossed so tightly your shoulders ached.

At floor eleven, your pulse jumped just from the space between your hands and his body.

At floor twelve, he looked at you in the reflection—just a flick of his gaze—and your breath caught.

“We’re both adults,” he said.

Your voice barely made it out. “Barely.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out before he could say anything.

His footsteps followed—steady, patient. The hall was quiet except for the distant hum of the rain hitting the windows at the end. The carpet muffled everything but your heartbeat.

He unlocked the door with one swipe of the keycard, then held it open. You didn’t look at him as you walked in.

You flicked the lights on.

And there it was.

One bed. Big. White. Obvious.

Robby walked in behind you, shutting the door with a soft click. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it neatly, like this was any other night.

You stared at the bed, then at him. Your voice was dry.

“Of course it’s one.”

He didn’t flinch. “Wasn’t expecting company when I booked it.”

You crossed your arms. “But when you offered to share—”

“I knew,” he cut in, voice smooth, unreadable. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that part?”

He turned to face you fully, one brow lifting just slightly. “I had a single room. Why would it have two beds?”

You blinked at him, but he kept going, tone low and infuriatingly rational.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask the hotel for the ‘in case my coworker gets drenched and stranded’ package.”

You scoffed. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.”

He tilted his head, eyes skimming over you. “Right. And if I’d said, ‘It’s one bed,’ you’d have said what? ‘No thanks, I’ll sleep in a puddle’?”

You didn't answer.

He smirked. “Exactly.”

The silence stretched. Long enough to make the storm outside feel closer. You peeled your clutch from under your arm and set it on the dresser like it gave you something to do.

He crossed to his bag. Pulled out a hoodie and a pair of boxers, both folded with the kind of care you recognized in him—practical, precise. He set them down at the end of the bed.

“They’re clean,” he said. “Bathroom’s yours.”

You didn’t move yet. Just looked at the bed again. Then at him.

He hadn’t looked away once.

You took the clothes in one hand.

“So,” you said slowly. “We’re just gonna sleep next to each other like none of this ever happened?”

His voice didn’t waver. “Is that a problem?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if I wear this?” You lifted the hoodie an inch.

His gaze dropped for a single second. Just one. Then back up.

“Especially if you wear that.”

You stared at him.

He didn’t blink.

The moment hovered—thick and heavy with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then you turned toward the bathroom without responding.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you swore you could still hear the sound of him exhaling—low and rough, like he was trying not to want something he didn’t have permission to reach for.

The bathroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the fan and the thunder outside.

You reached behind you, fingers brushing the zipper. It slid down with a soft sigh, the dress loosening around your frame. The straps slipped off your shoulders, and the fabric followed, slow and heavy, like it didn’t want to let go.

It fell in a hush against the tile—crimson and careless at your feet.

You stepped out of it without hesitation.

His hoodie came next. It was oversized and warm. The sleeves hung past your hands, the hem grazing your thighs. You pulled on the boxers last. Loose, low, unfamiliar. You kept one hand on the waistband, like that might anchor you.

In the mirror, you didn’t look like the girl who’d worn that dress. You looked like someone else entirely—bare legs, messy mascara, lips still parted from things unsaid.

Like someone who’d made a choice.

Even if you hadn’t figured out what it meant yet.

When you opened the door, the lights in the room had dimmed. Only one lamp was still on, casting a warm glow over the bed and wall. The storm outside had deepened to a constant rhythm—rain tapping like fingers against glass, thunder slow and low in the distance.

Robby had moved. He was no longer standing.

Now he was sitting in the chair by the window, already in his pajamas. But the second you stepped out, he looked.

And stayed looking.

His gaze dragged from your legs to the oversized hoodie, to the hand resting at your hip like you didn’t quite trust the boxers not to fall. Then to your face.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

The air in the room changed. Tightened. Coiled.

You walked past him in silence, slid into the bed slowly—like you weren’t listening for the hitch in his breath, even though you were. The sheets were cold. Your skin prickled beneath the fabric, awareness spreading like a pulse.

You heard him stand.

Not right away. Not fast.

Just... eventually.

The creak of the chair. The soft thud of his steps against the carpet. The flicker of the switch. Then the dip of the mattress behind you.

He pulled the blanket up slowly. Settled on his back. Close, but not touching.

You stared at the ceiling. Felt the heat of him beside you—close, steady, impossible to ignore. Six inches of space. Maybe less.

And then you moved.

Not much. Just enough for the blanket to pull tighter across your hips, for the edge of your thigh to graze his under the sheets. It was barely contact.

But it felt like heat.

You knew he felt it too—because he stilled.

His breath caught, just slightly, like his lungs had registered something his mouth hadn’t been cleared to speak on. You could feel the way he was holding himself back. The way every inch of him had been still and disciplined until now, and now… now he wasn’t.

"Robby," you whispered.

He turned his head toward you.

Just a glance. But in it—everything. The tension. The ache. The silent plea for permission. Or for you to stop him before he crossed a line he couldn’t walk back from.

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached out—slow, careful—and let your hand find his forearm beneath the blanket. Warm skin. Solid muscle. He tensed at your touch, but didn’t move.

So you let your hand drift down, sliding along the inside of his wrist until your fingers brushed his.

He hesitated.

Then laced them through yours like he couldn’t help it.

That was all it took.

His fingers slipped free again, and his hand moved—up your arm, slow and deliberate. Not over the fabric. Under it. He pushed the hoodie up just enough to touch your bare skin, his palm dragging heat along the dip of your waist, the soft slope of your stomach. He moved closer, his leg brushing yours beneath the blanket, chest barely grazing your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

He heard it.

He hovered above you now, weight on one elbow, eyes locked on yours in the dark.

You reached up and found the side of his neck. Warm, tense, familiar.

That was enough.

He kissed you—deep, slow, but hungry. Not rushed. Just built-up control finally cracking. His hand slid higher beneath the hoodie, fingers spreading across your bare ribs, then rising to cup your breast—skin to skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and you gasped, the sound catching between your mouths.

He pulled back a breath’s distance, just enough to look down at you.

“You knew,” he said roughly.

Your lashes fluttered. “Knew what?”

His eyes dragged over your face. “That I wouldn’t stop if I touched you.”

You didn’t answer. You just arched into him, hips tilting, hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Your fingers found the edge and pushed up, knuckles brushing his stomach.

He moved to help, lifting his arms, letting you tug the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then he leaned back, one hand tugging the blanket down from both your bodies, eyes never leaving yours.

His chest rose and fell—slow, deliberate, barely in control. And he was still watching you like he hadn’t even started.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of the boxers.

You gasped—quiet, sharp—and he froze.

“Okay?” he asked, voice hoarse against your throat.

“Yes,” you said. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned—quiet, guttural—and kissed you again, his fingers sliding through you slowly, then sinking deep. One, then two.

The hoodie stayed on.

But everything underneath it was his now too.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I think I do,” you said, breathless.

He kissed you again, but this time deeper—tongue sliding against yours with the kind of hunger that tasted like restraint finally breaking. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, slow and deliberate, as if he was testing how far you’d let him go.

You didn’t stop him.

You tipped your chin up and gave him more.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice dark. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I’ve been like that all night.”

His hand moved in slow circles over your clit. You arched into him.

“Robby—”

“Fuck, you feel—” He cut himself off with another kiss. His forehead rested against yours, breaths coming fast now. “Don’t rush me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re shaking.”

“You’re making me.”

He added another finger. Your hips jerked, and he caught them with his other hand, holding you still while he fucked you slow with his fingers—deep, steady, curling in all the right ways. You whimpered into his mouth.

“Look at me,” he said roughly.

You did.

His pupils were blown wide. His jaw tight. His fingers still moving, still coaxing, still building the ache that had started the second he offered you this bed.

“Tell me when.”

Your breath broke. “Almost—don’t stop.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, just enough pressure to push you over. You came with a gasp—hips trembling, body curling into his. He kissed you through it, slow and open-mouthed, like he was breathing you in.

When your body stopped trembling, you reached for his waistband and pulled it down. He was hard. Thick. Heavy in your hand.

You stroked him once, twice—slow, just to feel the way his body jerked under your touch. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenching hard as your thumb teased the underside of his cock.

“Condom?” you asked, voice low.

“Top drawer,” he said. “I checked earlier.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Hopeful?”

“Prepared.” he muttered.

You fished it out and handed it to him. He rolled it on with shaky hands, then settled between your legs again—his hips aligned with yours, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling under your thigh.

He paused. “Last chance.”

You locked your eyes on his. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He pushed in with one slow, smooth thrust—stretching you open inch by inch, until your back arched and your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he gritted out, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel like—”

“Move.”

He did.

Long, deep strokes that built slow—his body pressed against yours, breath hot against your cheek, the bed shifting beneath you. His hips rolled just right, his rhythm steady but desperate, each thrust dragging a sound out of your throat you couldn’t have silenced if you tried.

You wrapped your legs around him, ankles hooking behind his back, dragging him deeper. His hand slid under the hoodie, found your breast, thumb brushing your nipple until you cried out.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come again.”

He angled his hips and thrust again—harder now, rougher, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. You moaned into his mouth, fingers clawing at his back as your body built again, tighter, hotter.

Then you broke.

Your climax hit fast—sharp, shattering. You buried your face in his neck and held on as he fucked you through it, thrusts stuttering, voice breaking on a groan.

“Fuck—I’m—”

He followed you over the edge with one last deep thrust, his body shaking above you, hips grinding into yours as he spilled into the condom with a low, guttural noise that sounded like surrender.

When it was over, he collapsed half on top of you, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.

Neither of you spoke.

You lay there tangled in each other, his hoodie bunched around your waist, your breathing slowly syncing with his. His hand rested on your thigh—still, warm, unhurried. Gentle in a way that felt unfamiliar for both of you.

The storm outside had quieted to a hush, rain tapping a soft rhythm against the windows like it was trying not to interrupt.

Minutes passed.

Then, quietly—like it had been sitting on his tongue all night—he said, “You looked really beautiful in that dress.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Didn’t think I should.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just watched him, his features softer now in the dim light, his usual armor cracked wide open.

After a moment, you whispered, “I waited for you to.”

His fingers flexed lightly on your thigh, like the weight of your words hit somewhere deep.

“I know,” he said again, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t forgive him out loud. You didn’t need to.

You just shifted closer, let your leg hook over his, and finally let yourself exhale.

Not everything had to be said right now.

But for the first time in a long time, it felt like something had changed.

And neither of you reached to undo it.

#the pitt #dr robby #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo #the pitt 2025 #noah wyle #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby x reader #smut #slowburn

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artfight · 24 days ago

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Important Announcement

A now-patched breach of security has occurred on Art Fight. To learn about this issue in full detail, please read the following newspost:

Below is a FAQ regarding the exploit. We highly recommend that you reset your password and enable 2FA if you have interacted with the site recently. If you need any assistance, please send a support email to the following address: [email protected]

The inbox will be opened shortly to respond to user questions and concerns. Anonymous will be turned off for the time being, please let us know if you prefer that your ask is answered privately.

How did this happen?

Our BBCode system had a vulnerability flaw in it that was temporarily exploited to attempt to gain user credentials, but it has since been patched.

What do we do?

If you believe you may have been affected, please change your password to something unique and secure. We also recommend keeping an eye out on your other accounts, and to change the passwords on them if they shared any credentials as your Art Fight account (so same email or same password).

How do we know if you were affected by this exploit?

If you accessed the comments of the most recent news post (Terms of Service Updates), there is a chance your browser was exposed to the XSS script, and we recommend resetting your password ASAP to be safe.

What are you doing to prevent this from happening again?

Our hard-working dev team has already patched this exploit, as well as added additional security measures to help prevent this from happening again in the future. We will also be proactively doing a security review to help locate any other security concerns. Two Factor Authentication (2FA) has been established as a feature on the site that can be found in your settings.

I'm nervous about going onto the site at all now! What if my account gets hacked/stolen/etc?

Art Fight's dev team has patched the vulnerability that this incident has revealed, and has added additional security to catch/stop malicious scripts before they can affect the userbase. All instances of the previous malicious script have been removed from the website, meaning that it is once again safe to view the last news post! We are working hard to continue to keep users safe, so you don't need to worry about accessing anything on the site. If you come across anything potentially concerning, please don't hesitate to forward it to a moderator - we're happy to look into it!

What information might've been taken from me?

The XSS attack attempted to collect autofilled Art Fight log in information--emails and passwords--from users. No other information (like birthdays) should have been collected through this script. If you use the same email/password combo, or same password anywhere else, we recommend changing to ensure your accounts stay secure.

#Art Fight #Artfight #Artfight2025 #Artfight 2025 #Info

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afeelgoodblog · 1 year ago

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The Best News of Last Year - 2023 Edition

Welcome to our special edition newsletter recapping the best news from the past year. I've picked one highlight from each month to give you a snapshot of 2023. No frills, just straightforward news that mattered. Let's relive the good stuff that made our year shine.

January - London: Girl with incurable cancer recovers after pioneering treatment

A girl’s incurable cancer has been cleared from her body after what scientists have described as the most sophisticated cell engineering to date.

2. February - Utah legislature unanimously passes ban on LGBTQ conversion therapy

The Utah State Legislature has unanimously approved a bill that enshrines into law a ban on LGBTQ conversion therapy.

3. March - First vaccine for honeybees could save billions

The United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) has approved the world’s first-ever vaccine intended to address the global decline of honeybees. It will help protect honeybees from American foulbrood, a contagious bacterial disease which can destroy entire colonies.

4. April - Fungi discovered that can eat plastic in just 140 days

Australian scientists have successfully used backyard mould to break down one of the world's most stubborn plastics — a discovery they hope could ease the burden of the global recycling crisis within years. 

5. May - Ocean Cleanup removes 200,000th kilogram of plastic from the Pacific Ocean

The Dutch offshore restoration project, Ocean Cleanup, says it has reached a milestone. The organization's plastic catching efforts have now fished more than 200,000 kilograms of plastic out of the Pacific Ocean, Ocean Cleanup said on Twitter.

6. June - U.S. judge blocks Florida ban on care for trans minors in narrow ruling, says ‘gender identity is real’

A federal judge temporarily blocked portions of a new Florida law that bans transgender minors from receiving puberty blockers, ruling Tuesday that the state has no rational basis for denying patients treatment.

7. July - World’s largest Phosphate deposit discovered in Norway

A massive underground deposit of high-grade phosphate rock in Norway, pitched as the world’s largest, is big enough to satisfy world demand for fertilisers, solar panels and electric car batteries over the next 50 years, according to the company exploiting the resource.

8. August - Successful room temperature ambient-pressure magnetic levitation of LK-99

If the claim by Sukbae Lee and Ji-Hoon Kim of South Korea’s Quantum Energy Research Centre holds up, the material could usher in all sorts of technological marvels, such as levitating vehicles and perfectly efficient electrical grids.

9. September - World’s 1st drug to regrow teeth enters clinical trials

The ability to regrow your own teeth could be just around the corner. A team of scientists, led by a Japanese pharmaceutical startup, are getting set to start human trials on a new drug that has successfully grown new teeth in animal test subjects.

10. October - Nobel Prize goes to scientists behind mRNA Covid vaccines

The Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine has been awarded to a pair of scientists who developed the technology that led to the mRNA Covid vaccines. Professors Katalin Kariko and Drew Weissman will share the prize.

11. November - No cases of cancer caused by HPV in Norwegian 25-year olds, the first cohort to be mass vaccinated for HPV.

Last year there were zero cases of cervical cancer in the group that was vaccinated in 2009 against the HPV virus, which can cause the cancer in women.

12. December - President Biden announces he’s pardoning all convictions of federal marijuana possession

President Joe Biden announced Friday he's issuing a federal pardon to every American who has used marijuana in the past, including those who were never arrested or prosecuted.

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And there you have it – a year's worth of uplifting news! I hope these positive stories brought a bit of joy to your inbox. As I wrap up this special edition, I want to thank all my supporters!

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

#best news of last week

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hotguycomiczine · 1 month ago

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EXTRY! EXTRY!

Behind the scenes, our team has been planning and plotting something BIG. And it's not just us, either; we've teamed up with the Scarland Artbook organizers! After months of nonstop effort, we're eager to invite YOU to our biggest project yet.

INTRODUCING...

What is A2Z?

Artbooks to Zinethologies is a collaborative charity event hosted by the organizers of both Scarland Artbook (@scarland-artbook) and HOTGUY COMICS (@hotguycomiczine), celebrating the Artbook's donation to Give Kids The World Village and aiming to fundraise a little extra in the process!

What will the event be like?

Falling somewhere between a streamathon and an online convention, our aim is to provide behind-the-scenes insight on how both of these massive projects came to life; answer questions on what it took to tackle them; and share our favorite anecdotes from each project. Three days of streaming, multiple panels, many participant-open activities, and several exciting announcements for the future are coming your way with A2Z's schedule!

So when is it?

Mark your calendars for May 23rd, 24th, and 25th to watch us dive deep into never-before-seen secrets and tidbits from these unique community projects. Keep your eyes peeled in the next few days for more information on our exact schedule, and what panels we plan to cover!

Any questions?

Send us your questions to our shared inbox on neospring!

Join us in celebrating Scarland Artbook's incredible donation to Give Kids The World Village, and help us raise more money for their cause.

We sincerely hope to see you there at the event!

A2Z | CARRD • INBOX • YOUTUBE

HOTGUY COMICS ZINETHOLOGY | ITCH.IO • CARRD • TWITTER

SCARLAND ARTBOOK | ITCH.IO • WEBSITE • TWITTER • TUMBLR

ALT IMAGES UNDER THE CUT.

#hermitcraft #mcyt #mcytblrsource #hermitcraft smp #trafficblr #traffic smp #hermitblr #a2z event #scarland artbook #hotguy comics zine #hotguy comics zinethology

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smsgatewayindia · 1 year ago

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Unlock the Full Potential of WhatsApp Business API with These 5 Expert Tips

One powerful tool that has gained significant traction is the WhatsApp Business API. Designed to help businesses connect with customers efficiently, the API offers a plethora of features that can transform customer service and communication strategies.

#SMS Gateway Center #WhatsApp Business API #customer service automation #chatbots for business #message templates #shared team inbox #CRM integration #personalized customer communication #interactive buttons #customer engagement strategies #digital customer service #business communication tools #improve customer satisfaction #enhance customer experience #efficient customer support #streamline business operations

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sacredsorceress · 9 months ago

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logan howlett x f!reader / inbox

there is just something about logan being a gentleman.

sure he's the definition of rough around the edges and his patience is very thin with most people, but i just know that when he found his woman, he'd be the definition of chivalrous. he's old school: opening the door for you, giving you his jacket when there's even a slight breeze... and he won't mention any of it. he'll do it all wordlessly as if its second nature. and if you do point it out to him he'll just make a snarky comment in return or say nothing, instead wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close to his side because what is there to say? of course he takes care of you. he considers himself damn lucky to be the one to do so.

if some guy was rude to you, or god forbid, hit on you? he'd be on them in seconds, grabbing their shirt and asking them if that's how they think they should be treating a lady. (it's a rhetorical question and a warning. if they give the wrong answer? lets say you'll be cleaning blood off his shirt that night).

on nights where he drives the two of you home, he'll be constantly glancing at the passenger seat, rubbing circles onto your thighs. and if some asshole ran a red, forcing logan to slam on his breaks, his first instinct would be to fling his arm over you, holding you back against the seat. when you wake up from the commotion he'd just run his thumb against your temple and tell you in a hushed voice that "it was nothing, sweetheart. go back to sleep."

if someone on the team brought you up in a negative manner when you weren't there (rare, it would probably just be scott trying to get a rise out of logan) he'd turn red: "don't you talk about her" and "keep her name out of your goddamn mouth". because who the fuck thinks they can talk about his girl??

he's not big on PDA but that doesn't mean he's not touchy. anytime you'd walk up the stairs he'd let you use his arm as your own personal railing. before he left for work in the morning, no matter how late he was, he'd make sure to kiss you on the forehead before he left. and if he had a job where he'd have to wake up at the crack of dawn? he'd make sure to get out of bed as quietly as ever and if you so much as stirred, he'd brush your hair back with a "shhh" and a kiss before he got ready for his long day. but it would be okay because he could get through anything knowing he'd be coming home to you at the end of the day.

anyway as rough as logan can be, he's obsessed with his partner and wants to do nothing more than take care of them. and that my friends makes logan the ultimate gentleman.

a/n: just a little blurb because i am obsessed with this idea. my inbox is open if anyone wants to share more thoughts on logan cause ahhh!!

#logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine blurb #wolverine fluff #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett blurb #x men fanfiction

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micer2012 · 2 years ago

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a reflection on MatPat's plagiarism

Hello, my name is Della, or micer2012, and 2 years ago Game Theory plagiarized three Tumblr posts of mine, making a video that now holds almost 6 million views.

My posts explaining his plagiarism made their rounds on Reddit, Tumblr and Twitter, but despite the Hermits and Pooka commenting on it (generally in support of me or saying they don’t know enough details about the situation to say either way), MatPat and his team have never owned up to anything, and no mention of my name is present on the video. The one Reddit post they made denying it (which was made before my detailed takedown, which they have never responded to (though the mods on the r/GameTheorists Reddit were kind and made sure it stayed up)) didn’t even mention me by name, just referring to me as “a tumblr user”. (Though one of the screenshotted comments in the body of the post does say my name)

This experience was baffling, but it’s overall had a positive impact on my life. r/Hermitcraft gave me a Golden Apple Award (post of the year, 2021). My inbox was filled with excited fans, wanting to ask me questions or pose their own theories, far more than the hate I got. (Though the hate I got from Game Theory fans was VERY funny. I wondered why none of them gave me shit about saying “MatPat misgendered Evil Xisuma” before realizing none of them read that far into the post.)

And getting on a more personal, and much more important note, I met most of my current online friends through this, including my partner. It helped me grow closer with my irl friends as well and gave me an entertaining story that I tell whenever I have the chance. It was one of the first things in my life that really made me feel like my talents, my autistic hyperfocusing and analyzing of things I love, could be valuable. Useful. Exploitable. It blew my mind that MatPat thought an autistic kid’s ramblings about a Minecraft Youtube joke character were good enough to steal. To put an audible sponsorship on. To get 6 million views off of.

And that’s why I’m writing this post, this update years later. As you might’ve been able to guess, Hbomberguy’s Youtube video on plagiarism reopened this wound. It was really hard for me to sit through, it took days of pausing and taking breaks, because I had experienced everything he was talking about firsthand.

In my 10 page long takedown post, I wrote about how his rewording of my sentences made him say things that were incorrect, just like Filip did. The content farm production style that made big companies like Cinemassacre take one creator (AVGN/MatPat) and turn him and his content into a brand, a voice that reads out scripts by other people with other opinions/theories, is a history shared with Game Theory. What really hit me was Harris talking about how big creators only do this to people they think they can get away with doing it to. How they view their victims as lesser, as not deserving of their words, repackaging them as their own to give to an audience that can gain from hearing them, but deserves better than to have to listen to the original victim.

That’s the thing, I 100% think a video version of my theory to expose to a bigger community than “Evil Xisuma Fans on Tumblr” is a great idea!! Near the end of the video Harris talks about how video adaptations of things could be a great market, even an accessibility tool, and I completely feel that about my posts. I wrote them quickly assuming the reader was someone well versed on Evil Xisuma lore, after not even watching most of the CarnEvil series, and the diagrams I made to explain them are even less comprehensible. Harris makes a joke that I completely agree with,

“I’m sure some of my videos would do very well if someone translated them into English.”

I don’t think I would’ve ever made my posts if I didn’t have autism, and a special fixation on Evil Xisuma and Hermitcraft. I made them because I felt the character was being done an injustice, and because I wanted to share with other superfans this theory that might explain it away. I do think that MatPat plagiarizing me was ableist. I used to wonder a lot if this would’ve happened if my posts were articulated better, if they had been peer reviewed, if the posts themselves had been spread to a wider audience before MatPat made his video. At one point when the discourse was fresh (before I had the time to write out my 10 page rebuttal), a bigger YouTuber (100k subs at the time) messaged me and started talking on Discord, interested in possibly making a video on the discourse, but I think my style of typing and general enthusiasm drove him away. You can tell by a single look at my blog (or my original 3 posts!) that I don’t usually type like this. This post you’re reading now has been peer reviewed and edited, and took me hours to format correctly. That video could’ve been huge, the entire outcome of this MatPat situation would probably be much different.

I also used to stress a lot about “being the one who ruined Evil Xisuma’s story”. If you didn’t know, to me S8 Evil Xisuma’s story got wrapped up pretty quickly and unsatisfying (in my personal autistic opinion). (though this might’ve been due to s8 being experimental and ending early with moon big) There was no real culmination of the plot points and arcs going on, and I don’t want to blame myself, but when Xisuma said on stream (when the MatPat thing was first going on) that he didn’t want to focus on the discourse or draw more attention to it, it makes a lot of sense to me that he just wanted to wrap it all up as quickly as possible. For a while I beat myself up about it, of ruining the story of this character I love, but it’s not my fault. If anyone’s, it’s MatPats, but I don’t think it’s useful to just blame someone else. That’s how the story ended up going, and that’s fine. This is Evil Xisuma we’re talking about, their inconsistent lore is what made them such an interesting character. And notably, Pooka made an animation with an awesome culmination of Jeff, the Dreamer, Evil Xisuma, and his own sona’s story, and it makes me so happy to watch. Whatever Pooka does is of course his own choice, but I’m glad he got to give this personal story his own ending (if it is an ending, and not just the start of a new chapter!).

Typing this all out and getting it off my chest has made me feel a lot better. For a while I wanted to make my OWN video essay about Evil Xisuma’s lore and CarnEvil’s lore, actually going episode by episode to explain it instead of just assuming you knew as much about Evil Xisuma as I did. That idea is still not off the table, but MCYT isn’t something I’m that into right now. Maybe if something else comes out about Evil Xisuma I’ll get back on it, but for now I’m fine with letting that go. But I want to make other videos, share other theories and analysis… if I have the freetime I’d love to make YouTube videos, and if I don’t have the time I’ll continue posting to my tumblr and infodumping to my friends. Apparently my infodumping is valuable enough “content” to steal! Writing this out has made me feel a lot better though, I’m really glad I got it out.

If anyone ever wants to talk to me about the things I’m obsessed with, or reach out to me as a source in a bigger discussion about Game Theory or other channels, my inbox is more than welcome :] Thank you for reading!

Sincerely, a tumblr user.

#exiavojtmmc #hermitcraft #matpat #gt #game theory #hc #mcyt #evil xisuma #hbomberguy #plagiarism #james somerton #jeff the minion #mine #micer2012 #hcs9

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sparklingchim · 9 months ago

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game on | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.2k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: koo gets scolded for sleeping around 🥺, playboy jk <3, hints of a threesome 🫢, oc fights w a laundry machine

summary: jungkook is in desperate need to polish up his playboy image, and naturally, he turns to you for help.

a/n: hii my pretty besties!!!! it's my bday😋 so i wanted to share this silly piece i've been having so much fun writing!!! love uuu n treat urself to smth nice for me today <3 mwah😙

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jeon Jungkook is a charming man – and he is well aware of the fact. He plays that card effortlessly.

Most of the time, it works in his favour. Gets him what he wants, opens doors, soften blows.

But sometimes, it backfires. Spectacularly.

Which is why, right now, he’s standing in front of his fuming manager, who is radiating enough anger to fill the entire office.

The sight isn’t foreign to Jungkook. He wouldn’t say he is used to it, but he has found himself often enough in this situation to recognise the signs of deep trouble.

It’s not just Jungkook’s charm that’s making things complicated. It’s also the fact that he is famous.

He doesn’t flaunt it – never brags, never name-drops. That’s not his thing. But he’s not stupid either. His name (dare he say it) carries a bit of weight, and he’s learned how to use it. Quietly. Casually. Just enough to make things go his way.

Bending the world to his will... until the world pushes back.

And right now, it’s pushing back hard.

One thing Jeon Jungkook does enjoy about being a pro footballer, though, is the way women obsess over him.

He knows they love him – sees it in the comments they leave on his ig posts, sees it in the DMs flooding his inbox daily, and experiences it firsthand at public events, where hordes of fans scream his name. Jungkook thrives on that attention.

However, something he doesn’t love, and what he was never prepared for, is the media. The way they scrutinise his every move, how his face ends up on every headline anytime he does something remotely noteworthy.

And now, thanks to his latest shenanigan getting caught by the press, here he is. Getting chewed out by Taesung, his manager, while Jiwoo from PR watches with that tight-lipped expression that always means bad news.

Jungkook’s eyes are downcast, bracing himself for the scolding that’s already begun.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Jungkook.”

His manager speaks in a flat, monotonous voice, void of even the slightest hint of disappointment, as if he’d long since given up expecting anything different.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up the mess you leave behind?”

A sense of guilt creeping up on Jungkook, even though he knows if he were just a regular guy, none of this would matter at all. And he finds it a bit unfair.

But to survive in this business, you can’t complain about unfairness.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Taesung barks.

Jungkook remains silent. He forces himself to.

“If there was more involved than just alcohol-”

“No! Nothing like that,” he denies, his response firm and immediate. “It was just alcohol – and, well, just good vibes because we won the last match, and with the World Cup being next, everyone was just really excited.”

If he had known what kind of trouble a simple, innocent celebration of his team’s win at a club would bring, he would’ve gone straight home yesterday. He would’ve skipped the rounds of drinks, the flashing lights, the loud music, and definitely the attention. But hindsight was useless now.

“Good,” his manager says. “I’m glad you were happy.” Mock sympathy drips from his voice. “Perhaps the last time you are going to be happy this year.”

Jungkook nods, accepting the gravity of the situation. No more clubs, no more parties, no more girls.

At least, not for a while. His reputation had taken a few hits recently, and this latest mess wasn’t helping. He could almost hear the whispers: reckless, irresponsible, unprofessional. The kind of things that could ruin him if he didn’t get a handle on it.

He clenched his jaw. No more distractions. From now on, it was all about the game. He needed to remind everyone why he was Jeon Jungkook — the best on the field, not just the headlines.

“You’re no longer in for the World Cup. You’re out.”

His head snaps up at that. Did he hear that right?

“What?! What do you mean?”

“Myungbo doesn’t want you on the team anymore.” Taesung’s words sound heavy and final.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his ears.

His world tilts. The room seems to spin, the edges of his vision darkening. This wasn’t just a setback — it was a disaster. The World Cup was everything to him, and now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The crushing weight of the news settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. One silly night is all that happened.

He can’t believe that a single photo of him leaving the club with two girls clinging to each arm has cost him his spot on the national football team. He went home with two girls – so what?

But he doesn’t voice his frustration. He knows better than to add fuel to the fire. Speaking his mind now would only escalate the situation and make things worse. Jungkook knows from experience.

He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. His pulse is still racing, but he takes a deep breath, focusing on controlling his emotions. He has to keep a level head if he’s going to find a way to fix this.

“There has to be a way to fix this.” His eyes move to Jiwoo, his PR agent. “Right?”

His manager fixes him with a stern glare. “Jungkook, remember the promise you gave everyone a few months ago?” Taesung reminds him.

Jungkook cringes. When he made a promise to avoid actions that might damage his reputation, he didn’t think it’d be that serious. He cut back on going out, made the effort to play the role of the “good boy” but really – come on. He can’t maintain that facade for an eternity. Especially after a triumphant victory like yesterday’s.

Taking away his spot on the national football team? He didn’t think that was possible.

“How many more times do we have to fix your problems, because you don’t care enough? How many times do we have to repeat this scenario?”

“I promise I’ll better myself,” Jungkook pleads desperately, looking back and forth between the two of them. Someone has to believe him, help him.

“Do you genuinely believe this country wants to be represented by a 20-year-old boy, who can’t keep his personal life under control?” Taesung asks, eyebrows deeply pinched together. “This isn’t just about you, Jungkook. It’s about the team, the fans, and the nation. They need a role model, not a scandal waiting to happen.”

“I know. I know.” Jungkook scrambles for something convincing to say, desperate to sway their decision. This can’t be it. He won’t let his career take a hit because of something like this. “But – but this isn’t too bad. This is fixable. I can fix this.” His voice quivers with a desperation he barely recognises as his own. “Jiwoo.” Jungkook turns to her with pleading eyes. “You always know what to do. Please, help me?”

“I did propose an idea but-”

“We’re not doing that,” Taesung cuts in. “It’s off the table.”

“What is it?” Jungkook’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I’ll do anything. This is – this is everything to me. You have to give me a chance.”

Taesung scoffs. “A chance? As far as I know, you have been given countless chances.”

Sweat coats the back of Jungkook’s neck.

Taesung understands just how much Jungkook has fought to secure his place on the national team. He’s well aware that it’s one of Jungkook’s greatest dreams, a pinnacle of his career that he’s poured countless hours of hard work and sacrifice into. That’s why, each morning, when he wakes up to the latest news of Jungkook’s escapades, he feels a deep sense of disappointment, texting Jungkook with a dejected shake of his head to visit his office first thing in the morning.

When it’s all he wants, like Jungkook claims, why doesn’t he act like it?

“If the head coach won’t give me a chance now, he’ll never do. This is my last opportunity to change his mind, make him rethink. I need to at least try.”

Jiwoo looks at Taesung, waiting for his approval. He nods.

“Very simply put: you need a girlfriend,” she says.

For a second, Jungkook is at loss for words.

“A girlfriend? How’s that going to help?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. This is not how he thought Jiwoo was going to save him.

“You need a girlfriend to help polish up your image as a player. It’ll make you appear more like a gentleman, softer and nicer. We need to completely shift public perception and counter the negative image they’ve formed about you. It’s all about changing the narrative,” she explains.

“And that is not something we can easily achieve,” Taesung interjects. “Rebranding your entire persona is not feasible at this stage. You’ve been projecting what kind of boy you are to the media for the past two years. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to make a sudden shift look genuine.”

“No! We — I can make it seem real. This is my only chance,” Jungkook insists, his voice gaining a hint of determination. For a moment, breathing feels a bit easier again. “The World Cup is just two months away. That’s enough time to shift public opinion and prove I’m worthy of representing the country on the team.” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he speaks, clinging to the belief that he might not have to bid farewell to his biggest dream after all.

But Taesung doesn’t look as hopeful as Jungkook feels.

“How are we going to find a girl who will agree to this? Someone who isn’t an obsessive fan, understands this is purely professional, and can keep quiet? You won’t be able to pull this off.”

“I was actually thinking-” Jiwoo starts, but she’s cut off.

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between them before speaking. “Actually... I think I already have someone in mind.” His voice is more measured now. “That’s not the issue.” Jungkook doesn’t need to think twice.

Taesung sighs while Jiwoo looks at Jungkook apologetically.

“You can’t rebrand your entire persona from a playboy to a lover boy within a month, Jungkook. This is over.” His manager shakes his head, a sense of finality glimmering in his eyes.

One thing that Jungkook forgot to mention is that he is an extremely competitive man, too.

“This is ridiculous.”

You kick the laundry machine in frustration, but all you end up doing is yelping and clutching your aching foot.

“That’s the third time this month,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I even spend all that money on if it’s just going to break down whenever it feels like it?”

You shoot a death glare at the machine, teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

“Guess I’ll have to use the public laundromat again,” you sigh, grabbing the overflowing laundry basket filled with your and your roommate's clothes, and heading out of the bathroom with a huff.

On your way to the front door, the doorbell rings.

Please, you think. You were hoping for some quiet, uninterrupted time to deep-clean your dorm on this peaceful Sunday with no one around.

But when you peek through the peephole and see Jungkook standing there, your frustration melts away. You swing the door open, the laundry basket tumbling to the floor beside you in your haste.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “You’re timing is perfect! Can you please fix my laundry machine again? It’s been acting up, and I’m getting frustrated.” You groan annoyed.

Jungkook doesn’t share the same excitement upon seeing you.

You grow smaller and take an indecisive step back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the tension in his features. “Did you lose the match yesterday? I couldn’t keep up because I had too much cramming to do last night.”

While studying medicine had always been your dream, the reality is less exciting. Right now, it means sleepless nights and relentless pressure. You know that pursuing this path will offer you many privileges later in life, but you have to suffer first.

“I need your help.”

His dark eyes, usually bright and full of energy, seem clouded with worry, and his hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration.

“Are you okay?” You study him closely, scanning his face for any signs of injury. Physically, he seems fine — still tall, muscular, and as fit as ever. But something is clearly off.

“You need to do something for me.”

“I can help,” you reply, your voice soft with concern. ‘But what is it…?”

“Don’t call me crazy for it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Can you be my girlfriend?”

You blink, repeatedly.

“Huh?”

You start giggling when he doesn’t add more. You expect him to clarify or laugh along, but Jungkook stays serious, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his. You look down at them, then back up at his face, utterly bewildered.

“You’re silly, Jungkook. If someone on the team made you do this, tell them you did the punishment and quit acting so weird.”

It’s too early in the morning for Jungkook’s nonsense.

“No, ___, you don’t understand.” He squeezes your hands when he feels you trying to pull them back. “I actually need you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake date me.”

#jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader

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bu3ck3r · 2 months ago

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jealous

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: so this is partly inspired by a song called jealous by nick jonas (tysm anon for this request)

wc: 9k

a/n: after yall read this spam my inbox with literally anything! and obv tell me how was it🙂‍↔️

the locker room still smelled like sweat and celebration—someone had sprayed body spray with no regard for moderation, music was playing off a speaker in the corner, and the vibe was high. uconn had just rolled over another team, and the win had been easy, almost too easy.

azzi leaned against the wall near her locker, still half in uniform, her hair damp and curling from sweat, eyes fixed on something—or someone—across the room.

paige.

paige was laughing at something ice had said, throwing her head back in that way that made her entire presence shift. her jersey was bunched at the waist, sweat-stuck to her stomach, and her cheeks were flushed in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

azzi tore her eyes away before anyone noticed. but someone did.

“you watch her like she hung the damn moon,” jana muttered as she walked by, tossing her towel onto a bench. her voice was low, teasing, but not cruel.

azzi rolled her eyes and said nothing.

later that night, the team crammed into kk’s dorm for movie night. pillows everywhere, popcorn already half eaten, someone flipping through netflix options like the right one might suddenly appear if they kept scrolling. paige walked in late—hoodie half zipped, pajama pants hanging low on her hips—and she dropped next to azzi on the floor like it was the most natural thing in the world.

azzi didn’t even blink. she just leaned into her. a shared blanket appeared. no one said anything at first, but when azzi’s head dropped onto paige’s shoulder, jana smirked and didn’t bother keeping it to herself this time.

“okay. nah. you two need to stop. i’m tired.”

azzi lifted her head slowly. “what?”

“you’re literally curled up on her like this is a rom-com,” ice added, grinning from where she was half-asleep on the couch. “just make out already and spare us.”

paige snorted. “y’all are so annoying.”

“y’all are so in denial,” jana shot back, and a chorus of laughter followed.

azzi smiled, her cheeks burning, and paige just nudged her shoulder gently. “ignore them.”

but paige couldn’t ignore the way her chest squeezed when azzi smiled at her like that. the kind of smile you didn’t give to just anybody.

they walked back to their dorms together after midnight. campus was quiet, the cold biting at their cheeks. paige had offered azzi her hoodie without thinking. azzi took it. it looked a lot better on her.

they walked in silence for a beat. paige glanced at her. the hoodie sleeves were too long, and azzi was curled into them, hands tucked inside.

“you’re quiet.”

azzi shrugged. “just thinking.”

“about?”

azzi looked at her, held her gaze a second too long. “basketball. life. stuff.”

paige nodded like she believed her. like she wasn’t dying to ask what “stuff” meant. but she didn’t. she never did.

she reached for the door handle to her dorm and paused. “night, az.”

azzi turned. “night, paige.”

paige closed the door too slowly, like maybe she wanted to say something else. like maybe this friendship—whatever it was—was killing her a little more every day.

azzi:

you still up?

paige:

always. wassup?

azzi:

just couldn’t sleep. too much film in my head

paige:

same lol

we should’ve won by more

azzi:

facts

you carried tho

paige:

nah

you always say that

azzi:

bc it’s true

paige:

you’re biased

azzi:

yeah. probably.

night p.

paige:

goodnight az.

paige stared at her phone long after the messages stopped. she didn’t know when “az” turned into “azzi” and then back into “az” again—but it felt like something. it felt like the kind of shift that changes things quietly, slowly, until one day, everything’s different and you don’t even remember how it started.

she rolled over in bed, hoodie still smelling like azzi, and whispered into the dark.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the cool autumn air nipped at the skin as paige and azzi walked back to their dorms after another long practice. their footsteps echoed in the near-empty streets of the uconn campus, only the sound of their sneakers against the pavement breaking the silence. it was one of those rare moments where everything felt suspended in time. no rush, no chaos, just the two of them, surrounded by the hum of the late afternoon and the quiet glow of campus lights.

azzi walked a little ahead, her curly hair bouncing as she moved. paige couldn’t help but watch the way it swayed with every step—how her posture was so effortlessly perfect, how she carried herself with this quiet confidence that always seemed to make everything feel effortless. she was always so focused, so calm on the court, but off it, there was something else. something that made paige’s heart beat just a little faster.

“so, are you gonna tell me why you were off today in drills, or do i have to guess?” azzi’s voice pulled paige out of her thoughts.

paige blinked, caught off guard by the question. “i wasn’t off,” she answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

azzi shot her a look, her eyebrows raised. “you missed three threes, paige. three.”

“and still dropped 18 in the scrimmage,” paige shot back with a grin, brushing it off.

azzi tilted her head, the tiniest smirk playing at her lips. “confident much?”

“maybe,” paige replied, walking a little closer to her. she couldn’t help it. every time she was near azzi, something about her presence made it hard to think clearly. “i just don’t like losing.”

azzi’s smile softened, and for a moment, everything felt like it was in perfect sync.

azzi’s voice broke the quiet again, softer this time. “you were distracted.”

paige wasn’t sure if she was imagining the tone of her voice, but it sent a little spark through her chest. “i wasn’t distracted,” she lied.

azzi didn’t seem convinced. she slowed her pace, letting paige catch up, and then they fell into step together. neither of them spoke for a while. the silence between them was comfortable but heavy, like there was something else they were both trying to ignore.

the next day, practice was intense. the gym was filled with the sound of sneakers pounding the hardwood, the shrill of the whistle cutting through the air, and the steady thump of basketballs hitting the floor. but throughout all of it, paige’s mind kept wandering. she couldn’t focus like she usually did, her thoughts drifting to azzi again and again.

she stole glances at azzi throughout drills—when azzi nailed her signature shot, when she locked down on defense, when she flashed that smile that paige couldn’t get out of her head. every movement, every shot, was flawless.

paige couldn’t deny it anymore. it wasn’t just admiration. there was something more—something that had been building since the day they met at team usa, something that had only grown stronger since azzi arrived at uconn. paige tried to shake the thought, but it lingered, wrapped around her chest like a tight knot.

the night after practice, when the team was quiet and the campus was starting to settle into its usual nighttime rhythm, paige found herself staring at her phone. she had half a mind to just toss it on her bed and forget about it. but she couldn’t. not when azzi’s name was suddenly lighting up her screen.

azzi:

you good?

paige:

yeah just tired

why?

azzi:

idk you were quiet after practice

paige:

you noticed that huh

azzi:

always

paige:

cute

azzi:

are you flirting with me, bueckers?

paige:

would you be mad if i was?

…typing…

…typing stopped…

azzi:

i wouldn’t

paige blinked. she stared at the words, her heart thumping painfully against her chest. she didn’t know if she was relieved, terrified, or both. her fingers hovered over her phone again, but she didn’t reply. the words felt too heavy. too real.

the following morning, paige woke up to an empty room. ice had already left for a study session, and jana was probably at the gym getting in extra work. paige grabbed her phone, still replaying azzi’s text from the night before in her mind. she ran her hand through her messy hair and groaned. she had to focus. they had a game in two days, and she had to shake the feeling that everything was slowly shifting under her feet.

as she walked into the gym that day, she noticed azzi already warming up. she was practicing her jump shots, smooth and precise. paige couldn’t stop watching, feeling that familiar pull in her chest whenever azzi moved, whenever she smiled that quiet smile that always made paige’s heart skip.

they were running through drills later, and paige could feel the shift between them.

azzi was sitting a little closer during film review, her knee grazing paige’s under the table. it was subtle, but paige couldn’t ignore the way her skin tingled from the brief contact. every time azzi leaned over to point out a play or ask for paige’s opinion, her breath caught, her mind whirling.

“you okay?” azzi whispered, her gaze searching paige’s face.

paige nodded, but inside, her thoughts were a mess. she wanted to lean in, wanted to tell azzi everything. but the words wouldn’t come. “yeah. just… thinking,” paige muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

azzi’s lips curled into that soft, knowing smile that always seemed to break paige into pieces.

paige:

that fadeaway’s not fair

azzi:

you were staring again

paige:

you’re hard not to look at

azzi:

…

you’re gonna ruin me with texts like that

paige:

you like that huh?

azzi:

maybe

paige didn’t sleep that night. she couldn’t. every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was azzi’s face, that smile, the way their eyes had met across the gym.

game day arrived, and paige played like her life depended on it. aggressive, sharp, dominant—every move felt effortless. but every time she scored, her eyes flicked to the bench. to azzi.

after the game, the locker room buzzed with excitement. the team was laughing and shouting, the adrenaline still pumping in their veins. but paige couldn’t focus. she grabbed her towel and wiped her face, but her mind kept drifting back to the night before, to the words that had been said.

jana tossed her a towel. “damn, you were on fire tonight,” she said, her grin wide. “but i swear, you’re playing like azzi’s watching you like she wants to write poetry about your jump shot.”

ice chimed in, clearly teasing. “for real, it’s like y’all live in your own little bubble.”

azzi shot both of them a glare, her cheeks flushed. “shut up.”

paige just smiled, but deep down, she was wondering if they were right. she could feel the weight of azzi’s gaze on her whenever she played. it wasn’t just basketball anymore. it was… something else.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

game day at gampel had its own rhythm—buzzing sneakers, whispered prayers, warmups under the blinding arena lights. paige could feel it in her bones before she even laced her shoes. but today, the adrenaline coursing through her veins wasn’t just about basketball. it was something else. something—or someone—who had taken up more and more of her headspace lately.

azzi.

she always looked calm before tipoff, like the noise around her couldn’t touch her. her face calm, lips slightly parted, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. paige watched her from the opposite end of the locker room, surrounded by teammates but completely in her own lane.

azzi was sitting on the floor, pulling her socks over her calves, airpods in, nodding to whatever was playing. paige had no idea what the song was, but she wanted to know. she wanted to ask. she wanted to sit beside her, pull one airpod out, and just be that close.

instead, she sat still, a towel draped over her lap, her eyes betraying her again and again as they drifted back to azzi.

she wasn’t proud of how much she stared. she thought she was subtle—sneaking glances in between stretches or when geno was talking—but she wasn’t. ice caught her once and gave her a look like, seriously? paige had just shrugged and mumbled something about defense.

but it wasn’t defense.

it was the way azzi’s laugh made paige’s stomach do things. how it bubbled out of her when she was teasing jana, or when someone showed her a funny tiktok in the locker room. it was that rare, unguarded smile she gave when something really got her. paige found herself chasing that laugh in her mind when she couldn’t sleep.

it was the way azzi’s jersey rode up during shootaround, revealing just a toned stomach, glistening with sweat. and paige—god, she hated herself for how much she noticed. she was a player, a leader, a teammate. she wasn’t supposed to be distracted like this.

and yet.

the worst part? the way azzi smelled.

it wasn’t even fair. vanilla and something warm that paige couldn’t place. something that made her dizzy if azzi stood too close. and she often did—leaning in to check notes, standing shoulder to shoulder during team huddles, brushing against her on the bench.

“yo, paige.” it was ice again. “you good?”

“huh?” paige blinked, startled.

“you’ve been zoned out for like ten minutes,” ice said, towel slung over her shoulder. “what’s going on with you?”

“nothing. just locked in,” paige lied, pulling on her warmup shirt. but her heart was beating too fast. her hands were slightly clammy. she wasn’t locked in—she was unraveling, and it all had a name.

azzi.

they were up by 12. the energy in the locker room was electric. coach was going over adjustments on the whiteboard, players hydrating and bouncing their legs, but paige?

paige was sitting beside azzi. too close. or maybe not close enough.

azzi’s knee bumped hers lightly as they sat on the bench, and paige froze. her breath caught for half a second. azzi didn’t even seem to notice—or maybe she did and just didn’t say anything.

paige risked a glance. azzi’s head was down, towel over her shoulders, lips parted slightly as she caught her breath. there was a tiny mole just under her jawline paige had never noticed before. her skin gleamed from exhaustion, and the faintest flush was still high on her cheeks.

“good first half,” azzi said softly, not looking up.

“yeah,” paige said, trying to swallow the knot in her throat. “you too.”

azzi finally turned her head, eyes locking with paige’s.

there was a beat. a second too long.

something passed between them. something paige couldn’t name. but it was thick and real and left her breathless.

now they were back in the locker room, jerseys peeled off, music playing low over the speakers, the smell of victory (and sweat) lingering in the air. jana was hyping everyone up, dancing around with her bottle like it was champagne. kk was talking trash about her fourth quarter steal.

paige sat on the bench, head tilted back, eyes closed for just a second. her body ached in that beautiful, earned way. but when she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was azzi—across the room, standing in front of her open locker, tugging off her compression sleeves. there was something about the way her fingers moved, the slow, methodical grace of it, like everything she did was deliberate.

paige’s mouth went dry.

it hit her like a punch to the gut: she was falling. hard. really hard

and the way her teammates joked—jana saying things like “okay, but if i catch y’all making heart eyes during warmups one more time…”—only made it harder to pretend it was nothing.

paige would always laugh it off. “you’re delusional,” she’d say, deflecting like it was second nature.

but she wasn’t laughing inside.

inside, she was spiraling. because this thing—this impossible, distracting, beautiful thing—was not just a phase.

it was real.

and it was starting to show.

that night, the team gathered in one of the common lounges for movie night. someone had dragged in a few extra bean bags, and the couch cushions were already claimed by the time paige and azzi walked in together.

it wasn’t even planned—azzi just bumped her shoulder against paige’s in the hallway outside the gym and said, “you coming to that movie night?”

and like always, paige said yes.

the lights were low, the movie already playing, but paige wasn’t watching. azzi had claimed the spot right beside her, curling up on the couch, legs folded under her, and paige somehow ended up with azzi’s shoulder pressed against hers. again. azzi didn’t move. neither did paige.

about halfway through the movie, azzi shifted closer. she was practically tucked against paige now, warm and soft and so close that paige could smell that vanilla–something blend again. she didn’t know how it happened, but azzi’s head slowly rested against her shoulder. her breath hitched.

don’t make it weird, don’t make it weird.

jana, sitting on the floor in front of them, turned around mid-bite of her popcorn and gave them a look.

“okay, but like…” she whispered to ice beside her. “seriously, this isn’t even subtle anymore.”

ice glanced back and whispered back, not even trying to hide the smirk: “bro. just get together already.”

paige felt her ears burn, but azzi didn’t move. she just yawned quietly, like nothing was out of the ordinary, like paige wasn’t about to have a stroke from how fast her heart was beating.

her phone buzzed in her lap.

azzi:

ignore them

paige stared at the message. the corners of her mouth twitched.

paige:

i’m trying

hard

azzi:

is it that bad?

being this close?

paige didn’t answer right away. she was afraid of what she might say if she told the truth.

paige:

not bad

just… a lot

she waited. nothing.

but azzi didn’t move away.

the next day, paige was back in the gym early, trying to clear her head. shots were automatic, but her mind wasn’t. azzi’s voice, her laugh, the way she felt against her—it all kept looping in her brain like a highlight reel she couldn’t turn off.

she was mid-rep when ice showed up, tossed her a towel, and said, “you gotta figure this out, bro.”

paige shot her a look. “what are you talking about?”

ice just raised an eyebrow. “you’re in love with her. and unless you want to keep spiraling, maybe actually talk to her?”

“i’m not spiraling,” paige lied.

“you’re listening to frank ocean in the weight room, paige.”

paige shut her eyes. busted.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the whole team went out after their win. uconn’s usual haunt, ted’s, was packed with students. the music was loud, the lights low, and the floor sticky with beer. paige had meant to just hang out, have fun, maybe let off some steam.

but the second she walked in and saw azzi across the room—talking to some guy by the bar, laughing a little too easily—something in her snapped.

it wasn’t that azzi was doing anything wrong. she was being azzi—friendly, charming, beautiful. but paige couldn’t stand how close the guy leaned toward her. couldn’t stand how azzi didn’t move away.

and that damn song started playing.

“i don’t like the way he’s looking at you, i’m starting to think you want him too…”

paige froze.

the lyrics hit too close. the jealousy roared up in her chest, hot and bitter and undeniable. she tried to look away, but her eyes stayed locked on azzi. on the guy. on the way azzi leaned in to hear him over the music.

“you’re too fuckin’, beautiful, and everybody wants a taste…”

paige downed her drink.

and another.

it was hot and loud, the kind of place where bad decisions had room to breathe. paige was pressed against the bar, half-done with her third drink when jana slid in next to her like she’d been tracking her all night.

“okay, what the hell are you doing?” jana said, snatching paige’s cup before she could take another sip.

paige raised a brow. “i’m having a drink.”

“three drinks,” ice added, appearing on the other side of her like a stealthy twin. “in twenty minutes. you trying to pregame a blackout?”

“i’m fine,” paige said tightly, eyes fixed across the room again—where azzi was still talking to that guy, her face half-lit by the neon sign above the bar.

ice followed her gaze and sighed. “this is about her, isn’t it?”

“no,” paige snapped. “yes. maybe.”

jana made a face. “girl, you’re being dramatic as hell.”

“you don’t get it.”

“we do,” ice said. “more than you think. you’ve been gone since she got here.”

jana leaned in, voice low. “you’re acting like this is middle school. you like her. she probably likes you. just talk to her.”

“she doesn’t—”

“she does,” ice cut in. “you think we haven’t noticed? azzi watches you like a movie.”

that made paige look away.

jana didn’t let up. “look, i know it’s scary, but drinking your feelings while she talks to some random guy isn’t the move. you’re paige fucking bueckers. pull yourself together.”

paige turned the now-empty glass in her hands, knuckles white around the rim. “it’s not just about jealousy. it’s… i’ve been holding this in since team usa. since the day i met her. and every time i think i’m over it, she does something like laugh or look at me like i’m all she sees and—”

she shook her head. “i can’t do this anymore.”

ice and jana exchanged a look, but neither said anything.

paige ignored them both, eyes still on azzi. everything else was a blur. music thumping, laughter around her, teammates dancing—but all she could see was azzi.

when she saw the guy’s hand brush azzi’s arm, that was it.

paige downed the last sip in her cup and set it on the bar like a final period. “i’m talking to her.”

she pushed through the crowd, half-drunk but clear-headed enough to know this couldn’t wait. she reached azzi and grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly.

azzi turned, surprised. “paige?”

“we need to talk,” paige said, her voice low, almost pleading.

azzi hesitated. “paige, are you—”

she didn’t wait for a response. she turned, heart pounding, and made her way across the room—straight toward azzi.

the music pulsed around them, a chaotic blend of bass and laughter. paige’s heart pounded in her chest as she navigated through the crowd, her eyes locked on azzi.

the night air slapped paige in the face the second they stepped out of ted’s. cold, sharp, sobering. her fingers were still loosely curled around azzi’s wrist, but she let go as soon as they were far enough from the door for the music to dull to a distant thump.

azzi stood in front of her, arms crossed over her chest, clearly thrown by the sudden exit. her brows were furrowed, lips parted slightly. “paige, what the hell was that?”

paige didn’t answer at first. she looked down, then up, eyes dancing between the ground and azzi’s face like she couldn’t decide where to land.

“i couldn’t watch anymore,” she finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

“watch what?” azzi asked. her tone wasn’t annoyed—more confused, careful. like she knew something was coming but didn’t want to assume too much too fast.

“you. with him.”

a beat.

“that guy?” azzi asked, almost incredulous. “he was just talking. he asked about the game. that’s all.”

“i know,” paige said quickly. “i know. that’s the worst part.”

azzi’s arms slowly dropped to her sides. “then what is this? what’s going on with you?”

paige took a shaky breath and stepped closer. “i’m losing my mind over you.”

azzi’s breath hitched, eyes flickering in surprise.

“i’ve tried to pretend it was nothing. that it’s just a phase or a dumb crush or some… whatever. but it’s not. it’s every day. it’s every time i see you in the gym i just—” she broke off, frustrated with herself.

azzi looked like she wasn’t even breathing.

“i think about you constantly,” paige continued, quieter now. “and it’s not just attraction or whatever—i mean, yeah, you’re beautiful and it’s driving me absolutely insane, but it’s more than that. i want to tell you when something good happens. i want to walk you home after practice and… i want to be the person who gets to be close to you. like, really close.”

her voice cracked on the last word.

azzi stepped forward, just a little. her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were soft.

“paige…” she started gently. “you’re drunk. maybe we should talk about this when you’re sober.”

“i’m not drunk,” paige said quickly, firmly. “okay, yeah, i had a few, but i’ve never been more clearheaded in my life. if i don’t say this now, i won’t. i’ve been swallowing this for months, az. since team usa. since the second i saw you on that court and knew i was in trouble.”

azzi didn’t move.

“you walked into uconn like you belonged here and everyone was watching you like you were already a star,” paige said, her voice thick with something like awe. “and i was just… gone. i didn’t even fight it.”

azzi took another step forward. they were close now—close enough that paige could see the flutter of her eyelashes, the subtle shift in her breathing.

“you never said anything,” azzi whispered.

“i was scared. i didn’t want to lose you. not even just as a teammate or a friend. i didn’t want to make it weird. i’d rather die than make it weird.”

azzi tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching into a soft, almost sad smile. “you think you were hiding it?”

paige blinked. “i… tried to.”

azzi finally reached out, her fingers brushing paige’s wrist. “you weren’t. not from me.”

the silence between them was thick now, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it pulsed with the weight of everything unsaid—until now.

“so what does that mean?” paige asked, voice barely audible.

azzi hesitated just long enough to make her next words feel deliberate.

“it means i’ve been waiting for you to say it out loud.”

paige’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. “you…?”

“i’m not good at this,” azzi said, laughing quietly. “feelings, i mean. i keep things inside too, but i’ve wanted this. you. since forever.”

paige was stunned into stillness.

“i didn’t know if i was reading too much into it,” azzi continued. “i mean, we’d hang out and you’d look at me like i hung the moon, and then two seconds later you’d act like nothing happened. i didn’t want to ruin it either.”

“i did hang the moon,” paige joked.

azzi laughed—really laughed—and paige swore she could’ve melted right there.

and then it happened.

azzi leaned in, slow, careful, like giving paige time to back out. but paige didn’t move. she couldn’t. her body leaned forward before her brain even caught up.

when their lips met, it was soft. hesitant. testing.

but when paige cupped azzi’s cheek, deepening the kiss, azzi responded like she’d been holding back for years.

because she had.

they broke apart only when the door to the bar cracked open again, voices spilling out. they stepped back just enough to breathe.

“come back to my dorm?” paige asked, voice low and rough around the edges.

azzi didn’t hesitate. “yeah.”

they walked in silence at first.

the campus was nearly empty, the night sky hanging low and heavy with stars. paige’s hand brushed against azzi’s once, then again. the third time, azzi reached out and laced their fingers together.

neither of them said anything about it.

they walked back to the dorm in silence, but it wasn’t awkward—it was electric. like every word they could’ve said was sitting just under their skin, humming like static. paige’s hand found azzi’s halfway there, their fingers tangling like they’d done it a hundred times—but this time, it meant something else. it felt different. everything did.

when they got to the building, paige didn’t even ask. she just held the door open for azzi, who slipped past her without a word, brushing against her shoulder like it was second nature.

it was.

because azzi had been here before—dozens of times. for movie nights, naps between practices, studying, random after-practice rants. she’d curled up on paige’s bed, worn her hoodie, stolen her snacks. this dorm wasn’t unfamiliar.

but when they walked into the room this time, azzi paused.

paige noticed it immediately.

the lights were low, just the glow from the desk lamp and the string lights over the window. a sweatshirt—azzi’s, actually—was draped over the back of paige’s chair. the same lavender candle azzi had gifted her was still on the sill, next to a water bottle and a mess of hair ties.

it was all the same. but now it felt like more.

azzi turned slowly, her voice quieter than usual. “we’ve been here so many times.”

“i know,” paige said, closing the door behind them. “but not like this.”

azzi gave a little nod, her eyes scanning the room like it was suddenly unfamiliar. like she was seeing it through a new lens. maybe she was.

her gaze lingered on paige’s bed, then on paige.

paige’s heart was thudding, loud and hot in her chest.

“you okay?” azzi asked softly.

“i don’t know,” paige admitted. “i’ve never done this before.”

“done what?”

“this,” she said, stepping closer. “said it out loud. let it be real.”

azzi’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “you were always obvious, you know.”

paige blinked. “i was not.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “you’d stare at me, and then immediately pretend you weren’t.”

“you’re making things up,” paige said, but she was smiling now, the tension breaking slightly.

“i’m not,” azzi said, taking a step forward. “you think i didn’t notice how quiet you’d get when i sat too close? or how you’d text me good luck before every game, even when we were in the same hotel?”

paige looked down, cheeks flushed. “i wasn’t ready to mess this up.”

“you didn’t,” azzi said gently. “you couldn’t.”

they were inches apart now, the space between them small enough that paige could feel the warmth coming off her.

“i keep thinking i’m gonna wake up and this won’t be real,” paige said quietly.

azzi reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind paige’s ear. “it is real paige.”

that touch, light and careful almost too much.

“i feel like i’ve wanted this for so long, i don’t even know how to handle it now that it’s here,” paige admitted.

azzi’s voice dropped, softer now. “then let’s not rush. let’s just… be here.”

so they sat.

paige kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed like she’d done a thousand times. azzi followed without hesitation, folding her legs beneath her, shoulder brushing paige’s. familiar, but weighted now. electrified.

they sat in silence, legs tangled lazily, faces turned toward each other. every little glance, every breath, was a new kind of intimacy.

and then paige reached out, slow, fingers brushing the inside of azzi’s wrist. azzi turned her hand over, letting paige trace the lines of her palm.

“i thought i’d ruined it when i told you,” paige said after a minute.

“you didn’t,” azzi said. “you fixed it.”

they leaned into each other again, and this time the kiss was soft. slow. unhurried. it tasted like adrenaline and years of wanting buried under years of almost.

when they broke apart, they didn’t say anything. just breathed.

and when paige rested her head on azzi’s shoulder, azzi leaned hers against the top of paige’s without hesitation.

outside, the wind rustled through the trees.

inside, it was just them.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

they were still on the bed.

azzi’s legs were stretched out across the comforter, ankles crossed, head tipped slightly as she looked at paige—just looked, like she was trying to memorize her all over again under the low light.

paige, sitting opposite, hugged one knee to her chest and toyed with a loose thread on her sweats. she could feel azzi’s gaze, hot and focused, like it was burning through the chill of the room. it made her pulse flutter in places she wasn’t proud of.

“why are you looking at me like that?” paige asked, half-joking, half-serious.

azzi tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting. “i’m allowed to now, right?”

that knocked the breath out of paige a little. “you’ve always been allowed.”

“okay,” azzi said, voice low. “then i’m choosing now to actually do it.”

paige couldn’t stop the smile that crept across her lips. “you’re flirting with me.”

azzi shrugged, eyes still locked on hers. “maybe.”

paige leaned back on her palms, trying to look casual, even though her heart was pounding. “you always do this?”

“do what?”

“make people fall for you without even trying.”

azzi smiled, slow and dangerous. “i didn’t want just anyone to fall for me.”

paige stared, stunned into silence.

azzi’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a second. just a second. but paige felt it like a lightning strike.

it made her sit up straighter.

“you sure you’re not drunk?” azzi teased, voice soft but teasing enough to make paige’s stomach twist in the best way.

paige arched a brow. “i could say the same thing about you.”

azzi grinned. “nope. stone cold sober. just stupid for you.”

that earned her a pillow to the face. she laughed, catching it and tossing it back aside—but the sound was warm and bright and filled the room with something almost unbearably soft.

paige reached for the candle on her windowsill—the lavender one azzi gave her on her birthday—and flicked it open, sniffing it with exaggerated flair.

“still kinda smells like you,” she said, trying to sound casual.

azzi raised an eyebrow. “are you saying you’ve been sniffing it when i’m not around?”

“no comment.”

azzi leaned in. “that’s adorable.”

paige glanced away, biting her bottom lip to fight the smile. “you’re annoying.”

“you love it.”

“i really do,” paige murmured before she could stop herself.

and just like that, the energy shifted again. slower now. still warm, but heavier. more tender.

azzi reached out and brushed her fingers over paige’s knee, her touch feather-light. “can i ask you something?”

“anything.”

azzi’s hand didn’t move. “that first night we had a team movie night… when i fell asleep on your shoulder and everyone teased us… did that mean something to you?”

paige swallowed, the memory hitting her hard. that night had haunted her.

“yeah,” she said quietly. “it meant everything.”

azzi nodded. “same.”

paige looked down at azzi’s hand on her leg, then back up to her. “i wanted to hold you. so badly. but i thought if i did, i’d give myself away.”

“you already had,” azzi whispered.

silence.

their breathing was the only sound now.

paige leaned in slowly, testing the space. azzi didn’t move away—instead, she matched her, closing the distance so naturally it felt like gravity. their foreheads brushed, and neither of them spoke. they didn’t need to.

“i want to kiss you again,” paige breathed.

azzi smiled. “so kiss me.”

this time, the kiss didn’t feel hesitant at all. it was open-mouthed, searching, laced with a hunger that had been simmering for too long. paige’s hand found azzi’s jaw, gentle but certain, and azzi’s fingers curled in the fabric of paige’s hoodie like she was anchoring herself.

they pulled back just enough to breathe, and azzi let out a shaky laugh. “you’re kind of dangerous like this.”

paige smirked, forehead still pressed against hers. “why?”

“because i don’t want to leave.”

paige’s voice was rough. “then don’t.”

azzi kissed her again.

the string lights above paige’s window gave everything a warm, soft glow—gold bleeding into shadows, painting azzi’s cheekbones and catching in her lashes. her lips were kiss-bitten. her breathing, a little uneven.

paige leaned back against the headboard, her arm draped over a pillow, and watched azzi cross her legs at the foot of the bed, hoodie sliding up to expose skin above her shorts. it wasn’t new. azzi had sat in that exact spot a dozen times. but tonight? tonight it was driving paige insane.

azzi caught her staring.

“what?” she asked, coy smile tugging at her lips.

“you’re unfair,” paige said, voice rough around the edges.

azzi tilted her head. “how?”

“you sit there like that—like it’s nothing. like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

azzi blinked slowly. “paige.”

“yeah?”

“i know exactly what i’m doing to you.”

paige choked on a breath, jaw slack. “okay, wow.”

azzi laughed, low and proud of herself. “you kinda walked into that one.”

“you’re cocky now. that’s new.”

azzi crawled closer, inch by inch, hands moving slow on the comforter like she was stalking prey. “you just never gave me the chance to be.”

paige didn’t move. couldn’t. “and now that i have?”

azzi hovered above her, one knee pressed between paige’s thighs, her hands braced on either side of paige’s hips. close enough to kiss, but not doing it. just making her want.

“i’m not holding back anymore,” azzi whispered.

paige’s breath caught. “then don’t.”

but azzi didn’t kiss her—not yet. instead, she leaned in, lips brushing paige’s jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. never quite there. never quite enough. paige’s hands found azzi’s waist, fingers slipping under the hem of her hoodie like they had a mind of their own.

“you always smelled so insanely good,” paige murmured.

azzi grinned against her skin. “still do?”

“yeah,” paige said, voice low. “it’s killing me.”

azzi leaned back slightly, eyes dark with something deeper than play. “you’re allowed to want me.”

“i’ve always wanted you,” paige said, barely a whisper. “since team usa. since you smiled at me in that stupid oversized jersey. since i couldn’t stop texting you after practice like a damn idiot.”

azzi’s mouth parted, stunned by the confession.

“i wanted you when you wore my sweatshirt and acted like it was no big deal,” paige went on. “when you fell asleep on my shoulder and i didn’t move for two hours because i didn’t want to wake you. when you laughed at my corny playlist and still asked me to send it to you”

azzi cupped her face now, her thumbs brushing paige’s cheeks like she was trying to memorize them. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“because i thought if you didn’t feel the same, i’d lose you. and that was worse than wanting you in silence.”

azzi’s eyes softened—glassy, wet. she kissed her then, slow and full of something thick and heavy. paige melted into it. into her.

they shifted, the way they always had—easily, instinctively. azzi’s back hit the pillows next, and paige hovered above her, brushing hair from her forehead with trembling fingers.

their mouths met again and again—soft kisses that deepened, deep kisses that turned into something hot and slow and needy.

azzi tugged paige’s hoodie off. paige kissed a trail down her throat.

there were no rules now.

no fear.

only want.

and between stolen kisses and laughter that slipped from their mouths between gasps, paige whispered against azzi’s skin, “i’ve never wanted anyone like i want you.”

azzi’s hands moved up paige’s back, pulling her closer. “then have me.”

and paige did.

not rushed. not careless. but like a promise she’d been waiting to keep.

the room was quieter now, the soft hum of the outside world muted by the thick, heavy air inside paige’s dorm. the only light was the dim glow from the string lights above, casting long shadows that curled around the bed like a secret.

azzi was still lying next to paige, their legs tangled together beneath the soft sheets. paige’s head rested on azzi’s chest, her breath evening out in that familiar rhythm. it felt like she could stay there forever—pressing herself into azzi’s warmth, soaking in the quiet comfort of having everything she wanted, right in front of her.

azzi’s fingers traced small patterns on paige’s back, the touch so light it was almost imperceptible. it was a touch she’d never been able to offer before, but now it felt like it was meant to be this way—soft, comforting, and full of unspoken words. they didn’t need to talk yet. the silence between them said everything.

“i can’t believe we’re here,” paige whispered, the words so soft they were barely audible, as though saying them out loud might make everything feel too real.

azzi’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, her hand still slowly drawing circles on paige’s back. “i can,” she said quietly. “i’ve been waiting for this. i’ve been wanting this.”

paige lifted her head just enough to glance up at her, the warmth of her gaze meeting azzi’s tired but content eyes. “you have?” she asked, voice tinged with disbelief. “i always thought i was the only one who felt this way. like, maybe i was just… imagining things.”

azzi smiled, that quiet, knowing smile that made paige’s heart flip in her chest. “you’re not imagining things, paige. you never were.”

paige closed her eyes, letting the weight of that settle over her like a soft blanket. it was the kind of reassurance she didn’t know she needed until now. it felt like something inside her that had been aching for months finally released. it was more than relief—it was peace.

azzi’s hand found paige’s, their fingers intertwining naturally, like it was the easiest thing in the world. the way their hands fit together was a promise in itself—an unspoken understanding that neither of them had to say much. not yet. not now.

“i’ve wanted you for so long,” paige admitted quietly, her voice shaky in a way that made azzi’s chest tighten with affection. “i think i’ve always known i did. i just didn’t know how to say it.”

azzi’s thumb stroked the back of her hand. “you don’t have to say anything, paige. i’ve known. i’ve always known.”

paige’s heart ached with the sweetness of it. she tucked her head back onto azzi’s chest, her fingers tracing the outline of her shoulder, as if trying to memorize the feel of her skin.

azzi’s voice was low, quiet, but sure. “it’s not just the way you look at me, paige. it’s the way you are with me. how you show up, even when you’re unsure. how you care. you make me feel like i’m the only one in the room.”

paige’s breath hitched. she knew she was blushing, she could feel the heat spreading to her cheeks, but it wasn’t just embarrassment. it was something tender, something a little bit raw.

“i guess you’re the only one in the room now,” she said, teasing slightly, though the words were still soft. she shifted just enough to catch azzi’s eyes.

azzi’s smile softened, her fingers brushing the side of paige’s face. “i’m okay with that.”

paige felt her chest tighten again, but this time in a way that felt good. she could still taste azzi on her lips, the softness of her skin still fresh against her fingers. it felt like she was living in this moment, like it had been waiting for them to find it, and now that they had… it was everything.

“i just… i don’t know what to do with myself now,” paige admitted, a little embarrassed by the admission, but also relieved to say it. “like, we’re here. this is real. and i don’t want to mess it up.”

azzi’s laugh was soft, almost a chuckle, as her thumb brushed across paige’s cheek in a comforting motion. “you’re not going to mess it up, paige. you never could. you’ve got all the time in the world.”

paige smiled, feeling that familiar pull in her chest, a soft ache that only azzi could create. “you always know how to make me feel better.”

azzi’s fingers danced to the back of paige’s neck, gently tracing the nape, then running her hand through the strands of paige’s hair. “it’s not hard when i know what you need.”

there was a moment where they just laid there, tangled in the quiet. neither of them spoke, but there was no need to. the silence between them was the kind that only came when you were perfectly at ease with someone. when you didn’t need to fill the space with anything because everything was already said.

“are you staying the night?” paige asked, breaking the silence just enough to feel the weight of it shift.

azzi didn’t hesitate. “yeah. i want to.”

it was all paige needed to hear. she closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her—letting azzi’s heartbeat steady beneath her ear, letting the warmth of her hand lacing through hers sink in.

as the night stretched on, the air around them settled into a comfortable, almost sacred quiet. the only sounds were their steady breaths, the rustling of sheets, and the soft tick-tock of the clock on the wall, counting away the hours until morning. they both knew they didn’t need to rush. they didn’t need to say anything more.

for the first time in a long time, paige let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—this was how things were meant to be.

and in the quiet of the night, with azzi’s breath steady against her ear, paige finally allowed herself to drift to sleep, knowing she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the sunlight creeping in through paige’s dorm window was too damn bright.

she groaned, squinting one eye open, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight draped across her waist.

and then she remembered.

azzi.

wrapped around her like they belonged together. hair a sleepy mess against the pillow, her soft breaths brushing paige’s collarbone, fingers still loosely curled in the hem of paige’s shirt like she’d fallen asleep refusing to let go.

paige couldn’t help it—she stared.

because this version of azzi? this post confession, tangled up in her sheets version? she wasn’t just beautiful. she was home.

azzi stirred, murmuring something paige didn’t quite catch, and burrowed closer.

paige smiled.

“i could get used to this,” she whispered.

azzi’s eyes fluttered open, groggy and heavy-lidded, and met hers. “good,” she said, voice still rough with sleep. “because i’m not leaving anytime soon.”

paige leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “promise?”

azzi just nodded, and that was enough.

they managed to roll out of bed an hour later, not because they wanted to, but because ice had sent paige a very unsubtle text.

ice: lunch. 20 mins. don’t be weird.

ice: if you’re late i will assume it’s for gay reasons

ice: actually you know what. be late. i’m begging you

paige showed the texts to azzi, who just snorted and mumbled, “she knows.”

and she did.

by the time they walked into the dining hall, paige in a hoodie she’d definitely worn the night before and azzi looking suspiciously too happy, the uconn girls were already seated at their usual long table.

ice spotted them first and elbowed jana so hard she nearly dropped her smoothie.

“look who finally decided to show up,” ice said.

jana didn’t even try to be chill. “slept good, huh?”

paige gave them both a flat look. “morning.”

azzi, for her part, looked almost smug as she slid onto the bench beside paige, their knees brushing. she reached for a carton of orange juice like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“you know,” nika said, leaning across the table, “we literally watched you two make heart eyes for months. and now you roll up here looking like… that.”

“like what?” paige said, fighting a smile.

“like you’ve been making out for twelve hours and forgot how to act,” jana said without missing a beat.

azzi bit her lip, cheeks pink, but didn’t deny it.

paige, feeling entirely called out, just sighed. “y’all are annoying.”

ice grinned, wide and evil. “and you’re in love.”

there was a pause. paige looked at azzi. azzi looked at paige.

and then azzi said, quiet but sure, “yeah. i think we are.”

nika literally dropped her phone.

the table exploded.

“no way—she said it—”

“bro. bro.”

“you guys were basically dating anyway,” kk said calmly, sipping her coffee like she’d seen it all coming. “we were just waiting for you two to figure it out.”

azzi hid her face behind her hand, laughing.

paige tried to glare, but she couldn’t stop grinning. “you all suck.”

“we ship it,” jana said sweetly.

ice leaned back with a self-satisfied smirk. “best lunch ever.”

later, when the chaos died down and most of the team had wandered off, paige and azzi stayed behind, still tucked into their side of the table, sipping the last of their drinks in easy silence.

azzi leaned her shoulder against paige’s. “we’re never gonna hear the end of this, huh?”

paige shook her head. “not a chance.”

azzi turned to her, voice low. “worth it, though.”

paige smiled, lacing their fingers together under the table. “yeah. so worth it.”

and with the sun shining through the windows and the warmth of azzi beside her, paige knew—without a doubt—she’d never been happier to be teased in her life.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn huskies #pazzi fics #fiction #paige x azzi

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