the league can kiss my ass, stephanie white can kiss my white, the ccc can kiss my ass and everyone else including media members that all of a sudden got smoke up they ass bout last nights game vs the indiana fever. these wishy washy ass muhfuckas wanna praise sophie cunningham and call her the âenforcerâ when she threw down jacy sheldon and grabbed shorty by the neck but wanna SUSPEND alyssa thomas for some shit wasnât intentional đđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđ ROLL THE TAPE!!!!!!!!!!! and not the slowed down version of it, not the still shots; the actual play then come talk to me. iâm so irritated
summary : basically lish getting frustrated with your panties during sex.
warnings / an : i almost NEVER write smut like this frl, but anyways. i love allisha. and rhy and all of them and make sure yall go vote them for wnba all-stars!!
lish's hands are everywhere, sliding up your thighs with purpose, her breath hot against your neck as she presses you back against the mattress. her twists fall forward, brushing against your collarbone, and you can feel the heat radiating off her skin.
"been wanting this all day," she murmurs against your throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. her fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down with an urgency that makes your stomach flip.
you help her, lifting your hips, and she tosses them somewhere across the room without looking. her eyes are dark, focused entirely on you, taking in every inch of exposed skin like she's committing it to memory.
when her hand slides between your legs, palm pressing against the fabric of your panties, she lets out a low sound of approval. "fuck, you're already so wet."
you can feel yourself throbbing under her touch, hips rolling up to meet her hand, desperate for more friction. she gives it to you, rubbing slow circles that have you gasping, fingers digging into her shoulders.
but then she's pulling back, trying to hook her fingers under the elastic to pull them aside, and the angle isn't working. she tries again, frustration flickering across her face as the fabric snaps back into place.
"these fuckingâ" she mutters, trying to maneuver around them, but they keep shifting, getting in her way. you can see her jaw tighten, that impatient energy building in her shoulders.
"lish, justâ"
"nah, hold on," she cuts you off, sitting back on her heels. she grabs the waistband with both hands, trying to slide them down, but you're pressed so close together that there's not enough room. she huffs out a breath, her twists swaying as she shifts position.
you start to move to help, but she's already yanking at them again, and this time the fabric twists around your thighs, caught and tangled.
"are you fucking serious right now?" she says, and there's something almost funny about how genuinely annoyed she sounds, except you're just as desperate as she is and the delay is torture.
she tries to unwrap them, fingers fumbling with the twisted material, and you can see the muscle in her jaw working. "why are these soâthese need to justâ"
"lish, baby, just rip them," you breathe out, and her eyes snap up to meet yours.
"yeah?"
"yes, please, justâ"
you don't even finish the sentence before you hear the fabric tear, the sound sharp in the quiet room. she rips them clean off, tossing the ruined panties over her shoulder, and the look on her face is pure satisfaction.
"that's better," she says, voice rough, and then her hands are on you again, skin to skin this time, nothing in the way.
her fingers slide through your wetness, and you both moan at the contact. she doesn't tease now, doesn't make you waitâshe's done waiting. two fingers push inside you, and your back arches off the bed, a broken sound escaping your throat.
"that's it," she murmurs, her other hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as she sets a rhythm that has you seeing stars. "should've just done that from the start."
you can't form words anymore, can only hold onto her as she works you over, her thumb finding your clit while her fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your thighs shake.
"look at you," she says, and there's something possessive in her voice, in the way she watches your face. "so fucking pretty like this. all mine."
the tension builds fast, coiling tight in your belly, and she can feel it, the way you're clenching around her fingers. she leans down, mouth finding yours in a messy kiss, swallowing your moans as she fucks you harder.
"come on, baby," she breathes against your lips. "let me feel it."
and you do, falling apart under her touch, pleasure crashing through you in waves that leave you trembling. she works you through it, fingers gentling but not stopping until you're whimpering from oversensitivity.
when she finally pulls out, she brings her fingers to her mouth, holding your gaze as she tastes you, and the sight alone nearly makes you come again.
"worth the wait," she says with a smirk, leaning down to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. "but next time? no panties."
you laugh breathlessly, pulling her closer. "deal."
this is kinda mid but hope u enjoy đ«¶đœđ«¶đœđ«¶đœ
HAWAIIAN ROLLER COASTER RIDE đșđŽ .
pairs :: te-hina paopao
in which :: basketball meets surfer
TE-HINA PAOPAO X FEM!READER â â.đ Ìâ Hawaiian Roller Coaster RideâÂ
(featuring: Nahala Tukiânnala, Mahla, the Hawaiian sun, and a very random encounter)
The sun was just beginning to mellow out, dipping low enough that the waves caught the light like liquid diamonds. You were still damp from the ocean, salt clinging to your skin, hair knotted from the surf and wind. Mahla was giggling a few feet away, aggressively patting the side of a lopsided sand turtle, while you were focused on perfecting a drip-castle with your palms.
Thatâs when a shadow fell over you. Someone was standing there.
âHey⊠uh, do you like piña coladas?â
You blinked up, squinting past the rays of light. Standing above you was this tall girlâbrown skin glowing, dark curls tied back in a frizzy bun, ocean-blue Nike shorts and a white tank top. She held out a sweating paper cup, umbrella and all.
âMy dad got two, but he didnât want his,â she added quickly, as if that explained everything. âAnd youâuh, you look like someone who drinks piña coladas.â
You stared at her. âI look likeâŠ?â
âLike youâd like it. The fruitiness. I donât know. Youâre⊠building sand castles.â
Mahla was already crawling toward you on her knees, whisper-shouting like a rabid sports reporter.
âNAHALA. Thatâs Te-Hina Paopao. Are you serious right now?â
You blinked again. âWhoâsâŠ?â
Mahla gawked at you. âShe starts for South Carolina. She used to be at Oregon. Sheâs like a legend. Hele aku . Ask her to surf with us.â
You glanced at the girlâTe-Hina, apparentlyâand then back at your sister. âShe looks like she doesnât know how to surf.â
âExcuse me??â Te-Hina asked, mock-offended, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh.
âI just meanââ you gestured vaguely. âYouâve gotâŠbasketball muscles. That doesnât really scream wave balance.â
Te-Hina grinned wide now, setting the piña colada beside your castle and dropping into a crouch. âOkay, I might not scream it, but Iâll have you know, I donât wipe out. Not that often, anyway.â
Mahla was practically vibrating. âCan you please just ask her to surf?â
You sighed dramatically and turned to Te-Hina, who was now helping herself to a seashell to add to your castle.
âWanna surf?â
She smirked. âOnly if I get to name this sand turtle first.â
You paused. ââŠGo on.â
Later:
She did come surfing. She wasâŠnot great. But she didnât wipe out either. You begrudgingly gave her that.
And when the sun fully set, when your boards were upright in the sand and Mahla had run off to tell your mom she saw a literal college athlete up close, Te-Hina sat beside you with a second piña colada.
âI was right,â she said, handing it to you. âYou do seem like a piña colada girl.â
You sipped it. It was too sweet. Too coconutty. But you didnât tell her that.
âYou seem like you should stick to basketball.â
Te-Hina bumped your shoulder. âYou seem like someone Iâm gonna want to see again.â
You raised your eyebrows. âBecause I like piña coladas?â
âNo,â she said. âBecause you make fun of me and still let me drink your soda.â
âItâs not soda.â
âWhatever.â
She smiled. You smiled back.
And somewhere nearby, Mahla was watching with her hands clasped like a romantic sitcom just broke out live on the beach.
